#this snippet is of the calm before the storm

[jbarneswilson]

fic pride weekend midweek

thank you so very much, @eusuntgratie, for tagging me!

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

hope on the horizon

She turns and gives [Bucky] a quick salute then continues on her way. Once she’s behind the count, Nat catches Sarah’s eye. Holding her hands about twelve inches apart, she mouths to Sarah, He has a huge dick!

Sarah laughs as she pulls a coffee stirrer out of the little caddy on the table and calls out, “Yes, thank you for that information, Nat!”

not too tired

“If you broke my phone—” Sarah starts to say, raising up to look behind him.

He shoves her down and plants his hand on her back to keep her there. “Then I’ll buy you a new one. Now shut up and take this dick.”

brighter than ever

… Their fingers brush when he grabs the bucket and he feels the same sizzle he always does; the ricochet of lightning through his body that settles and hums under his skin whenever she’s around.

stevie’s mom has got it goin’ on

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna kiss yours with it, too.”

Steve slowly turns his head, eyes wide and fierce with murderous intent. Bucky puts his hand up, trying to protest his innocence, but Steve balls up his fist and stalks toward him.

but keep your heart up

Bucky hums low in his throat, still in that space between awake and asleep. If he keeps his eyes closed long enough, he’ll drift straight back into sleep. Lulled by the softness of the morning and Sam’s warmth curled into his side. He frowns when he feels Sam roll away from him. The bed dips and the sheet slides down to his hips.

something to talk about

Bucky’s smile widens when he catches sight of the covered dish in her hands. “Hey, kid; whatcha got there?”

“Well, my momma said to tell you we had some extra blackberry cobbler layin’ around. But, really, she just made the one. And it’s for you.”

The Holidate

“She’d kill me and then where would you be? Without your best friend in the whole wide world, that’s where.”

Closing the cooler and lifting it by both handles, she gives him a look before heading toward her truck. “You’re my brother’s best friend. We are acquaintances at best.”

a perfect end to a perfect day

He smiles a little to himself as he looks out over the lake, ears catching the song of a far-off bird. Sarah’s body heat seeps into his right side and her heartbeat thumps gently in his ear, a counterpoint to the crickets in the grass. The scent of her, warm skin and lotion, fills his nostrils and he breathes deep, pulling her in.

a night for bad dreams

With deft skill borne from years of experience, Okoye quickly gets her youngest settled back in her own bed without waking her. She kisses Esihle’s forehead before making her way back to the living room.

Attuma sits up at her approach, scrubbing one had over his face, he reaches for her with the other. He pulls her in to stand between his legs and asks, “Time ‘s it?” around a small yawn.

across the ocean blue

K’uk’ulkan sighs happily as he strolls toward the town center, food stalls giving way first to the fabric weavers then to the armorers and vibranium forgers. Attuma follows a few paces behind, eyes drawn to the showers of sparks as new spears and axes are shaped from raw vibranium. His left hand aches with yearning for the familiar weight of smooth metal.

He passes forge after forge, sees spear upon spear and ax after ax being stockpiled, and feels anticipation flutter in his chest. His people are preparing for war. Soon, he will be called upon, his altar overflowing with the choicest offerings, smoke from fresh candles mingling with the finest incense… And he will be glad to answer their prayers, to give their warriors strength and speed and courage against their enemy.

the calm before the storm

Taking a fortifying breath and blowing it out, [Attuma] goes first to the children’s room. He smooths the frown from Itzel’s sleeping face, unsurprised to see that even in her dreams she remains serious. Next, he gathers Khanyiswa’s discarded blankets from the floor and tucks her back in, as he has many a night. Coming upon the third bed, he smiles softly at the sight of little Esihle and Chimalmat curled together like kittens.

i tag: @jemgirl86 @dasphinxone @xoxoviva @siancore @spinachgarden @princess-of-gondor @jadedjotun and anyone else who sees this and would like to share!

[wispscribbles]

When's the next chapter of No rest for the wicked coming up I neeeed it T-T

It's very much in the works, but life has been kicking my ass lately - promise I am making progress even if it's slow. I rly want the next chapter to be Good, but that's also slowing me down rip

Here's a sneak peak of chapter 12 to make up for the wait:

The pair had been waiting for well over an hour now, huddled close to keep warm. Soap’s head dropped with sleep more than once, but he quickly startled awake each time, despite Simon’s reassurance that it was okay if he napped. 

Oh well, if he wouldn’t sleep, then he could answer something that had weighed on the lieutenant’s mind since their bomb had been placed.

“When you told Gaz that you needed to be here to set off the explosive,” Ghost said, earning Soap’s attention. “That wasn’t actually true, was it?”

Johnny blinked in surprise. “Why? What do ye mean?”

“The tripwire, Johnny.”

“Ah.” The smaller man squirmed slightly under Ghost’s reprimanding stare. “Well, maybe we don’t need to be here to set it off, exactly, but it’s good tae have eyes on the situation, aye?”

The winning smile following the words had Simon’s stern facade melt away easily. 

“Stubborn fool.”

“Ye know I hate bein’ benched, Si,” Soap defended with a dramatic arm gesture, immediately wincing when he pulled on one of his recent wounds. Ghost rolled his eyes. “Besides, we’re small in numbers. Each one of us counts.”

“True. Even two injured and retired, not to mention mentally unstable and emotionally compromised ex-soldiers.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Soap grinned enthusiastically, clearly choosing to ignore the dry sarcasm lathering Simon’s statement. The grin only grew when Simon cracked a small smile of his own.

“Well, until backup arrives, you’re right. Each one of us-”

“Sorry, what was tha’?”

“What?”

“Ye just said somethin’ incredible, Si, I’ll need tae hear it again.” 

Ghost sighed. “I said ‘you’re right’, Johnny.”

“Ha, there it is,” Soap cheered quietly. “Could get used tae tha’.”

“Would say it more if it wasn’t so rarely true.”

“Och, shut yer puss,” Johnny chuckled, burrowing back into his spot against the warm body beside him. His nose and cheeks were pink with cold, despite working with a smaller supply of blood than usual. The battered form was more susceptible to cold after the ordeal it had been through, and Simon had accepted his role as personal heater. Usually it was the other way around.

“As I was sayin’,” Ghost continued. “I agree that we’re useful here while our numbers are so small. But if backup gets here in time, you an’ me are getting the hell out. Understood?”

“Sir, yes sir,” came the muffled reply from the face pressed against his winter jacket.

With a small hum, Simon lifted his hand to rest on the back of the other’s head. Layers of clothing separated them, preventing him from carding his fingers through the dumb mohawk like he wanted to, but he still felt the body against him relax at the contact. Maybe the stubborn Scot would finally succumb to sleep.

The winds were biting at his own bare face. It shouldn’t feel strange, not after years of civilian life without the fabric hugging his features, but it was different when he was wearing his gear. The get-up seemed incomplete without the mask. He hadn’t been lying when he told Soap that it was due to airflow; even now, his lungs were still greedily lapping up the oxygen he had so sorely missed. But it wasn’t the whole truth. 

Ghost had risen from the grave way back then. He needed Simon to be the one to do so this time.

“Hey, Si?” Soap sounded much too awake. His mind was probably as restless as Ghost’s own.

“Hm?”

“Thank ye fer findin’ me. Thought for a second-”Johnny swallowed when his voice thickened. “Really thought my last words to ye would be- would- That would’ve… I couldnae stand that.”

He didn’t need to say the words. Ghost knew all too well what he meant.

“A file. There was a sentence written in cyrillic, but- I think I know what it said.”

“What, Johnny?” 

“Hell awaits you.”

The EMP had cut off their communication then, had stolen Johnny away, leaving his final words to ring in Ghost’s head like foreboding. During his long trek through snowy forest, the sentence had played like a broken record. He had strangled that nagging fear at the back of his mind that he would never hear Johnny’s voice again; that one day, all he would remember of that Scottish lilt would be how wrong it sounded curled around those words.

In the end, Ghost would have torn apart the world in his search, if it meant that Soap could drown out his senses with that voice again. 

“I’ll always find you.”

He met Johnny’s eyes with steadfast conviction, when the man leaned back to look at him. Whatever Soap found in the dark eyes staring back had him smiling softly. 

“Aye. You will,” he said. With a teasing glint in his eye, he added: “Sap.” 

“Mm, that’s your fault. I was very cool before we met.”

“Right. Nothin’ cooler than having fifty dad jokes ready to go.”

“Worked on you, though,” Ghost winked, relishing in Soap’s fond eye roll. 

“Lucky fer ye tha' I have terrible taste.”

“Likewise. I fell for a grown man with a mohawk”

“Aye, embarrassing,” Johnny chuckled. “M’happy it didnae scare ye off.”

“Me too.” He pressed a kiss to Johnny’s forehead.

“Sap.”

[overbearingstruggles]

Anyways these Fall Out Boy setlists are actually insane and I’m the most excited I’ve been to see them in like a decade

[willesworld]

wip wednesday

here's what i'm working on today!

Wille was warm. He was warm, and there was a nice weight across his chest, something soft linked between his fingers. A light touch brushed over his nose and Wille scrunched his face at the tickle of it.

“Sorry for waking you up, baby,” he heard a soft voice say. “Go back to sleep.”

Wille squeezed his eyes shut tighter and then blinked them open, groaning and stretching out his legs as his body became aware of his surroundings. Coconut and vanilla filled his nostrils and Wille suddenly remembered where he was. Who was lying at his side. Wille’s lips curled up into a wide smile.

“Simon,” he whispered reverently.

“Hej,” Simon murmured, his fingertips drifting to Wille’s hairline and carefully combing back his fringe.

“I slept so good,” Wille mumbled, closing his eyes again and burrowing in close to Simon’s side.

Simon giggled. “Because I was here?”

“Yeah,” Wille exhaled, content.

@piebingo @earlgrey-lateatnight @cinnamoncoffees if you are so inclined, i would love to hear about what you're writing about💜

[astraystayyh]

Bittersweet

Pairing : Bang Chan x reader, exes to lovers.

Summary : You broke up with Chan because of an once in a lifetime work opportunity. Four years later, you are back home and everything has changed.

Warnings : Some cursing, reader has a big fear of thunder, allusion to sex in the end but no smut.

A.N: I wrote this as part two of Beginning of the End, but it can be read as a stand-alone. Still, i HIGHLY recommend reading part 1 first, it will just be more impactful!! Please let me know if you enjoyed reading, it means a lot to me <333

(Part 1)

-------------

Four years later, you were back to where it all started.

It felt weird to return home after all this time; to stroll down the alleys you once memorized, to meet up with the friends you once couldn’t live without. To witness firsthand how small your existence is, in the sense that you were so attached to your city, yet it had moved on perfectly despite your absence.

Still, you couldn’t really blame the world for moving on because you changed a lot too.

You had grown happier and more secure in yourself. Your work was recognized and praised, and you made some unforgettable memories that wouldn't have been possible had you not left. You felt as if everything you fought hard for finally paid off.

But throughout the years, one thing did remain the same; your love for Chan. You never tried to forget him or make your feelings go away. You figured that loving him was like the skin that clung to your bones, an inseparable part of your being.

Still, you were human after all, and as the months passed, you began to forget the sound of his voice and the warmth of his body against yours. His giggles became a distant memory in your mind, and so did the feel of his hands on your skin. Loving Chan became like a photograph that you safely tucked away; it chipped at the edges and its colors faded, but it still lived on, just like your love for him did.

And now that you were finally back with a bigger promotion, you couldn’t help but think about Chan even more. Everywhere you went, you saw snippets of your past with him.

You were so young, so foolish, you realized.

But so utterly in love.

----------------

It was 11 pm, and you were suddenly craving ice cream. You knew it was a bit ridiculous because it was -3 degrees, and you were already freezing, but you had one fundamental rule in life: never say no to your heart's desires.

This is why, despite the cold, you quickly leave your new apartment and skip toward the convenience store near you.

You head inside and grab your favorite ice cream before strolling around in case something else caught your attention. You just loved the calm inside and wanted to bask in it a bit more.

You round the milk aisle and suddenly bumped into someone’s chest. You were about to apologize when the words got stuck in your throat.

Chan.

"Yn…?" he calls out, and you feel yourself grow weak in the knees.

There was something about the way your name rolled off the tip of his tongue that made you feel as if no one, besides him, had ever done it justice.

He was even more beautiful than when you last saw him four years ago. His brown curly hair was tousled and his warm eyes reminded you of galaxies. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest because you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe it was him.

Memories of your last time together came crashing down on you like a wave; how he hugged you and told you to pretend as if nothing was happening, how he wrote you the most heart-wrenching letter that you’ve since memorized by heart.

"How are you?" you ask, clearing your throat. It felt silly to ask such mundane questions. This wasn't what you wanted to know. You wanted to ask if he still hated the taste of alcohol, if he still cried during sad movies, if he still squealed when he laughed, if he still loved you as you loved him.

But you couldn't voice those thoughts, so you willed yourself to drown them in the storm that is your mind.

"I'm good, and you?" he replies, smiling a little. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"I'm great."

"You look like it," he says, and you meekly nod, "So do you."

"Are you... visiting?" he asks after a few silent beats, and you shake your head, "I'm back for good."

"That's great. It's nice seeing you again," he gives you a genuine smile this time, and you can't help but grin back. You missed him.

You both stare at each other for a while after that, taking each other in. Looking at him felt like looking at a mirror of your past self -you could clearly see yourself in him because he once was a part of you, just like you were a part of him.

"I'll... I'll get going," he points behind him, retracting back, and before you could think it through, you grab his wrist to stop him.

It wasn't butterflies you felt when you touched him, that would be an understatement, it was pure electricity shooting through you.

People had touched you while you were away - hugs, kisses, and intimate caresses - but none of them made you feel this way. You were like a prisoner who had just felt the sun's rays against their skin for the first time in years. And you were starving for that sunlight.

"Can we meet up? Catch up? If you want to, of course," you whisper. Your voice is quiet- a stark contrast to the chaos going on in your mind.

"Yeah... Yeah, I'd like that," he agrees, rubbing the spot where you had grabbed him. Did he feel the sparks too?

"Tomorrow, this time, in the park near our old apartment?" you suggest, and he nods, "Sure. I'll be there."

"Great. I'll wait for you."

----------

You are sitting on a swing, swaying back and forth gently. Your heart is beating erratically in your chest, and you bite your nails from how stressed you are. In the four years you were away, you had to give conferences in front of thousands and thousands of people, yet you weren't as nervous as you are now.

"You still do that?" a voice next to you reprimands and you turn around to find Chan.

"Old habits never die, I guess," you smile sheepishly, dropping your hand down, and he chuckles.

"How are you?" you ask again, and he shrugs, "I'm good."

"How are you, really?"

"I don't think you have the right to ask me that anymore." His words cut you deep, and you swallow forcefully. "I'm sorry, I didn't... I didn't mean to pry."

"I know, fuck, I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's okay," you reassure, looking up at the starry sky. He was right after all.

"Haven't been stargazing for a while," he whispers, and you smile sadly. That was one of your favorite activities together.

"Me too. But I love looking at the stars," you reply.

"I know. They remind you of how small you are in the grand scheme of things," he says nonchalantly as if he didn’t just knock the breath out of you. He remembered.

"Yeah, like how I've been away for four years, and everything moved on as if I've never been here."

"Your absence was felt, yn”, he pauses, “I used to miss you." Used to. Past tense.

"I still miss you." Your reply is instant; you don't feel the need to hide from him. You never did.

Chan holds your gaze for a while, and you wonder what he was thinking at that moment. You wanted to shout at him to tell you what was on his mind. To just say it. But you couldn't. You can no longer ask things from him; you knew that.

"I saw your name in news articles and TV shows. You had your big breakthrough," he suddenly smiles at you, changing the subject. You feel a blush creep up your neck; the fact that he kept up with you made you feel shy all of a sudden.

"I guess I did, I grew a lot. I... I think that I needed to get away and experience new things. It would have haunted me had I not," you smile, and he nods attentively. He still listened to you intently, as always.

"You were always destined for great things," he says seriously, and you feel your eyes well up with tears.

He spoke those words as if he wholeheartedly believed them, and nothing in the world could ever sway his mind.

"So are you. You've been doing amazing these past few years, getting all these awards and deals. I love your music," you gush, and he waves a hand in the air as if to dismiss your words.

"Don't do that," you chastise, "you should be proud of yourself. I know I am very proud of you."

"I suppose the years did us good," he sighs wistfully, and you hum in agreement. You are both quiet after that. You don’t dare to speak, afraid that your next words would break the bubble you are in. As selfish as it was, you didn’t want to face reality yet.

"Just say what’s on your mind," he suddenly speaks up, and you raise a brow at him inquisitively.

“You are scratching your throat as if to stop the words from coming out. Just tell me.” Chan, ever the perceptive.

You take in a deep breath, willing your voice to sound strong, "The only thing I regret is that... I had to lose you in the process. I know I'll never find someone as amazing as you."

Chan doesn’t reply and your words linger in the air, suffocating you. You hoped that a strong wind will come by and carry them away, somewhere they wouldn't hurt anymore.

"I did love you, yn." A pause, and you can feel a heartbreaking ‘but’ coming. "But I don't anymore. I found... I found someone else. They are good to me and I love them."

"Oh". You dreaded it, expected it even, you never wanted him to wait for you. Because you left, so he had every right to move on. Still, you were only human, an enamored human whose heart now broke in two.

You feel the bile rise in your throat and you shake your head as if to clear those stupid thoughts away. You left, for god’s sake, you weren’t allowed to feel this way. But still, it hurt, it hurt so bad all you wanted to do was to curl in a ball and weep.

"I hope that you are happy with them. That's all I ever wanted for you, happiness." Your voice wavers and he knows, Chan must know you are trying so hard not to break down. So he doesn’t comment, he only smiles at you, which makes your heart break even more, because he must smile at them like this all the time now.

"I will get going," you abruptly stand up, dusting your pants. "Let me walk you home," he offers and you shake your head no.

"It's nearly midnight, you are out of your mind if you think I'll let you walk alone."

"Okay," you simply reply. Truth is, you weren’t processing what he was saying anymore. 'I love them' kept repeating itself in your head like a broken mantra. He found someone else. He found someone else. He found someone else, and it isn’t you. 

"This is me", you clear your throat when you arrive in front of your apartment, and Chan stops in his tracks.

“Come here”, he says and it’s all it takes for you to bury yourself in him. Just like four years ago, he was leaving you with a goodbye hug. Only this time, there was no hope left. Only a sense of finality. He knows that you still love him, you couldn't hide that from him. But he doesn't love you anymore and he can't hide that from you.

The hug only lasted a mere ten seconds, but you tried your best to take it all in, to memorize how it felt for Chan to hug you again. You desperately needed to patch up the broken memories you had left of him.

You finally lean away, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. Chan’s brows furrow looking at you, and you smile reassuringly. "I'm okay really. This is just bittersweet to me."

"It is to me too," he whispers and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from breaking down.

"You stay safe for me, yeah?" he tells you softly and you nod again, "you too."

"Goodbye, yn."

"Goodbye, Chan," and with that you turn around, entering your apartment block.

You've never hated goodbyes more than in that instant.

------------

it's been 3 months since your talk with Chan. Admittedly, you've gone back to that convenience store where you've met him, for a month straight, just in case he went back there. He didn't. And now you had a large stock of snacks you didn't know what to do with.

After that, you went to all the places where you've gone to on your dates. You don't know what you were expecting. You've lost Chan, but still, you always found yourself back to where you shared memories with him. But he wasn't there.

In the third month, you've started accepting that you lost him for good. The love mingled with the ache and you found comfort in its everlasting presence. It served as a reminder that you did love him, and he did love you back at some point.

Thankfully, your work was going really well, and tonight, you were out with your superior to celebrate a successful deal you chaperoned and discuss some upcoming projects.

You enter the restaurant, your boss hot on your tracks, when you abruptly stop. Sat on a table right across from you is Chan with a girl you did not recognize. You would have bolted out had it not been for your boss who looked at you with worried eyes. You shake your head mouthing an "I'm fine" to him.

While your boss placed your order, you couldn’t help but stare at Chan. He looked so... happy with her. She said something and he laughed, tipping his head back. You felt jealousy gnaw at your heart because you were the one who used to make him laugh like that.

You left, you remind yourself, you are the one who left.

Against your own will, you look up at Chan once again, only this time he was looking at you too. You hold his gaze as if under a spell, and when the girl next to him touches his hand softly to bring him to her, you almost sob right there and then.

"... our partners will come from France and you will have to hold a meeting with them tomorrow."

"Sure. I already prepared the slides and sent them over to your mail," you nod. Work, forget about Chan, work.

"I will check them out. You'll have Clara with you?"

"Yes, she's the only one who can speak French besides me. I have been overlooking her for this past month and she's really competent."

"Should I challenge her?"

"Yeah, I think she's up to the task", you smile and he nods, satisfied.

You try to eat your dinner after that, keeping up with your boss’s chatter. But it felt like a punishment- sitting there when the man you still loved was on a date right across from you.

And as if your night couldn’t get any worse, you hear thunder rumble loudly. You clench your glass so tightly in your hand- you are surprised it didn’t break.

You had a really really big fear of thunder. It stemmed from when you were a child, playing hide and seek when a thunderstorm happened. You ended up being stuck in the closet for an hour because your cousins forgot about you, and you fainted from how afraid you were.

You look up at your boss apologetically, you couldn't tell him you had to leave because of a childhood phobia, so you quickly try to muster up an excuse. "I'm sorry to cut it short but can I go? I have a- a dentist appointment and I need to wake up very early tomorrow."

"Sure. I'll see you at work?". You have never been more grateful for his understanding.

"Yeah, thank you for dinner".

You quickly grab your things, leaving the restaurant. You hop in your car but you are shaking so badly, you can't even start the engine. Another thunder resounds and you drop your keys, forcefully shutting your eyes. You try to drown out the sound with your hands clasped on your ears but it didn’t help. It was too much- the pain, the fear, the ache. You needed everything around you to stop.

You hear the door next to you suddenly open and you snap your eyes toward it, to find a disheveled Chan standing there. He pulls you out of your seat, instantly bringing you to his body.

He knows how scared you are of thunder.

"Shhh, it's okay, I'm here. You're safe," he pats your head gently and you hug him tighter to you; as if he was your only mean of survival.

He tries to peel away but you only hold him closer, to which he rubs soothing circles on your back, “I’m not going anywhere, let me drive you home, okay?”

You nod against his chest and he lets go of you, holding your hand instead. He opens the passenger door for you then he quickly hops into the driver’s seat. He starts off your car, blasting the music so loud you no longer hear the thunder booming.  

Your hand is still tightly clasped in his when you arrive home.

He silently opens the door for you once more, and you lead him to your apartment. You were mortified he had to leave the restaurant for you, but you were so grateful for him, because at the end of the day, he came to you.

Chan awkwardly stands in your living room and you figure the least you could do is apologize. "I’m sorry I cut your date short."

"You sound jealous", he points out.

"I am jealous, but mostly sorry."

"You shouldn't date someone who won't be with you in times like these," he dismisses your words, and you frown. Why did he sound angry all of the sudden?

"He didn't know."

"Still, he should have seen the signs. I was across the room but I saw you shaking for god's sake!” he almost shouts and you take a step toward him.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't," he is lying.

"Why does it bother you?” you insist. You needed to know.

"I said it doesn’t yn," he enunciates but you don’t back off.

“He’s my boss that’s why I was alone, but why? Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I fucking lied", he shouts, inching closer to you. "Because I lied yn, I never found someone else, it was you, it was always you."

"What... but the girl?".

"She's my coworker yn. I tried to forget you. I tried but you were always there. You were everywhere. And I had to carry on with the love I had for you but I didn't know where to put it anymore. Because you didn't tell me, you didn't tell me where the love was supposed to go now that you left!"

You stare at him unblinking, afraid that this was all just a figment of your imagination.

"And then... and then you came back and it was as if no time has gone by. It was as if you'd never left and I wanted to kiss you and hug you and I wanted you back. I needed you back", his hands are on your shoulders now, grasping you tightly as if to convince himself that you were here.

"But I couldn't, I couldn't allow you in because what if you left again? I wouldn't survive that, yn," his voice cracks at your name and it’s all it takes for you to bring his lips crashing down on yours.

You stagger back, your fingers grazing your lips in shock, "I'm so sorry, I didn't-", your words are cut off by his mouth on yours once again, "don't stop", he whispers and you kiss him, again and again. Your mouths moving in sync to the symphony that is your love.

When you finally pull away, he places his forehead on yours and you close your eyes. "Tell me this is real, that you're back to me."

"I'm here."

"You still feel like a dream."

"I'm here, I'm here", you reassure, your hand gently cradling his cheek, "I never stopped loving you Chan. I knew I was destined to love you, whether you loved me back or not."

"You are my soulmate", he leans back, kissing your forehead softly, "you and I are one."

"I've got a tattoo of your handwriting", you confess softly and his eyes snap open.

"What?"

"I tattooed a sentence from the letter you left me, with your handwriting, 'Our love will remain'."

"Where?"

"Here", you trace the outline of your breast and he chokes, "somewhere only I can see it."

"You are crazy", he chuckles, a bewildered smile on his face.

"In love, yes," you giggle and he blushes, hiding his head in your neck.

“Can I see you tomorrow? We have a lot to talk about," he asks, peppering the curve of your neck with kisses.

"Sure, I'm all yours after 5 pm."

"Works for me. I’ll see you tomorrow?", he smiles, and you beam at him, "I’ll see you."

Chan doesn't let you go and you laugh, kissing his cheek, "you are not leaving?"

"I'm not", he smiles cheekily.

"And why is that?"

"Because....", he drawls out, his lips brushing against your collarbone, "I need to see that tattoo."

----------

A lover’s body is like a land you discover over and over again. And tonight, as Chan made love to you, you drank it all in- the flexing of his muscles and the new sounds he made. But despite those changes, you found out that you never forgot the secret passages to his body, and the ways only you can make him unfold.

Still, it wasn’t when his naked body hovered over yours that you felt bare in front of him. It was when you both laid next to each other, talking in bed until the sun rose, that he undressed your mind.

It is there, behind those walls that you both built, that Chan and yn from four years ago lived on.

And you were still as in love.

[k9effect]

Hangster as exes haunts my mind often, I forgot I wrote this snippet so I'm posting it on here, enjoy <3

Jake tried to breathe through the tight chested panic and residual fury he was feeling as he pushed the front door back open. He hadn't even been here for a full ten minutes.

Jake couldn't be around him. Not after everything.

He had made eye contact with Bradley from across the room right after he arrived. Bradley had stared him down like Jake was a deer and he was on a hunting trip. It had immediately set off every alarm in Jake's brain.

So he left.

The few party goers in the front yard didn't spare him a glance as he stormed off, letting the door close quietly behind him. He didn't want to make a scene. He was uncomfortable already, he was leaving quietly. That's all that was happening.

He didn't think much of it when he heard the door slam open. He didn't think much of the thundering footsteps. He was almost down the block when he heard someone call his name.

"Jake!"

He frowned as he turned around, having recognised the voice immediately.

Bradley was charging at him like a bull seeing red. Nostrils flaring, obviously drunk and pissed.

"So what, you can't even be around me? Is that what it is?" Bradley growled.

"What I feel is no longer any of your business, Rooster." Jake tried to keep his voice calm despite the way his heart was thundering against his chest.

"You turned tail the moment you saw me! You're a fucking coward who can't even exist in the same space as his ex!" Bradley jabbed a finger at him accusingly.

"Don't you dare call me a coward." Jake hissed, "I'm not the one who got scared and ran off when it got too real between us. I'm not the one who cut off his boyfriend and ghosted him for weeks without explanation. I'm not the one who brought up his boyfriend's shitty family life as an excuse to break it off!" Jake roared, everything bubbling up and boiling over.

Bradley's breathing was quick and heated. Jake had struck a nerve.

"I did what I had to do-"

"What? Because you wanted out? You could have just said that!" Jake threw his hands up, turning around a few steps then pacing back. "You fucking hurt me, Bradley. More than you realise." He snapped.

They stared at each other. The heated fury Jake had been feeling was dying down to coals and embers. He was back to that resigned numbness he had been drowning in since the break up.

"I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, Bradley." Jake's voice was uncharacteristically calm and quiet, shrouded in numbness. "I really, truly loved you."

He turned and left before Bradley could get another word in. He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and tried to not let the tears fall.

[diazsdimples]

WIP Wednesday

Look at me posting two days in a row! The beans are slowly returning from their disappearance, I can feel it!

This snippet of Frostpunk AU is a little longer and I probably shouldn't be sharing all of it because remaining mysterious and all that, but fuck it. I'm just proud of myself for having written something lol.

There’s a slight rustle as his tent flaps are pulled back, and Buck’s legs jostle as a weight sinks onto the end his bed, a firm hand curling around his shin. “Hey Bobby,” Buck croaks, his voice rough and frayed, like a well worn piece of material. “Hey kid. You doing okay?” Buck opens his eyes and is met with the warm, brown eyes of his adopted father, full of care and concern. Bobby cocks his head, waiting for a response. “No,” Buck says quietly, and he rolls onto his side, curling his legs up towards his body. He wraps his arms around his knees and lets out a shaky sigh. “No, I’m not, but I don’t know why. I can’t get them out of my head, Bobby! Why can’t I let them go?” He angles his head up towards Bobby, looking at him with pleading eyes, and Bobby sighs, moving to stretch himself beside Buck. It’s reminiscent of when he was younger and was plagued with nightmares. Bobby would bring Buck into his and Athena’s bed and the small boy would cling to Bobby’s chest as he whispered stories into Buck’s hair, until the trembling stopped, and his breathing evened out. “I never did tell you how I found you and Maddie, did I? You were so young, I wasn’t sure if you remembered…” Bobby says, shifting beside Buck as he gets into a comfortable position. His muscles must be in a similar state to Buck’s if not worse, so it’s any wonder it takes him a moment to settle. “C’mere.” Buck turns, his body relaxing as he sees Bobby’s outstretched arm, and he settles into his father’s side, head resting against his chest, just like the old days. “I understand how you’re feeling,” Bobby begins, his hand skimming up Buck’s arm as he squeezes him closer. “We never meant to find you and Maddie. I was out on a scouting mission with Athena, and we were looking for my fa– for some people who were lost in a storm. We’d barely made it a day out of the city before we found you two.” Bobby shivers, as though the memory were transporting him back in time. For Buck, he has flashes of his childhood before Sector 118, small moments of discomfort as he remembers harsh words, cold looks, and lonely nights. He nods, signalling for Bobby to continue. “We found you two wrapped up together. Maddie had tried to dig you into a drift to conserve heat but had gotten too tired, so she’d stopped. If we hadn’t found you –“ Bobby’s voice breaks and his grip on Buck’s shoulders tighten, pulling him in closer. Buck lets out a small noise in the back of his throat and allows Bobby to pull him in, chin digging into the top of Buck’s head. They lie there, both shaking slightly as Bobby relives the past and Buck fears for the future. Bobby takes a deep breath before he finally continues. “I didn’t leave your bedside for a week. Athena had to drag me away to eat. I barely slept. You were just some kid I’d rescued, but for some reason I couldn’t leave you. Either of you”   Bobby hums out a small laugh and Buck feels it reverberate through his chest, reminding him of how Bobby used to laugh as Buck would try and tickle him after he’d calmed down from his nightmares. It’s oddly comforting. “So I know exactly what you’re going through. There’s no rhyme or reason for it, Buck. You just have to let yourself feel it. Be there for them. We’ll all support you.”

No pressure tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @puppyboybuckley @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @rainbow-nerdss @wildlife4life @buckbuckgoose @bucksbackwardcap @evanbegins @cal-daisies-and-briars @fortheloveofbuddie @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @loserdiaz @giddyupbuck @aroeddiediaz @jesuisici33 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @kitteneddiediaz @elvensorceress @thekristen999 @actuallyitsellie @wikiangela @smilingbuckley @epicbuddieficrecs @underwater-ninja-13 @shortsighted-owl @loveyouanyway

[im-not-corrupted]

I was consumed by the idea of Merman!Hob in the last few days and now I'm writing a Dreamling fic about it so have a small, 1.7k snippet from the much larger fic :)

Includes: near-drowning, near death experiences, perhaps many medical inaccuracies because I am not a doctor and haven't edited yet, Merman!Hob, Prince!Dream and some light angst.

---------

He awakes with a gasping, heaving breath. His lungs are greedy things, sucking in air with desperation, and he presses a hand to his chest. Beneath his palm, his heart races. Adrenaline and panic both fill his veins and his hand shakes. His lungs feel full, but as he coughs mostly involuntarily, nothing comes up at all.

It takes a bit for him to calm down. When he does, when his lungs stop heaving and he stops coughing and he is left with nothing but an ache in his lungs, his head and a rawness in his throat, he looks around himself.

He sits on a beach, the sands golden and kissed by the sun. It shines down on him, blessing his face with its light. His clothes are soaked through and no doubt ruined, and before him—before him is the ocean.

It holds none of the fierceness he saw earlier, and he stares at it blankly. It looks as welcoming, as lovely, as it did the day he stepped onto the ship. His mind had been occupied, yes, but he had enough awareness to acknowledge the sea’s beauty.

Not enough awareness to acknowledge its dangers, though. He remembers in startling clarity the coldness of its waters, the ferocity with which it drowned him, the storm that waged and threw him overboard.

He should’ve been more careful.

It is not just the ocean that lies before him, but a man, too. A man, staring at him with honey-eyes that catch the sunlight as though they were made for it, with a curiosity on his face that, if it weren’t for the sudden anxiety twisting his all-too empty stomach, would’ve endeared him immediately. His skin is tan, golden like the sands, and some distant part of his brain wants to press his lips to that skin and find out what it tastes like for himself. Like ocean salt and sweat and the sun itself, he thinks, and then considers the possibility that he may have suffered some brain damage due to oxygen deprivation.

It takes him a bit to find his voice. During that time, the man—sitting in the ocean as though he belongs there, ignorant of its gentle waves lapping at him—continues to stare, head tilted like a particularly curious bird. “Who are you?” he asks, wincing at the hoarseness of his throat. It feels scraped raw, and he thinks he would like to simply not speak for a while, only—only this is rather strange, isn’t it?

The man’s shoulders shake with laughter. He is a beautiful creature, this man, with chestnut hair framing his face. Laughter, and amusement, becomes him. Distantly, Morpheus is aware that he should probably take offence at the man’s laughter, only—only he doesn’t really have the energy. If anything, he thinks he’d much rather sleep. “The one who saved you, obviously. Or did you forget you nearly drowned?"

He has half a mind to scowl at the strange man in the water, but only just has enough energy to narrow his eyes. "You saved me," he repeats dumbly. In his defence, he did nearly drown, and sleep calls to him now. Nearly drowning is, apparently, rather exhausting. "We were in the middle of the ocean. We weren't even close to any land. How did you—"

Come to think of it, he can't recall having seen this man's face before. Though perhaps that's explained easily. He was distracted on the ship, after all, and it wasn't like he went out of the way to remember the entire crew. Both Telute and Lucienne always said he should try to interact with people a little more than he does, but he thinks recent events made him exempt from that rule these last few months.

Still. The man's statement doesn't really make sense. They were in the middle of an ocean, and in a storm no less. It would've been impossible for the man to save him then, at least not without a boat or ship of his own.

Thinking of it made his head hurt more. For a moment he feels ready to simply shrug and accept the nonsensical answer as truth in the hopes that maybe the man would leave him to rest. Logically, he knows that isn't what will happen at all. If this man knows who Morpheus is, if he recognises him, then there will be some kind of demand. A boon for saving the Prince's life.

He can't do anything about that now, though, and the idea of laying on this beach and letting himself wither under the sun's heat seems very appealing. He doesn't even know where they are, or how close he is to his kingdom. How he's supposed to make it back in this condition, he doesn't know. The task seems impossible, in all honesty.

The man does not leave him to rest, not even when Morpheus simply nods stiffly and says, "Sure. Saved me. Alright." He remains in the ocean actually, the waves lapping at his torso, and continues to stare at him blankly as though expecting something a little more. Eventually, he rolls his eyes—Rude, Morpheus thinks, but hardly cares at all in the moment—and moves a little closer. It looks almost like the ocean parts for him, but that's ridiculous.

Then—well, then things get even stranger. Which also seems impossible, but—there they are. The man shifts in the water and brings what looks like a tail out of the ocean, all golden scales and fins. Beautiful, he thinks, knowing he's staring but seemingly unable to help it. Of course the man's tail would be golden. That only makes sense when the rest of him could've been carved from sunlight.

A little belatedly, he realises just what he's staring at. Which is the man, who had a fish's tail.

Hallucinating. He is hallucinating, then. That makes sense. Still, he can't help but laugh quietly—it makes him wince, his lungs still raw and aching, but the pain is temporary and certainly doesn't matter much if he's hallucinating—and says, "You're a merman."

The statement is ludicrous. Morpheus wonders just how much damage nearly drowning can do to a person, and then figures he doesn't want to know at all, actually.

"That is what you call us, yes," the man agrees easily.

Sure. Why not. "Why did you save me then?"

He shrugs softly. “Too pretty for death,” the—the merman, of all things, tells him. It sounds almost petulant.

He is losing his mind. He had swallowed a lot of water. A merman. “One can be too pretty for death?” he asks weakly, his throat hoarse and his chest tight with pain. The ridiculous nature of the question at least makes that pain easy to ignore. It will get him later, he knows that much, but he lets himself be distracted by his amusement at the situation for a while.

The merman blinks at him, expression entirely serious. “You are.”

”Right.” Right. Of course. Too pretty for death. That makes sense. As much sense as a merman fishing him out of the water does.

Whatever energy let him carry this conversation leaves him suddenly and he falls onto his back on top of the sand, his elbows failing to hold him up any longer. The sun glares down at him and he gazes back up at it blearily. Exhaustion clings to him just as the beach does to his sea-soaked clothes. Sleep seems like a wonderful, bright idea.

He let his eyes fall shut. It isn't very effective for blocking out the sun’s rays—it remains insistent, and closing his eyes doesn't give him the satisfaction of darkness that he dearly wants. Still, while that would’ve been a problem any other time, his body yearned for the void, to let the dark take him. It would be easy to simply lay here and wither, until either the tide takes him or someone finds him. Whichever came first. He didn’t mind either way.

Then the merman spoke again. “Are you dying, pretty one?”

It took a great deal of effort, but he grunts, “No.”

”Are you sure?”

He is not, actually. But that is no concern of this mermaid, and he merely answers, “I am certain.”

Silence follows that statement. Morpheus lets himself relax, lets himself hope this is it. He can sleep now, he thought—and is quickly proven wrong, for the merman states, “You look like you’re dying. Does anybody look for you?”

He hardly cares. Distantly, though, he thinks Lucienne might be. Jessamy and Matthew, too. “Perhaps,” he says after a couple of minutes pass, when he realises he has not yet replied. "I would like to sleep now."

The merman makes a considering noise. "I do not know much about humans," he said slowly, and Morpheus can practically feel the concern in his voice now, "but I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea. I'll stay and talk to you until you're found."

"Must you?" he asks, a desperate edge to his voice. The merman's voice is pleasant enough, yes, but rest is the preferred option here, regardless of what he says.

"Yes," he confirms. Morpheus's eyes are still closed so he can't actually see but he can imagine the smile on his face easily enough.

He sighs heavily and wonders what he did to deserve this. Then figures this is some weird, twisted kind of punishment for all that happened with Orpheus and Calliope and resigns himself to his fate. "Very well."

The merman talks, almost endlessly, until the sun is low in the sky. It is, truly, an impressive amount of talking. Morpheus doesn't remember much of that afternoon. At some point, he regains just enough energy to sit up, to listen more attentively. The merman, whose name he doesn't learn, seems to appreciate that. And just when despair begins to eat at him—I will not be found, he thinks and despite his inaction while he sank into the ocean, the idea panics him, I will die on this beach—there are calls of his name from behind him. They are voices he recognises and his heart picks up its pace when he turns around to see Lucienne, Telute and Jessamy walking down the beach towards him, each of them looking a little rough but all of them alive.

When he turns back to the ocean, the merman is no longer there, and Morpheus wonders if he dreamt the whole thing up. He does not mention it as Jessamy helps him to his feet, as Telute pulls him in for a hug, as the three of them begin to make it back home, to their duties, but he does not forget the kind eyes of the man who saved him from drowning.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Careless Words

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (third person perspective) Warnings: Angst. Toxic/abusive relationship dynamics. Mentions of death. Allusions to smut. Word count: tbc

Summary: She has always given her best to Aemond, but they both know he can't say the same. Based on this request. Author's note: I wanted to explore the darker side of Aemond's personality and how this might manifest itself in a relationship where neither party is particularly healthy in terms of their mindset. This was a cathartic piece for me to write. Lately I've been working through some resurfaced feelings linked to a past relationship that was based entirely around trauma bonding. It may be a triggering read for some, so please approach with caution (and try to remember the story itself is a work of fiction).

Full story coming soon. Snippet below the cut.

She knows she is fighting a losing battle before she even opens her mouth to speak, yet she cannot help herself. She is a moth and Aemond is her flame, ever bright and eternal, the very center around which her entire world revolves. Nothing has ever seemed so final though, what pieces will there be to pick up and place back together once he is someone else’s husband?

Standing before him, she juts out her chin defiantly, willing herself not to cry in spite of the lump in her throat and the insistent stinging around the rims of her eyes. “You’re really going to go through with this?”

He sets his jaw, sighing, a visible dismissal of her feelings that makes her ache and wish she had the courage to simply walk away from him. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“What will become of me, of us?” She asks, her voice raising an octave, threatening to crack.

“That is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. My brother’s succession takes precedence over everything. Marrying one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters helps strengthen his claim to the throne. Listening to your heedless fretting does not.”

She feels heat rise to her cheeks, swallowing back her anguish, attempting to sound fiercer than she feels. “Perhaps I shall decide to marry too then.”

Aemond’s scoff is so subtle it’s almost imperceptible. “Who would marry you? Your virtue is mine, always has been. You’re fortunate I still desire you.”

His tone of voice is so practical, only the slightest hint of irritation giving it an edge. He may as well be addressing a chambermaid who has not made his bed to his liking. She longs to grab him, shake him, beg him to give her any sort of indication that this is hurting him as much as it’s hurting her, because to think that he’d let her go so easily, after all these years, is more than she can stand.

Instead she says nothing, simply watches as he turns to leave, counting down the moments until he returns to her, his words sweet once more and eager to heal the rift between them, just like he always does. She craves the storm and the calm in equal measure, but they are always on Aemond’s terms, never hers.

[celestiallights515]

Snippet 1.2

Previous

Villain's office was nothings short of extravagant, even for them. Tastefully appointed curtains, a wooden desk and large leather chair sat on the far side, facing the door.

Villain had transported Henchman straight to the infirmary following their half-conversation in the middle of the darkened ally, then stormed away promptly. Henchman marched to their office as soon as they were cleared from Medic, hoping to explain themselves, yet they were greeted with empty space and an order from the imposing soldiers that they were to stay put until Villain arrived.

They'd received no other information, of course, but the TV screen to one side of the office was playing news clips from earlier that day with the Henchman's fight with Hero, Henchman themself wincing when they turned just in time to catch the blow that'd sent them flying into a brick wall hard enough to leave a crack in the (likely centuries old) architecture.

Villain wasn't merely upset about the defamation of a couple aged buildings; they'd overseen more than enough for Henchman to know there must be something else. The assumption that their help was needed, perhaps, was what truly aggravated Villain, but that did nothing against the feeling of dread that gripped the pit of their stomach when they heard the steady cadence of Villain's steps down the halls of their lair.

Before Henchman's mind wonders farther away from its spot n Villain's office, the door slams open. Villain's figure normally cuts an imposing silhouette, but their broad shoulders, all-black uniform and balled fists looked different than normal, much sharper than when anger wasn't directed right at them.

Villain doesn't bother to close the door behind them, instead storming over to lean against the opposite wall after grabbing the remove of the TV and using it to gesture at the screen. The fury in their voice is poorly concealed, though Henchman can't tell whether the break in their boss' normally calm, nonchalant character is on purpose or if they're really just that angry.

"What were you thinking?"

If Henchman thought they were scared before, it was nothing compared to the feelings that coursed through them the moment they heard Villain's voice, the dark tone and the clipped cadence of their usually steady voice. Villain had blood streaked across their cheek, seeping into the knuckles of their gloves, barely visible save for the tone in the light when Villain cuts the recording, pausing on a closeup of Henchman's masked face.

Henchman opened their mouth, only to once again find themselves floundering for an explanation that wouldn't leave their head rolling on the floor. The situation was too much, from the light of the ceiling lamps to the glint off Villain's blades, still sheathed at their waist, just beside the gun in its holster. Henchman wondered vaguely what it would feel like to be stabbed, or shot. Wondered if death would hurt.

When Villain spoke to prompt them again, it was soft, dark, deadly.

"Answer me."

Their voice was nothing above a hiss, barely audible over the hearing of soldiers shuffling at their posts along the hall. They were accustomed to the tortured sounds that bleed from this room, used to the blood that would seep from beneath the door from time to time. And they were inching away from Villain.

Henchman didn't have any powers. They didn't have Hero's flight, or Vigilante's invisibility, or Villain's teleportation--and oh how they wish they did.

Next

[poll was] posted on my blog for how anyone thinks the story should continue.

Tagging: @nameless-beanie

[jakes3resin]

England arc snippet because I feel a bit guilty it's not ready. Its close but not ready. It's Gale's POV btw

Buck turns and storms back to the doors, panic growing under his skin. Bombs be damned, he’s finding John. Jack grabs him before he can slip back out. A few more boys slip in, none of them John.

"Ain't gonna do him any good going out there to get yourself killed." Jack says low and quick in Buck's ear. Buck tries to jerk his arm out of the other Alpha's grip. Jack holds firm. "He'll make it here Buck. And when he does, he'll kill us if you aren't, you hear?"

So many bodies in one space, their scents pungent with fear. Buck swallows down bile. Every instinct in him is screaming that he needs to get out of here and find John. Find his mate before something happens to him. Jack tightens his grip on him as if aware that Buck won’t stand down.

Hambone slips in through the door, and it's another five seconds before John follows. Jack finally lets him go, a sigh of relief escaping the man. Buck is on John a second later.

"Where the hell were you?" His hands shake as he guides John further from the doors. "What happened?"

"Had to turn the lights off," John pants. "Then Hambone wanted to go back for his fucking hat of all things. Brady would kill me if that idiot bit it for a hat of all things. Had to herd half a dozen other guys this way before I could follow."

"You don't need to sacrifice yourself John," Buck slips a hand down to John's wrist. He can feel the other’s pulse jumping beneath the skin, and despite himself, it calms him. He leans his head against John's shoulder.

"I couldn’t find you." The words mean more than he says, and John seems to understand that. He runs a hand up Buck’s arm all the way to his jaw.

“It’ll be me, and it’ll be you Buck,” John breathes out pressing their foreheads together. His scent wraps around Buck, and he can finally relax. His John is here, and nothing can hurt them so long as they’re together.

[nights-ofren]

Shameless “I just wrote something I really liked and now you all get to read it” moment:

“But not now. In this moment, Dean just wanted to enjoy whatever this was, the electric crackle running through his body that he recognised as the anticipation of something good to come.

The calm before the storm, but in this case, the storm was the blue of this first responder’s eyes Dean could just feel himself drown into.”

Snippet from my Tattoo Shop AU Destiel fic coming out real soon (I PROMISE! Chapter 9 of 13 is being written). I’m so excited to start posting it 😭

[chunkypossum]

Come Hel or High Lord: Ch 8

Chapter 8: Liar Liar Wielder of Fire

Words: 3400

Reminder: This is a crossover between all SJM series. So spoilers for TOG, ACOTAR, and CC

Summary:

hehe, my main jam. Azris and angst!

Snippet below the cut. Read on Ao3

Azriel grit his teeth against the pain in his chest. He had gotten a few minutes of fitful sleep late in the afternoon but woke with tear stains glistening down his cheeks. He didn’t have to wonder what he had been dreaming about, only whether or not it was actually a dream. Between that and Nesta and Cassian’s … activities, it had been impossible to rest. After walking around without purpose for a few minutes, wondering why he hadn’t yet moved his bedroom away from Cassian’s, he found himself fighting the urge to fly off and go directly to the source of his nightmares. Ignoring it hadn’t worked, maybe if he faced it head on, something would change…. No. No, that was a terrible idea.  Instead, Azriel somehow ended up in the open air training ring just as dusk was settling in across the horizon, bruising the redstone mountain and the city below him in smokey rose and purple hues. He took long, unhurried strides over to the practice swords, letting his thumb make lazy, slow circles at the spot under his rib cage that had been aching since he opened his eyes. Those … dreams had been vexing him more and more often lately, leaving him pained and conflicted. He wished he could blame the anxiety on anything else. It would make sense that his brain was being over active at the mission Rhys and Nesta were about to embark on but he knew he couldn’t blame it on that. He tried and it hadn’t worked.  The wall of shadows wrapped tightly around that spot inside him stayed intact, so why wasn’t he able to let go of this uneasy feeling? That barrier should have cut off any lingering emotions. His first instinct was to blame it on his shadows. They had a strange sentience about them. Unless he sent them away for a specific purpose, they lay relatively dormant, like house cats in the sun without a mouse to chase. That rule only seemed to apply to when he was awake, when he was sleeping they tended to be more active, restless even. Sometimes even going a bit rogue and acting in what they seemed to think was his best interest. Maybe they had done something …  A groan of frustration rumbled in his chest as he chose a sword and began a methodical demonstration. It was a simple, quiet set of movements that focused more on precise placement rather than the heavy throws of sword play. Something he hadn’t done in a while and supposed now was as good a time as any. Each step took careful concentration and kept his muscles so tight that 30 minutes in he was already sweating. After 45 minutes he was ready for a break. Unable to focus, Azriel strode to the little table by the weapons to pour himself a glass of water. The pitcher shook slightly as his hand trembled, he grasped his wrist with his other hand and looked up into the night sky loosing a breath he had been holding tightly in his chest.  Encrusted with stars, the night had adorned itself overhead while he had been working. The sounds of the city far below drifted up to him occasionally, pleasant background noise as Azriel worked to calm his overactive nerves. This dream had been the worst in a long, long time. He knew it wasn’t really a dream, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing he wanted to do, he reminded himself.  His eyes fell closed and, at last, he got the relief he had been seeking. The shadowed wall inside him had solidified and the pain and worry etched in that spot had ebbed away completely. A moment of pure bliss. Just a moment, before a storm began raging inside of him. The soft smile that had bloomed on his mouth twisted into a violent grimace as that spot flared back to life burning him alive. Pain and fear and sadness and longing, emotions so hot that everything inside him began to melt and it took everything he had not to scream out as his knees slammed into the rock surface of the training ring, cracking the very foundation.

This is a cross over fic so a giant cast of characters and a big stupid storyline but Azris is my main bitch in this fic so ...Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train : @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @pathfinderofnight @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @yanny-77 @skyesayshi

[wandering-night19]

It’s finally here! You’d think with the way I slaved over this fic it’d be 100k. Thanks to @whenshereads for dragging me through this kicking and screaming. Even though I wanted to throw the computer against the wall every time she found a plot hole. And @steddie-as-they-go for screaming with me over facetime. This wouldn’t exist without both of you.

Green Eyes, Blue Skies

16k . Carlos Reyes/TK Strand . Explicit

When Carlos is tasked with uncovering the dump site of a serial killer on death row his biggest concern was being apart from TK for three months. But when a prison break goes awry, his biggest concern is TK being caught in the middle.

There’s a calmness that comes over TK whenever he sees Carlos. It doesn’t matter what’s happening around them – solar flare, dust storm, ice storm – if he can see Carlos he knows everything is going to be fine. Carlos won’t let anything happen to him. And TK would never let anything happen to Carlos. 

It’s why, in the face of everything that’s happened so far, he hasn’t been terrified. He’s held on to the fact that they’re going to get out of this. They have to, there’s no other option his brain will allow. Besides, Carlos is enough of a worrier for the both of them. 

That was before though. Before he felt the arm wrapping around his waist. Before he felt his feet leaving the ground.

He kicks out, his feet barely scrabbling against the floor, arms reaching out to grab on to anything. Carlos is too far away. He can’t reach him.

“Carlos!” he screams. And the whole world comes to a stop.

continue on ao3

Tagging under the cut anyone that was interested in the snippets shared from this fic.

@cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @thebumblecee @lutavero @heartstringsduet @guardian-angle22 @liminalmemories21 @ramblingdisaster73 @rosedavid @jesuisici33​ @bonheur-cafe​ @lemonlyman-dotcom​

[redstoneslab]

Her body is my coffin

snippet from a fic im writing (aka secret life worms have taken over my brain)

etho/cleo, takes place during the finale

The sun rose slowly over the cliff of what was left of their base. After the previous session, it was hard to call it much of a ‘base’ anymore, seeing the hole blasted into the side and top of the structure. Still, Etho and Cleo were curled in the pile of blankets, waking as the light filtered through the ceiling. At the moment, all was calm, like a still surface of water right before a storm. Cleo blinked their eyes open, turning to look at the form of their ally next to them. Etho’s chest rose and fell softly, still deep in the thralls of sleep. She wished they could stay like this, but soon enough the rest of the server would be awake, and the end would draw even nearer. Cleo didn’t try to fool themselves that either of them would make it out of this alive, but it didn’t mean that she intended to go down without a fight. At the very least, she planned on causing some chaos before their untimely end. They let Etho sleep for a few moments more, before gently shaking him to rouse him from his sleep. 

“Five more minutes,” Etho mumbled sleepily. Cleo smiled as he tried to swat her hand away. 

“C’mon Etho, tasks should be given to us soon, we should get a head start,” Cleo pushed herself out of the cocoon of blankets, stretching as their bones cracked with disuse. Etho huffed beside her, sitting up and stretching as well. He glared at her for a moment, eyes devoid of any actual annoyance. Cleo noticed that his eyes had changed again, a deep crimson red like pools of wine. She was sure that a look in a mirror would show the same for her.

[aerodaltonimperial]

(Junglecorpse, 1.4k ish. In my defense, and I know I say this a lot but it's actually true this time, I am very legitimately going through a lot right now, and I don't know if my therapist would approve of this method of self-soothing or no, BUT whatever, Junglecorpse is one of the few pairings that activates my "MUST HAVE FLUFF NOW" toggles when normally I avoid fluff like the plague. I wrote this snippet a few months back or so for Vamp via chat and expanded it today for Myself™️ so I'm posting it here so I can save it on the masterlist. You do not have to read this.)

“Do you think Tony’s gonna lose his mind and create a new pay-per-view every week?” Jack asks, while thumbing up through his Twitter feed somewhat absently. He’s only got his right hand, as Darby has stolen his left. Darby’s got one of his ink pens, the felt-tipped kind he uses to doodle sometimes, and the brush of the tip against the skin on the back of Jack’s hand is calming. Sometimes Jack ends up with skulls littering his knuckles, other times with swoops and flourishes; mostly, he just lets Darby do his thing. It’s familiar.

“Seems like a bad business model,” Darby replies. His head is bowed, chin turned down as he works. Last week, Jack went out to lunch with his sister with a stylized skateboard heading up against the bump in his wrist bone, and she’d laughed for about three minutes straight.

Jack snorts a little, still scrolling. Doom-scrolling, really, though he’ll never admit that to his therapist. “Yeah, people are gonna stop paying if all they ever see is Hanger and Swerve stapling each other’s chests every single month, over and over again.”

“You may be greatly underestimating the public interest in that.” Darby laughs.

“Oh.” Jack frowns at the back glow, squinting a little. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Man. Should I start up a homoerotic feud with somebody with the sole goal of getting some really violent death matches?”

“Please don’t let anyone else staple your chest,” Darby says, a bit muffled. The brush pen curls along Jack’s skin.

“Anyone else? Whoa, buddy, stapling me was not on the to-do list for this week.”

Darby snorts. “I like you in one piece, thanks. And I’m not a big fan of watching you bleed all over the mats.”

“Oh, sure, but I have to watch you toss yourself spine first off the posts every Wednesday,” Jack says. He taps the screen again with his thumb, pulling down. Something something official AEW twitter, five clips from the last show, and Stokely buying another celebrity Cameo to woo Kris Statlander. Actually, that one’s pretty funny. He got Barack Obama to do it. Jack didn’t even know Obama had a Cameo.

The brush tip swirls, then taps a few times. “Aw. You gettin’ anxious over me?”

“Well, if you die, who’s going to keep my feet warm at night?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you: wear socks. Your feet are fucking freezing.”

Jack huffs out another laugh. The Obama cameo was hilarious. Stokely deserves managing her at this point. “I don’t need socks, I have your legs.”

“Dick,” Darby grumbles.

“But back to this pay-per-view thing. This is a lot of matches. Having even more on Sunday, every month, feels kind of overwhelming. Like, I need to have the roofing guy come look at my place? And I can’t schedule it because Tony keeps creating new shows.”

“Mm.” Another swoop of the brush, then some lines. Jack glides through an update from Prince Nana that reads truly bizarre, a reblog from Bowens that reads genuinely excited, and a post from Danhausen that’s mostly nonsense ending with ‘you’re cursed.’ “Maybe next week. Your shingles? Or the gutters? I don’t think I remember you talking about any other issues.”

“Just the shingles. After that last wind storm, I think a few came off, and now I’m worried the whole damn thing will come down around me one night.”

Darby huffs out a laugh, but the doodling ministrations on the back of Jack’s hand don’t pause. “I think you’d get a bit of a heads up before that happens.”

“Only if someone is physically there to yell ‘heads up’ at all times,” Jack jokes. Another tweet from the official AEW account, and then a reblog. Sammy posted. Ricky posted. Sammy tweeted at Ricky with a bunch of capslock, Ricky quote-retweeted with a gif of a dancing middle finger, and Jack skips all of that. Let them argue on main if they want to. Sammy’s just gonna try to fall on Ricky from the scaffolding again.

“I’ll do it.”

The drawing on the back of his hand stops. “Oh, yeah?” Jack smiles. “Are you volunteering to always…” He looks down at the doodles on his skin, and freezes.

Adorning his knuckles are a series of curves, vine-like, that curl up towards his ring finger where they create a solid horizontal line, and in the middle of his hand, somewhat shaky, given they were written upside down to be read from Jack’s direction, blocky letters spell WILL YOU MARRY ME.

Jack’s chest constricts. He can’t breathe. With his heart roaring against his ears, he whips his gaze up to stare at Darby, whose expression is maddeningly neutral. “Darby. What the fuck?”

“Okay, that’s… a response,” Darby says, with the tiniest of shrugs and a pinch to his lips. “Think it’s pretty clear.”

“Are you… are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Darby replies, mouth quirking up at the corners. “Yeah, I am.”

“You…” Jack’s tongue is ungainly, swollen. “Oh my god.”

“I’m not hearing an answer.”

“But… why would you…”

Darby drops his eyes, dragging his thumb over the topmost part of his impromptu design in a caress, and his smile never really diminishes. “Jack, what did you think this was? What did you think this was going to be? I don’t do things in halves, I told you that from the get-go. You know me. It’s you and me, and that’s what I want. Forever.”

“Are… are you sure?” Jack’s gonna choke on everything bubbling up from his chest.

Darby’s eyes slide back up. They reflect the lamplight, bright shiny starbursts. “Yeah, Jack, I’m really fucking sure. And if you don’t—”

“Yes.”

Darby pauses, tongue slipping out to press into the corner of his mouth. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Jack laughs, the sound bubbling up through his throat. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Holy shit.” Darby’s smile widens, impossibly stretched. “Holy shit. Really?”

Jack grabs for Darby’s face, clutching the sides of his head. He mashes their mouths together with way too much force, but he can’t stop it, because the rattling in his veins has started to sing. Then he pulls away. “You asked, you absolute loon, how did you not expect an answer? Yes, really. Really.”

And then he’s not really sure of much other than the fact that they’re both laughing, euphoric, and Jack doesn’t care about the roof anymore, or the idea of someone stapling his chest, because all that really pales in comparison to everything else, and he thinks ah, that’s exactly how it should be.

His brain starts to catch up with reality, sluggish. “Where are we gonna live? My place, or your place? This is opposite sides of the country, you know. Oh, wow. We’re gonna have to file taxes together.”

Darby laughs, features pulled incredulous. “What?”

“Should we hyphenate our last names?” Jack’s eyes track over Darby’s face: blue, blue, blue, his eyes are so blue. Should they have blue in their wedding? Should they have a wedding? “Should we hyphenate them in the ring? Wait, I have to go to the grocery store today, and I don’t want to wash this off my hand. Should I take a photo? Or wear a glove? Am I gonna look like Michael Jackson?”

“Jack,” Darby laughs again, high and bright. “Darling. Light of my life. You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m seventeen steps ahead again, aren’t I.”

Darby grabs his face between his palms. “Yes. Yes, you are. Honestly, I don’t know where we’re gonna live. We’ll probably just keep both places. Yes, we’re gonna have to file taxes together. No, I don’t know if we’ll hyphenate our names; I really don’t give a shit. Yes, you can take a photo. No, you will never look like Michael Jackson.”

“You don’t have an opinion about our names?” Jack asks.

Darby hauls him closer, until their noses touch. He’s smiling, smiling, and Jack’s smiling, the expression too wide and aching on his face. “Jack, I don’t fucking care. I just want to be with you and your stupidly cold feet.”

“Does this proposal come with the condition that I have to buy some socks?”

“Don’t you even dare,” Darby replies, his thumb gliding along Jack’s cheek a little. “You’re gonna shove your feet between my legs in the middle of the night and jolt me awake like you always do, and I’m gonna fuckin’ love it, every damn time.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a sap,” Jack says.

“Get to used to that, ‘cause you’re gonna be legally stuck with me after this.”

“Awesome,” Jack breathes, and kisses him again.