#this is just a lil snippet for now

[imfinereallyy]

Steve likes to sleep on Eddie’s chest. He likes to be touching every sliver of skin without being overwhelmed by another body. Eddie’s love feels open like this, stretched out for him to hold, giving him a place of safety. Steve’s grateful the man is a weirdo who likes to sleep on his back. Most sane people sleep on their sides or stomach but no—Eddie Munson enjoys his hair pulled up and cold feeling of a pillow on the back of his neck.

But Steve never complains. He likes that Eddie is strange. He has never been much for tradition cuddling. It always feels. suffocating, wrapped up with nowhere to go. A battle of power of some sorts. But this right here, with Steve’s ear pressed against Eddie’s slow heartbeat, lulling him softly to sleep as he curls into Eddie’s side…Steve’s pretty sure he has to thank a god he doesn’t believe in for letting him this close to a place—a person he can finally call home.

[dandelion-roots]

hua cheng, huh? <3

bonus:

[id in alt]

[nerdie-faerie]

I'm once again thinking about the missed opportunities to have Klaus and Kol bond more. Part of Klaus' whole motivation as a vampire is to get his werewolf part back and to finally be stronger than Mikael (sort of, I'm simplifying) both of which can be obtained by breaking his curse. But Kol? Kol is the only other original that can relate to having a fundamental part of themself ripped away from them. Klaus might not have known he was a werewolf until he killed, but he likely still had a connection he couldn't explain, as evident by him going to watch the wolves transform. And something he'd never been able to explain was now gone. He might only be able to realise the connection afterwards through its absence.

Kol though. Kol had grown up with magic, a connection to nature and the world around him in a way the rest of his siblings supposedly didn't have. And then he gets turned. And not only has his baby brother died, his father has just murdered him and the rest of his siblings after forcing them to drink human blood, which he'll later learn. Now, not only does he have to deal with the grief of Henrik's death and also his own but also the loss of his magic. A loss that's likely only worsened by Kol being a self-proclaimed child prodigy.

Kol is pretty much the only one who could understand what Klaus is going through with the binding of his wolf. We know Kol searched for ways to get his magic back/carry on practicing magic in the same way that Klaus was looking for ways to break his curse. While Klaus likely could still feel his wolf there despite being bound, Kol has no access to his magic anymore. I just think they should've been able to bond or connect over their shared loss of an intrinsic aspect of their selves at the hands of their parents

[valeriianz]

it's been a while, but the brainworms would not stop festering until i wrote this little prequal to my original Vampire Hunter!Hob ficclet. dedicated to @mathomhouse-e, the biggest instigator for this au lol. thanks @quillingwords for some mad crazy beta skills <3 i appreciate you!

“Don’t look now, but that guy in the back has been staring at you since we sat down.”

Hob hummed as he took a long sip from his tankard for his mate’s benefit. Hob didn’t have to turn to confirm this; he’d felt the stranger’s eyes on him as soon as he’d entered the crowded pub, though he hadn’t spotted him yet. 

The revelation fascinated Hob now, after weeks and weeks of scattered moments where he had felt that itch of being watched, Hob could recognize the feeling and pinpoint it to one, singular person.

Their eyes had met a handful of times, Hob turning away politely at first, sometimes lengthening the stare with a curious look, or more recently, staring back with challenge in his gaze. Intentionally holding the man’s icy blue– visible even in the murky, darkened room– stare until Hob was forced to look away first, a chill running up his spine.

The feel of the stranger’s eyes on him had become frustratingly familiar. It was a bit hair-raising, to be sure. But it was also… alluring. Inviting. Titillating. 

Hob had begun dreaming of this mysterious man, drafting up introductions in his mind, anticipating a confrontation eventually. Whether their meeting would be easy or difficult was warring within Hob’s chest until he’d finally made a decision to confront the pale man with striking blue eyes. It seemed like divine intervention that, the day after making this decision, the stranger would appear in his usual spot, at Hob’s usual haunt, precisely as he sat down to join his friends.

“Want me to tell him to fuck off for ya?”

“Nah,” Hob downed the remainder of his pint before slipping off the barstool, tossing some coins on the counter. “I got it.”

Hob made his way to the man’s table, tucked away in a corner, where he sat alone. Where he always sat alone. The mud brown of the pub's interior seemed amplified by the yellow glow of the electric sconces on the walls. It made the White Horse’s patrons seem dull and muted, even those who wore many colors or laughed raucously. Hob’s stranger in the corner, however, seemed to push through the soft and warm glow like a supernova.

And strangely enough, he was dressed in all black. Darker than shadows and just as intangible, like the starless night sky when the moon was hiding. The lights hit his cloak and revealed a matte, velvet texture that looked rich and soft and clean. Too clean, too pressed. Like the man had walked straight out of a tailor’s and came right in here. The man stuck out like a sore thumb amongst everyone else, and yet no one seemed to be paying him any mind.

Hob kept eye contact as he drew near, his posture lax, unimposing, though he could feel his heartbeat in his throat. And he wondered, briefly, if his stranger could feel it too. The way his eyes seemed to brighten as Hob approached, the way the corner of his mouth began to curl, making Hob’s stomach twist with a mixture of unease and delight.

“Hello,” Hob greeted as he finally stepped up to the empty chair opposite the man. “May I sit?”

The man lifted one elegant dark brow in response and Hob took that as an affirmative, pulling out the rickety chair and dropping himself into it.

Hob had to remind himself how to breathe, looking upon the man who’d been unashamedly watching him for the past few weeks. The dark clad man was already a vision from across the room, his eyes alone making a statement. But up close he was devastating. His coal dark hair was thick and messy, long tendrils that framed his ghost-white skin and severe cheekbones like a painting. A vision of lust, secrecy, and– Hob realizes belatedly with a stab into his gut– danger.

And he hadn’t even spoken yet.

“Are you aware of how obviously you behave?” Hob managed to find his voice again, dredged up from where it had fled moments prior. “Maybe instead of staring at me all night, you can buy me a drink.”

The man across from him tilted his head a fraction, imperceptible. Hob forced his usual smirk, roguish and sly. The one he used countless times to woo women to his bed, as he waved down a barmaid.

“And what is obvious… about my behavior?” 

Hob looked twice at the man, unable to parse the words at first, convinced he had just heard a rumble of thunder outside. But as he stared, the stranger’s face became more and more curious, waiting for an answer. 

Hob swallowed. The question– spoken in a low murmur, deep and decadent– fluttered around his chest before finally settling somewhere low in his gut. Hob felt his bravado promptly leak out his ears.

“Ah. It’s not exactly what I’m used to,” Hob hid his hands under the table to hide how he began to fidget. “Typically a ‘hello’ or ‘how do you do’ is more acceptable than silently watching.”

The barmaid finally arrived and it gave Hob the excuse to pull his eyes away from the indigo sea swirling before him, almost hypnotic. He took a shuddering breath and blinked, staring up at the woman who was waiting for an order.

Hob ordered two cask ales, forgetting about the bold way he’d suggested the man buy his drink and operating now on autopilot. As the woman left, Hob brought his attention back to the enigmatic man before him, his skin prickling with gooseflesh at the realization he hadn’t moved an inch, piercing gaze still on Hob, posture straight and solid as a wooden stake.

“I was watching,” the man spoke again, his voice soporific. “Because I’m interested.”

Hob’s heart, which had finally calmed down a bit, flipped over in his chest. “In me?”

The man hummed, his chin tilting down, considering, while something akin to a smile tugged on his lips.

“In a way…” he replied cryptically. He spoke slowly, as if mulling each word over, making them deliberate. He closed his eyes for a moment and Hob belatedly realized the man hadn’t blinked once thus far.

“You are an apprentice.”

Hob couldn’t help it, he grinned, pulling one hand back on the table’s wooden surface to drum his fingers.

“How can you tell?”

The man tilted his chin up, taking a moment to study him and Hob felt his smile grow with the attention. Though there was something in the back of his head, tickling his base instincts of self-preservation. It was odd, Hob didn’t feel as though he was in any danger, but there was a certain… air about this gentleman. Hob couldn’t be sure yet, but there was definitely something off about him. Perhaps he was a lord– he certainly dressed the part. With his thick cloak, parted just enough to see an expensive looking waistcoat made from damask, the design threaded in gold that glinted with each microscopic movement.

The way he carried himself too, was with arrogance and power, and without a trace of sympathy. It was cold and hard. It was also breathtaking and Hob delighted in the man’s sharp gaze, his scrutiny, focused solely on him. 

Not just now, Hob had to remind himself with his own smug grin. But for the past few weeks.

“You dress the part,” he nodded down at Hob’s clothes. “But you are still young. I assume you’re in training.”

Hob looked down at himself, hardly dressed for style, but comfort. For easy movement during his training but also leather clad to protect against blunt force and brutal encounters. His coat, which he’d draped over the chair, had deep pockets for concealing weapons and the thick utility  belt around his waist had many compartments to hold his tools… though he had very few at the moment.

And like his stranger, Hob wore all black, to blend in with the night. He wouldn’t say what he was, even if the handsome man asked… it was frightening enough that he’d managed to even guess at his occupation thus far. 

“Good observation,” Hob said, offering nothing else.

The barmaid returned, setting their drinks on the table and leaving again with a smile.

Hob brought his own up for a long drink, for thirst and also to distract his hands, which desperately needed something to take hold of.

A beat passed before the stranger spoke again. “A priest?”

It’s the tone of the question that made Hob set his drink down slowly, swallowing deeply and eyeing his stranger again, his own brow arching. His tone was polite. As if he did know what Hob was and only asked to prompt him to reveal his true work. Like the man was playing dumb.

Hob looked down suddenly at the wooden cross hanging low on his chest, which is what might’ve provoked the inane suggestion. He laughed and he could hear in his own ears the edge to it.

“Far from it,” Hob tucked the cheap jewelry into his shirt. “Just superstitious, is all.”

The man hummed and seemed to relax, imperceptibly, in his chair. Hob took note of it with a curious expression

“And what about you?” Hob leaned back, fiddling with the handle of his pint. “What is your business?”

“Hardly worth mentioning.” The man responded quickly, his words premeditated. “I am curious though, young apprentice. Do I entice you?”

Again, Hob’s heart lurched at the forwardness. His blood racing through his veins and nearly making him dizzy. 

Unexpectedly, the stranger took a slow, deep breath through his nose, his chest rising with it and Hob unconsciously felt himself leaning forward. It is as though the man intended to pull Hob in, like he’d tied a rope around his chest and tugged. Hob caught himself on the table’s edge, forcing his eyes down at the man’s untouched drink and took a shaky breath, stolen from him, back into his lungs.

Hob laughed, shaking his head, pulling himself back up and hoping he hadn’t made too much of a fool of himself. His chest and neck were burning.

“What kind of question is that?”

For the first time all night, the man took his hands from where they’d been hidden under the table and clasped them on the surface. Hob sees no rings but couldn’t help but to fixate on his long pale fingers, his knuckles smooth as silver bullets. Hob wondered if they’d be just as hard and cold, too.

“You approached me. You sat at my table.” His hands turned palm up, fingers spreading wide. “What kind of question do you think it is?”

Hob laughed again, nerves getting the best of him. His young, traitorous heart was like a racehorse galloping along his ribcage.

“I’m afraid to answer that question,” but Hob smirked anyway, taking his drink up again to distract himself.

A small, barely there smile crept through his stranger’s carefully composed visage. A proper smile filled with pure amusement and– Hob blinked dumbly as realization settles in– desire. His eyes seemed to glint with excitement, hunger.

Ah, that was it. Like looking upon something you craved, pupils dilating with it and lips unconsciously parting, which Hob’s stranger did now. It was an intoxicating sight, and Hob could only stare, caught like a mouse in a trap.

Then he rose, so fluidly and gracefully that it took Hob a moment to even register that he was staring up at the man.

“What’s your name?” Hob asked, his voice gone quiet, awestruck.

The man hummed again, eyelids low, considering.

“Next time.”

He set a gold coin on the table, right next to his untouched ale, and left.

[sunshinediaz]

snippet sunday

hi friends, i'm gonna share something i've shared before because i LIKE it a lot + buck being a demanding bossy bottom is sooo good (but pls dw eddie gets his turn at being a sloppy silly bottom too and he's SO hot for it)

anyway this is nsfw

“Buck, baby. I want to ask you something.”  Buck nods wildly, knocking his nose against Eddie’s in his fervor. “Fuck and talk at the same time.” He reaches down and grabs hold of Eddie’s ass with both hands, squeezing and pinching as he lifts his hips up to fuck himself on Eddie’s cock. “C’mon, Eds. Be a—a good boy for me. Fuck me—fuck me please.”  Bubbles of static electricity swarm Eddie, springing from each point of contact between them and ricocheting to every untouched inch of his body. He drops down heavily, blanketing Buck’s body with his own, and fucks hard and sloppy and eager. Buck muffles a hiccuped moan against the scruff of Eddie’s cheek, breathy and pitched high. Eddie grins, mollified.   “Like that, baby?”  “Yeah,” Buck grunts, panting against Eddie’s cheek. He wraps his legs around Eddie’s waist, kicking him closer and deeper with his heels, and meets Eddie’s thrusts with little ones of his own. “Yeah, fuck, like that. Just like that.”  Eddie finds Buck’s lips, eating the mewls that fall from Buck’s mouth. It’s little sobs of too-good, too-sharp pleasure; a staccato of breaths that get stuck in his chest on each withdraw and shoved out on every thrust forward. Eddie’s so deep inside Buck—he can feel himself, right up in Buck’s guts, beneath the muscle and fat of Buck’s tummy where his prick’s at, twitching from friction and sensation.  “Buck,” he says, smearing Buck’s name all along Buck’s cheek and throat and chin. They’re so wet, so sweaty, that Buck can’t get a good grip on his back to scratch his nails in without slipping. “Buck, baby. Marry me. Please marry me.”  Beneath him, Buck’s body jolts. “Goddamn, Eddie,” Buck swears, but it kind of feels like a benediction, a prayer sweeter than any he’s every heard. Buck cradles his cheeks in both hands and sucks on his tongue, loud and free in his pleasure. He laughs like sunshine. “No.” 

i was tagged by @hippolotamus, @try-set-me-on-fire, @callaplums, @thewolvesof1998, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @exhuastedpigeon, @honestlydarkprincess, @jesuisici33, @wikiangela, and @daffi-990 mwaH MWAH

and i'm tagging @watchyourbuck, @eddiediaztho, @fortheloveofbuddie, @callmenewbie, and whoever else wants to share consider yourself tagged 🫶🏼

[luckycheesefoodie321]

Sally just accepting her role as the stopover for all mission-bound traumatised demigods

She gives them snacks, some warm smiles and sound advice and sends them on their way.

Sally is the superior book mom.

[starbornsoulrider]

^ plays star stable just to rewrite it now

[kyistell]

So I added a fanfic snippet part to the google doc, wrote one for Jersey, Cali and then York, and York's the only one I want to share at the moment. Maybe I will share the other ones if asked but for now it's just this, ENJOY

New York-

Sleep

New York liked to sleep, it was peaceful and calming and he didn’t have to think about everything going on around him, it was the perfect break from his ADHD mind. However sleep did not like him, he wouldn’t be able to sleep for days until he basically passed out.

Mass was able to figure out that because NYC is the city that never sleeps, New York can’t really either. The two figured out that as long as he keeps up with a routine, he should be able to get to sleep easier and faster, though having a routine has its own problems. 

Table meetings could happen very early in the morning sometimes, and if York had to go to those meetings it would screw his whole schedule up. It wasn’t until one night where he finally was able to have a solution.

It was pouring out, rolls of thunder after flashes of lightning happening what seemed like every second. York likes the rain and thunder, it was calming, especially when the wind was loud, it was easiest for him to fall asleep. 

This was not the case for New Jersey. Jersey hated storms, wouldn’t be able to fall asleep until it was barely raining anymore and that wasn’t even consistent. He used to like them, though not as much as York did, but after hurricane Irene in 2011 and hurricane Sandy the following year, he could never see them the same.

This is why it wasn’t all too surprising to hear hard knocking on his door, opening it to find an exhausted and wet faced Jersey. Letting him in and onto the bed, the two sat there for a long while until York heard light snores coming from the other.

New York sat there even longer just thinking, hearing the rain start to die down he felt himself start to tire. He wasn’t feeling particularly tired before, but now, with Jersey laying on top of him as peacefully as someone afraid of storms can, he felt just as exhausted as Jersey had looked. 

For the first time in a few days, New York found himself able to sleep with ease as the wind slowed and the constant thunder and lighting became less and less. 

The two didn’t speak of this afterward, they never tended to when it came to storm sleepovers, York preferred just to remind him that he’s always free to come over if he can’t sleep, this time however Jersey said that the offer was mutual. 

York thought this over a few nights later when he couldn’t sleep and desperately needed to. Making up his mind, he snapped over to Jersey place, knocked on the door and waited for a moment before it opened.

When Jersey questioned why he was here York only said “Wanna have a sleepover?”.

[baeshijima]

so uh

[wexhappyxfew]

CHARACTER DYNAMICS ( 2 / ? )

[ in attdc ] : JEANNIE DESCHAMPS + JOSEPH LIEBGOTT

Jeannie looked up from where she was sat against the cold wall of the building, sweat dripping off her forehead, and found another set of eyes already looking towards her own. They were somewhat harsh, a deep, lush brown and they were followed by a broading smirk that glistened in fire light. She took her time in looking away and staring somewhat blankly forward, a mix of contemplation and contempt burrowing it’s way onto her features.

“ You lost?” she heard a voice question and looked up to find the man that had been watching her, now standing over here, hands shoved deep into his fatigue pockets and his face darkened by shadow.

“ Not….lost.” Jeannie said quietly, readjusting herself forward from his face, instead staring out towards the streets which were littered with wounded,” Just…” she couldn’t find the word,” thinking.”

“ Just thinking, huh?” the man said, hastily finding a way to sit himself down beside her - she wasn’t eager to look towards him and make smart talk,” I do a whole lotta that. I could help ya out.” Jeannie could only internally smile and keep herself at bay as she kept her attention forward still.

“ You don’t talk much, do ya?” he asked her and she slowly turned to look towards him and met his gaze again, a warming hint of a smile on her face. There was an instance where his face softened and she saw him for the boy he was. The shaggy strands of hair in his face, youthful expression written across his eyes, the way he sat like a schoolyard boy with his knees up and his slim wrists hanging over them, linked together.

“ Not unless I have reason to.” Jeannie said softly to him, looking between his eyes and the street,” I don’t have much reason to now, I suppose.” The man let a smirk crawl on his face as he nodded his head and looked her way again.

“ Well, at that, you got a name?” he asked her. Jeannie watched his eyes for a moment, before leaning herself fully back against the cold wall and sighing. Her hair seemed soaked with sweat, hanging just above her shoulders and she could feel the nighttime humidity suffocating her.

“ Jeannie.” she said with a nod. The man smirked.

“ Jeannie with the light brown hair?” he said with a smirk and Jeannie quirked a small smile up towards him and shook her head, turning away from him to look towards the street again.

“ Jeannie Deschamps.” she said quietly, tucking lose strands of sweaty hair behind her ears,” Why are you so urgent to know?” Jeannie looked towards him with expectant eyes and found him watching her with his own playful smile that twisted up on his face.

“ You’re sat all alone, in a town practically on fire, with an Airborne company……” he said and Jeannie felt her cheeks warm at his observation a bit as she flicked her eyes away from him and let a smile crawl onto her lips quickly.

“ Right then, what’s yours?” Distract.

“ Joseph Liebgott.” he said and Jeannie smiled softly at his name and nodded.

“ Nice to meet you, Joseph.”

“ Call me Joe, Joseph makes it sound like my mother is talking.” Jeannie smiled at Joe’s words and looked away from him; his gaze was intense she couldn’t deny. But she couldn't help it as she smiled at him, a grin with dimples and teeth all at once spreading across her face. He was smiling, too. Sometimes that's all it took. A smile.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Pre-existing Conditions 

[HELP ME!] All that is wrong with you Lies in wait For the trigger  to go off. An imbalance from the father Healed by the child. [”Why? Wait. Please, please, don’t-!”] Very frightened. Very frightened. Shameful. Uncontrolled. [This is a holy time.] Are you afraid? Is not even this safe? [Pagh’tem’far B’tanay.]

[waywardsalt]

bite scene bite scene bite scene

[sarastuss]

SNIPPETS OF YOUR ADVENTURE ; 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐂. it is a crime i had to cut this cutscene so much, because this truly is one of my favorites.

[boxwinebaddie]

WAIT UNCLE NINAAAAA@@!!!! SO WHEN RAVENSTAN TOLD JERSEY HE CALLED HIS NAME IN HIS SLEEP DOES THAT MEANNN

hi, nonnie! is this the quote ur referring to — from rm3?

Yet unperturbed by his ‘away’ with words, the lead singer smirked, cracked his knuckles, blew and buffed the silver of his pinky ring, then tucked his hands behind his head, totally at peace.

“ — Well, twenty-eight, I guess. 

You did spend two of them calling my n a m e in your sleep.”

because if soooooo.....

;)

i think it means Exactly what u think that means, darling.

*insert comically incorrect australian vc here*

— and good Eye mate!

because dearest new jersey Did discern that, in the video, he'd appeared to utter an inaudible, but clearly Concise, one syllable word which, should it be a name, and HIS name in particular, like ravenstan had so boldly implied while teasing kyle in chapter three ( which he is Suuuuch a little shit for that smh ) raven is two — so that's out, ravenstan is three ( which only we use anyways ) so that's out too...

but...i can certainly think of a one word syllable that Might be a name.

kyle's Favorite name in fact — however forbidden. a shameless & Not Famous Nickname that a worn, torn, love lorn n traumatized college student who misses his dead sbf might sweetly and subconsciously murmur against the delectably dizzying and distinctly cinnamon chai n clove scented skin thats strewn across the golden, glowing, heavenly, hellacious, edgy hot boy hip tattooed, sun-(s)tanned, nearly kissed, dearly missed and k.o kyle-worshipped sexc rockstar abdomen of 'Stranger' whose true name he name seems to know...

...Even In His Sleep.

but my writer girl riddling and waxed poetics aside, my Favorite Part about being able to give you this side b snippet is that because of we'd only seen boyfailure stan as a flirty, hot shot raven, it literally sounds like he's fucking with kyle like the whole time but...uh...

my man be lying a lot...about a lot of things...like his...Identity...to the whole world and his whole world ( kyle ) but...put some Respect on my man ravenstan's fake name for a minute!!!! because we caught jersey kyle Simping in candid camera — and rae was spitting Facts.

my son did NOT stutter!!!

well...

If A Super Cool Rockstar Stutters And Sputters When You Allegedly Call His Name ( Or Rather The Name Of Ur Dead S[BF] ) For Like Two Minutes Straight In Your Sleep On His Lap And No Nosy College Students / Long Lost Loves Are Awake Enough To See It...

...Did It Even Happen At All?

hm.

maybe not...

but thank god for technology, right? ;)

-uncle nina, being a menace for drama

[tvrningout]

guess who just finished delwyn's bio B)))

[thosetwofirefighters]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @mooshkat, thank you so much friend!! <3 I've had the first draft of this (which is for @the-likesofus) open for at least a week now, and I just can't bring myself to edit it (mostly because my life has been a ~shit show~ recently) anywaaaaay here's some of what will be a very late 6.14 coda :))

“I’ve got a list, if you’re interested,” she continues. “I know being set up by your old tia might not be the most attractive idea, but you’ve just gotta find the right woman.” She grabs his hand, the one not wrapped tightly around his coffee mug. He lets her keep it, takes comfort in the familiar pressure of her hand in his, and tries not to worry that this might be the last time he’ll be able to. For a moment, he feels guilty about worrying—this is Tia Pepa, his favorite aunt, the one person who has always been on his side—but then he remembers what his parents—his father—had said when he’d tried having this conversation with them at nineteen. He knows Pepa and trusts her so much, but he’d trusted his parents too.

no pressure tagging (and sorry if you've already been tagged lol) @the-likesofus @lilbuddie @shortsighted-owl @jacksadventuresinwriting @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @wheelsupin-five <3