#I CANNOT add another WIP now

[shadowuserannie]

You mean to tell me there are HUNDREDS of Danny Phantom getting summoned fics when there are NONE OF CARTER KANE??

Carter Kane, who is the first human Pharaoh capable of calling the Egyptian gods to war, and the first to sit on the throne in millennia? Carter Kane, one of the Killers of Apophis? Carter Kane, Eye of Horus?

You mean to tell me that in the entire multiverse, there isn't a single cult that discovers the existence of a new Pharaoh and through ungodly DC magic bullshit summons him?

No offense to Danny, but he isn't even a canon Ghost King. Carter is a canon Pharaoh.

[marsoid]

@wip i have a tumblr feature suggestion!!

Right now, Twitter (or whatever it’s called now) is the only social app that allows PRIVATE ACCOUNTS (instagram doesn’t count because you can’t have text posts. You expect me to post an image every time I want to vent? Facebook also doesn’t count because I hate it.)

I know we have the ability currently to make our side blogs private, but here’s the issue with that for me:

1. They can’t be FOLLOWED, you can apparently only add “members” to the blog.

2. I thought I had more points but really it keeps coming back to the fact that they can’t be followed. I don’t want to put in a password every time I want to check in on a friend. The convenience of making your own private blog and following your friends’ private blogs cannot be overstated. It’s the ONE THING that’s keeping me attached to twitter.

What’s so great about having a private blog?

Safety. Toggle your blog to “Private” in Visibility settings if you need a breather from outside attention. Only your followers will be able to see any new posts you make. Old posts will still be visible outside your blog however, similar to when a blog is deactivated I assume.

Friends-only space. Sharing thoughts and art with only a few close friends is more comfortable for a lot of people.

Actual privacy. Even if you have 0 followers, even if you don’t use tags, the tumblr search will still pull up any word used in the post itself, meaning if someone searches the right thing, your posts could still show up to anyone. Setting your blog to private would remove this concern.

Journaling. Private twitters are nice, but a private tumblr? Getting to write out a BIG LENGTHY RANT for only close friends? Hell yea

Keep explicit content away from those who don’t want to see it. Setting a blog to private is a great way to keep certain art and writings out of easily reachable spaces.

Another bridged gap between twitter and tumblr. Ok listen. I’m not necessarily advocating for every twitter user to join tumblr. But I know that’s something the tumblr staff is interested in, so I’m adding it here for that reason. I for one would ditch twitter in a heartbeat if I could have a private blog, and would probably have an easier time convincing some straggling friends to join for a feature like this. Just sayin

I also made some quick and sloppy mockups

Anyway i guess that’s the gist of it

If anyone has anything to add pls feel free. I really want a private blog LMAO

[nixie-deangel]

me to me, in a stern voice: we don't need another idea to add to the list. do you fucking hear me???? WE DO NOT NEED ANOTHER!!!!

me to me, in a sad voice: okay.....I do hear you....but....🥺🥺🥺🥺 maybe think about hangster breaking up because of Jake's family though? just. just think about this with me. okay?🥺🥺 please?

me to me just giving up: *sigh*..............what's the idea?

me to me about to add yet another WIP to my new list: awesome! okay, so we see a lot about hangster being ex's and breaking up (and who's fault it is varying on the shifting tides of fandom and how we're feeling about characters from moment to moment)

BUT have we thought about Jake's family being the reason for it??? like. okay. Jake's family has so many expectations on who Jake should married, that every time Jake brings Bradley (and for this, we're saying both are stationed in Corpus Christi during this period) and they can't help making snide comments to Bradley about how he's not enough and how Jake won't actually settle for him and how Jake will eventually find someone better and more worthy of the Seresin name.

and well, seriously there is only so much Bradley can take, what with him already feeling not enough and out of place and like he's not deserving of Jake's love and attention and time anyway.

so it's the nail in the road that explodes the tire and sends Bradley careening into breaking them up and getting as far away as he possible can because yeah, he DOES want Jake to find his happily ever after and get everything he wants and deserves but Bradley cannot be around to witness his future, his heart, finding what he so badly wants for them with someone else.

and then of course the mission happens and it's just an all around mind fuck for Bradley, though it all works out with him and Mav clearing the air and him and Jake somehow finding a tentative friendship once again.

and then weeks later, Javy makes mention Jake is bringing his new boyfriend around to meet them and he wants to make sure Bradley isn't going to cause a scene or be a problem and Bradley can't help haltingly answering that it's okay, that he knew this day would come, that Jake would find someone truly worth him, that his family would love, someone that was truly deserving of Jake's time and love and that he'd get his happily ever after.

only, Bradley starts saying this just as Jake walks in and is floored because how dare Bradley think Jake could ever find his happily ever after when that was Bradley and Bradley walked away from him, from them! but then he latches onto Bradley saying someone deserving of Jake, someone worthy of him, someone his family would accept and love and things start clicking in his head.

and obviously, Jake and Bradley get back together and Jake becomes an unholy terror to his parents and sisters who were part of the problem, who were the match that lit the fire that imploded their relationship.

idk. just. the thought of Jake's family sparking the match and setting the explosion off is tempting. and I can't stop thinking about it when I should really be sleeping right now.

[grounded-parasocial]

Simon’s Mental Health Fanfic List

Yesterday I posted a list of Wille’s Mental Health Fanfic so for those of you who are interested here is Simon’s List.

As I stated in my previous post, there are some stunning depictions of Simon’s struggle in Fanfic. I am forever astounded by the way words in a story can make us feel so much! Please be sure to read the tags.

Everybody Loves You Now @im-a-king-baby (M, 73K)

Constellations of Love @simons-purplehoodie (M, 79K)

Say a prayer for me in the dark by witchjeons (E, 62K)

Little Light @unfortunate17 (E, 22K)

Monotony Blues by stardive (M, 47K)

A Glimpse of Us @simons-purplehoodie (E, 104K)

Hotel Suites and Twisted Sheets @ungaroyals (E, WIP 56K)

Your Love is My Turning Page by willesworld (G/T, 16K)

The way we were by queerofthemonth (M, WIP 57K)

Fever Pitch by scissorsandstone (E, 101K) this one should probably be on Wille’s list too

Felt Like A Sin -part of Love Interruption Series by wilmonlibrarian (Not Rated, 6K)

*I know there are repeats but they MUST be included on Simon’s list too

I dont feel like our love is brand new @prince-simon (E, WIP 395K)

Obviously @grapehyasynth (M, 124K)

And that’s how we make history, baby @waybeforeyourtime (T, 82K)

Almost is Never Enough @in-amor-veritas (E, WIP 202K)

I would drive on (to the end with you) @glassdollls (Not Rated, WIP 118K)

I think there is some overlap with @impossibleknots suggestions and a few additions- you can find that post here Wille’s Mental Health List post

I cannot thank fanfiction writers enough for the gifts they share with us! 💜

Be kind to yourself and be kind to one another!

*I’m sure I missed a bunch, so please add any additions I may have missed

[its-time-to-write]

hiya there love

i was wondering, if i could request a lovely jamie tartt fic from you? it would basically revolve around r being increadibly stressed and overworked and, of ypu are comfortable, r gets a panic attack (maybe she works at the dogtrack and then people are confused about what is happening) and then jamie swoops in and saves the day

absolutely love your writing and stories and senig lots of love and creativity your way <3 <3 <3

guys I have like five WIPS and usually I have zero, but here we are. Most of them only need their closing paragraph but I have been BUSY and also very tired. thank you @dark-academia-slut for this request and your recent comments on my posts🩵🩵

for you, there’ll be no more crying

There’s too much to do and only one you, and yet everything needs to be done today and no one seems to realize that they’re assigning you more work on top of what other people have already given you. You didn’t realize everything was so pressing, but here you are with a to do list as long as your arm filled with tasks to be completed ASAP. 

You think that taking a break for lunch is a bad idea, honestly you’d rather sit at your desk and check some more things off your list, but HR insists that you have a thirty-minute break. It’s also shitty because your boyfriend works here too, but you’re not sitting with him today because by the time he got to the cafe, the only available space was all the way across the room. So here you are, tapping your foot as you force down a salad. 

Chewing feels mechanical, each bite heavy in your mouth. You choke down a piece as your index finger taps on your thumb, counting down the minutes until you can rush back to your office. You can feel Helen from HR keeping an eye on you, and you don’t need to add a visit from her to you list. 

“Oi, can you compile that list I emailed you about last week?” Stephanie from the front desk asks from across the table. 

You give her a confused look. “What list?”

She returns your look. “The one I sent last Tuesday?”

You shake your head and say, “I never got that email.”

Stephanie frowns and pulls out her phone. “Oh, whoops, it’s in my drafts still.” She presses a button and says, “There, it’s sent!” with a cheerful grin, like that changes anything. 

Your whole leg is shaking now, not just your foot. “When do you need it?” you ask carefully, willing her to say literally an other day but today. 

“Oh, I need it by the end of the day,” she replies so you nod, all slow and mechanical. 

You ask, “Can I get it to you tomorrow?” and she shakes her head. 

“No, I really needed it done by today. You should have checked with me when you didn’t get my email on Tuesday.”

You don’t point out that it’s impossible to ask about an email you didn’t even know existed, mainly because Stephanie is best friends with Helen and you literally cannot deal with both of them today. 

So instead you nod, fake a smile, and take another bite of salad as Stephanie gets up to leave. 

The moment she’s gone, everything goes slow. And not in a good way. 

You think, oh shit as the food in your mouth becomes tasteless and your gaze becomes fixated on a spot on the table. 

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

Liam notices and asks, “Are you alright?” in his too-loud voice, so now everyone in the cafe is looking at you as you take stuttered breaths around the salad in your mouth. 

You’re confident that this couldn’t get any worse, but you can’t even answer Liam so he shakes your arm, causing you to jolt. 

You press one hand to your heart as you try to catch a breath with all eyes still on you. 

A hand presses a napkin to your mouth and says, “Spit,” but you don’t look up to see who it is. You’re stuck on that one spot on the table, unable to move anything except your leg. But you don’t need to look up to know who it is. 

“Fuck off, Liam,” says Jamie and Liam does. 

You’re told later that Jamie flips off anyone who’s still staring, but you miss it in the moment because it’s over your head. 

“You alright, babe?” he asks gently, but you don’t respond. He slides into the seat Liam has vacated and grabs your hand. “Oi, look at me.”

His hands are warm in contrast to your cold ones, and the uses his one free hand to tilt your face toward his. You’re having a hard time making eye contact so he bends his head just enough so he’s in your line of sight. 

“There you are,” he smiles, “You want to tell me what’s wrong or do you want me to guess?”

You just look, chest rising and falling way too fast. 

“Right,” he says. “Let’s get your breathing under control. Breathe with me, yeah?”

You see the staff and team at Nelson Road filtering out of the cafe, so you focus on Jamie’s face and follow his breaths. 

“Okay, keep going like that. What else can we talk about? Oi, did you hear what fucking Roy did this morning? The lad’s fucking insane, he is. Strings around dicks? Can’t believe I almost lost mine, and on date night no less.” He winks. “You’d‘ve had his head for sure, love.”

You crack a smile at that. 

“Ey!” he says, “She lives!”

“I love you,” you tell him and he squeezes your hand. 

“She fuckin’ talks, too. What a woman.”

You think of a few snide replies, but you’re not too sold on talking just yet so you settle for silence. 

“Was it fucking Helen?” Jamie asks, “Bird’s more insane than Coach.”

You wiggle your head. Technically, it wasn’t just Helen, but she’s the one who’s been handing you the most assignments while also insisting on the stupidest breaks. 

“Bet it were Stephanie too,” he continues. “Babe, you’ve gotta fucking talk to Higgins or Ms. Welton or some shit. They’re using you like some personal servant and it ain’t right.”

You shrug and Jamie squeezes your hand again. “None of that,” he says. 

He’s not wrong. 

It’s just you two, alone, so he allows himself a moment to cup your face in one hand. “You’re good, yeah?” he asks. 

You take a deep breath and nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He grins and leans forward to kiss your forehead. 

“D’you want to ditch the rest of the day?” he asks and you give him a Look. 

You say, “I can’t ditch. I have too much to do and you can’t ditch because you have training.”

Jamie’s still grinning as he says, “Bet I could get out of it ‘cause of me injury and you could get out of it if you talked to Ms. Welton.”

“Absolutely not,” you reply, but he’s already standing up.

“Gonna talk to her about fucking Helen,” he says. “I’d bet my entire house that none of your shit is that big of an emergency.”

“No you won’t,” you call after him, “And anyway, she wouldn’t listen to you about any of it.”

Jamie’s basically already gone so he just shouts, “Ta,” as you sigh and get up to go back to your office. 

An hour later, you’re in the car with Jamie as he laments your lack of faith in him. “Told you Helen’s full of shit,” he says. “You’re going to be way better at her job than she ever was.”

“The fuck, Jamie,” you reply. “I still can’t believe you made me talk to Rebecca.”

He shrugs, one hand on the wheel. “I’m a dead good boyfriend, is what I am.”

You laugh. He certainly is that. 

[angelasscribbles]

Changes: A ONiC One-Shot

Series: One Night in Cordonia, a @choicesprompts Round Robin Event.

Fandom: TRR mostly

CRACKSHIP ALERT: Drake x Bertrand

Word Count: 1,593

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Lemons 🍋🍋🍋

A/N: This pairing was initiated by @harleybeaumont during the round robin event titled One Night in Cordonia. I cannot remember who requested it or if it's something @harleybeaumont and I thought up during one of our epic late night discussions. Either way, it somehow got brought up today and I went to send her the little bit of it that has been sitting in my WiP folder forever, but once I opened the Word doc, I decided to add a few quick details and then just kept going until it was finished. 🙃

This was not the writing project I had intended to work on today, but I don't get to choose where the inspiration strikes.

It's pure smut. Just so you know.

The rest of my stuff can be found here.

Bertrand stood in the Beaumont study, surveying the damage and contemplating the last several weeks.

The terrorist group responsible for the attack had been rounded up, and the authorities had finally left. He was happy to reclaim his study from Bastien. They had left the room in disarray, and he set about tidying it up.

He was kneeling on the floor, examining a discolored spot on the carpet and muttering about the King's Guard's complete lack of decorum with the door to the study opened. Whoever it was hadn't even bothered to knock.

Bertrand leapt to his feet with indignation, "This is a private room! Have you no manners?"

An amused voice answered him. "No need to get up on my account."

Bertrand paled and took a step back as Drake ambled into the room like he owned the place. Shutting the door behind him, he ignored Bertrand's outburst about manners and smirked at him. "I like the way you look on your knees."

"I…don't know what you're trying to imply—"

"What?" Amusement danced across his face as he took in the other man's discomfort. "Have you forgotten the last time you were on your knees in front of me?"

The lord of Ramsford flushed from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. Burning with shame and, distressingly, desire, he stuttered out an answer. "I…. Of course not! I mean…. That's not what I—"

Drake took a step toward him with a smirk. "You were really good at it."

"I…that…." Bertrand took another step back, bumping into a bookshelf and sending a miniature statue of a horse crashing to the ground.

Drake continued his advance until he stood directly in front of the duke, blocking any chance of a dignified retreat. "Why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not!" Bertrand gulped loudly, belying his statement.

"No?" The bigger man shifted his weight slightly as he rested a hand on either side of his intended target.

Bertrand's eyes widened as shock, fear, and undeniable excitement flooded through him. He didn't trust his voice, so he simply shook his head.

A soft scoff issued from Drake as his eyes traced his face, settling on the set of lips that had brought him so much pleasure just a few weeks before.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

It was true that they had both been under the influence of some type of chemical that removed sexual inhibitions, but the fact remained that those impulses had to exist in the first place in order to be inhibited.

His disdain for Max's older brother had always masked a deeper emotion. Sexual attraction to other men wasn't new to him, but the realization that he had always been drawn to this particular man was.

"Tell me you don't want this." Drake's hand caressed Bertrand's cheek. "If you don't want me to kiss you right now, tell me to stop." He paused, giving the other man plenty of time to protest.

For a heartbeat, they stood frozen in time, face to face, staring into each other's eyes. Then Bertrand went weak in the knees as his eyes fluttered shut and his head tipped slightly up, lips parted, inviting the kiss.  

Drake's lips crashed into his and he was falling, tumbling into a vast unknown, terror and exhilaration colliding inside him.

Bertrand Beaumont had never been good with women. He didn't understand what they wanted, he didn't understand how to attract them. He had never felt much of a pull to them at all. But this. This was different.

He had kissed a handful of women in his time. Their lips had been soft and yielding and the entire experience had been somehow wrong and off putting. His previous experiences with kissing had been nothing like this. This kiss was rough and demanding, the stubble that scratched his face sent red hot flames licking through him. His hands reached out to grasp not soft flesh, but hard muscles. He whimpered helplessly as his body reacted. His rock hard erection was evident as Drake's body pushed into his.

He wanted to die of shame until he realized that Drake was having the exact same reaction. Their cocks pressed against each other through the fabric of their pants as their hips ground against each other.

Bertrand had never felt another man's cock pressed against his own before, much less while it was hard. The thought that Drake was hard because of him was almost more than he could bear. Desire burned all the embarrassment out of him as he begged for more. "Please… I need—"

Before he could finish the thought, strong hands spun him around and jerked him sidewise away from the bookshelf, and pressed him against the wall. His pants were yanked down his body, leaving his ass bare and his dick throbbing. A foot forced his legs apart as a finger found his puckered hole. His mind was so clouded with lust that he barely registered some sort of lube being applied before a finger probed inside him. Warm breath tickled his ear as a voice rough with desire whispered in his ear. "How does that feel?"

"So good…" he gasped out as an ecstasy he had never imagined washed over him.

A soft kiss landed on the back of his neck. "I'm going to fuck you now. Hold still."

Bertrand's eyes squeezed shut as his body vibrated with pleasure and anticipation. "Yes…. Please…."

A feral growl broke free from Drake's throat at the pleading tone of the man trembling under his touch. It was all he could do to keep himself from slamming into him. Instead, he inserted himself slowly and gently, sliding in an inch at a time, giving the other man a chance to adjust.

A cry of ecstasy was torn from him as Drake hit the prostate.

His name falling from Bertrand's lips was the end of his restraint. No longer gentle, he moved his body at a more desperate pace, pulling himself out and shoving back into the man who was now writhing frantically beneath him.

Bertrand's feet tried to come out from under him as all the strength left his body. Blackness clouded the edges of his vision as the pleasure became all encompassing. A hand closed around his cock and stars exploded across his field of vision as the orgasm overtook him.

Drake slammed into him one last time with a roar, pinning his body to the wall as he emptied himself into him. He kept his body pressed into him until his cock finished pulsing.

When he finally stepped away, Bertrand was left with his pants in an undignified tangle around his ankles, a pleasurable soreness and the proof of what had just transpired leaking out of him. He turned to face the man who had just taken his innocence and awakened desires in him that he had not known he possessed, tripping over his tangled pants as he did so.

"Whoa there!" Drake caught him and then stepped back with a satisfied smirk as he fastened his own pants.

Hyperaware of Drake's eyes on him, he scrambled to redress himself, ignoring the sticky mess on his backside. Not knowing what to say, his eyes dropped to the floor as both mortification and gratification pinged through him at what had just transpired.

"Hey." Drake's finger found his chin and lifted his head. With a smile more tender than he had ever seen on his face, he told him, "You did great."

The mortification drained out of him, pride and happiness taking its place. "Really?"

"Really." He looked closer at Bertrand's expression. "Wait. Was that your first time with a man?"

Bertrand's eyes fell once again to the floor. "My first time….with anyone." Kissing women had been bad enough, he had never been able to push himself further with any of them.

Drake's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

"What?" Bertrand's head snapped up in alarm at the regret in Drake's voice. "Don't be sorry! That was…. It was… you were…. I mean…"

The smile returned to Drake's face as understanding dawned on him. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything else. I'm glad you liked it."

The alarm on Bertrand's phone went off, bringing him back to reality. "Apologies. I'm needed at a budgetary meeting soon."

"No problem. I have shit to do, too. See you around."

Panic sliced through him as he watched Drake make it to the door. "Wait!"

Drake paused and turned around. "Yeah?"

Bertrand fought against the tidal wave of insecurity and anxiety that threatened to silence him. For once in his life, he was going to ask for what he wanted. "Is there any chance we could… um…. " He faltered as embarrassment threatened to pull him under.

A grin pulled Drake's lips up as he watched Bertrand stumble over his words. He decided to put him out of his misery. "Are you asking if we can do this again?"

"Yeah." If he said no, Bertrand was going to drop right through the floor.

"You can count on it." Drake thumped the edge of the door frame on his way out, humming happily as he strolled down the hall.

Bertrand slumped against the wall as relief and disbelief surged through him.

He had no idea what this all meant. No idea what tomorrow would bring. There was only one thing that he knew for certain.

Everything was going to be different now.

[voxofthevoid]

Poll time, yet again ❎

This isn't what I'd call a problem per se, but I'm writing at a pace my posting cannot keep up with, even with me currently posting 5 fics a month—4 for JJK from a roster of 5 and 1 for MCU/Bleach. This'd be fine, but posting for MCU and Bleach long after leaving those fandoms has made it clear that I will significantly slow down on posting for those regardless of the size of my backlog. While I continue to love sharing those stories, the editing process becomes more of a chore than usual, and I just...sit on those. I'd like to avoid that as much as possible with JJK.

I'm still very firmly in the JJK sauce and haven't slowed down any, but I'd rather do this while I'm at the zenith of my inspiration, so these fics (which are the longest among my unposted JJK fics) can see the light of Ao3 while they and I are both hot, so to speak.

I'm upping my ongoing JJK roster from five to six, though whether the updates will increase to five a month or stay four a month remains to be seen. I can handle both based on monthly energy levels and have drawn up schedules for each, but I might run another poll for that to see what y'all can take. But that's for later.

For now, pick a fic ✨

Descriptions, titles, and choice WIP Wednesday links for the fics under the cut. I'll reblog the poll once a day or so till it's over.

Amnesiac Yuuji

the ghost in me was true (but you were haunted too): No-Shibuya AU where Gojou sends Yuuji out of the country after he eats all the fingers. Yuuji goes AWOL a year in and reappears 12 years later without any memories. Gojou doesn’t deal with that too well. Goyuu.

Shibuya Swap

(this is also part of the story) how the story changes: Just as the PR ensnares Gojou, canon!Yuuji switches places with his older self from an alternate dimension where he’s Gojou’s teacher. Goyuu.

Mundane Unclekuna

bloodstains on the collar means just don't ask: Mundane AU Yuuji’s sexual awakening is his big, mean uncle and then his high school teacher makes him realize he just has a specific type in men. Goyuu and Sukuita.

Surprise Rut Sex

taking the flesh is the only virtue: Yuuji goes into premature rut after the vs Mahito arc, and Nanami ends up “helping” before Gojou shows up to escalate matters. Goyuu and Nanaita.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Okay but I just know that Lexa gives the best hugs 😤 If they ever had the opportunity, I just KNOW Clarke would be making use of Big Strong Invisible MusclesTM all the time and absolutely koala-hugging the shit out of her 🥹

Never question that Lexa was a fantastic hugger. Look at the sheer relief on her face. You can see the piece of her soul within the chip sighing in joy at just holding Clarke again. The way had hands gripped at Clarke's back and pressed her in tighter. Commander noddle arms was an amazing hugger through and through ok 🥺

Just because the blog has felt so gd negative tonight here, a Clexa hug from the canon wip I got going, because why not. We deserve the fluff

/////////

It's hard for Clarke to keep it together when yet another piece of her heart turns to shrapnel, jagged and deathly in its destruction. It makes old wounds sting like new as she adds the confession to the mountain of sins she cannot fix for them, for anyone, by sheer will alone. Because she would. So many pieces of her scream in duty-bound rebellion with how much she needs Lexa to know that she would do anything to fix the ache of her absence - to wash away the nights spent apart and spare them both. 

She would, if only she could.

Clarke hugs her. There's really nothing else for it. There's nothing that feels as right in that moment more than surging closer, stretching her arms to loop around Lexa's neck and pull her in. 

“I'm here now,” Clarke says, and seals her paltry offering with a kiss to the column of Lexa's throat.

She ignores her captive's flustered start at the tenderness and tucks into Lexa. Any worry for how she clings more than she means too is left for another day as her arms tighten at the burst of that familiar scent that is entirely Lexa; all forest greenery mixed with the clean scent of her sweat against skin that carries lingering notes of some floral sweetened soap. 

The coil of muscle and sinew in her arms turns into a mass of Commander-shaped jelly when Lexa melts into the touch, knees seeming to buckle with how fiercely she folds into the hug. Her arms cinch around Clarke's waist so tightly it nearly lifts her onto the tips of her toes; hip bones pressing to hip bones, ribs crushed to ribs. 

They hold each other in the creaking silence of the hut so long Clarke's feet pool in pins and pricks, offering little else more than sniffles buried into coat sleeves and armor and the syncing of juddered heartbeats. The buckles of Lexa's coat dig into Clarke's stomach and the pommel of her sword knocks rough against her hip, but she can't bring herself to care. Not when she's this close. Not when every press of Clarke's lips to Lexa's throat is mirrored against her own, tender in its supplication. 

The hands that hold her feel restless against her back. Constant in their moving, gentle in their caress. They rub languid circuits from her shoulders to the tops of her hips, as though Lexa can't quite control the need to touch her as much as humanly possible, and it's only when Clarke opens her eyes just to see that face again, that she loosens her hold and slowly, so slowly, inches herself away. 

Lexa doesn't let her go far. Keeps her right where she wants her with a dig of fingertips against leather and spine, temple resting against temple and cheek against kohl smudged cheek. She fills all the spaces Clarke has missed her touch.

Heat traces over her skin in Lexa's shaky exhale as the snuggle-inclined warlord nuzzles closer, tickling the plump bow of her lips along Clarke's chin and up, until Clarke doesn't know where one breath ends and another begins. Eyes sparkle under the hang of long lashes. Lips drift closer, closer to the warmth of Clarke's mouth.

“May I?”

Two sets of lungs hiccup in the wake of Lexa's whispered plea, the vulnerability of it stinging with just how small she sounds - as though she still doubts this. As though Lexa has no idea that the memory of her mouth and her taste and the sweet bite of her teeth were the only things that's kept Clarke sane in her misery for all these weeks. 

Clarke's mouth tugs into a smile at the question.

Even more as their lips brush when she speaks. 

“Please.”

///////

[codename-adler]

WIP Game: aftg television soundtrack project

I love everything going on with this, just constantly imagining it in my head with different lines and scenes and everything 💖💖💖

my beloved, beloved insane project... i've already spoken about this here and there on my blog (i will organize a tag now that i think about it, dw), but in short i'm imagining AftG as if it were adapted as a TV series (first it was films, but i can do more with a show, and HBO TLoU changed me as a person and writer). it was 3 seasons, one for each book, but i've added a 4th season for TSC, and will add another one or 2 depending on how many more books Nora Sakavic blesses us with.

what i did was, i extracted the most impactful scenes from each book, those that would fit a soundtrack moment. i've created a sort of PowerPoint presentation, like a mood board for the scene, of how i'm picturing it shot, the angles, the pace, the tempo, etc. it is very, very clear in my head how everything goes. i'm not kidding. making playlists is my passion, and one i excel at i believe, but it brings me so much joy, pride and satisfaction. it's also really good for my mental. in parallel to this, i've also got the aftg x tlou project, which was wholly inspired by @cielalune 's own Andreil tlou AU fic turn out the lights, which i will NEVER shut up about. i have found a true kinship in their writing and musicality and i will forever be grateful for finding them and getting to exchange. all this to say, the playlist-making/planning for that fic is very time-consuming and brain-obsessing.

now back to the purely soundtracked wip. i'll share one of the first scenes i imagined and that has yet to change. this is for you too @minyard-05 <3

All for the Game (S2): The Raven King

"Betsy closed the door behind them. Neil could just make out the sound of her engine starting, and then it was quiet. Andrew was gone." (p. 255)

the slide currently looks like this as i haven't gotten to editing S2 of the project, but rest assured this is in no way the final look:

i'm going for a sort of echo-y, daze-y, numbing eulogy. TFC ends with Seth's death, and in a way, TRK ends with Andrew's. luckily it is a good "death" as he will come out of this freer, himself, accepted. but it is a death nonetheless. death of his past. a point of no return. a definite cross on all of it. no going back. and he also cannot bury this under his skin like before. over it. it's all in plain sight now. for as unapologetic as he is, Andrew was hiding.

Neil loses his best friend. Neil reckons with another's demons, and loses to them, loses him to them. That closing door rings the gong. And it's quiet. As manic as he may have been, Andrew was never noisy and full of life. Still he is missed. His absence is an abyss. It's not peaceful without the "monster"; it's deafening silence.

and the title of the song, too, is so perfect. Andrew leaving Neil behind that closed door, in that moment, means he is letting go of what he thinks is a hallucination. Neil will only be a memory now. he does not know yet Neil isn't a pipedream at all.

but both men will hold on to the memory of each other to survive what comes next.

[sendpseuds]

WIP Wednesday - Lifeguard AU

I have been having so much fun with this premise and cannot wait for the whole @obikinlifeguardau collection. The possibilities are absolutely endless!

In my yet-to-be-named Lifeguard AU we have Lifeguard!Anakin attempting to teach a very frustrated Obi-Wan how to swim. This is a bit of a longer snippet but I couldn't help myself.

Enjoy!

🛟

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Dude!" Anakin exclaims, smacking his palm down on the surface in a clearly practiced motion, hitting Obi-Wan dead on with a small startling spray, "Would you chill the fuck out!?"

Obi-Wan is so caught off guard the only thing he can think to say is, "Excuse me?"

"Do you want to learn to swim or not?"

His voice is serious and so is his expression and suddenly Obi-Wan remembers why they're here.

"Look, man, you're not completely hopeless, okay?" Anakin says, taking a step closer, small waves rippling the surface as he moves, running a rough hand through wet curls and tugging harshly at a stubborn snarl, "I get that you're not starting from scratch but you have to know you're not a strong swimmer, and if I had to guess, there's another reason you didn't jump into the deep end."

Obi-Wan's brow wrinkles at that.

"What do you mean?" he asks, crossing his arm over his chest defensively.

"Water scares you," Anakin replies like it's obvious and Obi-Wan feels his cheeks heat with a caustic cocktail of anger and embarrassment but before he can argue, the young man shrugs and adds, "It scares me too."

The laugh that escapes Obi-Wan’s lungs comes out like a bark, loud and harsh, but for the last half hour now he's been watching Anakin glide through the water like he's made for it — like he was never meant to be a creature of the land in the first place — so comfortable in his weightlessness, so confident, so in control.

"I'm serious," Anakin says, the hard look in his flat stare and the low timber in his voice reflecting his words, "Water is dangerous. It's the most destructive force on Earth. It will swallow you whole if you're not careful—"

"This is not exactly helping—"

"And that is why you need to stop fighting it."

It does feel like he's fighting it, Obi-Wan realizes.

Like he's fighting for his life.

It feels like he's trying to prove a point.

Like he's trying to grab hold of something that cannot be grasped and rein it in, bring it to heel.

Like he's in the throws of battle, grappling for his right to air.

It feels like war.

"I can teach you to move with the water instead of against it. I can teach you to harness it."

Anakin's voice is breathless and dripping in a burning passion that heats his cheeks and speeds Obi-Wan’s pulse when he suddenly realizes how close they're standing.

Close enough to see the aqua water reflecting in eyes like a summer sky.

Close enough to feel the waves from Anakin's movements lapping against his skin.

Close enough that Anakin barely needs to reach out to place a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"I can help you, Obi-Wan," he says, voice barely above a whisper and the older man can't stop himself from leaning in, "but you have to let me."

There's nothing he can say, the look of deep sincerity in those cerulean eyes stealing all words from Obi-Wan's throat before he can cough them up.

Obi-Wan nods.

Anakin smile.

"You also have to stop being such an asshole."

Suddenly, Obi-Wan has the near-irresistible desire to drown himself.

"Anakin," he says quickly, cringing slightly at just how fond the name sounds in his mouth, "I am so sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I'm just fucking with you," Anakin grins teasingly, squeezing Obi-Wan’s shoulder reassuringly, the young man's touch lingering on his naked skin for a few charged moments before he releases his grip, long fingers just barely tracing the swell of his bicep — an absent gesture that makes Obi-Wan feel a bit dizzy. "Relax," he insists, his smile so bright Obi-Wan has to blink, "You don't have to prove anything to me."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan breathes, clearing his throat when his voice comes out strangled, "I think I needed to hear that."

Anakin nods in acknowledgment, sinking back into the pool, submerging himself almost completely, his nose and eyes still peeking out of the water like he feels most comfortable beneath the rippling surface. For a few long moments, he stays just like that, his eyes never leaving Obi-Wan's face, his gaze so intense, the older man needs to look away.

"I think it's really cool," Anakin says quietly — shyly — his voice pulling Obi-Wan's attention back to the young man and his glistening pink lips hovering just above the water's surface, "that you want to learn, I mean."

"You do?" Obi-Wan can't help but ask in return, letting his body sink under the water as Anakin has hoping to calm the bashful blush heating his cheeks.

"Yeah," Anakin confirms with a shrug, everything about him shiny with youth, "Takes balls."

That makes Obi-Wan laugh.

"Because I'm old?"

"No."

The single word hangs in the air for several long moments — Anakin's answer so sincere it makes Obi-Wan shiver.

"Well then," he says when the silence becomes suffocating, "where do we start?"

[snowivyimconfusi]

Currently writing a season 1 swanqueen one shot. I did think about making it a multi chapter fic, and it would've worked, but I have so many WIPs right now I cannot add another one to the list 😭.

I do think this will be good, maybe a bit disconnected. But good.

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

Mayncient Day 23: Dearest

Get Along Without You

Had the first part in my wips for ages and had sudden inspiration for this day so here it is for you all! no warnings. word count 1.4k

They’re both lucky enough to have a full moon that casts enough light in the darkest parts of the city to allow them to walk in peace. Lucky enough that when they do finally come to a spot in the empty park there’s just enough shadow to allow for their masks to be removed.

Conner sits closer to the path, letting his height add protection to Elidibus’ identity despite it being well into the hours that any sane person would be in bed. Even with the white mask and black robes the Emissary still fears the potential backlash should he be found with Conner, a sentiment that he understands. Yet in this moonlit spot Conner can see the man relax as if they were behind closed doors, a smile playing on his lips as he watches Elidibus look up at the stars. “It’s quiet tonight,” he says, his white hair blowing gently in the small breeze, “something I wouldn’t expect of this place. Always noise. People, kids, and little animals during the day.”

“It's nice.” Conner inhales deeply, smiling and looking up at the sky also, “This has become my favorite time of day now.”

Elidibus frowns, “It used to be dawn.”

Conner shrugs, “It's still the early morning technically. Besides, a person’s favorite time of day can change or also just have multiple favorites.”

“Not with you Conner. You were-.”

“You’re not going to change my mind on being with you Elidibus,” he assures, “I know back then it felt like there were no consequences because it was just sex, but I still could have left when this became a lot more than that. I know what air we must put on when the white robes are on and we are at work keeping a little closer to the shadows, a small price to pay to have the times like this where you are better dressed for the shadows and yet do everything except stay in them.”

“If only we never had to in the first place. Do you not wish to be more open at work? Among friends?”

“I think in all cases there is a certain kind of secrecy when in a working environment out of professionalism so not much would change on that front really. As for friends, well,” Conner chuckles, shaking his head, “we already are, as they know not to ask too many questions. You remember how Hythlodaeus’ partner was when we happened to cross paths as the two were making their way home?”

The memory brings a small smile back to Elidibus’ face, “I do not believe I had ever seen Anthea more authoritative than in that moment.” He sighs, shoulders relaxing as he leans against Conner, fingers becoming entwined with his, “I just wish that I, as Themis, can be enough for you as Elidibus certainly cannot be.”

Conner tilts his head upward, caressing his jawline to let his hand become loosely entangled in the long white hair. He brings his lips down softly to his, the chill of the night air disappearing in an instant even as Conner pulls away just far enough to whisper, “It will never matter to me who you are. You are by my side right now and that is enough.”

It isn’t enough in this time of calamity when Elidibus recalls that moment as the skies darken and people flee below the earth. Things are going to plan as he can feel that starting fusion of worlds, of another piece of Zodiark stitched by his brethren, and of the decimation of a world he never cared to know. He stopped trying to get to know the people of those broken worlds after they were successful in rejoining the first piece to Him. What was the point when they weren’t supposed to exist to begin with? He’d stick to those that would become whole once again.

It was a third attempt to see if there was something more to it all, if The Shepherd on the moon was right to have abandoned them all those years ago like Emet-Selch had said. Three attempts and this would be the last. He can already see how this one ends, can already feel the slow crawl of grief that’s never sat nicely since the world he knew fell apart, can see this version doing what Elidibus can only assume happened the first time. 

These people don’t have magic yet that doesn’t stop this incarnation of Conner weaving through destruction getting as many as he can underground. He’s had several close calls with the smoke engulfing him and lightning starting to rain down and still it does not deter the man….and each time it causes a panic to rise in Elidibus briefly. Each time he wonders if this will be the moment he witnesses the death of his dearest and so he intervenes in ways imperceptible to those of this era. His brethren would scoff at the intervention, and he can’t blame them, this is only one man and what was a single man compared to the many they were working on bringing back? The preservation of this one man is not worth the whole of the star. 

Yet how would they know that this one man, his soul on its first journey in this new world, was the only reasoning he could find to let them continue with what they were doing. That maybe, just maybe, he could have the power to bring him back, get back that little piece of his heart that was given in exchange for the hopes of many. To see those blue eyes framed by ebony hair once again, to hear his laughter when they tried to dance and Elidibus couldn’t help but try to take the lead which had their legs tangled as they fell to the ground, to feel his own heart race when their eyes would meet in the Convocation building knowing what could come next. To experience the smell of the various herbs and plants he kept just for the joy of it once more, and to taste the cool moonlight on Conner’s lips as the sun rose to remind them of duty that always won. This one man was a reminder of what he sacrificed…. 

And what a mistake it was to have indulged in this fantasy.

Their time together was bliss. The way they met almost like the first time, but it wasn’t uncertainty about his new appointment that kept him silent, but the instant recognition of his eyes among features that were nothing like Conner. Elidibus didn’t need to check the color of his soul to know it was him, though he did anyway, it was enough to have those soulful eyes look at him once more. Enough to bring him back to this incarnation and strike up conversation after conversation in an openness Elidibus hadn’t known when the world was whole. To create a fleeting life within that freedom and to fall once more for someone that was a close approximation to the man he lost. Yet fleeting is all this ever was, even if he was to live to be old and grey a few decades is nothing in the centuries Elidibus has lived. He knows this and still it hurts. Still it hurts to see them all leave in ways that feel unnatural, after centuries of witnessing and being the cause of millions of deaths he still cannot stop the torturous pain from enveloping him. He wants to be free of this cycle….

So this will be the last time he lives among them. The last time he will go searching for those he once knew. The last time he will let himself be distracted by the doubts that plague his mind. The last time he will let himself recall or create memories to hold onto. After this Calamity he will once again put duty above all else. 

But first he will get this incarnation of Conner to the fleeting safety of the ground. Will stay with him for the last two months he has before returning to the sea to begin once again. Will hold him during his last breaths and mourn with the others before disappearing into the shadows, where he will stay dressed in white to perform his duty like he did so long ago. All the while holding onto the fact that he for just a moment had Conner right by his side….

….and it wasn’t enough….

[farfromstrange]

Butterfly Effect | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Masterlist

Chapter Five: Double Espresso

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Barista!Reader (I used she/her pronouns this time)

Summary: When Jimmy knocks at Michael's door, things are bound to escalate, and Michael makes a decision that is gravely going to affect both of you.

Warnings: ANGST, arguing, violence (brothers hitting each other), mention of seizures, mentions of canon character death, lots of swearing, Mikey is in pain so he's an ass

Word Count: 5k

A/n: I'm sorry for this chapter. I know some of you are going to absolutely hate me for this, but I promise that the next chapter will clear all that pain up and then we have another sweet epilogue chapter, I promise. Also, I did notice that having a clear plan for this miniseries made it so much easier to write, so the chapters are coming so fast after another because I know what I want to write and where I want it to go. If my other WIP’s could only flow like that *sigh* (also this plays after Michael’s release and before Jamie’s death, which might be important to note for some of the dialogue in here)

Read All Other Parts Here…

The sun behind the clouds casts a soft pink glow across the sky. Michael stands in his backyard, watching the sunset from the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame as he takes in the sight of the beautiful evening. He’s holding a cup of chai tea. After tasting the cup you were so kind to bring him, he decided to brew some espresso as well and add that with a little bit of milk and cinnamon. It’s nowhere near as good as yours, but the taste of the Dirty Chai runs on his tongue like ice cream and he feels at home. 

He gets to breathe fresh air now, he tells himself, he has a bed, proper food, and coffee, something he couldn’t have in prison. He can watch the sunset from his backyard and imagine what animals the clouds above him could portray. With a little bit of mindpower, he manages to make out a possible turtle and a knight, but he’s not sure how his brain sorts the pompous cloud as a knight; it has a striking resemblance with one of the pictures out of his history books. 

Sipping his Dirty Chai, he allows himself to rest for a moment. His lips curl into a soft smile as the wind brushes across his face and through his hair. It’s not particularly cold, not colder than usual anyway, but the oxygen feels good in his lungs, and his skin jumps in glee at the fresh air. 

You told him that you try not to let the world get to you. You try to be an optimist and that makes you happier. You’ve made peace with how your life is, even though you still feel guilty for not being able to finish the things you want to, and he envies that. He wishes he could do that. It would make life so much easier, but he also knows that even though you like to pride yourself on how well you’re doing, staying positive is hard and you’re struggling just as much as him. It makes him feel less alone to know he’s not the only one who feels so inevitably stuck. Your situations may be different, but he gets how you’re feeling and he could tell just from talking to you that you understand him without knowing all the details because you can see his pain, and his pain is something you yourself have felt before. Most of the time, you still do. 

He has to learn how to live with himself too, just like you. He has to learn that there are things he cannot change, but that those he can change require his full focus and that he needs to be happy with what he has before the yearning for something that’s so far out of reach breaks his heart completely and he will find himself in an even more helpless position. He doesn’t want to go back to being the man he was. He has changed for one person and one person only, and she deserves a father who is a hundred percent dedicated. He needs to be that man and to be that Michael, he needs to learn how to live with himself. Plain and simple. He needs to take a page out of your book and not try so hard to hide who he is just to appease others.

He can’t keep others safe when he’s running himself into the ground, and he can’t get Anna back like that either because then no court will ever grant him visitation rights ever again, and her grandma will have him dead before he can even breach the front door. Although he figures that might happen anyway. After what happened with Allison…

Michael shakes his head. He can’t let these thoughts in, not now, not when the sun looks as ephemeral as it does now. Sunsets are supposed to be relaxing, so relaxed is what he tries to be. Just for this particular moment, he wants to be completely free and not think about anything other than the relief he felt in the safety of your understanding arms. 

After the sun has set, he stays outside for a little while longer until he starts getting cold. He returns inside, cleans his now-empty mug, and finds himself once again staring at the napkin you left him. The Sharpie is barely readable anymore after all of his tears landed on it, but the X is still there. There is something so adorable about how nervous you are around him, and it even shows in the notes you left him. He still regrets throwing the cup away, but he has the napkin and he cherishes it like it’s an antique.

A knock on the door disturbs his peace. At least with you, the world around him didn’t exist, but now he’s alone and everything seems to be rushing back in. 

Michael makes his way to his front door and opens it. He expected it to be someone from his family, perhaps Birdy because the woman likes to check in on him from time to time or ask him for a cup of tea, knowing he tends to get lonely, and he appreciates her maternal bones, but it’s not her. In front of him stands his brother, Jimmy, and he doesn’t look happy. He never does, but he looks particularly grouchy tonight. 

He steps aside and lets him in, albeit hesitantly. 

“We need ta talk,” Jimmy says when he’s already halfway through the door. 

“About what?” Michael asks, closing the lock again behind him. 

He doesn’t want to talk, which is why he hasn’t been answering his brother’s calls, but even if he did, it’s been a long day and he is tired. Whatever Jimmy has to say to him, he doesn’t want to hear it. 

He looks around the house with curious eyes. 

“What’re you doin’?” 

“Are ya alone?” 

Michael nods. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. Amanda told me somethin’,” Jimmy says. His eyes look dark, almost vacant in the dim living room light. 

There are a million things she could have told him, and he likes none of them. His heart stops. The history between Michael and Amanda is something he promised to keep hidden, although his brother isn’t stupid and the signs have never been clearer, considering the rather awkward reunion after he was released from prison. But why would he come to him now? Why would Amanda tell him? 

It’s not like Michael has ever been in love with his brother’s wife. He’s not sure why it happened; his feelings were conflicted back then and he screwed up. He always does. He lets the demons in his head guide him against his better judgment, and then shit happens. He’s not proud of it nor does he want to find excuses because what he did hurt not only his brother in a way but his wife and the family he’d always wanted and then lost. He doesn’t want to talk about it because he can’t explain himself – Michael knows he’s an asshole, but saying it to his brother’s face would be even more humiliating than carrying the knowledge around with him.

He tries not to show that he’s panicking. Instead, he moves to the kitchen and grabs both of them a beer. “Oh yeah?” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, although the guilt makes his eyes look particularly sunken in the darkness. “What did she tell ya?” 

Jimmy takes one of the bottles from him. He doesn’t look like he wants to punch him just yet, so maybe Amanda didn’t tell him about them. He’s not sure what other secrets she’s keeping, he can only remember the elephant in the room, but his mind is foggy and he tends to forget a lot, especially when it comes to the past. He either pushed all the memories away or his brain decided for itself to forget certain things to protect himself – and the seizures, not to speak about them. His family doesn’t know, but he does, and he hates to admit that they’re happening, but ever since getting out, they have only become more frequent.

His life is a mess and as Jimmy is standing before him now, ready to let some kind of guillotine fall on him, Michael wishes nothing more than for you to be there and take some of the edge off that is pushing him forward toward the abyss. 

“Have ya been goin’ out lately?” his brother asks.

The question surprises him. In his mind, he’s playing a game where he’s scratching off the things Amanda could have told her husband like a bad game of bingo, but they’re all over the place. 

What does his private life have to do with Amanda and Jimmy? He hasn’t been doing anything illegal. He is trying to go straight, they know that. Everyone knows that. They hate it, but he’s insistent. Michael is certain he didn’t do anything wrong and he isn’t planning on doing so anytime soon. 

Maybe it is about Anna? But that wouldn’t connect directly to Amanda and it wouldn’t be Jimmy but his lawyer and maybe Birdy because the woman actually cares. He’s not always sure if his brother cares like he pretends he does because there is a lot of unresolved tension – once again, he thanks himself for being such an idiot and Amanda for being herself – and that’s how he knows that Jimmy would be the last person to knock with news on his fight to get his daughter back. 

“What do you mean?” Michael asks with a frown. 

“Have ya been goin’ out?” Jimmy repeats his question. “On the town, tryin’ to pick up ladies, that sorta thing?”

His frown deepens. “What?”

“C’mon, ya can tell me, Mikey. I’m your brother.”

He is, but this feels more like an intervention than a friendly chat. It’s starting to dawn on him. While his visits to the café may have gone unnoticed, you came to visit him at work today, the same place that is a front for laundering money for all the Kinsella family business and Amanda was there this morning. She could have seen you. You kissed him across the street from the big windows and she could have easily watched the scene unfold, watched you hug him and kiss him, and Michael indulged in the kiss. 

Amanda must have seen you and she went right ahead and snitched to Jimmy that he has been spending time with you. You, the last person who should have to deal with his mess. You, someone normal and authentic. You, someone who has never done anything bad in your life. And you, the person Michael has found solace in and started telling his story to. He didn’t tell you details, but he told you his name and you could figure it all out if you wanted to, and he dragged you into it even though he knew he shouldn’t have. 

It’s you Jimmy is referring to, and his muscles instantly lock up. This isn’t about him anymore, this is about someone who has nothing to do with this life, you’ve just chosen to show the wrong man the best kind of affection and he refuses to let his brother or Amanda ruin this for him, let alone ruin you. 

“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about,” Michael says through gritted teeth. 

Jimmy scoffs. “Did Amanda see a ghost then?” 

“If ya told me what this is about–“

“You’ve been seein’ a woman, haven’t ya, Mikey?” he asks.

There it is. 

Michael puts his bottle down and stares at his brother. His features darken. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Start this.”

“Start what, exactly? I’m just tryin’ ta have a conversation with my brother.”

“Ya know exactly what yer startin’, Jimmy. Don’t play coy.”

“Amanda saw you kissin’ a stranger and she said ya keep disappearin’. Ya don’t answer our calls. I’m sorry fer gettin’ worried about ya. Yer family, after all and I care about ya, Michael.”

It sounds like he’s blaming him now, which, given the circumstances, feels neither fair to him nor to you.

“Ya don’t know shit about my life!” He hasn’t raised his voice in a while, but when he does, it’s pure anger and a tinge of vulnerability that strain his vocal cords. The glass of the bottle hits the counter. 

“Hey,” Jimmy warns, “take it easy!”

He doesn’t want to take it easy. He’s far beyond the point where he can.

“I don’t know how this is any of your business,” says Michael, his eyes still staring coldly at his brother, “but yeah, I’ve met someone, and she’s good ta me. More doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

“Michael, ya know what I’m gonna say and I hate ta say it.”

“Ya don’t have to.”

“I do ‘cause if this were anyone we know, I wouldn’t give a flyin’ fuck, but tha’ girl–“

“Leave her name out of your mouth or I swear to God–“

“Who is she?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I told ya.”

“A normal civilian then,” Jimmy says. “Amanda said she looks like that girl who works at the café down the street.”

Now they know who you are, too. His skin turns as cold as ice, and he can feel his blood boiling in his veins.

“Ya know what tha’ means, Michael?”

“Fuck,” he runs a hand over his face, “Of fuckin’ course I know.”

It means a lot of things.

“If yer not careful, she’s gonna get killed. Ya just got out of prison, yer a Kinsella… The stakes are higher now. The danger is greater. We can’t deny that.”

Michael groans. “Since when do any of ya have the right to dictate my relationships? Especially Amanda. She’s the last person on this godforsaken planet that should get a right to have a say,” he says. “Just because ya want me back in the saddle–“

“Ya wanna know since when, huh?” Jimmy snaps, breaking his assumption in two. “Since ya’ve got your wife fuckin’ killed, that’s when!”

The beer bottle soars across the room, barely missing his face before it shatters against the wood on the wall behind him. Michael steps forward, his finger pointed at his brother, grabbing him by the collar and pushing him into the nearest object. He towers over him, even though he is smaller, and all of the humanity in his eyes has vanished. 

Whatever Jimmy’s problem is, he’s moving on very thin ice, and the ice is about to break through.

“Watch yer fuckin’ mouth!” he growls. “Ya can tear me down and attack my life, but Allison and Anna? Ya keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about them! And her–“ Your face flashes in front of his eyes like a Polaroid picture. “Don’t fuckin’ dare compare her to them or what happened before I went to prison because I know.” His voice is barely above a whisper; he sounds almost like a snake. Michael doesn’t have to yell to cause goosebumps.  

“I know, Jimmy,” he says, “I know she’s in danger ‘cause of me and this family, but I promised Anna I would go straight now because she’s my daughter and I deserve to get her back, I deserve to make amends, and I won’t let ya or Amanda tell me what to do as if I have anythin’ to do with the shit yer doing anymore. You tryin’ to sabotage my relationships won’t bring me back.”

Jimmy grabs his wrists. “That’s not how it works,” he says. There is a flash of concern in his eyes.

Michael sneers. “How would you know? You have yer wife and yer sons. Ya have everything. You don’t know what it’s like to lose a fuckin’ child!”

“Yer right, I don’t, but you think it’s gonna help Anna if ya start a relationship that might end anyway? Ya want more grief? More heartbreak? Does she even know?”

Michael tightens his grip around his collar. “Oh, fuck off, Jimmy! Ya don’t know me, and yer certainly not the boss of me, ya fuck!” 

His spit pearls off his cheeks, and his eyes turn feral. “Are ya so used to gettin’ and corruptin’ what you want that ya can’t see the bigger picture?” 

He lets go of him, distancing himself almost immediately. His fist twitches. Jimmy’s face looks so inviting, he has a hard time controlling himself. He tries not to let his words touch him, but he’s got him riled up and he can’t come back down. 

“Maybe I should let ya make your own mistakes,” he says. “Let you run into the knife ‘cause ya seem to have a real knack for fuckin’ up everything. When yer little girlfriend ends up dead, maybe then you’ll learn that sometimes, family is right. Or ya just kill her yerself because ya just seem so fuckin’ good at it–“

The loud crack of bone breaking fills the house. Jimmy howls when Michael’s fist connects with his nose, and the bridge breaks clean through. It tilts at the most painful angle without popping back in place. Blood spills from his nostrils. He falls to his knees on the floor, clutching his broken nose.

Michael towers over his brother, his irises fully black now. His chest heaves, his knuckles are covered in blood, and his wrist is already starting to swell. 

“Get the fuck out of my house, Jimmy!” he says. He doesn’t even leave him time to recollect himself. 

Jimmy rises to his feet, his nose still dripping. He stares at him with a mixture of pride and shock; without another word, he launches at him and strikes his fist across his face. 

It’s Michael’s turn to fall onto his knees with a surprised groan. He didn’t get his full nose, but something did break upon impact. 

Jimmy huffs, staring at his brother who is now bleeding just as excessively as him. “Gladly,” he says, satisfied with his work, and then he leaves, but not without emptying his beer on his way out and leaving the bottle right at the entrance for him to clean it up. 

The door falls shut behind him. 

He stays on the floor for a while, feeling the floorboards under his fingers. The worst part isn’t that Jimmy said these outrageous things. Michael would be angrier if he had lied to him, but that wasn’t the case. He said the truth and nothing but the truth. And it eats him alive that his brother is right – the worst part is that he is no good for you and the wisest choice is to let you go before you’re too far in to crawl back out.

And that kills him inside. 

He finds himself on his bedroom floor again that night, nursing a bottle of whiskey. He leans back against the bed. The alcohol is slowly hulling his brain into a fog, numbing the pain, numbing his emotions, but most of all, it makes the thought of you go away and turn into bitterness instead. You, Allison, Anna… he wants to forget it all.

His finger ghosts over the ‘send’ button on his phone, but instead of sending the text, he switches to the icon in the top corner and presses ‘call’. 

The line clicks. “Hello?” Amanda’s voice sounds from the other end.

“Are ya proud of yerself?” he asks. He’s too exhausted to be angry, but there is a force behind his words that goes beyond being tired.

There is silence before she answers. “Michael,” she says his name oh so softly.

He doesn’t want to hear it. He wants to yell at her and tell her why she told Jimmy and ask her why this is such a big deal and that he hates her and he hates this family and… he hates himself.

“Jimmy just wanted ta talk.”

He scoffs. “I just wanted ta tell ya that ya should be proud of yerself. Ya can tell Frank I didn’t change my mind, but good try and ya should be proud of yerself, truly.”

She ruined something very good for him, and she made him loathe his reflection again. 

“We care about ya,” she says. It sounds almost like she’s arguing. “And we want ya to think things through, especially with your history and this family, and you don’t want another person ta suffer because of a risk we couldn’t control, do ya? That’s why I told Jimmy. I just wanted ta help. This isn’t personal. And this isn’t about Frank.”

But oh, it is personal. She lies shamelessly through her teeth and right now, Michael hates her guts as much as he loathes himself, which is a lot. He hates his family. He hates everyone. And most of all, he hates the universe. 

“Yeah,” he sniffles, “I did think ‘em through. And it is personal.”

“Michael–“

“Thanks for nothin’, Amanda. Good night.”

He hangs up, leaving behind only silence and the taste of whiskey on his tongue as he continues to stare at the ceiling until inevitably, he passes out right there, still leaning against the bed and praying that his life will soon turn out to have been nothing but a bad, bad dream.

The next day, the café buzzes with activity as customers come and go, their conversations blending into a steady hum. You're back behind the counter, but you're not paying attention. The radio plays a Taylor Swift song and you hum along, scribbling something on one of the coffee cups, waiting for the next wave of people in need of coffee to come through the door. 

You're not working with Sarah today, so at least you're not getting smart comments about your floaty state, but his lips... you wish you could should his name at the top of your lungs. You can't get him out of your head – his hands on your body, touching and grabbing everywhere, his lips moving against yours as he breathes all of you in, even your bare soul; it's a picture you wish you could replay like a 3D movie, but the memories come and go in a blur. You need him. You crave him. He's messing with your head and while it's annoying, you can't get enough. You're addicted to Michael Kinsella. 

What started as wanting to comfort a man who came to the café in need of an escape has evolved into a physical yearning for his touch, not just getting to know his soul in a way you still haven't been able to, but you've seen more of him the day before and you're proud of yourself for picking apart the walls he's built around his heart piece by piece. You're so happy, you could burst. 

Every ring of the bell above the door catches your attention, but then your heart drops when you see it's not him. The longing for Michael begins to feel obsessive, yet you can't deny the thrill it brings you. And then, as if the universe has answered your unspoken plea, he walks in, and your heart stops, only to beat twice as fast.

"Michael," you greet him with a bright smile. "How are you?"

Something is off about him today. You notice there is a cut on his nose and the bridge is starting to turn blue. His hand is bandaged again. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t even try to fake it. His eyes are vacant, almost, like he’s empty inside, the pain having moved deep enough to burn his soul to ashes. The numbness he displays while also keeping a cage locked tightly around himself makes your own heart ache for him.

What happened to him? When you parted ways, you both seemed more than alright. It was awkward, but it was great. Or did you misinterpret something?

“I’ll take a double espresso,” he answers the question you haven’t even voiced yet. “Just a double espresso. Nothin’ else.”

“Are you sure?” you try to sound as cheery as before, but the sight of him has your light dimmed a little. “We have other options,” you say. 

He’s not acting on your recommendations today. His stare is blank and his voice sounds harsh when he repeats his order, though this time making it sound like a demand that makes you flinch. Men scare you, that is no secret, but Michael had never scared you before. Up until this point, you never thought it possible, he never struck you as the scary type, but the tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine, uncomfortable ones, and he leaves no space for you to argue or be playful with it. 

You bonded over coffee before. His demeanor has you second-guessing everything. Did you misinterpret his intentions? Was it all a facade? Why did he come here if he intended to hurt you? 

You finish the double espresso with millions of thoughts racing in your mind. Right before handing it to him, you take a deep breath and decide to write your number on the cup. You should have done it long before. He might not want to talk now, but maybe later, or maybe he won’t ever call. You’re not sure why the hope is still there, but it burns brighter than your fear or your anger. 

"Double espresso," you call out, hoping he'll stay a moment longer.

Michael approaches the counter, his eyes avoiding yours as he snatches the cup from your hands. Your fingers brush. You keep him there. 

“Hey,” your voice softens, “Are you okay?”

He avoids your eyes. 

“You seem… different today.” That’s an understatement. 

“Yeah,” he says and tears the cup from your hands. “Bad day. I have to go. Thanks.”

That’s what he wants to leave you with? The interaction tastes bitter. He doesn't even spare a glance at the cup. He doesn’t acknowledge you. He doesn’t listen. It's as if he's determined to shut you out, to sever whatever connection you had.

You shoot your colleague an apologetic glance before tossing your apron on the counter and sprinting after Michael. 

“Michael!”

At the call of his name, he stops in his tracks. “What do you want?” he asks. He sounds defensive, guarded even. There seems to be an entire army fighting inside of him, against him, and against you. 

You’re not strong enough to withhold the storm. Yet, you still take a step forward to somehow bridge the gap that is not just literally but figuratively between you. The space hasn’t been there before, it’s new and you hate it. He won’t even reach your lifeline because he’s swimming out far enough that he can’t reach it. It’s almost as if he’s doing this on purpose, destroying himself, slowly killing himself, and you’re helpless. 

“I want to be there for you,” you say, gentle yet determined. “I’m not sure where we went wrong, where I went wrong, but you’re not alone in this. Just tell me what happened and I can try to fix it. I can help you. Either way, I can tell you’re hurting and I don’t want you to push me away. Not after we’ve come so close.”

You’re grasping for straws now.

Michael turns to look over your shoulder. You see a flicker of regret flash up in his eyes, but it’s gone as fast as it appeared. Left behind is only an empty shell. 

“Please,” you beg. 

He studies your face for a moment. He hesitates, he's uncertain, but he's gone. You can tell he's gone; he disappears right before your eyes, slipping through your fingers and this time it feels final. It shouldn't hurt, you don't know him, but it burns like acid on your skin and get through to your heart. It shouldn't hurt, you're not like that, but you can't deny that it does. 

As if a wall slams shut, he shakes his head and takes a step back. "Ya don't get it," he says.

“What don’t I get?”

“Everything! It doesn’t fuckin’ matter anyway.”

“Come on, talk to me. Maybe I can help. I–”

“Maybe ya should stop tryin’ so hard all the fuckin’ time.”

You didn’t expect that. 

“People might like you more if ya weren’t tryin’ so hard,” he says, taking your heart like a piece of paper and ripping it straight through. “People pleasers are exhausting, and yer no better than tha’.”

Your throat tightens as the words start to sink in. “What?” you whisper. 

“Ya heard me.” He turns back around, his eyes leaving yours. “It’s best if we end this here. Fer both of us.”

There wasn’t much between you anyway and yet he wants to take his fist and shatter it like glass hard enough so that you won’t be able to pick it up. That sounds cruel, and it feels even worse. His words remind you of your childhood and the time after that, all the people who laughed at you, who told you that you were too complicated, that you needed to change to fit in, that you would never be good enough, and they remind you of your parents and the friends you’ve lost simply because no matter what you did, it was never good enough. They used your kind heart and destroyed you in the process. Not once did you think Michael would do the same. 

“I didn’t realize, I– I’m sorry,” your voice cracks. 

He huffs, still not looking at you. “Like I said, yer exhausting,” he says as if he hasn’t done enough. “I’ll stay away from ya from now on. It’s better tha’ way. Try not to please everyone so hard or you’ll end up miserable.” He says your name, but you feel like your ears are underwater and all of this is just a stupid dream. A nightmare, even. 

Michael says goodbye and then he’s gone. You’re not sure where to, but he leaves, and you don’t make an effort this time – you don’t follow him. He managed to break your heart with what little you shared about yourself and that is not something you can easily swallow. 

Your colleague stares at you when you storm back into the café, but you ignore her. You leave your apron where it is, holding your breath as you hold the tears in the corners of your eyes, your feet carrying you to the back room. And you cry.

You break down and cry because Michael used the power of words shamelessly to hurt you in a way that runs deeper than your skin. You break down, and you curse Michael Kinsella all the way to hell. 

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms @acharliecoxedfan @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella

[prismaticpichu]

Hi! I hope I'm not disturbing you, I'm sorry if I'm asking too much, so umm can you make Seph Zack, like Seph is trying to craft or build something, Zack is curious, Seph is writing his journal, Seph's memories when he was little, add angst, Zack protective, comfort/hurt, fun, I hope its okay for you. ♥️❤️🤗🫂

Ahhhhh! Not at all, my friendo!! ❤️ I appreciate your asks so much you have no idea lol!! 😂 ✨ Receiving prompts is all a writer can ever ask for!!!

As for this prompt!- wooo boy! That’s a lot of ingredients to add to the pot! Annnnnnnd I think i’ma just gonna be a lazy butt and shamelessly promote some fics that have covered all those points in the past! xD

*ducks chair*

LOOK A PICHU’S DMW CAN ROLL A DUD EVERY NOW AND THEN ehehhehehshshdhdhdhhdhdh

~

“Seph is trying to craft or build something, Zack is curious, fun” ~ I present to you…. my very old fic, On Pins and Needles!!! This little oneshot follows Zack discovering Seph has a little hobby that one may not expect. https://archiveofourown.org/works/39779433

“Seph's memories when he was little, add angst, Zack protective, comfort/hurt” ~ I present to you… my not too old fic, Lightning! This fic here starts with a rather brutal memory of Seph’s childhood, followed by a very loving and tender Zack comforting his friend in the aftermath. https://archiveofourown.org/works/51209863

“Seph is writing in his journal” ~ okie doke, so! I don’t reeallllly have a fic that covers this, but I DO happen to have a random snippet in my WIPs that’s literally called “Sephiroth’s Journal” 🤣🤣 Alright…. CONVENIENT LOL

~

13 September 2023

Frankly, I am not too certain what to write here. And I suppose that already muddies the purpose of why this notebook was given to me. I was instructed to simply journal my "thoughts", whatever they may be, omit everything else in my mind and write my thoughts without thinking at all. He told me I think too much. He also told me I am too stiff when I speak, and I was to try to be as colloquial as possible. "Talk to yourself!" he told me. "Mimic a conversation." I cannot promise that I will be able to adhere to this, but I will try.

I suppose if this was to be a conversation, I would start by introducing myself. My name is Sephiroth. Had I not been my own recipient, I am certain whoever reading this would have heard that name before. It is more... widespread than I would like to admit. But that is my life. "The cards I was dealt" as he would say. Though I do not believe there is any true power dealing these supposed cards, I have long come to accept them. I am not angry. I am not bitter. I am not particularly happy with them; I just play with what I was given. But I digress. I am a SOLDIER First Class, among the highest rank in the military. Please let it be known that I say this without any sense of a arrogance or pretentiousness. I have been fighting all my life, and these are the results of years of ceaseless training. I would rather not talk about that chapter of my life, however. Maybe another day. I think I will choose to focus on the present for the time being.

Such as right now, for instance. Tonight I write from my bedroom desk, a glass of water to my right and a closed computer to my left. I am much accustomed to working on a computer, if I had to be completely truthful . It is where almost all of my work is done. Incidentally, I was planning on resuming my work upon returning to my quarters tonight. But he had gifted me this journal today, and I did not want his kindness to be in vain.

I suppose I should stop referring to the boy as "Him." It is very disrespectful, now that I think about it, how I had not properly included him by now. Him--I said it again, didn't I? My apologies. The him I am referring to, his name is Zack Fair. He is a SOLDIER First Class, just as I. He is also my lieutenant.

Heh. I think I know what to write about. But I will save it for tomorrow; it is getting late. I promised Zack I would be in bed by midnight.

~

Hopefully this is a satisfactory answer lmao!! ❤️ Apologies for my indolence; I think I’ve honestly just been pushing myself a little hard lately, and I can smell the faintest ashes of a burnout spell creeping in.

[lorenfinch]

Introduction

Hello! Very recently I found out about the existence of writeblr, and since I am currently working on a book series and trying to get the word out about it I thought I'd make a sideblog for it!

My name is Loren, and my full pen name is Loren Finch. I'm 24 at the time of writing this (though my birthday is less than a month away), I like to primarily use he/they, though I still go by she/her in some places due to not entirely being out and still experimenting with my pronouns. I am a mixed, queer, autistic/adhd, transmasc, aroace author who enjoys all things fantasy, gothic, and supernatural.

I am also an artist and you may find some of my character art here! My main blog is @circuslollipop and my art sideblog is @circuslollipopart! You can also find me on twitter @/circuslollipop and on insta @/circuslollipopart!!

I would love to meet and befriend fellow writers and seek out some beta readers in the future once I'm ready for it!

My current writing project was actually inspired by another writing idea I had! That project was moreso about faeries in a steampunk-inspired city, until I had a few worldbuilding ideas on how to integrate vampires into the setting. Then I came up with a couple characters and an entirely new setting, and found that I wanted to write about them instead!

For the time being. Perhaps when this monster of a project is all done, I can go back to that other idea! Or, idk, something about sapphic werecoyotes in an Old West-inspired town.

MY WIP

Currently, I am working on a new adult dark fantasy book series, with an aim for 5 books total. I would comp this as GRISHAVERSE x HELL FOLLOWED WITH US x THE WITCHER.

The Everdark. A vast expanse of forest and mountains where the sun cannot touch, where monsters roam wild and where magic permeates the very soil. To most mortals, the Everdark is a death sentence, but one young man hopes to make it a sanctuary. Renwick had always held a fascination for vampires, and now that he’s been turned into one, he revels at the chance to finally leave behind who he once was—scared and meek with no friends, shunned by his fellows who insisted he was a wretched little girl. Yet instead of the grand castles, billowing capes, and candlelit ballroom dances of his dreams, Renwick finds himself thrust in the middle of a conflict between vampires and monster hunters that threatens to turn deadly. With his new home and fellow vampires on the line, Renwick must uncover the secrets lurking in the fog, all while searching for his enigmatic uncle and grappling with the mysterious circumstances of his own transformation.

This series will feature vampires, undead creatures, elves, magic, a trans autistic MC, many queer characters, and an eventual MLM romance. The setting is inspired by mainly 19th century Europe with some medieval/renaissance era elements, and North American natural landscapes. Currently, I have just started drafting the first book! I am a plotter by nature, and have completed outlining book 1, and have mapped out where the rest of the series will go.

TAGS

ART: #character art

CHARACTERS: #ch: [insert character name]

TIPS: #ref

INSPIRATION: #inspo

I'll also add anything I see fit!

TAGLIST

@/angie-j-kay || @/digitalsatyr23 || @/sam-glade || @/worldsfromhoney

[ohbo-ohno]

babygirl bo <3 I have some Qs to which I beg you provide some As (I need me some of that deep bo lore)

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh 

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

babygirl lumi i love you so much. you're welcome to any lore you want

🍄 does puppy play count as a hc? because i write ghost calling soap "pup" as a kink thing but i also very much so think he'd just Do that.

if that doesn't count, then i'll say that one hc i swear by is that ghost is a freak but soap is 10x freakier and he's into literally every conceivable abuse ghost tries to commit agaisnt him.

also i think soap is suuuper smart but in a really specific way - can't spell for shit, but that man can rattle off college level math like it's nothing

🥤 is SUCH a good ask because now i can rec my fav cod x readers <3 (i know it says fic or author singular but you're getting multiple fics in place of me trying to tag authors and inevitably forgetting someone)

cod fics (but not the people i usually link because this post is already too long):

Baby Blue by kechiwrites (ghost x reader)

Taste by Sweet Deciet (ghost x soap x reader)

The Hand That Feeds by anonymous (ghost x soap)

Hypnotized (Fuck It) by ANTchan (ghost x soap)

Where Moonlight Meets the Sea by MildLimerence (ghost x soap)

Not More Than Once by WhisperedWords12 (ghost x soap)

NOT cod fics, but one for a few fandoms i love:

Declensions by dustorange is THE dick grayson origin fic. if there's one fanfic i wish i had written, it would be this

the first step of kintsugi by thepolysyndetonaddictsupportgroup is a peter parker & frank castle fic and im not sure it'll ever be finished but it is just. god it is perfect and probably my favorite fic of all time

anything by cupcakemolotov is gonna hit like no other for klaus mikaelson/caroline forbes. i love her so so much like she is my IDOL

ALL MOUTH. by themilkteeth is like the epitome of what a good darklina fic is. it's soooooosososo good i want it injected into my veins

the Blood Apron series by sciencefictioness is a great overwatch fic, but you really don't need to know the characters to enjoy the story! another one that'll never get added to, but i love it a lot

🥐 i don't like the lotr movies but there's a moment in the first (?) one where aragorn (?) is singing to himself and frodo (?) asks "who is this lady you sing of?" and for some reason i literally cannot watch it without keeling over in laughter. it's so fucking stupid

🪲 ohhhh we have beef for this one. i hate you a teeny tiny bit for making me write (/j). added it below the cut!

ok quick edit here but. i thought that said 500 words so uh. sorry but there's 500 words here instead of 50 lmfao. im a fool!!!!!

ghost x soap (cw for (legal) age gap)

He takes another look at the kid, now that he’s not planning on throwing him off the property. He’s got a bit of bulk, probably just recently started working out, and there’s a cocky energy coming off of him. Ghost would bet this is far from the first time he’s robbed someone with this little ruse, probably thinks he’s the smartest burglar in town. Too bad he chose the wrong man to try and trick this time.

Ghost straightens from the doorway, rolling back his shoulders and standing tall. The kid isn’t short by any means, but compared to Simon he’s practically little. Odds are he’s still got some growing to do, but for now Simon gets to enjoy the way he can loom over the teenager.

“No one ever taught you to respect your elders, boy?”

Oh, the kid doesn’t like that one. If he were a dog, his hackles would be fully raised, but he’s left settling for curling his lip back in a snarl. “You think just cause you’re old I have to respect you?”

“I think you’ll respect me because you’re on my property. That and I don’t think you’ll like what happens if you keep the attitude up.”

The kid flushes, either from rage or the innuendo. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You think just because we’re out here alone you can say whatever you want to me?”

“Of course not. We’re out here all alone, which means I can do whatever I want to you. And I will, if you don’t get off my property.”

The kid looks him up and down, then visibly steels himself. Ghost bites back a smirk. He’s not used to being underestimated, but he finds he doesn’t mind when it means getting to see the kid play at being his equal.

“What do you think you’ll do if I don’t go?”

Oh, Ghost can’t wait to beat the attitude out of the little brat.

He doesn’t let the kid see how much the rudeness is getting to him, intentionally keeping his face flat and unimpressed. “What’s your name, kid?”

That permanent scowl doesn’t shift, even as a flash of confusion crosses his face. “...John.”

Ghost nods. “Alright, Johnny, if you don’t get off my property, I’ll take you over my knee and teach you what your daddy should’ve.”

It’s nearly impossible to keep from grinning when Johnny’s mouth pops open in surprise, the flush creeping further up his neck. “You- you’ll- who do you think- you can’t-”

Ghost reaches out like he might slap Johnny, instead snaps right in front of his nose, sharp and loud. “Spit it out, boy. I don’t feel like listening to a kid learn how to speak all night.”

Johnny’s letting himself get worked up, and not doing a good job of hiding it. His teeth grind and he shifts from foot to foot, like he’d like to try and attack Ghost. He’s apparently smart enough to know how idiotic that would be, and Simon finds he’s almost disappointed.