#wip: climb up and meet the sky

[kiwiana-writes]

WIP Word Search

Thanks @anincompletelist for the tag, this looks like way too much fun 😉

RULES: use this generator to generate three random words (or however many you'd like to do!) and share the lines where they show up in your wips!

[My words were: sacrifice, hour, joystick]

SACRIFICE appears in the awkward barista Henry 5+1 (which does actually have a title now, but I might hang onto that until I publish lol):

“Michelle?” She appears in the doorway, frowning as she takes in the great brownie sacrifice. “Would you be able to assist this customer, please? I have to take all this into the back and…” There’s no professional way to say drown myself in the staff toilet, so eventually he goes with: “clean up.”

HOUR appears in a few places, but I've pulled one from the prologue of the Anastasia AU:

“Okay…” Henry rubs his eyes, trying to shift the sleep from them, when there’s a loud crash from somewhere outside. A pit of dread gnaws at Henry’s stomach as he puts it all together—the late hour, the expression on his mum’s face, the yelling. “Mummy—”

JOYSTICK of course appears in the vintage plane AU, because why wouldn't it:

“Taking control,” Alex confirms, and Henry releases his grip on the joystick. “HASELL check time, sweetheart—anything that’s not secured will probably go, and that does include you, so if you could confirm your harness is secure, that would save me a whole lot of paperwork at the other end. I hate having to update the ‘days since I accidentally yeeted a passenger out of a plane and sent them careening to their death’ sign.

Tagging @affectionatelyrs @blairwaldcrf @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @cultofsappho @dumbpeachjuice @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @littlemisskittentoes @myheartalivewrites @notspecialbabe @orchidscript @tintagel-or-cockleshells @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play!

[pedrospatch]

baby, i’m yours

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You remind Joel that you’re his.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION however she does wear Joel’s t-shirt and he semi lifts her onto a counter? sorta but not really? UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (Joel is in his 50’s but reader’s specific age is not mentioned). established relationship, sort of. consumption of food (if you are allergic to peanuts, i so sorry). angst, Joel and Ellie’s strained relationship is lightly implied, Joel is insecure, it’s implied reader did some horrible things in her past, reassurance, brief smut, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, consider it a quickie idk. apologies if i missed anything.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this short lil thing has been sitting in my drafts forever. i finished it while i was in ireland and finally had the chance to sit down and do a quick edit and when i say it was quick, i flew through it so i could hop onto my next wip so please excuse any errors! here’s a spotify link to the song if anyone’s curious, it’s an oldie but a goodie although it may not be everyone’s cup of tea.

main masterlist l fic notifs

Joel rolls over in bed, his arm outstretched and seeking the warmth of your soft, naked body.

“Mmph,” a small, sleepy groan falls from his lips as his long, thick fingers feel around on your side of the bed—of his bed. Of course, you have your very own bedroom in the house you all had been placed in when you first arrived in Jackson. Your very own bed to sleep in is just down the hallway, but lately, you’ve been waking up beside him a lot more often than not, especially now that Ellie’s a bit older and she’s gone and made herself her own space out in the garage behind the house. Being under the same roof as Joel did those two more harm than it did good, and while you missed having her around, it was for the best.

“She’ll come around, Joel,” you’d assured him. “I know she will. She just needs a bit of time is all.”

“Hope you’re right, darlin’,” he had murmured sadly in response.

Still lost somewhere in between sleep and full consciousness, Joel continues feeling around for you, but all he finds are the wrinkled sheets, cold and abandoned. Confused, his eyes finally flutter open and with a painful protest from his sore, stiff back, he sits up, blinking furiously as he looks around the darkness of his bedroom. The door’s been left cracked open ever so slightly, and as his vision adjusts now that he’s fully awake, he notices the dim glow of the hallway light that’s peeking through into the room.

He turns and glances over at the old digital alarm clock perched on his nightstand, the obnoxious, bright red numbers practically screaming at him that it’s a quarter past midnight. With a small, tired grunt, Joel switches on the lamp beside the clock and swings his legs over the side of the mattress, goosebumps erupting across his flesh the instant that his bare feet meet the cold, hardwood floor. He stands and fumbles around for his clothes, which he’d tossed carelessly somewhere over his shoulder hours earlier when he’d been lost in the heat of the moment with you. He finds his faded, navy blue sweatpants strewn across a chair next to the door and pulls them on over his naked lower body before searching for his t-shirt. When he doesn’t immediately see it, he doesn’t bother, figuring that it’s just going to come back off when he climbs back into bed with you.

Padding out of his bedroom, he makes his way down the hallway, heading towards the staircase. As he draws closer, he hears it—the soft music that’s coming from downstairs.

Baby, I'm yours

and I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky

yours until the rivers all run dry

in other words, until I die

He’s led towards the kitchen and that’s where he finds you.

Joel wants to be annoyed. 

Fuck, he tries to be annoyed. But he can’t help the way that the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards when his eyes take in the sight before him.

You’re standing at the center island slowly swaying your hips from side to side along to the beat of the song that’s playing from the record player perched next to the instant coffee maker on the counter behind you. He’d nearly wrung your neck when he found out what all you had traded just to get your hands on it, but you loved that thing more than life itself it seemed, so he couldn’t stay mad for very long. You’re making yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—the peanut butter you’d learned how to make yourself with the old food processor he found deep in one of the kitchen cabinets, and the strawberry preserves you had picked up from the market earlier that week. Clad in nothing but his t-shirt, you’re singing along quietly to the lyrics as you finish making your late night snack.

Baby, I’m yours

and I’ll be yours until the sun no longer shines

yours until the poets run out of rhyme

in other words, until the end of time

Joel leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he watches you carefully lick the remnants of peanut butter off of the knife you’re using before setting it down on the counter. You then pick up the two pieces of bread and slap them together—you’d also learned how to bake homemade bread using some old nineties cookbook you had found in the commune’s library. Your sourdough is the reason he had to go up a notch in his belt.

Sandwich in hand, you do a little spin, humming happily as you take your first bite.

Joel loudly clears his throat from the doorway.

Startled, you whirl around and freeze, your eyes wide.

“Enjoyin’ yourself there, darlin’?” He asks amusedly as he approaches you.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me, Joel!” You hiss at him. You then realize what time of night it is and a look of guilt crosses your features. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I honestly thought that I had the volume down low enough in here—”

Frowning, you turn around and reach towards the record player to turn the music off, but much to your surprise, Joel stops you. “No, s’okay. I woke up on my own,” he assures you. “I reached over for you and you were gone.” The admission slips before he can even think to stop it. He notices how taken aback you are by what he’d just said and quickly asks, “What’cha doin’ up so late, anyway?”

“I was hungry,” you tell him, sheepishly holding up your food. You always have one hell of an appetite after Joel was through fucking you senseless. You take another bite and offer it to him. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

He accepts and takes a corner of the sandwich before handing it back to you. His fingers brush against yours and his face burns at the contact.

Fucking Christ. 

You’re standing there in nothing but his fucking t-shirt after he had, yet again, made you his in his own fucking bed, and that’s what gets him?

Truth be told, the only time he holds your hand is when he’s inside of you—his fingers lace with your own as he comforts you and praises you for being such a good girl for taking his cock the way you do.

For being so, so fucking good for him.

He’s thought about taking your hand in front of others. Particularly when he notices the way some of the men in town stare at you. Joel wants to make it known that you’re already spoken for. Only, you’re not spoken for, not really. 

You’re his, but you’re not really his. It’s not that he doesn’t want to take the leap and acknowledge the two of you are far more than just patrol partners, far more than just two people who fought like fucking hell to get some smart assed teenager—and the world’s only hope for a cure—across the country.

He feels undeserving of it. Of you and your heart.

Several seasons had come and gone since you’d both arrived in Jackson with Ellie in tow, and somehow, Joel still can’t fathom what you’re doing by his side. She’s out of the house now and there’s nothing tying you to him, so why are you still here?

He’s so much older. Closer and closer to being on his way out, while you still had your entire life left ahead of you. He’s worn down, hardened from the post outbreak world. And you, you hadn’t lost any of your softness, your sweetness. Not even after the things you’d been forced to do to survive because of him.

You could meet someone younger, someone closer to your own age. You could marry, even start a family. You could be with someone who could give you a good life, the life you deserve.

The life that he’s too fucking broken to give you.

“Joel?” Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. M’fine.” He gestures to the record player with a nod of his head. “Y’know, this song’s older than me. By a few years. Came out in the early sixties.”

Joel half expects you to make some wisecrack joke and tease him over his age like you have done in the past—especially when the kid would get you going. Instead, he watches you set what’s left of your sandwich down and brush the crumbs from your hands before holding one of them out to him.

Confused, he stares at it for a moment before his dark eyes meet yours. “What are you doin’?”

“Dance with me,” you say, smiling at him.

“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?” When he realizes you’re being serious, he shakes his head. “Y’know I don’t—I can’t dance.”

Dropping your hand back down to your side, you turn around and flip the record, starting the song over again before whirling back around and taking Joel’s hands in yours.

“Just follow my lead,” you tell him as you place them on your waist. Your own hands settle themselves on his broad shoulders, his skin warm beneath your fingertips. “Don’t overthink it.”

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joel grumbles underneath his breath, however he finds himself moving along with you without further protest. Subconsciously, he pulls you closer against him as the two of you slowly sway from side to side along to the beat of the music. He chuckles, “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

“And your point is?” You rest your head on his shoulder and exhale a soft, contended sigh.

Joel’s lips threaten to pull down once more.

Could it be that you’re actually content with him?

Head still on his shoulder, you sing along softly with Barbara Lewis. 

“I’m gonna stay right here by your side

do my best to keep you satisfied

nothing in this world can drive me away

‘cause every day you'll hear me say…”

It quickly becomes too much for him. Joel’s hands leave your waist. Taking your wrists, he tugs your arms from around his neck and gently pushes you away from him. “Why?” he finally asks the question that’s been hanging off the tip of his tongue for the better part of the last three years. “Why me?”

You stare at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Why me?” he repeats himself. “Why me when you can have anyone else—”

Your reply is prompt and you say it so simply.

“Because I don’t want anyone else.”

“You deserve better.”

You peer at him curiously. “I deserve better?”

“You do. Ain’t got no business being with someone like me. After all the terrible shit I’ve done—”

“I did the same exact shit, Joel. Sometimes I did even fucking worse.” Somehow, softness laces your tone. You have never been angry with him and you weren’t about to start now. “What makes my hands any cleaner than yours?”

Joel begins to sputter. “M’older than you. Much older. Should’a been a lot more careful. Should’a done more so you didn’t have to do those things.”

His hands still curled around your wrists, you reach up and gingerly cradle the sides of his face. He winces, but then quickly melts into your touch, the very same touch that could heal his wounds, if only he would allow it.

“I made my own choices,” you remind him, quietly. Neither of you realize the music has stopped. “Quit acting like blood doesn’t stain my hands too because it does.”

His lips press into a tight line. “Blood stains your hands ‘cause of me. S’my fault. I was responsible for you. I was s’pposed to take care of you. I didn’t protect you the way I should’ve.”

You sigh.

“When are you going to stop blaming yourself, Joel?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks as it clenches. He averts his gaze, his eyes falling to the floor. He doesn’t answer.

You stroke the scruff of his beard lightly with your thumbs. “When are you going to stop thinking you’re not good enough for me? What’s it going to take for me to prove to you that you are all I could ever need and want?”

“You’re just wastin’ your fuckin’ life on me, darlin’. S’the truth and you fuckin’ know it as well as I do.”

Pulling your wrists out of his hands, you pivot on your heel and suck in a sharp breath, stubbornly blinking back the tears stinging your eyes. You’re frustrated.

It cuts you to your very core to know the man you’ve grown to love more than anything and anyone else on what’s left of this fucking planet can’t see that he’s enough. He’s more than enough.

Joel bites back his own frustrated sigh. He knows he can’t rely on you to tell him, rely on the reassurance—he needs to do his part and believe it. If he keeps trying to push you away, he just may very well succeed one day. He will lose you.

After a moment, he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around you, his lips lightly brushing your neck. “M’sorry,” he mumbles, his own voice thickening as a lump forms in the back of his throat. He’s quick to swallow it down. “Jus’ have a hard time believin’ you’re mine. S’almost like my mind is lookin’ to prove me wrong.”

“But I am yours, Joel. I’m yours, I’m fucking yours.”

It’s more than just reassurance. It’s an oath, one you’ll honor for the rest of your life.

He holds you tighter. “Yeah?” He nips at the delicate spot right below your ear, his teeth scraping along tender flesh. “S’that right, baby? You’re all mine?”

“All yours,” you confirm breathlessly as his hands slowly begin trailing down the length of your sides, his fingers skimming the hem of his t-shirt.

Joel swiftly turns you around in his arms and slips his hand between your thighs. The next thing you know, he has you backed up against the counter and he’s shoving his sweatpants down, freeing his hard, thick cock. With one of your legs hooked around his waist, he buries himself into the warmth of your cunt and begins to deliver smooth, languid strokes.

“Say it again, baby,” he rasps into your neck. He coaxes your other leg up and around his waist and his large hands curl securely underneath your thighs as he bucks up into you. He’d deal with the back pain later. He pants, “Need—need to hear you say it, my sweet girl.”

You hold onto the countertop behind you as he fucks you, your fingernails digging into the laminated wood. “Fuck, I’m yours,” you moan into his shoulder. “I’m all yours, Joel. Oh fuck—”

You say it over and over again and he believes it.

He finally fucking believes it.

Sweet nothings fall from his lips with each thrust.

“S’lucky you’re all fuckin’ mine.”

“My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

“Gonna keep you for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”

When he spills into you, there’s no regret on his part nor yours. You’d always wanted to feel him come inside of you—secretly, so did he. Joel’s deep, guttural groans bounce off of the kitchen walls as your pussy fills with him, with all of him, taking as much as it can before he begins leaking out of you and down the insides of your thighs.

“Jesus,” he exhales. He dips his head for a kiss. “You’re all messy now, baby,” he mumbles against your lips. “How’s about we go upstairs and get back into bed so I can clean you up?”

Giggling, you mimic him and remind him of what he’d said earlier. “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

Joel grins. “And your point is?”

You laugh again as he leads you out of the kitchen and back up to his bedroom—to yours and his bedroom.

[thursdayinspace]

Let it Fly

fic: light as clouds

the last of the fic prompts! I have to admit, I got a bit creative with this one. And I wanted to hold it back, because as it turns out, this fits perfectly into a long fic I'm writing, so let's just call this "WIP Wednesday" or a fic teaser or "Thursday feels bad about holding back a prompt fill." I will not put it on AO3 yet because there will be a lot more. The fic that this will be a part of currently has the working title "one word, nine letters" and is a post-cancer fic in which they are in an established relationship. this is part of one chapter probably close to the beginning.

tagging @today-in-fic

--

“Just follow me,” she says, and takes his hand.

“Where are we going?” She’s leading him down a winding path at sunset on a cold late evening and as much as he trusts her, he wants to know that she has a reason.

“To the beach,” she says simply. “You’ll see.”

She has been working hard on getting better, on regaining her strength, but he still worries: that she’s pushing herself too hard, that it’s too much for her, that her eyes will look tired again and her legs won’t be able to carry her. He knows she doesn’t want to hear that. She just wants to forget.

Forgetting is the one thing he can’t do.

The light is sunset-soft under a wide expanse of gray-blue sky. It’s beautiful out here, quiet except for the rushing of the waves and the heavy wind, the crisp sea air erasing lingering traces of hospital smell and despair from their minds. A long weekend away was a good idea, he thinks – they both need to stay still for a while, remember how to breathe.

There is a smile on her face as she sighs deeply and looks off into the distance. He looks at her. There is color in her cheeks again, and not just from the cold.

“So, what are we doing here?” he asks. Because somehow he doesn’t think they just came down here for the view.

“Melissa and I used to do this thing,” she says, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. “When things were difficult, when her boyfriend dumped her, or when I was freaking out about telling our parents about joining the FBI. It was her idea. I don’t even know when it started.” Her smile is wistful, her eyes sad, and he loves her so much he can’t stand it sometimes. “We’d climb up onto the roof, or find a hill, or go to the beach, depending on where we were at the time. We took leaves, or feathers, or whatever we had, told them our deepest worries, and let the wind blow them away.”

“That sounds nice,” he says. “Did it work?”

“It was a nice ritual,” she answers. “It eased the pain for the moment.”

“Is that why you wanted to go out this late? Because you need to let go of something?”

Her eyes are so serious as they meet his. “No, Mulder,” she says. “We’re here because you do.”

He swallows. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Her hand squeezes his fingers, her gaze holding his. “You’ve been so sad lately. And -” She shrugs. “I know it’s childish. But I thought maybe – you know. At least acknowledging it – whatever it is – maybe it would help.”

There is one thing, he thinks. Among many. One thing sitting on his chest heavier than all the water in the sea, and it would take a hurricane to wash him onto shore along with the driftwood. But she wants to share something with him and they came so close to losing it all. He’ll take anything she offers. He’s so happy to still have the chance. “What do I have to do?”

She lets go of his hand to pull a feather from her pocket, a single white feather. “I found this earlier. That’s what gave me the idea.”

He takes it and examines it carefully. Such a tiny thing. It will never be able to hold the weight of the ocean. But she’s asking him to believe that it can. “Do I have to say it out loud?”

“No,” she says. “Just think it. Really hard. And then let it go.”

For a short moment, he makes himself believe that it will work. That he can go back to before, to a time where he didn’t know what it feels like to watch the love of your life dying right before your eyes. “Okay,” he says, closes his fist around the tiny feather and squeezes his eyes shut. It hurts. It will always hurt. But it’s the pain of a memory. They will make new memories now.

He opens his eyes, then opens his fist, holds out his hand into the wind. Watches as the feather is caught by a gust, upwards and away, floating on invisible currents.

Next to him, Scully is solid and real, alive, looking at him like she loves him. “What did you tell it?” she asks, and then adds, “You don’t have to tell me.”

He can’t say it. Not right now. He gave the words to the wind, to the sky, to the open air under rugged clouds that are starting to turn red with the beginning of sunset. Maybe they can come down here tomorrow morning, to watch the sun climb its way back up over the edge of the world. Now that they no longer have to worry about every sunrise being her last.

So he doesn’t speak, instead lifts a hand and gently touches his fingers to the back of her neck, to where he can feel the raised skin of her scar, the evidence of the small miracle that let her survive, that gave her back to him.

“Mulder,” she whispers, and he lets the sound of his name from her lips wash over him; no one else has ever said his name like this. He doesn’t want to hear it this way from anyone else.

He brushes her hair away from her face and answers her smile with one of his own, and as he leans down for a kiss, her breath is warm, so warm against his lips.

[daisies-daydreams]

Angel in Red - Pt. 2 (Jason Todd x F!Reader)

Image Source(s): Pexels & DC Comics

Pairing: Jason Todd x F!Reader Category: Angst Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Depictions of Gun/Knife Violence, Blood/Gore, Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, Swearing Word Count: 2.8k+

Summary: Your actions from last night have endangered you. Will you be able to make it out of the mafia’s grasp?

A/N: Pt. 2 of @maybethatfanfictionwriter's request. I hope you enjoy!

Pt. 1 <- -> Pt. 3 (WIP)

You took a deep breath as you walked back from the bathroom. You looked down at your phone as you took your seat, tilting your head when you noticed that it seemed to slightly change from where you left it. You peeked behind your shoulder to see Sullivan still in a meeting with Montoya. A lump swelled in your throat as you opened a new text from an unknown number. 

“This is John, your driver. I’ll be waiting for you out front in a gray SUV” 

You liked his message before Montoya suddenly stomped out of Sullivan’s office and slammed the door behind her. Her nostrils flared as she gritted her teeth. 

“Are you alright?” you asked. She glanced over at you, her features softening as she sighed. 

“Sullivan just re-assigned me. And I was this close in getting a major break on the Marchetti case!” she scoffed as she stared into his office, the police chief busying himself on his computer. You frowned. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. Montoya sighed. 

“Not your fault, (L/N). It just doesn’t make any sense to me…” she shook her head as she walked away. You bit the inside of your cheek as you tapped your pen against the desk. While you were relieved that Sullivan didn’t have Montoya killed, the fact still remained: your boss was working with a major crime syndicate. You looked up at the clock hanging on a nearby wall.  

One more hour. 

Minutes seemed to crawl by as you filed paperwork and did other various clerical tasks. Your palms were sweaty by the time five o’clock hit, your mind racing as you tried to remain calm. You sighed as you shut down your computer and grabbed your purse.

“(Y/N),” Sullivan called from his office. You tensed, your body shaking a little as you slowly turned around. He motioned towards himself with his index finger. You swallowed thickly as you shuffled inside his office. 

“Yes, Chief Sullivan?” you asked as you gripped the strap of your purse. Your boss glanced over at his computer, then back to you, his gaze steely with a hint of suspicion. 

“I noticed the date on this form is incorrect. Could you please change it for me?” he asked as he slid a police report over to you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. 

“Yes, sir. I’ll get it taken care of,” you said with a slightly nervous smile.

"Keep it together," you thought. He only grunted in reply as you shuffled out of his room and plopped yourself down at your desk. You quickly made the edit before stepping back inside. 

“Thank you,” Sullivan said. You nodded and turned around. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added, his voice calm and slow. You held your breath as you heard him stand up and lumber towards you. You nearly squeaked when he held his hand out. “You forgot your umbrella here last night,” he said with a soft grin. You felt the tension in your chest relax as you took it from him. 

“T-Thank you, sir,” you said. “Goodnight,” you added before shuffling your way down the hall. Almost there, just a bit further. Your heart glowed when you saw a gray SUV parked in front of the building. A thick sheet of rain drenched the cracked pavement before a sudden flash of lightning streaked across the sky. You shivered and opened your umbrella before stepping out, your heels clicking against the sidewalk as you made your way to the vehicle. 

You opened the door and threw your purse and umbrella over as you grinned at the driver. 

“Thanks again for picking me up,” you said as you climbed inside and shut the door behind you. “I’m sorry it took me a bit-” your eyes widened when you felt a cold blade held against your throat. Time seemed to slow down as you faintly heard the sound of the car doors locking while someone pulled a bag over your head.

“Drive!” a gruff voice behind you barked. The car lurched forward as you remained as still as a statue - your eyes wide and heart racing wildly. You hissed as someone roughly grabbed your arms and tightened a zip-tie around your wrists. You gasped when the man behind you dipped the tip of the knife between your clavicle.

"I say we kill the little bitch right now," a low, soft voice behind you lilted. You swallowed thickly as you felt him trace circles over your collarbone.

“You better not. The boss doesn’t want us to get the seats dirty,” the driver said, his voice deep and gravely. You shivered as you felt the knife disappear from your skin.

"Honestly, I wonder how you even made it into Marchetti's," a new voice sighed.

You couldn’t help the tears that fell down your burning cheeks as you desperately tried to think of something...anything to get out of this.

"Knock it off," the driver barked. The two men in the back settled down and shuffled in their seats. Your tears soaked the bottom of the sack as the space around you grew stuffier. You gasped when you heard something loud bang against the roof of the car.

"The hell was that?" one of the mobsters gawked. The sound of hail started to bang on top of the car before a roll of thunder cascaded down the streets of Gotham.

"Just the storm - don't be such a twat" the first voice taunted.

“Shut up, both of you. We’re almost there,” the driver said as the car slowed. The road grew bumpy as you kept your head low. Your heart sank as the car came to a slow stop.

"C'mon, princess," the second voice grunted into your ear as he popped the car seat out and roughly shoved you out of the car. You scowled and tried to flinch away, only to be hit on the back of your head. You yelped as he grabbed your wrists and dragged you through the cold, rainy night.

This was it - your forced footsteps bringing you closer to your demise. You heard the sound of a heavy door creak open before you were hastily shoved inside. The rain drummed on the roof above you as you heard the thud of their shoes surround your drenched form. You blinked as you heard the sound of a boat horn and seagulls squawking. 

"The docks?" you murmured to yourself. You hissed in pain as a heavy boot swung into your stomach. You coughed and fell onto your side while the men around you laughed, their dark chuckles sending chills down your spine.

"Can you believe this is the bitch who nearly ratted out Sullivan?” one of the men teased as he kicked you again.

"Stop it!" you wheezed as a sharp pain ran through your side. Your heart stopped when you heard the click of a gun.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart…it’s almost over,” the first voice “comforted” in a venomous voice. You squeezed your eyes shut as you clenched your fists, your heart pounding inside your ears and drowning out any noise surrounding you. You waited for the split second pain that would shoot through your skull…but it never came. Instead, you heard the sound of gasping. 

“What the fuck?!” one of the mobsters yelled before the sound of a punch being thrown echoed through the room.

“S-Shit, it’s Red Hood!” one of the other men stammered. Your jaw dropped as you laid on your side.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Shoot him!” the first voice barked. You yelped when the sound of gunshots rang out, followed by the sudden noise of more punches being thrown. You tried to scramble away from the chaos, your bag falling off of your head in the process. You blinked as the fight continued, men grunting and groaning while you squirmed behind a large crate. You panted as you sat yourself up, your head pounding while you snagged the tail of your restraints between your teeth. 

The sound of something cracking made you flinch as you tightened the zip tie before holding your hands above your head. You squeezed your eyes shut before bringing your clenched fists into your stomach. You huffed as the tie suddenly snapped, another sharp wave of pain rolling through your abdomen. You gasped when one of the men suddenly flew over the crate and slammed against the wall, his gun sliding across the dirty warehouse floor and next to your feet. 

You turned when you heard a new voice suddenly groan in pain. 

“Thought you were so tough, huh?” the driver’s voice chuckled. You bit your lip as you gazed down at the gun gleaming beneath the red exit light. You slowly picked up the weapon before peeking around the corner. You gasped when you saw how huge the driver was: a hulking man who lumbered towards the vigilante crumpled on the floor. You furrowed your brows when you watched the driver kick Red Hood in the spine, the masked man grunting and writhing in pain. 

“I’m afraid this is your last fight with the Marchetti’s,” the driver sneered as he aimed his gun at the vigilante’s head. You suddenly pulled your gun up and fired without a thought. The gunshot rang out through the large room as the driver yelped, the bullet grazing over his shoulder. You remained glued to the floor as you dropped the gun with a clatter.

The Red Hood quickly rolled over and shot the man in the arm, crimson spraying across the floor in a filthy splatter. You didn’t even hear yourself scream as the driver wailed in pain and clutched his arm. You trembled as you slowly sank to your knees, the masked man groaning as he slowly rolled back up and grabbed the mobster by the collar of his dark coat.

“Go tell Marchetti that I’m coming for him next,” he growled in a low, husky voice. The driver’s eyes grew wide before he quickly nodded. He scrambled out the door, his blood trickling across the pavement before he started the car and drove off. 

You felt your heart drop into your stomach when the Red Hood turned his unreadable gaze towards you. Your chest felt unbearably tight as your knees shook. 

“P-Please, don’t shoot me,” you sobbed as you shrank beneath his gaze. The muscular man before you rose to his feet as he silently stared you down. You flinched when you felt his shadow loom over you, his breathing ragged as he stood tall before you. 

You blinked as he knelt down in front of you, his hands draped over his thighs. You recoiled as he reached his hand out, your breath shaky as he wiped a tear from your cheek. 

“Are you alright?” he asked in a hushed voice. You blinked and raised your head ever so slightly. The sound of police sirens rang in the distance before you could reply. The masked man whipped his head around before raising to his feet. He grunted and held his lower back before turning back to you. 

"Thank you...” he said in a gruff, albeit hesitant, tone. You nodded and felt your stomach twist into a sickening knot when you saw a body lying against the wall. You blinked and looked around when you noticed that he disappeared from the room. Your heart still pounded as several officers suddenly kicked the door open and filed into the building. 

“HANDS UP! GCPD!” an officer barked. You instantly shot your hands in the air as they all pointed their guns at you. 

Your eyes widened as Commissioner Gordon stepped through, his thick brows furrowed as he met your gaze. He slowly lowered his gun as all color drained from his face.

“(Y/N)?” he murmured. 

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @depressesoespressorat @yuhhtricki999 @lavenderbabu @thedevax @famouscattale @spktrgantenk @zombieblogx @mrswhitethornbelikov @migueloharastruelove @galaxy-dusk @samanthashadowriley @theloneshadow24 @xxkay15xx @inspace1 @manlikemilesmyguy @ghostslynx @synamonthy @oharasfilipinawife @scaleniusrm @jotarossshark @acotarobbsessed @8xbygirl @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lyrasdrawer @spiderrinn @deans-spinster-witch @frogsdinohas-blog @oliverscoffee

Want to be a part of my taglist? Comment down below! (must be 18 or older - PLEASE INCLUDE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO!)

[stabbyfoxandrew]

would love a vampire Andrew!

WIP Wednesday (1/17) || Vampire Andrew AU (Part 77)

When Andrew’s driving alone, he lets himself go into autopilot. He barely needs to think to drive, since his reflexes are superhuman. He can weave in and out of traffic because he can anticipate what other drivers are going to do. He can do twenty over the speed limit because he knows he’ll be alright if he somehow crashes. And he can blare the music he likes, because there are no whiny babies on board.

By the time he gets to the airport, Andrew’s broken half a dozen traffic laws. A new record, he thinks with a grin. He imagines Kevin’s reaction to his driving and laughs aloud. He definitely wouldn’t have approved. But, Andrew thinks to the tiny Kevin that lives in his head, you wouldn’t have wanted me to miss Neil. Right?

The traffic in the airport’s parking lot is ridiculous, but Andrew finally manages to snatch up an empty spot. He checks the clock on the dash before he kills the engine. Okay, okay. He’s early— by two minutes. Neil’s flight should just now be arriving. Andrew squints up at the sky, searching for the huge steel deathtrap. He can’t see it yet, but he thinks he can hear it. It’s close.

Andrew exhales. His nerves are a bit frazzled, as much as he hates to admit it. Skipping his meds plus the exhilaration of being behind the wheel of a car going eighty plus meeting Neil Josten again. Well, it’s all got him on edge. And he can’t stand it. Andrew climbs out of the car and lights a cigarette, to smooth out his mood. 

It works like a charm. One drag and he’s not an aggravated vampire who skipped his morning dose and whose nap was interrupted and who cracked a racquet on Neil’s ribs a month ago. He’s Aaron, who got a good night’s sleep and who isn’t twitching from withdrawal and who is pleasantly neutral around strangers.

After a moment, a plane breaks through the clouds— and Andrew’s thoughts. He opens his eyes and watches as it descends towards the runway. He can hear when it touches down. It gives it a few more minutes, then sighs and crushes his cigarette out against the blacktop. Running his fingers through his hair to fix his bedhead, Andrew moseys into the airport like he wasn’t hauling ass to get here. 

[mysticstarlightduck]

My Words Into Potions Intro!

The Event (@moon-and-seraph)

I'll be working on two WIPs this March - my goal will be to attempt to finish Enchanted Illusion's first draft and give Of Starlight and Beasts a good headstart!

Title: OF STARLIGHT AND BEASTS

Genre - High Fantasy (medieval) Adventure/Dark Fairy Tale (with a tad of romance, that's a subplot)

Summary - In an ancient enchanted kingdom, Corah, the daughter of their land's most renowned adventurer, seeks to become the best knight that has ever lived. However, after meeting a young man with strange magic and no memories lost in the woods, Corah finds herself thrust into an unexpected quest when the once-thought-dead Queen returns to enact her revenge on their peaceful kingdom - and now it falls to Corah and her mysterious new friend to prevent destruction from reaching their land, if she wants to achieve her dream to be knighted. But are things quite what they seem?

POV - Dual POV (for now?), with some occasional POVs from important side characters.

Lenght - Novel/Book

Tags/Hashtag - #wip: of starlight and beasts, #wip of starlight and beasts

WIP Soundtrack - Of Starlight and Beasts Playlist

Snippet/Excerpt -

[...] Corah climbed the sandy stone wall, expertly weaving her way up towards the broken ramparts despite the weight of her armor straining her arms. Her hands reached the ledge, and she was able to fling her leg onto the walkway, pulling the rest of her body upwards.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, she wiped the dust off of her hands onto her trousers, waiting for her friends to reach her. Arammys' sunny locks were the first to peek through the ramparts, though, in his struggle to get a grip on the stone, his hands nearly slipped - she lunged, grabbing hold of his wrist just in time, and helping him heave himself the rest of the way up.

Behind him, Eidan followed suit, pulling himself over the wall nearly effortlessly. Arammys stared at him, impressed and annoyed at the same time.

Turning around as the duo started to bicker, Corah rolled her eyes, looking down to the city below, the sprawling sea just barely visible through the white stone buildings was filled with trading ships from near and far, the sky seemingly filled with colorful flags and banners. But she knew better than to trust the city's apparent normalcy - the Crimson Queen's soldiers were already here, just waiting to catch them on the streets down below.

"We'll need to figure out another plan, it seems" She winced, sighting a suspiciously familiar hooded figure just out of the rampart's gate ahead. Her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword.

Just as she was about to back away, Arammys popped up beside her, not noticing the enemy just below. Corah pulled Arammys behind a pillar just in time before the person looked up, nearly spotting him. She whispered through gritted teeth, exasperated. "Do you seriously have a death wish?"

"I didn't notice that the guy was there!" Arammys replied, an indignant remark spoken through a whisper as he pulled the hood of his cloak meticulously over his head, obscuring his hair and face. He peered over the pillar, this time more carefully, onto the street below, noticing more and more of the Queen's men. "Gods, the city is really crawling with them. How are we supposed to reach the docks? They'll kill us!"

"No, they won't." Eidan broke his silence, motioning with his metallic arm for the duo to follow him, "I know a way in. But you're really not gonna like it." [...]

Title: ENCHANTED ILLUSIONS

Genre - Victorian-inspired Dark Fantasy/Mystery

Summary - The brutal war between humans and mythical creatures came to an end 100 years ago, with a peace treaty being achieved and the rival nations finally coexisting peacefully in the capital city of Ansburke. Now, however, a crooked secret organization - dubbed the Hemlock Society - seeks to plunge the city into civil war, preying on the prejudices left over from the previous centuries of warfare to feed the uneasiness between humans and Myths once more. Now, as tensions reach a boiling point, a group of misfits and outcasts must work together to thwart the Hemlock Society's dreadful plans before civil war erupts, in a race against time to save both the people of Ansburke and their own lives, as they dive deep into the world of intrigues and secrets that lay just beneath the city's perfect surface.

POV - 5 Main POVS, with occasional POVs from important side characters.

Lenght - Novel/Book Series

Tags/Hashtag - #wip: enchanted illusions, #wip enchanted illusions

WIP Soundtrack - Enchanted Illusions Playlist

Snippet/Excerpt -

Augustus and Harriet walked down the cramped alleyway, following their unexpected guide. Whilst the necromancer maintained his usual unphased composure - hands behind his back, chin held up high, relaxed smile - Harriet could not help but look over her shoulder once every few seconds. Every shadow seemed to be someone ready to jump at them, to drag them to the deepest bowels of this town and never return.

She pushed the intrusive thoughts down, scoffing at the outlandish notion. Still, the sky was unnaturally covered by smog - smoke continuously billowing from the foundries' skyscraping chimneys, mixing with the cloudy mist - and the lamplit streets were a cramped maze of shops, tents and intricate buildings, metal being the most prevalent sight. Nothing like Ansburke, she thought.

The quicker they find what they're looking for, the sooner they'll return home. And hopefully, stop this madness from unfolding. There was an unwelcome, fiery chill in the air and people bustled through the street around them. She inched closer to Augustus, their shoulders brushing - and tried to convince herself it was simply so she wouldn't get lost in this industrial maze, not to sate the pit of uneasiness that had taken hold of her chest since they reached the gates of the city. Ahead, the eccentric young man leading them whirled around.

"Alright, if ya guys wanna blend in and find out more about that scumbag of a Mayor, you'll need to get some local clothes - not that there's nothing wrong with," He gestured to their dapper attires, now slightly torn and dusty after their ordeal at the train ride, which stood out like a sore thumb when compared to the crowds around them "that, but you two scream 'Ansburke' just by existing." [...]

[griefabyss69]

WIP Weekend

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post.

Tagged by @zombiethingy!! Thanks <3 <3 <3

WIPS: 1) 05 scarification reclaimation 2) dine-in 3) decades 4) he's still not going to wear a pair of khaki cargo shorts 5) curious I tried to put all new ones in here, though the ones I want to get finished ASAP are ~surprises~ so I can't add them to this game! Curious definitely isn't new, but I worked on it again recently. This game will hopefully get me back on track with being able to write again <3

tagging @hbyrde36 @penny00dreadful @steddie-island @runninriot @thefreakandthehair

Snippet of dine-in

"That's dangerous, you know," Steve's saying, but Eddie just shrugs down at him from the roof of his trailer.

"There are worse things. Join me?" He asks.

Steve climbs up to meet him like he's using his ninja skills to sneak into a girlfriend's bedroom window.

"There you go, it's not so bad up here," Eddie says, taking both of Steve's hands and leads him to a blanket he's got spread out over the galvanized metal. "It's been a while since I've seen you."

Steve nods, knows this to be true even though he also knows it's also true that they'd just been at his place, watching a bad movie and eating mediocre popcorn. He'd gone to bed feeling satisfied.

"What do you do up here anyway?"

They've settled onto the blanket and the sky is weird, like the stars are multiplied to the point where it looks more like TV static than space.

"Lure pretty men so I can ask to suck them off," Eddie says, simple.

"Oh, that's uh, that's cool," he says, wondering what Eddie will do since it's just him up here.

He's getting dizzy from trying to figure out the sky so he looks at Eddie, finally sees the look on his face, and gets it.

"Oh. I'm pretty men," he says through a laugh.

[wanderingblindly]

Lestappen Week WIP: Soulmates

Working on the prompt for @lestappenweek day 2! The vibe is reluctant soulmates -- both avoidant of the prospect for different reasons. To force myself to finish it, here's a little snippet :)

In another world, another life, maybe this moment could have been romantic, tragic. Something climatic, cinematic; a tired victor, a man that constantly toed the line between life and death, dangling his feet over a rooftop’s edge in a moment of exasperation. 

On the roof, Max was both adult and adolescent, simultaneously twenty six and twelve. 

The window in his bedroom pulled up completely, opening to the gently sloping roof and looking out upon his family’s overly manicured backyard. A lawn, really, an enormous expanse of uniform green and undisturbed order. It was dark, the night only illuminated by the full moon overhead, the twinkle of starlight, and the distant glow from a neighbor’s window – if one could call them neighbors, as far away as they were. 

The pale warmth radiating from their home only strengthened the overwhelming sense of isolation. 

Max carefully swung one leg out of the window, mindful of the creaking if he stepped too fully too quickly. He knew the exact motions to follow, sliding out onto the roof with practiced ease. Tossing down a spare sweatshirt, Max sat down and pulled his knees to his chest, breathing in deeply. 

The air was biting. He could almost feel the looming snow storm on his tongue, burning in the back of his throat with a sharp dryness. Max hated the snow, hated the winter. 

Things always got harder in the winter, somehow. 

He looked out over the estate, eyes dazing as he took in how the neighbor’s light reflected off the fog that hung low to the ground. It looked like the house was floating, maybe something like a lighthouse atop a calm sea. Maybe it wasn’t a house at all, maybe it was something freer, something like a boat drifting further and further away. 

The stars above him felt just as far. 

His muscles tensed in the cold, the lingering soreness around his neck and ribs smarting under the renewed flexion. His skin ached, the forming hand-shaped bruises making themselves known with each breath. 

Sitting on his roof, bathed in wintery silence, Max prayed to be rescued. To whom, he wasn’t sure. Maybe the force that branded his wrist, the universal power that decided who to tie him with forever. Perfectly. Something like fate. 

Max prayed to fate, then. 

He used to picture grand overtures of someone meeting him there, coming to save him; someone finding him and sweeping him away from rage filled hallways and door frames that shook with the force of a man and the fear of a child. He had romantic hopes of someone coming to his rooftop, sitting next to him with a warm smile and stars reflected in their eyes. They would climb the roof and roll up their sleeve, excitedly showing Max a mark they knew would match. They would run their fingers over the identical lines carefully. Max dreamt of someone coming and saving him gently. 

The air beside him on the roof stayed cold, even in the summer. Perpetually lacking human warmth, the silent sensation of company. 

Max thought about the family that lived in that home, lighthouse, boat across the way. Were they happy? 

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed within his own home, Max felt his heart jump into his throat as he nearly dove back in through the window. His time alone was always short, fidgety. 

He wasn’t sure when he looked up at the sky with hopeful escapism in his heart for the last time, wasn’t sure when it was stomped out of him. The cloudless, starless Monaco sky didn’t inspire it within him, but nothing did. Max didn’t come to the roof to be saved anymore, but for a moment of reprieve. He chose isolation these days, sought it out; time had taught him that no one would save him except himself, and that was all he needed – himself. 

Fate didn’t seem to care much about people like him, at least not the fate that he used to pray to. What kind of fate would leave a young boy, a defenseless kid, in the hands of someone like his father? How could he trust the universe to deliver him into loving, soulmate-marked arms when it put him in Jos’s home? You couldn’t, in Max’s opinion. He couldn’t, at the very least.  

Max didn’t hold dearly to romanticism anymore.

[forever-fixating]

WIP Wednesday

Shout out to @onthewaytosomewhere for the tag. I present to you another peek of Paris (which is now looking more like three parts rather than two because of course it is, my muse is fucking ridiculous, I swear to diety. ENJOY!)

When they crossed the bridge onto the Ile de la Cité, they made a beeline for Notre Dame. While June and Nora filmed a saucy TikTok lipsyncing to ‘Worship at Your Altar,’ Henry pulled a small collapsable chair from his backpack and picked David up. Alex smiled as the beagle settled against his human’s chest and licked his face. Henry told him that loud, crowded spaces often triggered his anxiety but not to hover and let David do his thing. It was interesting to see the change in the dog when they were out in public. Once his harness was on, he was so intune with Henry. Alex struggled at first with the not hovering when they went walking around New York. But as he stood by, he noticed the tension drain from Henry’s shoulders and face after some comforting from David.

That day, David wore his bright blue harness with large patches that said Therapy Dog and Do Not Touch and an adorable rainbow handkerchief around his neck. Henry had a backpack in a matching blue color that Alex affectionately called his “doggie diaper bag.” During their time in New York, Henry went over the contents of the bag in case he needed Alex to pull something out for him. David’s supplies included a linen mat for David to rest on, spare puppy pads, food and water with collapsable bowls, treats to reinforce good behavior, and poop bags. In a smaller kit in the bag’s front pouch were the Henry supplies: his in-case-of-emergency meds, hand sanitizer, wet wipes, a few different fidget toys, and two pairs of rechargeable ear buds.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to worry you,” Henry explained in his living room, his hands fiddling with a rainbow Tangle toy. “I don’t go to pieces at the drop of a hat or anything, it’s just-”

“Baby.” Alex placed a hand on Henry’s knee and rubbed it. When Henry finally looked at him, he said, “You’re my boyfriend. If this is what you need, you don’t have to apologize for it.”

The look of sheer relief in Henry’s eyes told Alex all he needed to know about his past partners. It made him want to track down Brandon and kick him square in the balls. Alex understood what it was like, that need to overexplain his ADHD to someone new. That he wasn’t being intentionally neglectful when he forgot a dinner or a meeting because he forgot to set a reminder on his phone. That he didn’t mean to dominate a conversation because he just had to tell that person about his newest hyperfixation. That they had to meet somewhere neutral because he hadn’t clean his apartment in almost two weeks and it was a disaster that he couldn’t bring himself to clean yet. The people who understood Alex and the chaos whirling around inside his brain at any given moment were the ones he knew were worth keeping around. Everyone else fell by the wayside.

After a few minutes, David climbed down and settled onto the mat Alex had already laid out for him, along with his food and water bowls. Wordlessly, Alex handed Henry a wet wipe, which he used to clean his face. Offering a granola bar and a fresh bottle of water, Alex asked, “All good?”

Henry nodded and took a sip of water before tucking it between his knees. He then pulled an amethyst worrystone from his pocket and bit into the granola bar, saying, “I’m so excited for this tour. Growing up, my mum had so many books on the French Revolution and the French monarchy. All my father had to do to goad her on was say the words “let them eat cake” and watch her face turn purple with indignation.”

Alex smiled at the casual mention of his parents. After their talk, Henry was more willing to drop little details about them. He promised to take Alex stargazing at Bea’s cottage. The way he talked about how clear the sky was out there reminded Alex of nights out at Lake LBJ. Henry told him about Arthur’s passion for constellations and all the stories behind them. Getting glimpses into the people who made this wonderful person, even secondhand, made Alex feel so disappointed that he would never get to meet and thank them for their son.

A/N- Shoutout to my sweet baby angel Alex being the best and most supportive partner! I love them so much, yall.

Open tag because I think most of the people I usually tag have already been tagged and of course I'm late posting this. Haha until next time!

[kiwiana-writes]

Fashion Forward Friday

Thanks to @everwitch-magiks @myheartalivewrites @firenati0n @porcelainmortal

@onthewaytosomewhere @littlemisskittentoes and @happiness-of-the-pursuit for the tags! (Especially Evie for creating this in the first place!)

Gonna be honest I didn't think I was gonna do this one because a) I don't visualise shit so I never know what my characters are wearing and b) the one thing I could think of, the outfits in the next subscriber shindig fic, are being worn by everyone, which is NOT the point of the game. But then I remembered at least one WIP where I KNOW what's being worn because it's also in my wardrobe lmfao...

Welcome to Fashion Forward Friday! The game is simple: post photos of an outfit worn in your WIP, and ask your followers to guess which character wears it! 👀👀👀

[littlereyofsunlight]

The Fire is So Delightful, Chapter 2

So for 2019 Steggy Secret Santa, I wrote @geekynerddemon a contemporary AU with a meet-cute between firefighter Steve Rogers and self-rescuing Peggy Carter. It was always meant to have a second chapter with their fluffy, fun date but it's taken me this long to deliver chapter 2 and guess what? They still haven't gone on that date. I think the chapter's still fluffy and fun (though some feelings have arrived on the scene), and hopefully it won't be 3.5 years between updates going forward.

Posted for day 2 of @steggyfanevents Steggy Week 2023: WIPs and updates

Read on AO3

Start from the beginning

“What were all the lights about last night?” Clint asked Peggy over coffee the next day. He’d showed up on the doorstep with an actual pot of coffee in hand, still barefoot. Nat confirmed that was his typical MO in a text to Peggy. She sounded almost proud of it. Peggy was beginning to think, after six years of knowing her, that Natasha actually liked a lot more people than she let on. And more than that, Peggy realized that she’d been thinking of Natasha as solitary and career-focused as she was. 

“Liho got out and went right up the tree in the front yard.”

Clint squinted out the front window, the light glinting off one of his hearing aids. “So you called the fire department? I would have climbed up and gotten her for you. I’ve done it before.”

“Helpful to know now.” Peggy said, a little frustrated. “But I didn’t call them. I went and got her myself and had her back on the ground when they showed up.”

“Hmmm.” Clint drummed his fingers against his mouth, still staring out the window. “I bet it was Lang.”

“Beg your pardon?” Peggy reached for the cream, putting more than her usual amount into her second cup. Clint liked his coffee even stronger than she did.

“The neighbor who called it in. Scott Lang.” Clint nodded at the house across the street, the one with a single string of multicolored lights stretched as far across the porch roof as they would go, which was not quite the whole length of the thing. “He’s got a thing for one of the paramedics. I bet he was hoping she’d show up.”

Peggy blinked. Nat’s neighbors all seemed to know quite a bit about one another. 

“How do you feel about turkey?” 

“The country or the bird?”

“Bird, duh.” Clint cocked his head in a gesture that was both boyishly charming and oriented his better ear (“Neither one is really all that good by anyone’s measure,” he’d explained the night before) in her direction.

Taking care to enunciate, Peggy replied, “I like it just fine.”

He nodded. “Good, I’m going to deep-fry one for dinner on Wednesday. You can help me eat it.”

“Deep fry … a whole turkey?”

Clint’s grin stretched wide over his face. “We’ll have a real American holiday celebration, you limey.” 

Peggy sniffed in mock distaste. “There’s a reason we let you lot leave the empire.”

“But here you are.”

Peggy looked out the window at the gray sky and the bare branches of the tree in Nat’s front yard, the houses on the other side crowding close to the street. “Here I am.” Something Clint said earlier snagged on her thoughts. “Did you say you knew the EMTs that work with the fire department?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, the whole crew’s really active in the community. Everyone kinda knows everyone around here.”

“Is that … nice?”

She asked, genuinely baffled. She’d grown up in London and only ever lived in cities. In her experience, neighbors would help in an emergency, but by necessity everyone generally kept their distance. 

“Sure.” Clint shrugged. “It’s definitely better than isolation.”

The word ‘isolation’ hit Peggy right in the solar plexus. She nodded, pushing down the rush of feeling. 

Clint looked at her in that way he seemed to have, that made her feel like he could hear her thoughts. “So, turkey on Wednesday?” 

Peggy nodded again. Between her plans for the evening and Clint’s invitation, her calendar was getting rather full—at least, full compared to the absolute dearth of socializing she’d expected to do while looking after Natasha’s cat. She thought about Captain Steve Rogers, working ten days straight, through both Christmas and New Year’s. Did he not have family in the area to celebrate with, like her? Not that she knew for certain he observed Christmas … Peggy became aware that Clint was waving at her from across the table.

“Yes?”

“Are you really that weirded out by deep fried turkey?” He asked, crooked grin on his face.

Peggy smiled back. “No, sorry. Just thinking about the date I made for tonight.”

Clint sat forward. “Tell me everything,” he said urgently. 

“Steve, one of the firefighters, asked me to dinner.” Clint nodded and Peggy continued. “I’m honestly not sure what possessed me, but I asked him for coffee first. He suggested dinner instead.

Peggy watched Clint’s eyes widen and his brows raise nearly to his hairline. “I’m sorry, are you telling me you have a date with Captain Hotpants?”

“I — what?”

Clint held up a finger. “I know she’s got it somewhere around here.” He rose from his seat and went to the broom closet, opening the door to rummage around in the back. “Ha!” Calendar in hand, he came back to Peggy’s side. “The station does a fundraiser every year for the local kids charities. Nat always buys a copy,” he explained as he paged back in the wall calendar to July and pointed at the model, standing in an engine bay of a fire station, clad in turnouts held up by suspenders over his broad, bare chest. 

“Oh,” was all Peggy could manage in response. It was indeed Steve. The photographer had caught him looking at the camera with an open expression on his face, those full lips Peggy remembered admiring the night before framing a wide smile. The rest of him, well, Peggy would let herself study the rest once Clint had gone back to his side of the duplex. Her first impression was that the Captain kept himself quite fit.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, not bothering to hide his own appreciation. “So you have a date with Steve Rogers.” He grabbed for his coffee pot. “I am extra excited for our meal tomorrow. You can tell me all about those boxer briefs of his. I’ve got to make a supply run. See you tomorrow!” He gave a cheery  wave on his way out of the kitchen, leaving Peggy with Steve staring up at her from the calendar.

“Boxer briefs?” she asked the cat, who’d appeared at the top of the stairs and was looking down at her from between the balusters. Liho only blinked in response. Peggy flipped the calendar shut and went about her morning.

Read the rest on AO3

[bluejadedragon]

Release of the WIPs that I may or may not continue. (:

1. Angel From Manhattan

Sterling jolted awake in the middle of the night, something startling him awake. He looked around frantically, then to his window as a loud thunk echoed through his room. Across the room, Alexis stirred, muttering into her blankets.

Hurriedly, Sterling opened the window and looked out. Through the dark of night, he could just make out a figure standing on a patch of grass below his window. He climbed out, hurrying down the old brick wall, grateful for their apartment being only on the second floor. As soon as his feet hit the ground, a warm hand wrapped around his and pulled him around. 

“Angel?”

The woman in front of him was staring into his eyes, her once blue eyes glowing a soft orange. Frowning, Sterling pulled his hand from hers.

“Hey!”

“Sorry.” Angel shook her head, then stepped back, walking toward the street. Confused by her lack of conversation, Sterling followed her, eyes darting. 

Something was off.

“What’s wrong?” 

Angel halted by a motorbike. It was beautiful, dark and sleek. Definitely not something she could afford.

“I’m getting out of the city.”

2. Big Hive, Small World

The sun was falling toward the horizon, shadows being cast below the hive. Workers flew around the city’s exterior, coming and going with frantic movements. Sterling just sat on top of the city’s domed roof, his wings flat behind him. A soft pattering of footsteps drew his attention to Alexis, who was climbing up to meet him.

She lifted her body over the final crest, pushing herself to sit next to Sterling. His gaze fell back to the horizon as she quietly sat beside him. Her wings buzzed softly, a release of pent up energy she probably didn’t even realise she was doing. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She opened cautiously. Sterling sighed, pulling his legs up to his chest.

“What’s there to talk about?” Alexis gave him that look.

“You and I both know.” He sighed again.

“Fine. Tomorrow, we're placed somewhere in the hive to complete our apprenticeships. Hopefully, I’ll end up somewhere in the smithing industry. You’ll become a guard.” “That’s not confirmed. And you know damn well that’s not what we need to talk about.” Sterling scrunched up his nose, then sighed in defeat as Alexis continued to watch him.

“I’m terrified, Lexi. Is that what you want to hear? Tomorrow is the last day of safety. Tomorrow is the last day I’m a part of a cohort, and from then on I won’t have you, or Matron Murdock, or any of our cohort to protect me. If anyone else finds out I’m a drone, at best I’ll be exiled, at worst executed. My very existence as a defective drone is classified as treason, because Queen forbid I ever pass my ‘faulty’ genes on.” He sighed into his hands.

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life trapped pretending to be someone I’m not. And I know you feel the same, because if anyone finds out you’re secretly a princess, we’re both dead. I mean, two criminals in one cohort? Our entire family would be executed for hiding us. So yeah, I’m terrified.”

Alexis listened quietly, letting him get his frustrations out.

“I love this colony, I love my family, but it doesn’t matter.” “It does though, Sterling!” Alexis finally spoke. 

“Change starts small. If we’re here, there have to have been others- have to be others!” “Yeah…” 

“I mean it. We’ll be okay.” Sterling smiled.

“You should be inspirational more often.” Alexis laughed.

“Shut up. Feeling better?” “Yeah, a little.” Sterling replied honestly, his gaze returning to the warm sunset that filled the sky with a burning glow.

“Good.” Alexis dropped her head onto his shoulder. “I love you, you idiot.”

“I love you too.”

3. Hide-and-Trauma

(CW for referenced alcoholism and child abuse)

It was just a stupid game. 

A stupid game of hide-and-seek. Something they’d all played.

The thrill of scurrying through the halls of the House of Freedom, seeking out an adequate hiding space was something they’d done on so many free days. Laughing as they play, letting themselves be kids for a little while, their studies forgotten. It was simple and silly and all it took was one miscalculation.

Ana knew she was running low on time, but they were playing without abilities and so she was trying to find somewhere she wouldn’t immediately be found. But she was too slow and her heart pounded as she heard feet fast approaching. 

Somewhere, beyond the rush of blood in her ears, she knew it was one of her friends- who was seeking this time? But her heartbeat was loud and strong and painful and suddenly she wasn’t just playing a game. Not just running from a friend who would just grin and help her out of her hiding space when they found her, who would wink and offer her one of their favourite snacks if she told them where the others were. Not just a friend who she’d laugh with and shrug off, not just a friend.

Instead the adrenaline shoved her back into her past, before she had any powers and only had her mind and small frame to avoid danger, and her mother had just gotten home and she was coming up the stairs and no, no no no tonight was a bad night she needed to run she needed to hide maybe if it was hard to find her she’d just give up-

Instincts took over and she was climbing up the stone pillars, forcing herself into the small gap between one of the turrets and the roof, shoving her hands over her mouth and nose to muffle all sounds she made and she tucked herself fully into the shadows, ducking her face into her chest to hide the pale sphere of her face and stars above please don’t look up don’t look up don’t look up!

:D

[loverslakes]

writing patterns

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 8 posted fics (and 2 wips) and see if there's a pattern!

(thanks for the tag @apassingbird 🤎)

rwylm wip

Mike rolls out his shoulders for what feels like the billionth time this shift, cursing whoever decided what the average height for counters was supposed to be. He’s trying to work on his posture — his mom nags him about it — but when he’s constantly having to hunch over to pull espresso shots, it’s out of his control at that point. Sue the counter-measurement-person. He’s been here for six and a half hours, and while he normally loves his morning shift, the pungent smell of roasting coffee beans is serving no purpose but nausea.

very delayed new years wip

The first thing Will sees when he wakes up is snow, delicately falling out of the sky against the perfect evergreen tree outside the window in his room.

The second thing he sees are wild, red curls flying in the air before a body is crashing into his on top of the piles of blankets he and Mike had stolen from the main room last night because Will hates being cold.

“Mmmpph,” Will groans.

holding the stars in place

A week into the Byers being back in Hawkins, rain falls. It begins overnight and feels like the town is getting washed and rinsed from its sins.

the wonders of my world

El Hopper enjoys her new job. She feels at home — giggling with five-year-olds all day long, decorating her classroom with sparkles and colors, and watching their little minds activate and mold as the weeks go on. Communicating with their parents isn’t always fun, but for the most part, she’s overjoyed that she chose to become a kindergarten teacher.

honey, i’m still free

"Looks like you've made a lot of progress since I was here last."

Will's shoulders rise quickly to meet his ears, and he looks back from the large canvas he is poring over – a commission for a big client he's been working on for weeks. He turns around to find Mike standing in the middle of his studio, a toothy smile spread across his face and holding two coffee cups.

‘cause if we don’t leave this town

“Okay, I think that’s everything.”

Will hears an accomplished exhale from Lucas and the sound of the U-Haul door slamming as he sluggishly climbs into the back seat of the Sinclair family Expedition, which was passed down to Lucas when he graduated high school.

when it ends

"You're staring," Will says from the other side of the couch. His hair is a little messy, growing out so it flips up off the back of his neck the way Mike loves. He's wearing one of Mike's crewnecks with shorts and socks that stop above his ankles. His legs are scrunched up like he's trying to make himself small – a default position for Will when his mind is elsewhere.

"Do you not want me to?" Mike wonders.

tried and true blue

"Okay, and—yeah, that's fine sweetheart, of course I want to see you—no, Lucas won't mind—you're sure you're okay, though?—drive safe, I love you," is the half-conversation Lucas hears Mike murmur into the telephone receiver in the kitchen.

if only to say you’re mine

"I think it's kinda cool how everyone's more eager to celebrate the little things now, after almost losing so much," Will ponders after Max voices criticism at the frivolous decorations around Hawkins High.

you got a fast car

"Let's go somewhere— anywhere. Whisk me away."

tag: @storybook-tiles @longtallglasses @lovetriangled @queerxqueen @newlesbianprideflag @parkitaco & anyone else who wants to (also sorry if i’ve tagged you before there’s truly no pressure ever hehe)

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

BG3 WIP Snippet - MoonWeaver

The lake’s waves lapped at the shore of the camp, fresh water meeting the land in gentle, yet fleeting embraces. Fire crackling, its last dying orange embers fading around blackened logs flaked with white ash while fireflies danced in the dark as black as pitch, mingling in a waltz amongst the wisps of smoke that drifted up from where Tem sat with a makeshift poker. She’d taken the second watch that night, and while Astarion still prowled in the dark on the outskirts of the camp looking for a meal, the others slept in their tents, surrounded by whatever comforts that reminded them of home they had managed to find along their journey. In all this time Tem had never built her tent, instead choosing to sleep out in the elements. She had no need for a bed, nor four walls or a ceiling above her, preferring to be cradled in a blanket of stars and washed in the cool glow of the moon upon her skin, to be made one with the earth, and the boundless bits of life that sprang from it – she didn’t need protection from it, she was a part of it. 

It should have been lonely sitting out there – to most others it would be – but for Tem it was the life she’d always wanted. She’d never been much for people, nature had always seemed to have a much more profound hold over her heart right from the moment she could look up at the sky and know there was more beyond the walls that held her in Evereska. Journeying, adventure, curiosity always nipping at her heels and pushing her forward, onward to greater things (even if that did include the tadpole that swam inside her head). Her parents had always warned her there was only peril beyond the carefully protected borders of her home in the Heartlands, but there was danger in everything that went outside the scope of what her parents understood – even she was considered dangerous. Born to two artisans, she was granted the gift of magic from her fey ancestry, and like her elven brethren, she wanted to explore and understand more of the world she’d been born into. It started with sneaking into the holes in the walls and the alcoves of Evereska that everyone else ignored, and then once she’d charted every bit of the city, she started climbing its walls finding forests, mountains, lakes, streams, and rivers outside it. Glorious wonders of natural beauty that her parents could only hope to one day paint, and she was able to see it all with her own two eyes. One day she reached a point where she just never went back, there was nothing left for her inside the walls, there was only more beyond. 

She sighed and poked at the fire, not noticing the quiet footsteps that approached from behind and stopped at her side. 

Gale took a deep breath, inhaling the night into his lungs and then sat down beside her on the bedroll, forcing himself to keep some distance, the wind blowing in between them. “It truly is a wonderful night for contemplation, is it not?”

Smiling softly, the tips of her ears wiggled. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I am, but when one’s mind is full of ruminations it's difficult to merely rest their head upon a pillow and drift off.”

Turquoise eyes drifted sideways, the golden flecks in her eyes glowing with the flickering amber flame in front of her. “What’s on your mind?”

He pulled his knees back to rest against his chest, his arms circling them tightly as he looked up at the moon showering them in its celestial spotlight. “When you kissed me –”

Tem turned her head quickly to look at him, loose tendrils of platinum hair caught in a draft of wind, dancing around her shoulders. “You mean when I imagined kissing you.”

“Yes…well…in the Weave –” He jutted his pointer finger up into the air and shook it slightly. “ – even the imagined feels real.”

She quirked her brow, and muttered under her breath, half hoping he wouldn’t hear. “I imagine it wasn’t anywhere as good as what you had with a goddess.”

She knew it was childish to think such things, let alone to say them aloud and lash out at him, but it didn’t help that he seemed to want to constantly remind her of what he had with a deity when she’d never even had the time for love in her life before. How was she ever supposed to live up to Mystra? She was no sorceress or wizard, he made that abundantly clear when they’d first met. She was a simple druid, nothing more.  

“Ah, see, that’s why I came over.” He shifted closer to her, and pressed his hand on top of hers. “A dream of what a kiss from you might be like is one thing.” He lowered his voice and spoke in a honeyed tone, “I’d very much like to know how the real thing would feel.”

Tem was quick to pull her hand away from under his and place it in her lap, still feeling the ghost of his warmth upon her skin. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Toy with me,” she said softly.

His shoulders slumped and his face fell. “I’m not.”

She wanted to believe him, she truly did, but the more she thought about what had happened between them in the Weave, the more she realized it was better to nip it in the bud. Whatever they felt was because they were near death, chasing some last bit of intimacy and connection before they’d fall prey to the creature that had burrowed itself behind their eyes and lay dormant, waiting to strike. 

“I spend more time with the trees and under the sky. I don’t know the things that you do. We’re from different worlds. All we have in common is this creature that resides inside our heads. What I did – I shouldn’t have.”

Cupping the pale blue skin of her cheek in his large hand – kept soft and neatly manicured having only known the toil of casting spells and flipping the pages of his leather bound tomes – Gale brushed his fingers through her silky hair and gazed into her eyes and she was nearly swallowed up in how deep and dark his own could be.“You absolutely should have. I’m glad you did.”

[amchara]

If you're still taking story prompts, could you pls cherry on top write Skloom + jealousy?

Hi Jo! My first official published Skloom fic... *hides several WIPs* Hope you enjoy! 😘

(also, there is some background Greysha but I didn't think you'd mind that)

----

Sky’s day was going from bad to worse. First Andreas had noticed a slight speck of rust on his training sword and had assigned additional footwork practice, where Sky just about broke an ankle. Then, Riven had let Dane and Beatrix use the shower in their room and therefore all the hot water. And now this… 

“Whoa, mate- go easy on that cup, I think you’ve just about killed it,” Grey teased, as he passed by Sky’s table in the dining hall. He looked over to where Bloom, Aisha and other fairies were crowded around the small table of Malacoy Academy visitors. 

Sky ignored Grey’s soft ahh I see and tried to school his face. He knew he was being irrational, could feel the hot pricklings of shame and rage that seemed to increasingly creep up on him, threatening to overwhelm. “You okay?” Grey’s voice came from beside him, where he had pulled up a chair. He clicked his tongue in sympathy. “Only two more days, and then they’re gone until next year’s exchange.

“Yeah, whatever-” Sky said. He got up and strode away from the table, trying to burn the sight of Bloom sweeping her hair back from her face shyly, as she exchanged phones back with that fucking prince, out of his mind. 

Sky stared at the whisky bottle in his room, kicking his feet angrily at the bed. He picked up his phone, spinning it around, trying to think of something- anything else. 

There was a soft knock on his door, and Bloom popped her head in. “There you are!” she said, cheerfully. “We were wondering wher-ummph,” she gasped as Sky pounced. 

There was a moment of stillness before Bloom recalibrated, and then- she was there with Sky. 

Her hair was falling around his face, and her warm hands were in his hair, tightening their grip, as he lifted her, off the ground, supporting them both against the wall, as he attempted to kiss her senseless. She fit perfectly against him, he thought in a haze, as her hands slid down, and began exploring underneath his shirt.  

“Wow, that was, wow,” Bloom said, when they finally emerged for air. “Happy to see you too.” She placed her hand on his cheek, turning it so that he could meet her, smile wide happiness and- face glowing with what he hoped was satisfaction. 

“I- did you have a good afternoon?” he asked, suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious. “With the Malacoy exchange students.”

Bloom’s eyes narrowed suddenly in suspicion. “Sky.”

“Mmm, yeah, mine was busy,” He let go and cleared off a space on the bed, and laid back on it, hoping Bloom would join him.

Bloom climbed on top, perching in her usual spot, her chin hitting just below his collarbone. “Did this afternoon’s greetings have anything to do with the Malacoy boys?” 

“I-” Sky hated to admit his jealousy but- this was Bloom. He had to be honest. “I just- that prince seemed so…” he trailed off, lamely. “I saw you exchange numbers.”

Bloom let out a small laugh. “Oh- you had nothing to worry about there.” 

Sky shot her a confused look and she clarified. “Nabu wanted to give Aisha his number and he asked me to pass it on.” 

Sky let out a small sigh of relief. “Oh- right.” He frowned. “Do I need to tell Grey he should be worried?” 

“Nah, I think Aisha is pretty much a one-guy-at-a-time type of gal. Same as me.” Bloom giggled. She also muttered something about abs, which Sky ignored.

But even as she replied, she lifted her head, and the look directed towards him promised a heat, one unrelated to her fairy power. “But- not going to lie. I might kinda have a thing for jealous Sky.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” he teased back. 

She smiled smugly, and well- Sky couldn’t exactly leave her hanging, could he? He pulled her down, kissing all along her jawline, allowing himself the sweeping feeling of relief that she was his, and he was hers.

[supernutellastuff]

running like water - a Zutara oneshot

AU Post-finale, that time when an assassin crashes Zuko's 18th birthday. Luckily he has a master waterbender by his side. Ft. a badass Katara, Fire Nation political intrigue, and Bloodbending as flirting.

(Realised I'd written this years ago but never posted. Hopefully this gives me some much-needed inspiration while I muddle through my WIPs. Happy reading!)

link on ao3

Or read below!

It’s Zuko’s 18th birthday and he is nowhere to be found. By all accounts, he’d made an appearance at the Royal Ball for a respectable amount of time and then disappeared into thin air. Katara hurries across the halls of the palace, one hand gathering the skirts of her formal gown, her heels clicking on the marble floor. The palace staff haven’t seen him either—he wasn’t in his bedchambers, nor in the library, and she’d even checked under the willow tree next to the turtleduck pond. Katara fumes, her annoyance rising. She’s laboured over his gift for days, the least he could do is not get kidnapped or whatever.

It’s nearing midnight and Katara is about to contemplate hiring the services of Jun and her shirshu when she remembers the one place she hadn’t yet searched: the rooftop. While the rooftop was largely inaccessible, owing to its steep pagoda architecture, there was a flat alcove, hidden to the public, that opened up to the sky. Zuko had shown it to her a while ago when he was making plans for renovation, but it was dirty and in disrepair then, which is why it had slipped her mind.

The entrance to the roof is hidden behind a tapestry, a rather heavy, ugly thing the colour of blood. Katara twitches the tapestry aside and slips behind it. A narrow spiral staircase stands in front of her, illuminated by a hanging dusty lantern. Clutching the wrought iron railings, she begins the dizzying climb. An unexpected sight greets her at the top.

The place has been transformed into a charming rooftop garden. Vines climb the walls and trail down the parapet. Rows of potted herbs are flanked by beds of exotic flowers, the spicy and sweet scents intermingling in interesting ways. Fat beeswax candles stuck on iron stands are placed strategically in recesses, giving the entire garden a low, atmospheric lighting. And lounging on a profusion of cushions, eyes shut, his top knot undone, is Zuko.

“Took you long enough,” he says lazily, cranking one eye open.

“Happy Birthday,” Katara snaps, flinging the wrapped parcel at his stomach with a little too much force.

Zuko straightens immediately. “What is this?”

“Your present, dummy. I’ve been running around everywhere looking for you.”

He frowns. “Didn’t Oromi deliver you the message?”

“What message?” she asks, sinking into a cushion beside him.

“He must have misplaced the note again.” Oromi was the new palace gardener, a country lad, kind-hearted but rather forgetful. He was a magician at his work, though—he could make the stubbornest of saplings sprout and the most exotic flowers bloom under his care, almost like he was bending them. This little rooftop garden seems to be his doing. “I wrote you a message asking you to meet me here. I could not stand all those dreadful festivities.”

“Yes, yes what a bore having people throwing grand parties in your honour.”

A sheepish smile spread across his face. “I appreciate it all, I really do.”

“The royal cooks roasted an entire hippo-ox in your honour.”

“And I savoured every bite of it…but it exhausts me, having to put on this stern, aloof, regal front.” He does look exhausted, there are lines around his eyes that have no business being there. He also looks older; the planes of his face have sharpened and there’s stubble on his face on days he has no official business. “I hate pretending to be someone I’m not, especially on my birthday, when I’d rather spend time with the people I like.” His eyes flicker to her and her stomach flips.

Clearing her throat, Katara gestures to the package lying in his lap. “Open your gift.”

Zuko picks up the gift, examining it from every angle. Katara watches him carefully as his deft fingers unwrap the parcel, untying the strings and peeling off the layers. Nestled in the folds is a stack of small, unassuming-looking, semi-circular cakes.

“It’s a mooncake,” says Katara hurriedly. “A traditional Water Tribe recipe. Probably not a very special gift but my mom used to make them for birthdays-”

Zuko is already digging into the stack. He takes a bite, makes a sound of appreciation, and polishes off the whole cake. “Is there fruit jam inside?!” he asks in delight, mouth full. He offers a cake to her and picks another for himself.

“Yes!” She grins. “Salmonberry jam. I spent days in the palace kitchen, trying to get the thickness of the filling right. It needs to be the right amount of oozy…”

The words die on her tongue. Zuko is licking the jam off his fingers. She puts down her cake, suddenly very flustered.

Zuko looks up as she falls silent. Their eyes meet and the moment holds still. They’ve been dancing around each other for the past two years, longer than that, if she’s honest. Lingering looks, not-so-accidental touches, charged banter…she’s been noticing it more in their interactions lately, whether it’s quiet picnics beside the turtleduck pond or heated fights during state meetings. And now this connection, whatever it may be, is threatening to make itself known in very real ways. Katara has half a mind to brush off the moment with a flippant remark.

It’s Zuko who breaks the silence. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he comments. She’s wearing a traditional Fire Nation gown, richly embroidered in threads of red and gold, but her hair—

“Your hair is braided Water Tribe style. It looks good on you.”

She smiles, fighting off a blush. “Thank you.”

He’s not done. He runs his hand through his hair, seemingly gathering courage for something. “Katara, I-”

There’s a rustle behind her. She spins around. Her body falls into a fighting stance before she can even register what she’s seeing.

A man has climbed over the balcony and dropped to his feet. Clad in black from head to toe, he grins at Zuko. “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” He sounds calm but like her, he too is in a fighting stance, feet planted solidly on the floor, hands balled into fists at his side. Gone is the rumpled, cake-loving boy—in his place stands a deadly warrior.

“I’m no one, and everyone,” the intruder replies coolly, pacing from side to side.

“Catchy,” says Katara, not taking her eyes off him, cursing herself for not having her water canteen on her. “But that tells us nothing. Why are you here?”

He turns to her, appraising her from head to toe. “Good question. I’m here because I was told he’d be alone. Instead, I find him here with a date. Anyway, doesn’t matter. The more the merrier.”

“What do you want?” Zuko repeats, his voice a low growl.

“You, of course.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Zuko punches out a plume of flame so bright it turns night into day. But the assassin is ready. He moves his arm and a smooth disc of metal grows in his hand, blocking the fire and dispersing it on all sides. Katara averts her head from the heat. “He’s a metalbender!” she yells.

The fire had evaporated all the water from the air; Katara draws every drop she can muster from the soil and plants around her, sending Oromi a mental apology, and takes control of the water. There’s not enough room for one of her signature water whips. She flings ice daggers at the same time Zuko attacks with a rapid series of fireballs. Forced to parry their combined charges, the assassin should have been cornered and trapped, and that should have been the end of it.

But with a twist of his hand, the man curves his metal shield, deflecting her daggers and sending them onto the fireballs. There’s a great sizzle and a large cloud of steam mushrooms in the air. Taking advantage of the distraction, he tosses something at Zuko.

“Zuko!” she shouts. She hears a yelp of pain and a thud. The steam is still hanging in the air; she can’t see. She frantically bends the vapour, blowing it away into the night sky, beyond the balcony. Cool air rushes in, stinging her scalded skin. Her sight clears. And there’s Zuko on the ground, squirming, as twisting ropes of metal wrap around his ankles, wrists, torso, and most alarmingly, his neck. Katara moves towards him.

The assassin laughs. “One more step, girl, and I squeeze the life out of him.” The rope around Zuko’s neck tightens and he chokes.

Katara stops. Her mind is working rapidly, one eye on the bindings around Zuko, and one eye on the assassin. She’s out of breath, her hair is burned, her gown is ripped in places, and she’s out of water. She hadn’t worn a water canteen with her water gown. She hadn’t expected trouble inside the palace. She’d grown complacent. And now that was going to cost Zuko his life.

“If you’re going to kill me, just get on with it,” spits Zuko between gritted teeth. “But let her go.”

“Zuko, shut up. I’m not going anywhere.”

“How about this, I torture the Fire Lord, extract some information out of him, and then kill you both. How does that sound?”

“Why are you doing this?” asks Katara.

“To return things to the way they were, of course.”

She snorts. “Heard that before.”

A furious look splits his face. “You wouldn’t understand, little waterbender. Go back to your primitive backwaters and don’t interfere.”

Katara glances up at the starry sky. Get him angry, keep him talking.

“How come a metalbender is interfering with the Fire Nation’s state of affairs then?”

“I’m not interfering! I have a personal stake in this.”

“What, money? Did some disgruntled Fire Nation lord pay you to topple the throne? Or are you a Azula sympathiser, clinging to some romantic notions of an autocracy? Or god forbid, are you one of those nutjobs who want to bring Ozai back?” She mocks a look of disgust and horror.

The man clenches and unclenches his jaw. She can sense that his anger is rising, he’s bursting to defend himself.

“Okay I have two more guesses.” Katara is talking faster now. The ropes are now cutting into Zuko’s skin. Despite the pain, he’s been keeping quiet. Perhaps he knows what she’s up to. “You’re an ex Dai Li agent who turned to metalbending and is now taking revenge. No? How about-”

The assassin hurls a block of metal at her stomach, knocking the wind out her. “You’re getting on my nerves now. You’re that waterbender girl, aren’t you? The one who was with the Avatar? I expected better from you. All you have is talk. You don’t have water, what are you going to do?”

And it’s at that exact moment, the clouds in the sky disperse and the full moon reveals itself.

Katara rises up and grins, a slow, unnerving grin. She couldn’t have timed it better herself.

“I don’t need water.”

The man doesn’t know what hits him. One moment he’s in full control, the other he’s a puppet in her hands.

“What is happening to me,” he cries out in fear and pain as his body contorts against his will. The ropes binding Zuko fall away and he springs to his feet. “Keep him there!”

“Gladly,” replies Katara with a grim smile. A fury like she’d never felt before rises in her stomach and she flops the assassin around like a grotesque marionette. He hurt Zuko and he is going to pay for this…

Moments that feel like eternities later, Zuko returns with the palace guards. She releases her control and the man crashes to the floor. Looking shocked and horrified, he scrambles away from her and straight into the waiting arms of the guards.

She rests against a vine-covered wall, suddenly exhausted.

As the guards take the would-be assassin away, the Head Guard insists on staying with Zuko or taking him inside to the medical wing. Zuko shoos them away impatiently. He has eyes only for her.

Once they’re alone, he approaches her. “Are you okay?”

“I should be the one asking you that.”

“I’m fine.” He shows her his neck and wrists where he’d tried to burn through the rope, but the hot metal had only burned him in return. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“I’m sorry about your garden,” she says, gesturing at the dead plants, burnt flowers, and wrecked furniture.

“In retrospect the hanging ivy was a security hazard.”

She laughs. Then sighs. “We’ll need to question the man, find out who he is, what he meant by information-”

Zuko places a hand on her shoulder. “Tomorrow. We’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

Katara leans into him, glad for the support. “You didn’t tell me what you thought of the mooncakes.”

“Katara, I would love the mooncakes even if they tasted of ash.”

“Well, you got your wish.” She smiles and points at the trampled cakes that had been unfortunate enough to come into contact with one of Zuko’s fireballs.

“Another crime to add to the man’s tally.” His expression turns serious. “You were amazing out there, Katara. The bloodbending. You saved my life.”

Katara shifts. While the others had never outright spoken about it, she knew they disapproved of her bloodbending—it was too violent, it was too destructive, it wasn’t like her, etc. etc. But Zuko…the quiet awe is Zuko’s voice is devoid of any judgement. She remembers the same non-judgemental support from the time they went looking for her mother’s killer.

“I want to know what it feels like,” he whispers.

“What?”

Zuko steps closer to her. “I want you to bend my blood. I want to experience what it feels like.”

“What—but no—it’ll hurt you!”

“I should know about it from the training point of view. What if I have to face a bloodbender in battle one day?” he says, matter-of-factly. Then his voice drops to something deep and low. “Besides, I’ve always been curious ever since I saw your bloodbend.”

Katara has a strong feeling that they’re about to cross a line of no return. “Are you sure?”

“I trust you,” is his simple reply.

So Katara goes for it. With trembling fingers, she makes figures in the air, just like Hama had taught her, but gentler, much gentler. She can feel his heart pumping, the blood flowing through his veins. There’s something strangely intimate about having access to his body like this. Zuko watches his hand rise up in the air above his head and come back to rest on her shoulder. He lets out a hiss that could either be of pain or of amazement.

This feeling—of having power over someone, making them do whatever she wanted—was always something that had excited her about bloodbending, and made her feel ashamed of it at the same time. But this was something different. Having power over Zuko, moving his body whatever way she wanted, but only because he was letting her…it ignited something very different in her. An excitement like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Longing. Desire.

She releases the bloodbending and looks up at Zuko. His pupils are dilated. And he’s looking at her with the same excitement. Longing. Desire.

“I had this whole speech planned,” he says hoarsely. “With the candles and the flowers and the cushions under the stars.”

“Another crime to add to the man’s tally,” she repeats in a whisper, their faces closer than ever.

“Should I make my speech now? Katara,” he begins dramatically, “I have known how I felt about you ever since-”

“Zuko,” she advises. “Shut up.”

And they spend the rest of the night in the ruined wreckage of the garden, under the starry sky, on cushions slightly sticky with salmonberry jam, doing a whole lot of shutting up.

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