#For now I just have little snippets here and there

[littlespoonevan]

Would love to hear more about the Miss Congeniality Au!

ahhh miss congeniality au, my beloved!!!! 💖💗💞💕🩷❤️ truly, truly, truly i feel like this au could be so much FUN if i could find the discipline and motivation to just sit down and write it lmao. but i will say i v much enjoyed fitting all the pieces together for this snippet so here's hoping it awakens something in me askdjhf

i hope you like it 🥰

~

Eddie never imagined becoming a special agent. Then again, he never imagined becoming a single dad either.

But FBI work actually keeps him chained to a desk a hell of a lot more than regular police work used to and the pay’s better.

He’s regretting that decision right about now.

“Eddie, it has to be you.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, quickening his step even as Chimney continues to keep pace with him.

“It absolutely doesn’t, Chim.”

“The whole office agrees-“

Eddie stops short, whirling around. “Just because the little simulation version of me you drew up on the computer had an eight-pack-“

“My computer does not lie, Diaz-“

“I don’t have time,” Eddie cuts in. “I can’t be away from Chris that long.”

“It’s one week. Less, if you do your job right.”

Eddie makes a face.

It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. A charity firefighter competition that he really thinks sounds a hell of a lot like a beauty pageant. Sure, there’s obstacle courses and stuff to complete but he’s not sure what a speedo competition has to do with being a competent firefighter. The cause is noble, he guesses, but there has to be a better way to raise money than deciding who’s the most specialist firefighter in all of Los Angeles.

Especially when the host – Captain Bobby Nash – is the target of a bomb threat.

It wouldn’t even have landed on their desk if not for the fact that three people with ties to Bobby Nash and the LAFD had received bombs in the mail over the last two weeks.

Athena thinks their best chance to take down the mail bomber is to have someone on the inside, to infiltrate the competition and investigate the contestants while also being the FBI’s eyes and ears throughout the week.

Hen and Chim, of course, volunteered Eddie for the job.

“I don’t like undercover work.” It’s an oversimplified version of the truth – that Eddie hates having to perform for an extended period of time and that this competition sounds like his own personal version of hell. Also, as much as he knows he’s in good shape, he doesn’t actually want people ogling his body for a week straight.

Chim gives him an incredibly unsympathetic clap on the shoulder. “Just use those big, brown eyes of yours and wow the judges with your salsa skills and no one will be any the wiser.”

Eddie opens his mouth to argue back when another voice cuts through their conversation.

“She said yes!”

He and Chimney both look up to find Hen running towards them, a beaming grin on her face. “Athena said yes! Better start practicing your poses, Firefighter Diaz.”

Well, shit.

-

Captain Bobby Nash has got a made-for-TV smile that has Eddie understanding why he got the hosting gig over every other fire captain in LA.

“Special Agent Grant,” he says, shaking Athena’s hand with a warmth to his expression that Eddie doesn’t expect.

Athena clearly doesn’t expect it either because she clears her throat as she pulls her hand back. “Captain Nash. This is Agent Diaz.”

Nash redirects his attention to Eddie, extending his hand once again. “Great to meet you. And please, call me Bobby.”

“You too,” Eddie says, flashing a polite smile and following Athena’s lead to take a seat in front of Bobby’s desk.

“So I take it there’s been some progress in the case?” Bobby asks, settling into his chair.

Athena purses her lips, exchanging a look with Eddie. “Not as much as we’d like. Given that we still don’t have a trace on the letter the bomber sent and the LAFD’s reluctance to cancel the competition, we’ve decided to send one of our agents in undercover.”

Bobby’s eyes immediately flick to Eddie and Eddie feels the ridiculous urge to straighten his posture. “I’m guessing that’s where you come in, Agent Diaz?”

“Not that we want to undermine the integrity of the competition but it will be imperative that Eddie makes it to the final,” Athena says. “It’s the best chance we have of catching the bomber if we can’t determine a suspect before then.”

Bobby leans back in his chair, regarding them both with an unreadable expression. Finally, he cracks a smile. “Well, he certainly looks the part.”

“He gets that a lot,” Athena snorts and Eddie ducks his head to hide the heat in his cheeks. It’s bad enough when it’s Hen and Chim ribbing him; he didn’t actually think Athena ever overheard them.

“Which firehouse is he representing though?” Bobby asks. “All of the contestants have already been chosen.”

Without missing a beat, Athena hands over a file that Eddie knows contains the fake details of his new identity. “Apparently the 133’s entry came down with an awful bout of food poisoning.”

Bobby accepts the manila folder with a faint smirk. “Well, that’s a shame.”

-

“Diaz. Diaz, do you read me? Over.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as he steps onto the bus ready to ship the contestants to the opening luncheon. “Yes, Chim,” he mutters under his breath. “I can hear you; stop yelling.”

“Remember to smile, Eddie.” That’s Hen.

How Athena thought they were the two best suited to oversee this, he’ll never understand.

He scans the length of the bus, looking for an empty seat. The whole place is overrun with burly men in too tight t-shirts talking animatedly to each other. It takes him a second to realise one of the men in question is waving at him.

He’s got curly hair and a golden retriever-esque eagerness to his smile. “Edmundo?” he asks. “From the 133, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and rearranges his face into a smile as he makes his way to the empty seat. Though calling it an empty seat feels generous when the firefighter all but shoves himself against the window to make room.

“How’d you know who I was?” he asks, genuinely curious. They only finalised the details of Eddie’s position in the competition yesterday and they made sure to leave any of his information off the official competition website.

“Oh I did a little deep dive on the other contestants but you were the only one who didn’t have a picture so I figured it had to be you.” He shrugs with an affable charm before offering Eddie a hand. “I’m Evan Buckley, with the 118. Everyone calls me Buck though.”

“He’s cute,” Hen says in his ear.

“Like a puppy,” Chim adds.

Eddie ignores them and shakes his hand. “Uh, you can call me Eddie,” he greets. Changing his last name was necessary; he refuses to go by Edmundo for the next week. It’s only then that he clocks the station number Buck said. “You’re part of Nash’s team.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, beaming with pride. “Bobby’s the best captain ever. You know some of these guys have it out for me because they think he’s gonna play favourites even though he’s not a judge. He’s just the host. But whatever, it’s not a big deal.”

The dejected look that creeps onto Buck’s face suggests it very much is a big deal even if he won’t admit it. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy. The guy seems harmless, even with all the rippling muscles. Then again, he’s not surprised a competition this testosterone-fuelled has people acting territorial.

“They just want an excuse for when you beat them in the first round,” Eddie says, mostly to fill the silence but also to get this Buck guy to stop looking so downtrodden.

He definitely doesn’t expect the way Buck’s whole face lights up in awe.

“You think I’ve got a shot at making it to the finals?”

The earnest hopefulness in Buck’s voice catches Eddie off guard and Hen and Chimney in his ear don’t help.

“Aww Eddie’s making friends!”

“Forget friends! Eddie, he’s cute; keep flirting with him.”

Eddie bites down on the urge to tell them to fuck off and makes himself smile at Buck instead. “’Course you do. Some of these guys are lucky they even made it this far.”

Truthfully, Eddie hasn’t even taken the time to look at anyone else on the bus all that much yet but the words tumble out of his mouth without permission. And in the face of Buck’s delighted grin, he can’t find it in himself to take them back.

“Thanks, man,” Buck says bashfully. “Hey, you have anyone to share a room with at the hotel yet?”

“Please tell me there’s only gonna be one bed,” Hen squawks gleefully in his ear.

“Uh I don’t know. Are they assigned or-?”

“They figured since most of us know each other we could pair up however we want but- um…” Buck trails off, making it clear no one has offered to share with him and well, it seems like he knows a lot about the other contestants. That could be good for Eddie. To get information and close the case. Obviously.

“Yeah, man. We can share.”

“Awesome!” Buck declares, slumping more comfortably in his seat and bumping his shoulder –probably accidentally – against Eddie’s. The bus gets moving then and Eddie takes the opportunity to scope out some of the other contestants.

It’s unlikely their suspect is another firefighter but not impossible.

“So how come I’ve never seen you at a scene before?”

Eddie blinks, redirecting his attention to Buck who’s looking at him curiously.

“Oh uh, I just transferred in the last couple of months.”

“From where?” Buck’s expression doesn’t look suspicious and Eddie has to remind himself not every conversation with a stranger needs to be an interrogation.

“Um, El Paso,” he says, immediately cringing on the inside. This man does not need to know any of his real life personal details.

But Buck only smiles again. “Cool. I’ll have to look out for you on calls from now on.”

And it’s not said flirtatiously or anything like that but Buck looks bashful again and Chimney is cackling his ear about how, “Eddie’s got a fan,” and Eddie’s stomach does a strange, traitorous flip.

But this is fine.

Everything is fine.

It’s just-

It’s going to be a long week.

-

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP1: Kant & Bison's Desire for Agency

I recently wrote a post around Kant being the vehicle for Bison's freedom, but I'm spotting a bigger theme that these two lovebirds share in common. Both feel stripped of their agency, their ability to dictate their lives freely on their own terms and by their own ideals and desires.

For that reason, they're respectively struggling with where they are versus where they want to be, as factors beyond their control currently inhibit that from being attainable.

"I've cleared my name of car theft. My hands are so damn clean now." Kant is keen to put his past behind him, however Captain Chris has him cornered under the threat of re-opening his previous felonies and possible jail time, dangling custody of his brother as a bargaining chip. "If you get this done for me, not only will your criminal record be swept away, I'll wipe it clean." "If you go to jail, who'd take care of your brother?" This leaves Kant with no choice but to begrudgingly concede.

Bison feels similarly trapped by a life he didn't choose, clearly eager at any opportunity to 'clock off'. "I do what I have to do. Now I want to do what I want to. Can't I just live a little?" "If being hitmen makes it so hard to live, shouldn't we just quit?" "I don't want to kill people for a living my whole life... I just want to live my life." He just wants to enjoy a normal life - to have fun, to be frivolous, to embrace being a 24 year old.

TOGETHER WE BREAK FREE

Their relationship serves as temporary relief or escape from the situations they both find themselves in. Bison finds Kant's company a break from routine and monotony, a welcome distraction in between killing and working at the burger bar (neither of which he chose for himself). Dating Kant is an insight into the joys of life he fears missing out on. 'When I'm with you, I'm not a killer, I'm just a boy'.

By some poetic irony, Kant's mission to instrument Bison's capture would grant him access to the freedom he is seeking - allowing him and his brother to truly start afresh. There is absolutely more backstory to come as to why Kant wants this so badly, that he’s willing to throw so much in. Dating Bison may begin as a means to an end, but Kant does find himself falling in love, despite his objective.

Once everything is out in the open, I do think they'll aid one another in acquiring the agency they each so desperately desire. No one can better understand how it feels to be trapped than someone who is also fighting against the bars of their own cage.

OVERCOMING YOUR RESTRAINTS

On their first official date, Kant shares the following with Bison: “Would you believe me if I told you that I'm afraid of the ocean? Something happened when I was a kid. I almost drowned. Now I'm still afraid of it." One could argue that we don't know if Kant's admission is true, but I don't see any reason for him to lie about this specifically.

This promptly takes me back to this moment from the trailer, which has prominently stuck in my mind. I still get the impression that they are working together when Kant jumps in. If Bison was on the offensive, I don't think he'd be as stationary or calm. Maybe he's performing under someone's watchful eye, or his gun is aimed at something out of shot, or they're practicing a specific stunt.

Whatever the context, this scene now has considerably more weight. The fact that Kant jumps in whilst his hands are bound, when he has a fear of drowning is an indication he's putting his complete trust in Bison (who is adept at swimming), to rescue him if needs be. The implication here being that Bison may quite literally, mentally and symbolically free Kant from his restraints, helping him to overcome what he’s most afraid of.

BDSM: THE PLEASURE OF CONTROL

Funnily enough, this duo's exploration of BDSM even aligns with their shared desire for agency. From the few snippets we’ve been shown, Bison likes being the one in control. Your partner consents to be at your mercy, affording you the power to enact pleasure and/or pain. And there’s a heady thrill in being handed that control. (It's worth noting the inherent power play in taking a life, but whether Bison derives any pleasure from this, I'm not 100% sure. Kant also knows Bison is capable of killing, so letting him dominate actually says a tonne). During their one night stand, Bison even quips, "you're not doing this solo, you know," which teases that he's no passive participant.

Kant seems happy to indulge Bison in taking the reins. Having his agency taken away during acts of passion, but on his terms is completely different to feeling forcibly pushed - because you've chosen how and who you forfeit that agency to. This is partly why I suspect Kant actually gives Bison permission to tie him up in that boat scene (above).

You can keep tabs on bird-inacage’s BL meta directory for my other long-form posts around The Heart Killers, which I’ll be updating as the show airs.

[patolemus]

Wip Thursday

Got tagged by @gege-wondering-around and @dontcallpanic so here you have another snippet for my demon!stiles au!

“So. I know what this thing is,” because there comes a point where your only option is ripping off the bandaid, and also, Stiles has exhausted all his other resources. “The good news is I know how to get rid of it.”

“And the bad news?” Derek already sounds like he doesn’t want to know the answer. Stiles would feel guilty, he really would. Only, Derek brought this on himself, really, letting Stiles into the pack all those years ago. He should just accept that Stiles will do his thing and rest easy.

“Uuuh… I’m going to have to talk to my Father and that always sucks,” and he’d been doing so well, too, dodging his messengers and little notice-me calls. The fire had been a little too on point, though.

“The Sheriff? What for?” Scott tilts his head in that way that makes him look exactly like a puppy. Stiles has a sudden urge to squeeze him until he bursts.

Heh, good old cute rage.

“Oh, no, not my dad. My Father. Completely different people,” Stiles is met with blank expressions. Huh. Right, the puppies don’t know who his Father is. Eh. Not his problem. Derek can explain it to them on his own time. “Anyways, it’ll be a pain in the ass because I’ve been trying to avoid his calls for a while now and he’ll be so clingy and smug, but I’ll take one for the team,” he says, ever so graciously. Ugh, Belial is going to be unbearable, too. Stiles is so not looking forward to that conversation.

More blank stares. Stiles smiles, nods once and turns around. He’ll have to go kill an animal or something for his sacrifice, since his Father still refuses to get signal on Hell. So messy. Stiles hopes his Father understands he won’t be returning until he gets stable wi-fi connection because he is not giving up Google.

“What? Stiles that explains nothing!” Lydia says, exasperated. Stiles doesn’t know what she’s talking about, he made perfect sense of himself! “You haven’t even told us what this thing is!”

Oh. Okay, maybe that one’s on him.

Please don't take this seriously. I beg of you. Also I know this makes absolutely no sense at all but it will be. Eventually. Maybe. Hopefully. Tagging @oldefashioned @salty-fryingpan @novasillies @hedwig221b and of course @dontcallpanic and @gege-wondering-around again, thank you so much for the tag!

[artificiallita]

i got bit by the butch wolverine bug and trust me art of her is incoming BUT have we considered futch deadpool???

(headcanons and upcoming fic snippets under the cut)

working on a big silly fanfic about this hot mess boinking logan in the odyssey. here’s some headcanons while the story finishes cooking.

- so. kept her first name as wade. i’ve seen a few alt names floating around for f!deadpool (big love for the winnies, winonas, and wandas of the lesbianpool extended universe) but genderfuck ‘not rlly a name’ just fits my vision for her. her parents were weird idk.

- deadpool is a woman in all variants except one in my personal headcanon. he is called dudepool. also her corresponding nicepool is male gaze-ified pre-mutation wade. she’s bleach blonde and her suit has a titty window.

- ex special forces turned mercenary whose life shit the bed when she was diagnosed with cancer. tried to be proactive about it long enough to get a mastectomy, then found out said cancer was pretty much everywhere else, and we know the story from there. since this predates her healing factor, she’s permanently single-boobed. has padding in her suit to even her out since it doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, wears big t-shirts and ignores it in her civilian life.

- bisexual disaster zone. spent many years in a very happy and deeply perverted relationship with a male stripper named van carlysle, until that went down the toilet. a solid 70% of the casual sex she has is with women.

- dresses like the shitshow nightmare we know and love, loves an awful t shirt and a pair of crocs. put little to no effort into her appearance pre-mutation and that hasn’t really changed, had a brief phase of screwing around with makeup and wigs and then decided it was basically - to use a line of internal monologue from the pending fic - rolling a turd in glitter.

- speaking of, has a real complex about the changes to the way people perceive her post-mutation, namely that they seem to find her super fucking irritating and odd in a way that they very much Didn’t when she was still conventionally hot. between her military background and the general company she keeps, she’s quite often the only woman in her circles, and has always been a dysfunctional mess of adhd and unfiltered word-vomit, but that was generally read as mpdg ‘cool girl’ behaviour prior to her transformation, and now people seem to just think she’s a lunatic. less ‘oh god im hideous’, although she *absolutely* has those moments too, more ‘oh god everyone i know has thought i was a weird pain in the ass this entire time and only tolerated me because they wanted to fuck me’

- wears a lot of poorly applied eyeliner and purposely sleeps in it because she thinks it looks cool. it does not.

- had absolutely zero plans to snitch to cassandra about johnny’s rant, right up until the ‘bald hell’ line. she took that shit personally (almost definitely didn’t need to but whatever. i support women’s wrongs.)

and some snippets from the fic, all of which are me wade objectifying logan. technically spoilers but also what else did anyone expect

[junkpuppetj]

You turn your eyes away and put all your focus on the nothing between your fingers as he slumps down beside you on the step and tosses his bow somewhere behind him. Daryl doesn’t say anything as he pulls one of Shelly’s cigarettes from his pocket and lights it quickly - taking a few deep drags before offering it to you.

You hesitate and he shrugs, taking it back with a grunt. You sit in awkward silence as he smokes his cigarette and you study your hands, both of your minds racing. After another few puffs he offers the cigarette to you again and you take it between your fingers, bringing it to your own lips quickly.

“Would you kiss me?” The question rushes from your lungs with the exhale of smoke and you watch Daryl’s back go stiff, turning his head to the side slowly as he glares at you. “What?”

“Maggie said you would, kiss me…, but I don’t think so.” You hand him back the cigarette and watch as he takes a deep pull of smoke into his lungs, holding it for a long time before finally blowing it out through his nose. “What the hell are ya even talking about?”

You study your hands again. “She asked me if I liked you.” He grunts low in his throat, handing over the cigarette obviously not caring either way. “…but I don’t think you like me.”

Daryl turns his head again and narrows his eyes further. “I’m here with ya ain’t I?” He growls snatching the smoke out of your hand and bringing it back to his mouth quickly. He finishes it in three long pulls and flicks it across the street with another grunt.

“You weren’t earlier. You left.” You hate the way your voice sounds, shaking with nervousness and weak. This place is going to make you weak. Daryl already has. He’s already got your guard down.

“Jus’ had to get outta of here for a little while.” He explains and you swear you hear a hint of desperation in his words. His eyes are searching yours carefully and they’re so blue and full of unsaid words.

“Why?”

“Yer askin’ a lot of questions tonight.”

“…and you’re not answering any of them.”

You swear if he narrows them anymore his eyes will close but somehow he manages to glare at you through slits.

“Why do ya even care about any of that shit anyway? Ain’t like we’re gonna ride off into the sunset together. Ain’t like any of us have a chance in hell at any kind of normal life. Maggie, Glenn - Rick. They’re all just chasin’ a dream.”

You feel your heart break at his words. Daryl will never give a shit about anything - not you, not even himself and it’s painfully obvious now.

“Okay.”

“Okay? What the hell does that mean?”

“I think you answered my question.” You assure him and push yourself up from the porch, jogging down the steps quickly. You can hear Daryl growling from the porch as you wrap your arms around yourself and turn towards the town center.

“Where the hell are ya goin’?” Daryl asks trying to lighten his tone but you don’t stop walking - leaving him glaring after you.

xxx

GIF from google.

Snippet from my new fanfic Too Far Gone (which is not a Daryl X Reader fic) on Ao3. Check it out.

[tamwritesstuff]

for the last couple of days, all i could think about was how lucanis would react to rook getting trapped in the fade prison so of course i needed to write a fic about that. here's a little snippet of it!

Lucanis had known they were doomed since the beginning. After all, what chance did any of them have of defeating ancient elven mages? And yet, fool that he was, as time passed he had let himself believe in the team, in her. He should’ve known better. Memories of Tearstone Island come to him in bits and pieces. Some are hazy, slightly blurred at the edges, like his mind was too anxious to focus on anything else that wasn’t the fight ahead of them. Others are more solid, the horrors they encountered burned into his mind forever. If he closes his eyes he can still feel the desperation imprinted in every memory, the fear and anguish. Death, hanging over them like a shadow. Magic in the air, a red sky, the sound of Antaam’s war drums. Harding’s voice, whatever it takes. The feel of his feet hitting the ground as they raced to stop the ritual. Spite’s voice in his head urging him on. Rook’s eyes meeting his as she gave him the lyrium dagger. The relief as he pierced Ghilan’nain’chest with it and then — (He can’t think of what came next without grief choking him) — then Rook pulled the dagger from Ghilan’nain’s body and vanished. Lucanis stared with unseeing eyes, time slowing to a crawl. He blinked once, twice, heart beating loudly in his ears. He stood there, paralysed, arms outstretched out to her, her name stuck on his throat. “Rook?” he said, hating how shaky his voice sounded, how lost. The others didn’t take long to reach him and then Taash was yelling and Emmrich was frantically moving his hands, magic swirling around them while Lucanis could only watch, shock morphing into fear. “Lucanis” Davrin said putting a hand on his shoulder. He would’ve appreciated the gesture if he could think of anything else besides the fact that the woman he loved had just vanished before his very eyes. His breaths were coming more quickly and he had to clenched his hands hard enough to hurt to bring himself under control. “Lucanis” Davrin said again, more firmly. “Bring her back” Emmrich’s expression was pained, “I’m trying to—” Spite’s fury couldn’t be contained any longer. “BRING. HER. BACK. NOW”

[thundersarts]

a little snippet from the friends with benefits to lovers jeggy fic i'm working on <3

"I'm pretty sure the property manager hates my guts already. I've been doing my best to go unnoticed so she won't complain so I can prove to the landlord that she's been targeting me.”

“Why do you have to prove it?”

Regulus looks back at the apartment across from his’, a sigh leaves his lips. “I don't want to stay here for much longer,” his voice is a tad lower, likely trying to avoid being heard by any of his neighbors. He unlocks the door and only after both he and James slip inside he speaks up again. “I don't like feeling like I'm being monitored. I know managers are supposed to keep an eye out, but she keeps lurking. And I know I'm not doing anything wrong, but it still feels very…”

“Cathartic?”

Regulus nods, wincing. He sits down on the couch and starts to untie his shoes. “I have five months left on the contract. I thought about starting to look for other apartments around the area, but I want to show my landlord that I'm not being irresponsible. I just… I don't want to live like this again.”

In moments like these, James misses being a teenager. In his Hogwarts days, after hearing Regulus say all that, he would've called an official Marauders Meeting™, how they liked to call it, and would teach Mrs… He didn't quite get her name, and he doubts Regulus would give it to him, either way.  He and the boys would figure out a plan to show her that using her power as manager to try and harass Regulus out of the building wouldn't just go without any confrontation.

But… James knows better, now. He knows why it's completely off the table, and he knows why Sirius hasn't heard a word of this situation from Regulus ─ he tends to be pretty irrational when it comes to his brother, and he would most definitely get him kicked out, five months left or not.

Contrary to popular belief, James has matured. It tends to happen to everyone, at some point.

It happened to Regulus, too, James is sure, because the Regulus he first met, the Regulus who lived under his and Sirius’ parents, would've let it slide and endured. He would've stayed in the shadows for five more months, and then maybe left, if the hope for her to have changed, just a bit, had died.

Sometimes, James can see so much of Sirius in Regulus. It goes both ways, really. Yet, in times like this, James sees only Regulus.

“I take it you're trying not to cause any trouble?” James says, leaving his bag on the counter.

Regulus looks up at him, a small glint of mischief in his eyes. “I'm on my best behavior. All of her mistakes will be pretty baseless if I just keep being good.”

James smirks. “You're always pretty good, aren't you?”

[hellishjoel]

Hiiiiiii I was wondering because it’s Wednesday when I am writing this (hehe) could we maybe get a snippet of the latest from our beloved linecook!Frankie and reader :)))) love u and ur worlds

hiii beautiful, I'm sorry for the late reply, I wanted to put a few more words down before I answered this! We'll just pretend it's Wednesday, yeah?

here's a little snippet for the next chapter <3 definitely needs to be beta'd still but never fear, @devineconjuring' is on it

Things are so different from a year ago. 

Work used to be work, rolling silverware, counting back change, and praying for decent tips. Scrubbing tabletops, making pots of coffee, just trying to get through the day. 

There was a goofball in the back kitchen who was tall, a little older, always flirting with you whenever he got the chance. He wore a red bandana that you’re not sure he ever washed. He donned a crooked smirk and mischievous eyes that never failed to rake slowly up and over your body whenever given the chance. 

He used to call you Princess and still does sometimes, but he calls you by your name more often than not.

You once despised him for his sleazy comments about how short your skirt was or how he could smell your pretty perfume. Now, he puts butterflies in your stomach and talks a little sweeter to you. He puts whatever wants and needs you have above his own. Eats where you want to eat for dinner dates, lets you pick the movie, cooks dinner at your request, and drives you when your busted beater car goes down. 

And you realize he’s loved you for a really really long time. 

You’re only just starting to get it, to pay it back. But Frankie doesn’t see it that way, no sort of give and take. He’s never asked you to pay him back or said you owed him when he needed a favor. 

Frankie just might be the most devoted, loyal, kind, loving, imperfect human you’ve ever come across. And he’s your fucking boyfriend. 

You once thought you were unloveable because it was so easy for people to leave and extra easy to push them away when they got too close. But not Frankie. Frankie was patient, and he waited for you, never gave you an ultimatum, and always validated that you were allowed to take your time.  

You’re getting it now, you’re really getting it. Francisco Morales was your person. 

This is a love story.

[agirlandherquill]

friday kiss tag!

thanks for the tag @the-golden-comet @lamuradex @willtheweaver!

I know it's not friday anymore but this scene just came to me and I absolutely had to write it

so here it is, a little snippet from doubtless - my pirate story (which finally, as of last night, has a name!)

Lochley was to be shot.

She believed pirates were the ones that fought dirty, she had believed it all her life, and placed her faith in men such as these, these guards, these soldiers working to protect the Governor and the Isle. But seeing that gun in that man’s hand, her stomach dropped.

This was not an honourable fight. This was to be an execution.

The man clicked a lever on the side of the gun and raised it, levelling it at his heart. 

He’s going to die. 

Adalia’s hands collided with the gun as the guard’s finger twitched, triggering the mechanism, and the bullet fired with an ear-splitting crack. She watched it strike his mask. The stone cracked and Lochley froze, his eyes sliding to hers, they met for a moment, and then Lochley dropped, his body hitting the ground like a stone.

Adalia ran to him, she collapsed to her knees and fought to remove his mask. It would not give. She pushed it forward, past his chin, over his nose and lowered her ear to his lips. She listened for his breath. It would not come.

I shot him. 

I shot him to save him.

Now, have I killed him?

Trembling fingers cradled his jaw as she leant in, feeling the hard stillness of death in his chest as she pressed her lips to his, trading one breath, then another. And then, as his fingers cradled the back of her head, tangling themselves in her hair, she realised why he had been so tense, why it had been so difficult to fill his lungs with air. 

He had been holding his breath. The entire time. 

She drew back, scowling. “I thought you were dead.”

“I am, until I’m reminded that I am alive.” The mask was covering his eyes, she could not see the look in them and for that she was glad. The twitching of the corners of his lips was brutal enough.

“I should have let him shoot you.” She breathed, placing her hand where the bullet ought to have been. His fingers flexed on her head, his hand gently guiding her face back to his. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t?”

“You got your life and a kiss out of the bargain. You should be glad.”

“I do not want only one.” His lips grazed hers. “I want them all.”

A shadow fell over them and she sprang back, gasping, as a sword clipped her in the jaw. She hit the floor, clutching her face, as Lochley yanked his mask back into place and sat up, green eyes scowling. The guard that had hit her had his back to him. Of all the mistakes a man can make. Lochley rose from the floor in silence, tapped the man on the shoulder, and spoke quietly.

“I believe you owe her, and me, an apology.”

“What for?”

The look on his face was murderous. “You interrupted our kiss.”

She dropped the hand from her face and held out a hand placatingly. “Lochley…”

His eyes fixed on the small cut the sword had inflicted on her jaw. His knuckles turned white on the guard’s shoulder. “Apologise. Now.”

“I’m… Sorry.”

“Lochley.” Her eyes darted from his eyes to the sword in his other hand. “That’s enough, now.”

“He. Hurt. You.”

“We can leave. We got what you wanted, we can leave this place, the two of us, alive.”

“But not unharmed.” He growled, before driving the sword through the guard’s chest. Blood sprayed into her eyes and she held her breath, willing her horror to wait, she could not let it choke her. She could not let her horror show. Not to him.

She balled her hands into fists and silently walked away, ignoring the ongoing battles all around her. The Governor’s Mansion was no longer a haven to splendour, it was a hovel of sin. Blood had soaked the rugs, blades had destroyed the paintings, and lives had long since been lost within its walls.

“Adalia.” He called her name. 

She heard him.

She kept on walking.

~ ~ ~

tag list time! open tag as always too!

@the-ellia-west @willtheweaver @tildeathiwillwrite @drchenquill @365runesofthesystem

@coffin-hopping @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @a-mimsy-borogove @frostedlemonwriter @i-do-anything-but-write

@r-u-living @thatuselesshuman @lead-to-code @sunflowerrosy @theaistired

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@missmisanthrope @littlestchildofthemoon @morganxduinn @thebrownleathernotebook @rmhashauthor

@lamuradex @fantasy-things-and-such @glasshouses-and-stones @hattonthehatman @humbly-a-doppelganger

@ramwritblr @s-pendragon7 @thelastneuron @heartreactor @ihauntmyhouse

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@just-a-domesticated-cryptid @attemptingwriter @kitkins13 @ray-writes-n-shit

@theonewholivesinthemovies @rheas-chaos-motivation @bookwormclover @sunflowerrosy

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

WIP Weekend

Weekly WIP Update

Chapter 3 of Saltwater Symphony is going live later today (Friday)! I love Steve in this one, he's such a bossy, vain little diva!

I think I've finally figured out the final bit of King's Gift that was giving me trouble, so I'm very motivated to put these boys through the meet grinder some more!

20 out of 31 holiday drabbles are finished. Still need to brainstorm some ideas for the final 11, but I'm sure I'll get there.

Send me an emoji, and I'll write and share three sentences from that project.

🏰 The King's Gift

🦭 Saltwater Symphony

❄️ Steddie Holiday Drabbles

Snippet from 🏰

It takes him a while to come to process his discovery. Only when the cold of the stone floor starts to seep into his legs does he remember why he came here in the first place. He swears softly under his breath, standing and flipping open the book in hopes of finding the right page to put the photo. 

What he finds instead is his own face. 

It’s not just the smile - that slow curl of his mouth that he knows he does when someone made some stupid joke and he doesn’t want to admit he finds it funny - it’s … it’s everything else. His hair, which Eddie must’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time on, sketching out the way it falls around his face, curling lightly at the tips, light and shadow playing in the strands. The moles on his face and neck, every single one in exactly the right spot. 

An elaborate, lifelike portrait of him, done all in black ink, so large it fills an entire page. He’s in half-profile, as if he only just turned around to look at the spectator, and he’s smiling.

The image takes Steve so much by surprise that he stumbles back and lands on his ass in the window seat. 

The light in his eyes. 

It’s like looking into a mirror, and at the same time it’s not. This must be the way Eddie sees him, he realizes with a violent flutter of his stomach. Everything about this picture is soft, every line telling of longing, every stroke of the pen telling of … love. And he’s known before, of course. Has known that Eddie loves him. Not only have people told him, time and again, Eddie himself has never been exactly subtle about it, from the moment they first met. He found it strange and scary, back then, to be loved so fiercely by somebody who had never even met him before, but now? 

Now it’s still scary, but for entirely different reasons. 

Because he wants to prove himself worthy of that love. 

Because he’s mortified of what’ll happen if he doesn’t.

[letters-from-an-introvert]

Not me spending 3 hours on a dnd map and heraldry generator doing worldbuilding for a fic I have nothing but a Tumblr moodboard and no plot.

[monstrsball]

Iwaizumi doesn't know what to think when he finds his boyfriend in the entry way of their apartment, soaked from head to toe and clutching his jacket to his chest.

"I'm home." Suga says with a sheepish grin while he clumsily tries to get his shoes off without using his hands.

“You’re soaked,” Iwaizumi frowns, pushing his wet bangs back out of his face and eyeing the barely noticeable trembling of his shoulders. “Why aren’t you-”

Suga’s jacket meows.

Suga frowns down at the jacket in his arms. “You were supposed to let me do the talking first.” He says lightheartedly, his words are met with another slightly more indignant meow.

“Koushi, we talked about this.” Iwaizumi says.

“It’s raining, Hajime. The poor thing was soaked, I couldn’t just leave her out there.” Suga says, his tone soft. “Can we just keep her here for tonight? Until it stops raining? And then I’ll take her to the shelter.”

Iwaizumi wants to stand firm but his resolve slowly melts away when he looks at the cat again. She’s shivering just as much as Suga, the now soaked jacket likely not helping her keep warm. She’s nuzzling into his chest in search of warmth and it tugs at Iwaizumi’s heartstrings. 

He glances back at the door to the balcony. Still raining. 

“Okay,” Iwaizumi relents. “She can stay for tonight. Until it stops raining.” 

He has a nagging feeling that ‘for tonight’ is going to turn into indefinitely but the pure joy lighting up Suga’s face distracts him from this fleeting thought. 

“Yeah, yeah. You need to get out of those clothes.” Iwaizumi reaches out to take the cat from Suga’s arms. She's oddly compliant for a stray. “I’ll dry her off and get her some food and water. I think we have some canned tuna in the cabinet.”

“Ooh,” Suga whistles, gently depositing the little tabby into Iwaizumi’s open arms. “You hear that, baby? He’s spoiling you.” He coos. 

“It’s the only thing we have,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, readjusting his grip once he has the cat safely in his arms. She nuzzles into the newfound warmth immediately.

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)

[betweenlands]

i am so deeply emotional about sbk right now. how the hell does a server this good exist

[sankttealeaf]

still rotating the ruetash children around in my head. quick drawing of them to appease the gods

amira is older by a good few years. rue threatened to kill gortash properly if he put another child in her so he had to Wait.

she gets little white streaks in her hair (thanks rue) and haaaates it. gortash tells her it makes her look "sophisticated". she tells him if anyone should be going grey its him. (shes grounded for a few tendays for that comment)

omar is quiet. keeps creeping up on the maids and servants. sneaking into places he shouldnt. he's overlooked by his sister a lot of the time. however he is the perfect test subject for any of gortashs experiments. (he's compliant and likes to follow rules, what can he say?)

rue thinks hes fine. she lets him sit by her when shes reading and thinks its great that hes not trying to talk to her like amira does (girl doesnt stop chatting) (omar thinks rue is really cool. number 1 rue fan over here)

i also think its fun that they take after gortash more

[tls123]

Oh my god HOW DID YOU LIKE SVSSS!!!!!

i liked it more than i thought i would but overall less than i might have given the potential of the story, i think in general i really enjoyed the characters (mxtx never goes wrong with characters, she creates them in a way that makes me feel unhinged) and the world building but the pay off to the set up—which i really liked!—felt a bit........ i mean, just alright.

the dynamics too are pure mxtx, personally the bin/gqiu dynamic specifically really was the least interesting part of the whole story. to me!! but individually i loved both characters. my interest was just elsewhere because """elsewhere""" felt way more fascinating idk how to explain it

was very, very happy about the extra with airplane and the yue qingyuan / shen jiu one because that's exactly what i wanted more of in the story itself as well as just more shen yuan/qingqiu interacting with cang qiong mountain

maybe it's my orv brain but like i told jana a while back i think i would have enjoyed svsss way more if it was more about shen yuan (loner; hater; etc) suddenly finding himself among all of these people (disciples looking up to him; sect siblings relying on him one way or another; common folk admiring him; etc etc) and starting to.... live? again?

Shen Qingqiu hadn't noticed that, unconsciously, he no longer considered the disciples around him (...) to be mob characters the novel had described in a scant number of words.

^from volume one, he starts seeing them almost immediately because he's not actually that separate and he genuinely cares. all the time. about everything. even before that we get:

This was only a book, and all the people were constructs, imaginary characters. Logically, Shen Qingqiu was very clear on this fact...but when a character was actually being taunted and bullied right before his eyes, it was just flat-out unrealistic to expect him to be completely unmoved.

like why are you lying, shen yuan (<- svsss tagline if there ever was one)

just the idea of this really lonely detached guy finding a community, i know it's not the story mxtx was trying to tell but again, with the set up i really wanted to see it go in that direction.

there's one line from vol two where liu qingge goes "you fear becoming a burden to cang qiong mountain (...) but cang qiong mountain fears not your burden"

and basically what i'm saying is that i wish the story had been about THAT

(and also ning yingying's lines in that same chapter about shizun always taking on everything himself and why is it always you like that whole moment with the cang qiong mountain almost begging him to see that they care. idek what i'm saying but you know)

(also foaming at the mouth that we only got tiny tiny glimpses of shen yuan's life from before, those handful of times he mentioned his siblings i wanted to take a bite out of my kindle. tell me more!! dear fucking lord tell me more!! keep talking! elaborate!! he really felt very "kim dokja and his fourth wall" at times, sorry once more about the orv brain)

tldr: i guess i wanted a story about shen yuan/qingqiu but mxtx created svsss to be a story about bin/gqiu. and i just have to be okay with that.