#who wrote these snippets?

[rmd-writes]

wip wednesday thursday

thanks for the tag @hippolotamus! 

I am once again here with some snippets from the fic that @welcometololaland and I are writing together, but we thought we’d play a little game today because it’s getting to the point where sometimes neither of us can remember who’s written what in this fic. So, here are two snippets from the fic, one written by me and one written by Lola, if you think you know who wrote them, feel free to jump into the comments with your guess!

“Falafel?” Carlos asks, panic rising in his throat. “You’re not vegetarian are you? Oh my god, I should have checked first, I’m so sorry. Here, I can take it back,” he says, reaching for the container and inadvertently placing his hands on TK’s. “Oh sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Carlos,” TK interrupts him, laughter in his voice, but it isn’t unkind. “I’m not vegetarian.”

“You’re not?” Carlos winces at the way his voice goes a little pitchy. 

“No, I’m not.”

Relief washes over Carlos and his breaths come a little easier. 

“I am vegan though,” TK deadpans. 

Carlos stops breathing. 

--

TK knows it might seem desperate, but he doesn’t think he’s ever sent a calendar invite out quicker in his life. He feels buoyed by the fact that Carlos accepts it almost immediately, before another email lands in his inbox.

–

From: carlosreyes@fmcwpartners.com To: tstrand@morganpearson.com

Subject: 11pm

Hi TK

I think you set the time on the calendar invite to 11pm instead of 11am?

Aside from the fact that there may be few coffee shops open at that time, I suspect that no one will believe an 11pm coffee catch up is strictly professional.

Carlos.

–

TK actually cringes at the faux pas and sinks back into his seat. He’s given momentary reprieve from his pervasive feeling of shame as an email from his mother lands in his inbox. It’s marked high priority, which he supposes means he should open it sooner rather than later, lest she appear at his office door unannounced and refer to him by his full name.

It’s not Wednesday here anymore and it’s getting late for everyone else, so consider this an open tag to share what you’re working on! 

[gossippool]

i was gonna make a personal poolverine headcanons list because other people were doing it too but i realised my fics already have most of them so. here are some of my headcanons in fic snippet form. some contradict with others and some i don't even think are necessarily true but it's fun to experiment

people have said this before but logan fights wade because he sees himself in him (or because he realises that he actually doesn't and he hates that)

wade knows about and feels the (emotional and psychological) effects of all his other variant selves (and everything else if he tries)

logan's heightened senses gives him synethesia

logan doesn't actually like violence/fighting/blood during sex or like ever. it's just an unhealthy addiction that started from him killing all those people that he snuffed with alcohol but revived with wade, and a way to take his anger out on (someone like) himself

with regard to wade's chronic pain slight p pressure on his skin hurts more and in a worse way than sharp pains like getting stabbed

[shortnotsweet]

In a Week by Hozier ft. Karen Cowley

“The raven is death, obviously. When I die, I want a good tombstone—something right spooky. LT’s got something against the underground, though you’d think that would be just his kind of place. That’s alright. He needs to, he can cremate me. It’s not exactly Catholic, and Mam would turn in her grave, but God is a unicorn and no one is pure anymore, so. What’s all that got to do with me?”

Johnny “Soap” McTavish has a journal. Had. It is his no longer.

Simon “Ghost” Riley had dreams—awful ones, the kind that sank claws into his lungs, dragged him into sleep, and then sent him careening out of it. He still has dreams, but they’re different, now. Better. Johnny’s pages have folded themselves under his eyes and gotten into his head, brighter and more infectious than anything else has ever been. It’s more than the past, that rotting carcass behind him, and more than now. Now is nothing. Now is ash. It’s like, it’s like—blinding, is what it is. He’s a blind man.

It is biblical now. Ghost has read it backward and forward and sideways and inside out. When he runs out of things to read, he reads them again, and when that is not enough, he reads between the lines.

[formalmess]

i rly want halloween to come sooner so ive been thinking abt spooky stuff these last few days and i thought: i might as well post my vampire and vampire hunter au... lord luigi (turned by antasma) and vampire “hunter” peasley

[ofswordsandpens]

trying to read riordan's work post pjo:

[rowanisawriter]

wip wednesday (finally)

i found a snippet i can share without forty pages of accompanying context because of how obscure the AUs that haunt me are lol here is achilles being sad in troy from an upcoming chapter of glass slipper

.

He isn’t entirely sure how long they’ve been here, fighting and waiting for fighting. Sometimes it feels like he was born here on the sand, listening to the familiar crash of wave after wave on the shore. Here, the sounds of the water mix with the always chattering, running, cleaning, clamoring, drinking, laughing, crying soldiers in the camp. He can’t pull apart the sound of the waves from the sounds of the soldiers. Dimly, he knows Phthia’s waters sound the same, but the way the camp’s ambient noise has woven in with the ocean’s makes him feel as though he’s on an alien planet, that this isn’t a real ocean, that these aren’t real people.

[definitelynotshouting]

oh hunger au pre-canon s6 oneshot im halfway finished editing we're really in it now

[blackrosesandwhump]

Febuwhump Day 15: Who Did This to You?

CW: 2nd pov, injured, blood mention, unconsciousness

Something happened to you.

Your consciousness is nothing but a grey haze, letting certain sensations and noises through: pain in your head and neck, footsteps, voices, a low roar that could be wind or traffic. You’re conscious enough to realize that something’s wrong, and that’s it. No strength, no willpower, barely enough breath in your lungs.

The voices grow clearer. One of them filters through the strange haze that has you in its numbing grip.

“Who did this to you?”

You recognize the voice. Someone you care about, maybe. It sends a ripple of desperation through your veins, desperation to get up, open your eyes, do something, but all you can manage is a slurred “I…don’t know.”

“Who did this? I’ll kill them.” A pair of hands clamp onto you, heaving you upright. Your legs buckle; the hands grip tighter. An arm braces against your back. And now you taste something: blood, metallic and bitter. Your own blood.

Something happened to you. But what? And why do you feel like death?

[pine-needle-shuffle]

Memory

"Have you ever thought about being like them?"

"Huh?" Gaze shifting from the ocean view of Junon, Cloud gave Zack a puzzled look.

"Y'know. The-" Zack made a spinning motion with his hand, face contorted in thought. "The Harpies. It seems so...free up there."

Looking back out to sea, they watched as winged soldiers took flight, soaring gracefully away from port. "Yeah, I guess."

"'You guess', come on Cloud! Can you imagine? With wings like those we could go anywhere. And like, they're heroes!" Zacks hands moved wildly, caught up in his own excitement. "Isn't that why we joined? To be like them?"

Clouds eyes drifted down to his own hands, which rested over the rail, and tilted his head a bit. 'In a way.'

"Geal says I'm talking nonsense, something about how the weight those wings carry will crush you. And, obviously that there's no way I could have them anyway." With a pout, he leaned his face into his palm, brows crossed in annoyance.

Cloud snickered to himself, "I think Commander Hewley might be right on this one."

Zack turned abruptly, feigned hurt written across his face, mouth agape in offense. He took Cloud in with the nook of his elbow, ruffling his hair. "Oh, your taking his side now? Traitor."

Act faltering, Zack couldn't help but laugh, a grin running ear to ear by the time he let go. Bumping shoulders, the two look back out, watching the sun slowly disappear behind the sea. "I'm still right, though."

Cloud shook his head. "Sure."

~~~

With a jolt, Cloud was roused from his sleep. 'Ocean must be rough today.' Untangling his wings from the hammock, he did his best to flip himself onto his back, and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm gonna kill him."

[oneluckydragon]

got hit with the echo+sora brainrot so i am once more rambling in your askbox about it. because reasons.

anywho i think there is something truly saddening about echo's struggles to make peace within herself and how she truly finds it hard to find that peace when she is so certain that if the truth about her origins were to be revealed to the world, much less to *sora*, everything she achieved, everything she worked for, all of which matters to her most, will crumble away in a moment's notice.

but the fear of losing all your life's work is none compared to the fear of losing sora. the feeling of poison that settled itself within themselves and between each other out of fear and tragedy of what had happened to them is familiar. echo's resemblance to dusknoir was already enough to set the two off because of how much it had all hurt to see someone you love and yourself turn into a mockery and a splitting image of someone who had pretended to care yet showed he never did at all, but this poison is louder. it hurts to bare, to carry, and to have none but yourself to be its sole holder.

but this poison, this feeling of heartache is different. because whereas the previous pain was something both of them felt, sora was lucky enough to not have known the truth about the person who she cares for so dearly.

echo knows that she used to be darkrai. and it haunts her to have known that her previous incarnation was so *cruel*, all for the sake of it just feeling right. wishing to engulf an entire world in darkness, solely for whatever desire she used to have.

and for how much she knows, how much she will hammer it into her own head that she is *not* like that anymore, that she looks at her past with sneer and disgust and that she will not be the barer of evil anymore, it will not matter in the slightest when she will have to look at sora if she were to ever find out.

how afraid, angry and dejected she would look when finding out, and how she will go on the defense/offense because of how much this will overwhelm her.

because when echo looks at her own shadow, she sees herself for what she is. she knows what she is, be it out of shame or guilt.

but when sora will look at it, she will see a tall, contorting and menacing shadow, towering over with a bright cyan eye doing nothing but looking at her, as if tempting her to make the next move.

and she defends herself. from someone she knows will not harm her. she raises her arms up in self defense from a hand that would never hurt her more than the world has already did.

she knows echo will not hurt her. and thats why she is afraid.

Oh my oh my OH MY, Sinnoh!!! YES YES YES!

HOW!!! IN THE WORLD!!! Are you so good at crawling into my head and creating these vivid analysis/snippets on my OCs??? I've barely shared ANY information about Echo and Sora because I've been wanting to hoard most of my stuff for when my fic is finally finished... but... I think you've broken my resolve a bit, if I'm entirely honest.

You know what? I'm so inspired by your accuracy and eagerness to talk about my girls that I'm gonna forgo my crippling anxiety regarding my writing skills and instead post a snippet of my WIP fic here as a treat for you. A teaser, if you will. Since I have no idea when the fic in question will actually be done and ready (or when I will be satisfied with it, cause the thing is currently 36,000 words and still slowly climbing). And now you've got me eager to share SOMETHING of my fic with you and anyone that might want to take a peek at it.

Please enjoy this conversation between Dusknoir and Echo. The topic deals a lot with what you'd described up above!! c:

[Note: this is an unedited part of my fic because I am still in the process of writing and it may change in the future, so please be gentle w/ me but I'd love to read any thoughts/comments that pop up while reading!! pls send asks or replies or anything really cause I love you guys]

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

“I’m going to tell you something now, and you are going to listen.” Echo commands with a sharp bite in her voice that Dusknoir cannot fathom ignoring. He pauses and then offers a slow nod, waiting, wondering what she could possibly desire to tell him at a time like this, of all things.

Minutes pass as Echo remains rooted in place, still as her own shadow, and her eyes dart around as she stares at the patches of dry grass and sand beneath her paws. Her claws clench and unclench, digging into the earth like daggers as the wind of the forest (it’s trees so close, just behind them, a looming sort of presence that could engulf them whole) whistles through the surrounding branches, carrying stray leaves of many bright greens through the chilling breeze. Dusknoir watches them dance around Echo, twirling, floating down, down, down… but it’s quiet, too quiet, and Dusknoir feels a shiver pass through him when Echo’s voice finally rings out through the silence.

"When I evolved, Sora was petrified," She says, nearly a whisper, an admission that melts away her confidence and appears to bring her a flood of both shame and regret. Her face twists up then, strangely, like she’d felt a twinge of pain from somewhere deep inside the very fabric of her own soul and was unable to quell it. "She couldn’t even bring herself to look at me most days. At first, my appearance… well, it reminded her too much of you. And eventually of someone I used to be.”

Someone I used to be. At that, Dusknoir’s immediate reaction is to recall Echo’s previous life as a human, as the miserable shell of a creature surviving alongside Grovyle that he’d relentlessly hunted in the dark future. A human made of contempt and anger and apathy, who never smiled or laughed or cried or screamed like the old legends said humans would-- an entity that simply existed rather than lived. An echo of a life long dead and buried. But, judging by her tone, by her voice, by some uneasy intuition itching in the back of his mind like a swarm of pestilent Ninjask… he knows that she means something else entirely. Something that she isn’t willing to share. And frankly, that concept utterly terrifies him.

Someone I used to be. Dusknoir wants to speak, to break his own silence, wants to ask the myriad of questions bubbling up in his throat because this isn't the first time she's hinted at another life beyond being human, but those questions die at the source like a flame doused in water. And always the coward, coward, coward, instead he takes the easy way out by doing nothing at all. Whether Echo notices his surge of inner conflict or not-- the nervous wring of his hands and the tremble in his spine that he cannot control under her gaze-- she does not react.

“I’d take a step and Sora would flinch away.” Echo confesses, her markings flickering with light before going dark and dead, as if her body wished to snuff them out entirely, a deep seated rejection, a self-loathing so strong that Dusknoir cannot help but recognize it and empathize, and his heart aches, “It took ages for her to stop shaking when I’d speak. To stop looking at me like-- like I was going to…” 

Echo grimaces like she’s enduring waves of grueling torture and doesn’t finish that string of thought, but it’s not hard to make an educated guess on what went unsaid. Like I was going to betray her. Hurt her. Break her heart. She’s been through so much already and I couldn’t bear to be another influence in the history of her suffering. I hate myself because of how I made her feel. When her eyes went wide in fear and through them I could see myself staring back like some sort of burden, some sort of curse.

“I am not my past.” Proud and true, Echo straightens up and holds her head high, a spark igniting in her eyes, a glint of determination, a will to keep going and going despite such circumstances and strife, despite this horrid, unspeakable past that haunts her so, “And I am definitely not you. It’s taken a while, but I know that much now. I’ve accepted it.”

I am not my past. And I am definitely not you.

A sigh, a breath, and Echo glances at him with a certain sorrow that cannot be described, a sorrow that lingers even through the veil of her tenacity, "But no matter how I feel, no matter my conviction, my shadows still find ways through the cracks. Every time I think I'm getting a grip and that I might finally understand myself… I change all over again." She admits, sounding more angry and tired than defeated now-- like a mirror of her old self, her human self that had clawed and damned and cursed him, despised him more than anything. "I hate it. I hate that I never truly know who I am. That I have to learn about my past through stories others tell me, or through fragments of twisted, broken memories that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Through conflict and pain and… and..."

"Echo," Dusknoir murmurs her name softly, an offering, a potential escape if only she would wish to drop the subject and forget this conversation had ever happened-- if she'd overstepped and needed an excuse to back out, a diversion, an understanding. And briefly, Dusknoir wonders why she is opening up about this particular information, why she would delve into something so vulnerable, so personal. Why she would bring up this hurtful history when it obviously brings her great discomfort.

And then, he gets an answer.

“You’re lucky, Dusknoir." There it is, that wildfire burning in her eyes again. A spark that’s new and bold and startling. But lucky? No, never. He'd have to disagree, accounting the mountain of evidence that was his life and regrettable deeds.

"You already know exactly who you are and what you’ve done, and most importantly why. You have more than a tattered picture of yourself that reflects broken answers. And you can change with that knowledge. I see you trying.” She tells him, searching, looking for something so deeply and Dusknoir wishes he knew what it could be so that he could give it to her, because he would, he would gladly give it to her without a second thought if it meant they could be close again. But he isn’t a fool, and he’s wise enough to know they’ll never be like they were before. “And if somehow I could change, even as half-assed as I have. Well, then what’s your excuse?”

You can do it, say her unspoken words, I believe in you.

[zackstriker]

surrealism + abstract fiction writing sounds cool as hell dude!! is there anything especially neat you've studied lately? :0

omg i’m so glad you asked!!! i’m actually working on a novella rn that’s told in fourth person POV and it’s super hard.

as far as stuff i’ve learned: i LOVE using the “Ashamed I” pov which is when you use second person POV to tell a first person story. For example: “You had a hard day, counted three accidents on the interstate on the way to work. You didn’t see as many seagulls as normal. Lexi, your assistant, says it’s going to rain but you know she’s wrong. It hasn’t rained in weeks.” In this paragraph the “you” isn’t the you as in the reader, the “you” is a whole fleshed out character.

i’m working on destructuring the idea of the novel in a class rn and we’re reading No One is Talking About this by Patricia Lockwood (i’m actually meeting her soon bc i get to have dinner with her and introduce her at one of her readings as a part of my program) and it’s such an interesting read!! She was a poet before she wrote prose and you can really tell. i’ve never read anything quite like it!!

Anyways i’ll stop there bc i could pop off for hours and hours and hours about Weird Fiction and absurdism and avant-garde literature.

[northern-passage]

this was one of the first snippets i posted back on patreon in 2021, with Lea and Merry. i've edited it a bit (a lot) before reposting it since it was a few years old, and it was fun to see how much more confident i am now with writing intimate scenes than i was back then.

i imagine this would take place sometime while the gang is in Highfell, maybe the first few nights or right before they're setting out to leave again. enjoy~

Lea glances back as Merry quietly steps out onto the balcony, a sudden wave of heat washing over them from inside before the door closes and the cold night air chases it back out. They shiver a bit, eyeing the bottle in Merry's hand as she walks over to where they sit balanced on the railing, their back towards the inn, their feet dangling over the long drop down to the beach below. They take a deep inhale from their pipe, tasting it for a long moment before exhaling slowly.

Merry leans against the railing beside them, her arms crossed over the cold, damp wood, clutching the bottle still in her hand, tapping it lightly with her nails.

"You going to stay out here all night?" Merry asks, peering up at Lea, who just shrugs. "You're wasting that expensive bed in there," Merry scoffs, turning out towards the water and taking a quick drink before setting the bottle aside precariously atop the railing.

"I can't sleep," Lea says simply, staring out at the dark water, fidgeting with their pipe in their hand.

"There are plenty of other things you can do in a bed like that than just sleep," Merry smirks.

Lea huffs, rolling their eyes as they raise their pipe to their lips again.

The waves roll gently out across the beach, the black water shimmering as the full moon reflects its light across the choppy surface, with a soft green glow on the distant horizon from the northern lights. Merry and Lea sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and Lea finds themself glancing sideways, staring at the woman beside them, the soft light of the inn filtering through the balcony windows and igniting her auburn hair in a dreamy glow, clashing with the dark shadows and white, pale light coming off the water.

"What?" Merry says, giving Lea a coy look out of the corner of her eye.

Lea scowls, shaking their head and turning away, lifting their pipe only for Merry to pluck it from their hand, tilting her head and leaning in close as she takes a deep breath, holding the pipe between her lips. Lea doesn't move away, even as Merry exhales, the smoke curling in the small space between them.

"Smoking is bad for you, you know," she says.

"So is drinking," Lea shoots back, and Merry just smiles, holding the pipe in her mouth, her lips curling around the mouthpiece as her teeth flash white in the dark.

Merry slides closer along the railing, her eye roaming over Lea's face, flicking to their lips, and she can’t suppress the thrill she feels when Lea doesn't move away, a sudden nervous energy pulsing in the air. Slowly, Lea reaches out, gently taking the pipe from Merry's mouth, and she lets them, holding their dark eyes in her gaze as they do it, her lips parting just enough for the mouthpiece to slide free. Lea is the one that looks away first, a slight blush creeping over their face, glancing down and fumbling with the pipe in their lap.

Merry is feeling bold, either from the alcohol or the tobacco or both, and she closes the remaining space between them, her hand gently brushing over Lea's thigh - but they go rigid at the contact, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her hand away.

Merry quickly steps back, recoiling, and Lea releases her, their eyes widening.

"What are you doing?" Lea asks, their words coming out too fast, clumsily swinging their legs back over the railing and dropping down onto the balcony. They clutch their pipe to their chest, blinking slowly at the captain, their eyes still wide and wary.

"Sorry, I clearly misread the… situation," Merry says, raising her hands, giving Lea an apologetic look. "I thought you were interested."

Lea hesitates, glancing out at the water, before forcing themself to look back at Merry.

"I - I am," they say quickly, grimacing before dropping their hands and setting their pipe down beside Merry's bottle on the railing. They struggle for a moment, scowling at the pipe and wringing their hands, anxiously twisting a thumb ring that Merry has never noticed before.

"I'm sorry. I just… are you sure?" they finally say, and they can't look at her, their face burning, wishing the floor would just swallow them up. Lea just finds it hard to believe that a woman like the captain would be interested in them - after everything. Of course, there's been flirting and teasing between them, but Merry seems to be like that with just about everyone. And even Lea wasn't sure sometimes if they really meant it - but right now, just the two of them, it feels more real. More tangible.

"I'm sure, Lea."

Merry tilts her head at them, studying their face for a moment. Lea is handsome, and their features look even more severe than usual in the unforgiving moonlight, their eyes flashing as they return her stare. Lea takes a step forward then, but stops short, opening their hands, palms-up - waiting for her.

Merry approaches them as if they were a skittish animal - she doesn't want to spook them again. But Lea gives her a little nod, and soon enough they're so close that she can smell nothing but that tobacco on their breath.

Merry takes their hands, guides them to her waist.

"I'm sure," she says again. "I like you, Lea Chen," she whispers, and Lea bows their head, their jaw set. Merry raises a hand and gently presses her palm to Lea's cheek, and they let out a long sigh, melting into the touch, closing their eyes for a moment before turning their head - just enough to brush their lips against Merry's inner wrist, feel her warmth and taste her pulse.

The gesture seems to ignite them both simultaneously, Merry's other hand tangling in their thick hair, cradling the back of their neck and urging them forward while Lea roughly grabs at her hips pulls her close. Their bodies lock together as their lips meet, teeth clicking against each other and lips splitting painfully in their haste.

It's a messy first kiss, both of them hungry for it, enthusiastic, clumsy, and a little bloody - metallic with the sweet spice of tobacco and alcohol making Lea's head spin as they taste Merry's tongue in their mouth. Merry rolls her hips against their thigh, pulling at their hair and sucking on their bottom lip, ignoring the ache in her teeth as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

Eventually they have to break apart, both of them breathing hard, Merry still gripping a handful of Lea's hair, their bun hanging loose with long strands falling across their face and tickling Merry's lips as they pant together over the sound of the waves.

"The bed," Lea says, breathless, and Merry nods, pulling them back towards the door, and they reach around her for the doorknob, throwing it open hard enough that it slams into the wall and makes both of them wince. But Merry just laughs.

"Sorry," Lea says sheepishly, ducking their head as they gently push it close. It's scorching in the room, from the woodstove, or just from the two of them together, hot and heavy hands roaming and groping as the two kiss again, slowly backpedaling towards the bed.

Merry shrugs out of her jacket, letting it drop to the floor before reaching for Lea's belt buckle. She pulls at their shirt, untucking it from their trousers, and Lea watches as Merry pulls their belt free in one quick motion, tossing it over her shoulder with a smirk. Her hands are surprisingly cold now, slipping beneath their shirt, Lea grunting from the touch as she trails her fingers across their stomach.

"Okay?" Merry prompts, looking up to search Lea's face, and they nod quickly, leaning forward to pepper kisses along Merry's jaw, down her neck, all while her hands explore beneath their shirt, tracing the plane of muscle over their ribs before slowly drawing her nails down their back.

Merry tilts her head back, Lea's lips brushing against her pulse, sucking gently, teeth grazing over her flushed skin, their hands reaching around to slide down the curve of her ass, squeezing roughly until she gasps. Merry pushes their shirt up then, fumbling a bit as she tries to unbutton Lea's trousers, and they laugh, the sound reverberating through Merry's chest before they relent, pulling back so Merry can actually see what she's doing. The buttons are no match for her now, and she gives Lea a coy look through her lashes.

"Take off your shirt," Merry says, her fingers curling around the front of Lea's trousers, partly pulling them open, admiring the glimpse of their lower stomach as they raise their arms to tug at their shirt. They jerk it off over their head, tossing it aside with their belt, and Merry drinks in the sight of them, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks over their exposed torso, their chest and their scars, and all the beauty marks adorning their skin. She releases their trousers to run her hands over their chest, their shoulders, squeezing the swell of muscle in their arms before pulling them back in for more kisses, open-mouthed and still hungry. Lea makes a sound in the back of their throat that sends a spike of want lancing hot up Merry's spine, and she grinds herself against them, her hands tightening around their arms hard enough to bruise. She breaks their kiss then to desperately press her lips to the hollow of their throat, breathing them in and dragging her tongue across their collarbone before blowing cool air over their pulse and making them shiver.

Lea pushes Merry farther into the room, tangled together and nearly tripping over each other until the back of Merry's knees hit the bed.

She drops down, pulling Lea down with her, though they catch themself, a hand on either side of her, palms pressed to the bedspread. They lower themself slowly, sliding their thigh between her legs and flexing it a few times and dragging it up along the length of her until she’s squirming, her fingernails leaving little half-crescents indented in their shoulders.

Lea pushes her shirt up, exposing her stomach, caressing her with a gentle hand before sliding low to kiss her just above her navel. They follow the scattered trail of freckles, their tongue snaking out and leaving its own glistening trail as they slowly make their way down to the waistband of her trousers. Their hands follow close behind, teasing her breasts before sliding down her stomach to her thighs, pushing them apart and opening her legs wide as they take their place on their knees. They pause for a moment, kicking their own shoes off before pulling at Merry's, followed by her trousers, with Merry laughing and wiggling on the bed all the while.

The laughing stops, though, when Lea presses their mouth against her, her breath catching in her throat as they kiss slowly at her inner thighs, sucking on the soft skin and carefully testing her with their teeth. Merry reaches down, fingers twisting through Lea's hair, her body arching back against the bed as Lea drags their tongue over her cock, hot and wet and attentive.

But they stop, pulling back to kiss her some more, on her stomach, her hips, biting at her thighs, all while her hand tightens around their hair until she can't take it anymore. Her thighs clench around Lea's head, breathless and giddy, her long hair starting to stick to the sudden sweat along the back of her neck.

"Lea," she whines, and then she inhales sharply as they finally wrap a hand around her base and press a wet kiss to the tip of her cock, staring up at her as they do, their other hand gripping one of her thighs. They open their mouth, taking a little at a time, bobbing their head as Merry gasps and pulls at their hair. Lea eventually grabs her hips, pressing her back into the bed when she starts to buck reflexively, their movements slow and agonizing as they keep stopping and starting again, kissing her stomach and thighs, reaching up and teasing her nipples through her shirt.

When they wrap their lips around her again, they let her hit the back of their throat, Merry loudly moaning their name, both hands tangled desperately in their hair now as they move up and down a few times and then slowly draw back, their tongue flexing deliciously against her before they let her fall from their mouth with a gasp. Strands of spit and fluid drip from their open mouth, and Merry tugs impatiently at their hair, sitting up then to meet them with a kiss.

Lea holds her face in their hands, their thumb stroking her cheekbone, tentatively touching the fabric of her bandana, still wrapped around her head and hiding her eye from them.

Merry pulls back, Lea's hands still cradling her face, and she reaches up, touching their wrist before taking their hand in her own, guiding their fingers to slide beneath the cloth, giving them a nod when they hesitate, their brow furrowed with concern.

"Take it off," Merry says, though her voice is soft, not a command like earlier - but a request. She nods at Lea again, sliding her hand down their arm and giving it a squeeze. The first time with someone, Merry usually keeps the bandana on - she's protective of it. It's not like it's some big secret - anyone can see the scars beneath the bandana, the way she hides behind it. Maybe they can even tell that she's hiding more than just her damaged eye. But she wants Lea to see. She doesn't know why, but she wants them to see her tonight.

Lea carefully lifts the bandana off, untangling some of Merry's hair twisted through it, setting it atop the blankets. Merry casts her gaze sideways, avoiding Lea as they take in her fully exposed face, her drooping eyelid and her milky white eye. They don't say anything, instead just reaching up again and tracing the scars there, the ghost of a touch along her cheek.

Merry closes her eyes, bowing her head for a moment. When she opens them again, she can't quite meet Lea's stare, so she looks down at their chest, at their own scars, and she mirrors their touch, her thumb caressing the raised skin that runs horizontal just beneath the muscle. Lea takes her in their arms then, pulling her close, humming softly as she touches them there.

"Merry," they breathe, their lips against her neck, and for a moment she just lets them hold her, kissing her throat and cradling her face while she strokes their chest.

Eventually, she slowly pulls back, slipping out of their arms and pressing her hands to their chest, pushing them back onto the mattress, her long hair falling over her shoulders and tickling their face. Sitting between their legs, she touches them with her hands first, caressing their face, the curve of their neck, then feeling the strong muscle of their shoulders, down to the swell of their chest and those long scars. The muscle over their ribs, the soft skin of their stomach, their hips, squeezing their thighs. She stands from the bed and takes off their trousers, dropping back down and starting again, her hands first, slow and deliberate, and then she follows with her mouth, kissing their jaw, the hollow of their throat, trailing along their collarbone before sucking on their chest, massaging and kissing along their scars, drawing a low moan from them before taking one of their nipples in her mouth and teasing them with her teeth. She sucks gently while Lea strokes her hair, pushing it back out of her face, gathering it in one hand and pulling it over her shoulder while their breath quickens with pleasure.

Merry kisses their scars a few more times before sitting back up, licking her lips and running her hands down their stomach and over their thighs again. She slowly draws her hand between their legs, and Lea's hips twitch, longing for her touch, pressing themself against her while they watch her through half-lidded eyes. She pulls back, getting an indignant huff from Lea, licking her fingers before she reaches down to touch them again. She drags her thumb over their growth, moving her hand in a slow circle, Lea's head rolling back against the pillows as she does.

"Fuck," they grunt, gritting their teeth and grabbing at the blankets. Merry stares down at them, pressing a palm to their lower stomach as she strokes their opening, playing with their growth until she's satisfied by their panting and moaning. Lea tries to stay quiet - it embarrasses them, it makes them feel too vulnerable, even more than someone touching them like this - but she doesn't let them. Lea bites their lip, swallowing loudly, sweating and twisting in the sheets until they can't resist it anymore. Her hand works faster and harder, until they finally moan her name, and then she slips a few fingers inside.

Merry pays attention to the spots that make them moan even louder, their body trembling from her touch, her fingers curling slowly inside with delightfully obscene sounds as she thrusts her hand faster and faster, hot and wet. By the time Merry moves her hand away and eases herself inside of them, they're both begging for it, Lea's legs shaking as they lift their hips to accommodate her.

They finish quickly together like that. Skin on skin, grunting together as Lea hooks their legs around her and touches her stomach, lifting her shirt up to grab at her breasts, holding her tight until she has to pull out to come on their stomach. It takes her a moment to recover, Lea pushing her hair back out of her face again, and then she returns her attention to them, working her hand against their growth just like before until they finally come undone completely beneath her. She strokes them gently a few more times before she untangles herself from their legs, standing from the bed and fetching a towel from the washbasin in the corner. She cleans them up, and then collapses on top of them, both of them hot and sweaty and clinging to each other. Lea takes a deep breath, wrapping their arms around her and holding her tightly against their chest.

"Hmm," Merry presses her lips to their flushed skin, giving them a few lazy kisses before tucking her head beneath their chin. "I told you I liked you, Lea Chen."

Lea smiles softly, reaching up to pet her hair, kissing the top of her head and feeling a sudden rush of affection that nearly makes their breath catch in their throat. They gently comb their fingers through her hair, neither of them quite knowing what else to say - until Merry is eventually lulled to sleep by Lea's gentle hands.

They take the chance to study the scars on her face, the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the way her body curls around them with her hands grasping at the blankets, grasping for them, even in her sleep. They notice a few grey hairs this close, and then they start to count her freckles when sleep alludes them.

Eventually they relax, leaning back into the pillows and staring up at the ceiling. They keep brushing their fingers through Merry's hair as they wonder how long it will be until they regret this. Only a few more days left here - only a few more days with her. It will be a clean break, at least.

They glance down at her again, clenching their jaw before turning their head to stare out the windows to the balcony, watching the distant northern lights dance across the water. At least right now, in this moment, they have this. Merry's steady heartbeat pressed against their own, the calming sound of the ocean outside, the heat of the woodstove making their eyes grow heavy - they feel warm and content as they finally pass into sleep, even when Merry slips out of their arms, and out the door.

[the-amber-raven]

Snippet Sunday

It's been a bit of a struggle to get into the writing mindset recently (might be because my wedding is somehow only two months away and there is still so much organising to do oh my god how did time go so quickly 😫)

But I am hoping to post at least another fic or two before the show comes back, so I've been plugging away at a couple WIPs. We're going a bit experimental with some supernatural ghostly vibes in this one.

--

Daniel nodded slowly. “I can’t leave them alone while they’re sad, though,” he confessed, staring down at his hands intently. 

He looked up before continuing, wiggling his pinky finger at Tommy in such a deliberate way that Tommy was sure it was supposed to signify something although he had no idea what. 

“We were meant to stick together – to help each other. And I can’t – I know I can’t do that properly anymore. But I can at least stay with them until they’re happier.” Daniel nodded at Tommy, looking far more resolute and serious than any little kid should. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Tommy agreed.

After all – he knew better than most about how life inevitably churned on despite death and loss. As much as he was sure Daniel’s brother and sister would miss him, it surely wouldn’t take that long for them to show enough happiness to alleviate Daniel’s guilt and allow him to move on. 

– 

Daniel popped up twice more over the next few months. 

Tommy was walking home from school the first time, so he couldn’t really interact with Daniel, but that didn’t stop the boy from enthusiastically regaling him about how his little brother had mastered the fine art of walking. 

“It took him longer than normal because of all the surgeries he had to do for me,” Daniel explained, bouncing along next to Tommy. “But he’s finally doing it! And I know he can’t see me, but I was on one side of the room and Maddie was on the other side and he walked straight towards me, like he knew I was there cheering him on as well.” 

[leafywritingwhump]

I'll do anything to keep you safe.

A whispered assurance to a shaking Youngest, clinging to Leader's shirt after a failed mission. They'd nearly been caught, saved only by a lucky shot made by Leader.

I'll do anything to keep you safe.

Said with a determined set to their jaw to Teammate before embarking on a risky solo trip to steal some much needed medicine for their infection. Without it, Teammate may have died.

I'll do anything to keep you safe.

A meek excuse as Medic grumbled and cleaned the wound, asking Leader why they weren't brought along on the mission. Medic had just recovered from their own injury, and Leader wanted them to rest a little longer.

I'll do anything to keep you safe.

A final promise to Right Hand, someone they considered their sibling. Right Hand, who had a clear view in their cell of Teammate, Medic, and Youngest being escorted by guards at the start of their trip to the border for their exile, and Leader's mangled corpse in a gibbet, swaying gently with the wind.

[presidentbungus]

“Bushman. I will drive.”

Sniper looks over, then back at the road, then he pushes his sunglasses up his nose until Spy disappears from his peripheral vision. “I don't wanna hear it. Your license is fake.”

Spy scoffs. "Well—that doesn't mean I don't know how to drive!"

"You never took a test."

"I don't need to take whatever idiotic tractor-pulling cow-herding contest you Americans create for your sixteen-year-olds to get to school and back—“

"I'm Australian, mate. Did you forget I was Australian?"

"… No."

"How did you do that? I don't think I'm very subtle about it—"

Spy hits the dashboard with his fist when he puts his cigarette down a little harder than befits an entirely mature and collected grown man. "I can drive!"

The road rolls under in silence. Sniper goes a little red around the ears and says: "I guess we'll never know."

"I'm killing you in your sleep."

“Okay, how?”

The top of his lip peels back until it’s practically touching his nose. “I’m not telling you,” he mutters, mostly into his shoulder.

“Aw.”

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Final Hour (Linked Universe fanfic)

(@artisticgamer, @ludoluck sorry I keep forgetting to tag you guys for my writing)

Inspired by @kikker-oma's amazing Fierce Deity art. Love your talent and your creativity, Oma! <3

Summary: When everything goes horribly wrong, Time desperately attempts everything in his power to fix it. Wind instead chooses to be the self sacrificing Hero, but the end result isn't what Time expected it to be.

(AO3 link)

The clocktower tolled.

He saw her. He saw Zelda standing in front of him, sad and beautiful and aged beyond her years, just like him. He saw her morose smile, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, her steady resolve despite it all. He saw her play the ocarina as she grew ever smaller and farther away while his hand reached out desperately for her.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw her. He saw Malon smiling sweetly at him, bright and beautiful and innocent, like how he used to be. He saw the freckles on her cheeks pull as she giggled and called him by that nickname she’d made up a lifetime ago. He saw her eyes grow fierce with a desire for adventure as she worked with an unruly mare. He saw her twirl as they danced together.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw them. He saw Anju and Kafei’s love and desperation and acceptance in their eyes as they held each other, as she said they’d greet the morning together while his hand held hers in a white knuckled grip. He saw them tremble as he turned and ran outside.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw them. He saw the Heroes of Hyrule, how they were all young, experienced, hurt, filled with power and hope and light. He saw how they emanated a strength that couldn’t be quantified, an inherent resolve and determination to their core that shone through and resonated between each and every one of them, a shared bond and unbreakable spirit. He saw their uniqueness, their wonder, their gifts and quirks.

And he saw them fall, one by one.

The clocktower tolled.

They’d been wounded. They’d been weak. They’d just fought multiple hordes and had been desperately trying to get to the nearest village. They’d known it hadn’t been far, from the forest they could hear the bells of a clocktower in a nearby town.

There had been a split in the path. Time had chosen the route.

The clocktower tolled.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t happen.

The black blooded dragon roared again, held at bay by the few still standing. He heard a scream, and a body collapse on the ground. He couldn’t even tell who was still standing anymore; he’d been one of the last to fall. Nearly everyone had stilled, no longer writhing in agony or sheer force of will.

Except for Wind.

The sailor groaned as he desperately crawled forward, reaching above Time, whose hand was overhead as he’d been grabbing desperately at one of his items when he fell, as he’d been willing to throw his life, sanity, everything away in a frantic attempt to fix this.

The wooden mask barely was within his grasp, propped by a finger.

Despite the severity of the situation, despite the cold silence of his companions, despite the clocktower ringing in his ears, a reminder of time after time of facing death and life and everything in between as his entire journey flashed before his eyes, he wanted to save Wind from this. The mask was too dangerous for anyone else. What good would such a victory do if the child was lost to the darkness?

“Please, Wind… no.”

He had other methods he could call on.

He had other items he could use.

The Hero of Time was nothing if not relentless. He never gave up. Never. Not even now, not even when he was bleeding to death, when the world around him blurred and dulled, when his mind was screaming and running into the past rather than focusing on the present. Not even now. He’d spent a lifetime perfecting three days over and over and over until he could get everything right and save everyone. He refused to let this be any different.

“You said…” Wind pleaded desperately, his voice trembling, tears and blood and phlegm rolling down his face from what little of it Time could see. With a hiccup, he continued, “You said it’s for emergencies, right? It’s okay, I’ll save you!”

I’ll save you. A last, desperate, pleading promise. The others couldn’t be saved, but Time was still here.

Time’s hands fumbled around his belt, desperately searching for the item he needed.

The clocktower tolled. The dragon roared again, any obstacle between it and the last pair of heroes long gone.

The mask slipped from Time’s finger, a rough disappearance as if it had been pulled.

“Sailor,” he tried again, his voice barely above a whisper, his world spinning and fading fast. He had to move.

Wind screamed.

The noise jolted Time out of his stupor, adrenaline feebly trying to awaken what little life essence he had left in him. He had enough energy to look up and see a figure towering over him where Wind originally had been crawling.

The monster bore Wind’s curls, bleached white. It bore Time’s armor, with a decorative fairy pendant dangling in the breeze as it stood stock still. Wind’s face was older, chiseled, once-chubby cheeks pulled taught over cheekbones that shouldn’t be so developed. Its eyes glowed, contrasting the purple and blue markings that cut across its face.

The Fierce Deity.

Time let out a desperate breath, unable to speak anymore, and watched helplessly as the cursed mask made Wind’s possessed body march across the field towards the dragon that awaited him. He couldn’t see the fight, but he could hear it. He heard the grunts, deeper than they should be, the fierce battle cries, the screeches from the dragon as its opponent landed cut after cut. He breathed hastily, feeling his heart quicken, feeling his body begin to grow numb, and he again searched desperately on his belt for the one thing that could change everything.

Warriors was gone. Sky was gone. Four was gone. Legend was gone. Hyrule was gone. Wild was gone.

Twilight was gone.

Time was going to be damned if he would let Wind fall in the worst way possible.

The clocktower tolled.

The dragon screamed, and the earth shook.

And then everything grew silent.

Time gasped for air, trying to raise his head, wanting to call for the young sailor, for the brightest ray of sunshine in the group, for the one last surviving member.

He couldn’t move.

So this is how I meet death? He wondered. On the verge of tears, an utter failure to all who depended on me?

He remembered the people of Termina. He remembered how they all faced death in their own ways. He thought of Cremia and Romani, of Anju and Kafei.

Goddesses. He missed Malon so desperately right now.

Heavy footsteps approached him, and he blinked, the world coming back into focus long enough for his body to scream that he couldn’t take any more of this. A blurry image hovered over him, and he squinted, confused, until his mind registered who he was staring at, and his hands finally found the item they’d been searching for.

The Fierce Deity knelt down slowly, eyes fixed on him. When his knees sank into the ground, he reached slowly, sliding a hand behind Time and pulling him into a seated position. Time cried out in pain with the motion, and the cursed deity paused only a moment before reaching his other hand towards the Hero of Time’s fumbling hands, pulling the ocarina from their grasp. Time tried to protest, tried to fight against his possessed successor’s hold, but he was too weak to do anything. Then amethyst rose into his periphery, and he looked down to see the Ocarina of Time hovering in front of his lips.

“Play, Link,” the Fierce Deity said, Wind’s higher voice pitched into a deeper timber and holding power and energy the boy didn’t usually possess. “Save them, as you always do.”

Time stared at the deity, his fears and thoughts stolen away. The pair was frozen for a moment, the world pausing around them, time itself holding its breath in anticipation. A gentleness fell over the cursed deity’s face, and Time felt the thumb behind his back caress him once, ever so softly. Understanding slid between the two, a heavy, bone deep realization that dug into Time’s mind more than he could fathom in the moment, a certainty and safety and assurance and comfort that he'd somehow always felt but always ignored. He let out a shaky exhale and, with trembling hands, took the ocarina from the Fierce Deity.

And he played.

The world turned white.

Time felt warmth engulf him, like an embrace from tender arms. Magic sparkled inside his mind and heart, a familiar friend, singing and resonating with his song like fairies humming together, a melody entwined in mystery and grace. His horizon shifted, and he was on his feet, set there gently as if floating through the air. The warmth spread from his core to his extremities, the numbness in his fingers dissipating, the stabbing pain of his own armor piercing his gut dulling into nothingness. The blood on him washed away with invisible waters, and an airless breeze blew the dirt off his body. He continued to play, the melody growing steadier as his strength returned, his determination steeling him, tightening his weakened muscles and bringing an assurance that he hadn’t felt since Termina.

Save them, as you always do.

Oh, the countless times he’d played this hymn, this spell, this prayer. Oh, the countless times he’d clung to it desperately as he tried again, the numerous times he’d played it in tears at his failure, the many times he’d nearly belted it in fortitude as he prepared with renewed hope and a plan in place.

Save them, Link.

“Really, old man? You’re playing your ocarina right now? We have wounded, we need to get moving.”

Time’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Legend’s voice.

They were all there, tired and hurt but alive. Sky was leaning against Hyrule, eyes half closed but body stiff with stubbornness, while Hyrule held him with a fierce protectiveness. Legend was watching him impatiently, scraped and bruised but relatively unharmed and clearly anxious to get help for the others. Four and Warriors were bringing up the rear, watching everyone’s backs and growing ever more confused by the turn of events. Wind hovered with some distress between Sky and Wild, who was the other most injured member of the group, though the champion was well looked after in Twilight’s hold as the rancher carried him on his back.

Twilight.

Time stared at him too long, meriting a worried expression from the rancher. “You alright?”

Blinking the oncoming tears away, the eldest Link took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s keep going.”

“That’s what I said,” Legend grumbled, turning back towards the road ahead.

“Yeah, but which way?” Twilight asked, staring at the fork in the road.

The clocktower tolled.

Time pointed left.

“But I can hear the bells to the east of here,” Hyrule noted as he steadied Sky a little. “Shouldn’t we take the path on the right?”

“We’re taking this one,” Time said firmly, brooking no argument. The group followed him silently as he tried to reorient and move ahead like nothing had happened.

His hand slipped into his adventure pouch subconsciously as they walked, and the group started to talk amongst themselves, their voices the most beautiful things he’d ever heard. His heart rate began to normalize, and he closed his eyes, basking in the safety of seeing and hearing everyone alive again.

His fingers brushed against wood in his pouch, and they tingled with warm energy that climbed all the way up his arm, through his shoulder, and into his core. He took another steadying breath, clutching the mask tenderly as an entirely different set of emotions nearly knocked him to the ground, confusion and relief and hope and fear and curiosity above all else.

Another time. Today he tread ahead cautiously and protected his family.

Today he saved them, as he always would.