#and the fic has been brewing

[allticklingallthetime]

I am cooking up a spicy one yall

[joonipertree]

Pro-racer Mikey that needs to do photoshoots and commercials every once in a while because he's famous and has a pretty face

He's put into his tracksuit or into lavish clothes to pose for the masses and a lot of people realise that Mikey has a presence on the camera that's unshakeable

And so....they decide to have him model for a photoshoot with one of the biggest models of the industry. Which works!! It's fine

They're just pictures.

But then the model posts a selfie of Mikey and her. and she says nothing but puts a heart in the caption.

And the speculations run WILD

Comments upon comments of shipping them together, calling them a power couple.

And you sit there, stuck in a doom scroll as you see one tweet after the other. You stare at your boyfriend, black hair neatly kept and smile wide like it always was, and you see the pretty girl.

And within seconds, you feel stupid for feeling insecure because Mikey had literally spent all morning peppering you in kisses, it was IMPOSSIBLE to pry him off even though he had a shoot and Draken had to come haul his ass up and out the door.

The man had texted you complaining how the food was blegh and how he missed your face.

There's no reason to be jealous.

So you turned off your phone and when Mikey came home, exhausted but very happy to see you....you let him smother you in kisses.

And it's forgotten

Until an unofficial bonus picture was released, on the magazine's Instagram page.

Him and the model, her leaning down as he sits on a chair...his hand wrapped around her wrist while their faces are inches close to each other.

It took three seconds to switch your phone off, throw it away and break down sobbing with whatever rational thought you had leaving your head.

You didn't need to read the comments to know what they were saying. You didn't need to wait until your friend's message you to ask if you're okay, out of pity. You didn't need his friends to call you in defense of him. You didn't need him to realise what had happened.

It was all a PR stunt so why would he even need to apologize. It was just a picture. Two people who were attractive being in close proximity to each other, being ogled by millions...being perceived as perfect for each other. As 'pleasing to the eye'

Now, Mikey was filming a commercial when this happened. He'd been chatting with the co-star while the cameras rolled when he noticed Ken-chin whisper into his phone.

The man looked annoyed, ready to argue but going rigid before sighing.

With a whisper to the director, everything paused as Ken waved his phone and said it was for Mikey. That it was Emma.

There was immediate panic because there's no way it wouldn't be an emergency. And he was right, his eyes widened and body grew stiff in seconds hearing his sister berate him.

For being a bastard, for breaking your heart like that.

She demanded he fixed it and when he was about to ask what was going on.....Draken shoved another phone into Mikeys hand...the instagram page of the magazine opened.

Oh. Fuck no

"I'm leaving." Mikey yelled out, startling everyone in the room, his years of being a gang leader coming out.

"What do you mean---"

Draken blocked the director's view, hands behind his back as he went back into the position of the second in command.

"You heard him."

"He has a contract--"

"He doesn't give a fuck."

[airas-story]

Moral of the Story

“Do you even realize what you just told me?” Stephen asked, sounding perturbed.

Tony glanced to the side to look at him. He’d been focusing on the bookshelves so he wouldn’t see the disgust he knew he’d find on Stephen’s face. “What are you talking about?” Tony asked; it was not the reaction he’d expected after telling the story of his 40th birthday party, every humiliating moment of it. The disgust, for one, wasn’t there. Stephen had a strange—ha—look on his face, as though he was in the process of rethinking something he’d thought he’d known.

“You’re telling me your best friend stole your suit, beat you into the ground while he thought you were drunk, then flew off and took the suit you’d done everything to keep out of the hands of other people and gave it to the government, and not just the government, but your competitor.”

Tony made a face, because competitor, that was being a little generous. “Hammer is not—“

Stephen held out a hand to stop him, apparently not about to let himself be distracted. “He was supposed to be your best friend. And he… I don’t care how you were acting, Rhodes shouldn’t have beat you into the ground and then stolen from you, especially in a way that deliberately and explicitly betrayed your very well-publicized view of putting the suit in the hands of the government.” Stephen shook his head. “People could have died because of that, and it’d be your weapons, once again. That would have destroyed you, Tony. I’m trying to understand how you could possibly be okay with this.”

He examined Tony, eyes piercing as though searching for answers in Tony’s soul.

Tony shifted uncomfortably, not sure he wanted Stephen to find whatever he was looking for. He tried to deflect. “Whoa, calm down. You’re focusing on the wrong things.” Because there were some things he preferred not to think about. “I was being an irresponsible ass, dangerously so. And I intended for him to take it,” Tony added. He’d wanted part of Iron Man to live on to protect the world after he died, and he couldn’t think of anyone better than Rhodey. “I trusted he wouldn’t misuse it. So he wasn’t really stealing it.”

It didn’t distract Stephen in quite the way he’d hoped. “Did he know that?” Stephen asked, tone sharp and eyes blazing, clearly getting riled up. “Did Colonel Rhodes know that he was ‘not stealing’ it?”

Tony stared at him, utterly baffled. “Stephen, I was being an irresponsible ass.”

“And that gives him the right to steal?” Stephen demanded. “To beat you into the ground, to tell you, the creator of the suit, that you don’t deserve it.”

Tony flinched, because even now, that one hurt. “Well… yeah?”

Stephen just stared at him for a long moment, but then nodded. “Right. There are so many issues here, I don’t even know where to start. Did he… I don’t know. Apologize?”

The words had been said, but Tony instinctively knew that that wasn’t what Stephen really meant. They’d kind of just moved past it and pretended that the situation had never happened. Something told him that Stephen really wouldn’t like that answer.

Stephen ran a hand over his face, clearly seeing the answer on his face. “You really don’t see a problem with anything that happened then, do you?” Pain, maybe even grief, twisted his tone.

“I do,” Tony protested; that had been the point of the whole story. “I know I handled things in the worst possible way.” And even that was downplaying how badly he’d acted.

“Undoubtedly,” Stephen agreed. “You should have been honest about the fact that you were dying. Isolating yourself the way you did was perhaps nobly meant, but foolish.” The look on Stephen’s face made it clear he thought it was far more foolish than noble. “And you absolutely shouldn’t have been drunk in a weaponized suit.” Stephen sent him a sharp look at that. Tony relaxed a little, because this was the sort of reaction he’d been expecting. “But that doesn’t make theft, escalation, and physical intimidation the right answer in handling the situation.”

“Rhodey was doing what he needed to do.”

Stephen shook his head, expression twisted in clear displeasure still as he looked away. “Perhaps.” His disagreement rang loud and clear.

Tony took a moment to just look at him. Stephen had a furrow in his brow and was glaring down at the book on the table.

“I get the feeling that I shouldn’t have told you this story. You completely missed the moral of the story. And normally you’re so good at that,” Tony said dryly, trying to lighten things, a little. “You’re supposed to be taking from it that I’m reckless, idiotic, and untrustworthy.”

The ferocity in Stephen’s gaze took Tony aback. “I already knew you were reckless. I’m not surprised that you’re occasionally an idiot. And trying to convince me that you’re untrustworthy is a long lost cause.” He met Tony’s gaze, an untold depth of emotions in his eyes that caught Tony’s breath for a moment; something warm settled in his chest.

He shelved it for a moment, because Stephen had completely missed the moral of the story, but he hadn’t gotten nothing from it. He’d just gotten the wrong thing, from it. Tony sighed, because he just knew this would turn messy if he didn’t stop it in its tracks. “Don’t be mad at Rhodey.”

“Too late,” Stephen told him, tone unshakeable. “You refuse to be mad at anything, so I’m going to do it for you.”

[onion-dishwasher]

my fic for @solangeloweek 2024 day 4: AU! (im late but shh)

if you happen to have seen this piece below that i made earlier, it was based on a scene from this fic!

[lunalycana]

Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.

[cerenemuxse]

"He Squawks!"

7th October 1963

The story can be found at @eosr-by-muxse for easier access.

Under an agreement between James and the rest of the North Westerners, after every October 6th, James is allowed to spook any of his fellow co-workers. This year has a bit of a surprise for him.

For Traintober 2023: Day 8 - Bird

~

In Tidmouth Yards, three engines were laughing about as they cleaned up the little mishap one of them caused. Troublesome Trucks had been derailed by accident.

“Thon wis quite a scare, Jim!” piped up Donald with a chuckle. “Ye could’nae even wait a single day noo, could ye?”

James laughed loudly. “Of course not! It’s past my birthday, just like we agreed~!”

“We ken, auld man!” Douglas said cheekily as he pulled a Troublesome Truck back on the line. “At least we won’t be needin’ the cranes.”

“Ye’re gettin’ better at spookin’,” Donald added with the same cheekiness.

“As if I was never good at it!” huffed the red medium-sized tender engine playfully, giving a cross look at the Scottish twins. Within seconds of silence full of steam being bellowed, all three engines burst into laughter once again as they continued pulling the trucks back onto the tracks.

Once they were done, Donald asked. “Sae, who’s yer next victim?”

“Emily, of course! As always.”

“As always?” asked Douglas with a chuckle. “Sae we’re always first? How sweet, Jim.”

With another playful huff, James replied, “Well, you’re the furthest away from my branch line, and I haven’t seen you both in a while, except for the weekends, that is.”

“We saw ye yesterday, auld man,” reminded Douglas.

“But still-!”

“We get it, Jimmy,” interrupted Donald. “Still cannae believe ye’re turning fifty-ane ance this month is over.”

“May I remind you that you’re both fifty-four years old. You’re both not that much older than me, ‘auld man,’” James retorted with a tease, mimicking the twins’ Scottish accent.

“Alricht, get goin’ then if ye want tae catch Emily,” huffed Donald, shooing the larger engine away. “We dinnae want the Big Man findin’ oot aboot this.”

“Right!” puffed James. With two sharp whistles from the polished brass object, James reversed and gathered his goods train that was headed to the docks. Half of the train was from the Ffarquhar Quarry and the other was from the Goram Fell Quarry, so the trucks were full of stone. Thankfully, these trucks weren’t Troublesome Trucks. Otherwise, they would’ve gotten James back for the incident that had occurred moments prior.

The red medium-sized tender engine pulled out of the yard with his goods train and went onto the Main Line, heading towards the Brendam Branch Line.

…

Brendam Docks was busy as usual with Salty bustling about and Cranky loading and unloading cargo. Goods trains were being set up as James approached Cranky.

"Here's James!" he exclaimed, whistling sharply. "Here's my train, Cranky!"

"You're gonna have to move along, James!" exclaimed Cranky with his typical grump. "I need to load another train now. You can put it underneath the dock manager's building for now!"

Without another word, James whistled once more and moved ahead. He made sure the brake van of his goods train sat right outside of the roofline of the building. Once that was done, he collected his brake van and moved along, only to find another engine stalled ahead.

Although James hadn't planned on adding this particular engine to his list, he gave it a second thought. With a soft but mischievous chuckle, he whispered, "I've been a little too nice to Edward."

His driver, Fred, caught wind and immediately spoke up. "Oh, don't you even think about it!" he whispered hastily as he grabbed the handbrake. "Come on, old boy! We're gonna be late!"

"Pft! We'll be fine. I'll only take a moment!" he whispered. Fred and George looked at one another before giving in, with Fred letting go of the handbrake. James snickered as he approached the blue medium-sized tender engine as slowly as he could. Knowing that Edward lacked the ability to open his smokebox door, James moved closer than he typically would. Once he was at the halfway point of Edward's goods train, he stopped, making sure Edward hadn't taken notice. The other engine didn't do anything but hum about, presumably waiting around. With a devious grin, James rushed forward with full force and hollered, "I'm behind you!" as loud as he could.

Edward let out a very loud squawk, startled by the sudden scream and red blur rushing past him.

James immediately pulled on his brakes the moment the sound left the other engine's mouth. The noise had shaken him out of his joy, making it short-lived. Slowly, he reversed until his smokebox aligned with Edward. He popped open his smokebox door, seeing Edward's face.

Edward's eyes were blown open, his lips creased together in a thin straight line, and his cheeks were burning to a near sooty black.

"Did you just-?" began James.

"Naw!" immediately squeaked the smaller engine, trying to be stern. "Naw, I didnae!"

"You squawked like a seagull!" exclaimed James, flustering Edward even further. "I can't believe it! He squawks!"

"James, please-!" he insisted, still trying to be stern.

"I wonder if Duck quacks?" asked James smugly. "Now wouldn't that be a treat?"

"James!"

"Oh, I won't tell anyone, Edward, if that's the problem."

"Well, aye, but-!"

"I've gotta go now! Talk to you later!" exclaimed the red medium-sized tender engine giddily before rushing off, leaving behind a very flustered Edward.

~

Just a fun short story! Looks like I did get a chance to join Traintober this year just for a bit.

[rosyjuly]

polite company

seb/mats/mick, seb/mick | 8k, E rated | ao3 locked

Mick hadn’t thought anything of it, weeks ago, when Mats made the group chat and sent a PDF with two tickets for a Dortmund game. Now that he’s been watching Mats shift closer and closer to Seb on the couch, it’s dawning on him that he should have.

this could not exist without @andreagrimes who is also deeply unwell about our favorite almost 2m tall bumblebee. special thank you to @janinaduszejko and @prettydangrotten for betaing and fixing the plot and encouraging me to let that [redacted] [redacted] that old man (men).

[landwriter]

Absolutely begging you to write the Hob/Dream cheeseburgers and vengeance story

Back when I was doing Spotify Wrapped Prompts (remember those???) I made a list of what I would do for each of them before answering the actual asks (ie following the assignment before proceeding to not follow it at all). I am banned (by myself) from continuing them until Seventies San Francisco AU is done, since it was a Spotify Wrapped prompt before it was a 20K+ WIP, from an anon who has brought a curse upon my house (affectionate). BUT one of them, to finally arrive at the point, was Romance Dawn by Radkey:

canon verse between meetings, hob is a union organizer, hob is in the punk scene, hob is setting fires or putting them out, hob is at shows, hob is getting in fights, and the fierceness of it all transmits to his feelings for his stranger, and then one day he sees him, thinks it’s a dream (is it a dream?), he kisses him, tastes blood, something is wrong, wakes with vague memories, goes running back and back again, until he gets it out of him, where are you, fawney rig. and it’s maybe a fishbowl destruction fic. and like. london punk/hardcore scene & thatcherism & trade union strikes. burning down fawney rig. sort of green room energy but holy war against the burgesses. smashing it. saving dream. not even i. we. we will salt the fucking earth here.

Anyways, I think the cheeseburgers and vengeance would fit in great with that and Hob and his punk family deserve that experience.

cc: @fancy-rock-dove <3

[mymarifae]

wait do u hc akito to be transfem? ur the first person ive seen on here who shares my hc if true

i more so flip between multiple hcs for a lot of characters because it's more fun that way tbh and for akito i tend to sit in the "transmasc butch lesbian" hc but i do reallyreallyreallyreally like transfem akito <3 it's super cuteeeeee girl of all time

[protect-daniel-james]

kinda nsfw niche funky idea including Unai Emery and the Aston Villa stadium, and yes, I will elaborate. Read more at your own risk if you know me. (all is a work of fiction etc.)

(I blame @longeyelashedtragedy for this, for - and I quote - saying "he seems like the type who’d fuck his stadium at midnight")

Anyway. Unai is... special. Different. Probably neurodivergent, if we like throwing these terms around. He's a bit of a mess, but also in desperate need to have things under control, to micromanage everything. His long talks and motivational speeches are legendary - and it's no secret that not all his players bought into his style of speaking and describing and demanding stuff, especially considering how he looks and how intense and passionate he can get when speaking about his one true love, football. I mean, imagine how kids behaved towards the one nerdy guy who would make a 20-minute-long presentation about his very niche topic of interest at school and struggled a little bit with getting some points across although it was obvious he was passionate. What a weirdo! I doubt some of the big egotistical star players have a lot of time for someone like that.

So maybe at times, Unai struggles to feel a connection with the players. Or maybe he does, but as always, he wants more. He desperately tried to build the connection with Villa fans, which so far has been a great success - they love him. Maybe he wants even more, he wants to understand the DNA of the club etc., all the usual stuff, but Unai means it, in his own weird way.

He is el enfermo de futbol, "sick for football", he's been laughed at (in a joke-y way) that he fucks football. maybe he doesn't quite do that, but he "experiences everything very intensely", and even his feelings about football are not all that... normal? with his obsession with details, planning, and micromanagement, he loves all of that - the smell of grass, getting out the cones before training, the material of the seat in the dugout, his beloved clipboard with papers with tens of different scenarios that he wrote by hand presumably during long night work sessions.... And these things are like the physical representation of football. Don't forget he started at 3rd division of the Spanish league, doing everything himself, and kinda retained that approach and mentality until today. He is the custodian, he is the "protector", he is the one responsible for the club. Sometimes it didn't work out. Now everything seems to be working out.

Enter the stadium, the place of magic. "This is really a home, not only a Stadium."

utvaddiction? For him, definitely. He's addicted to work, to progress, and to football. And the stadium represents all of that - the possible future, the dreams, the historicity of the club. Don't forget Unai co-owns a historic club Real Unión in Basque country, where his grandad used to play! He knows what history means in football. He spoke about this in an interview with Michael Calvin about how you can smell the football in England at the stadium with the crowd, and I don't think he was exaggerating. He wants to smell it, he wants to touch it, he wants to feel it. Not the round ball used for playing but the abstract football, but that's only possibly through its physical representations.

Basically, he wants to fuck the idea of football.

Where better than at a stadium, at midnight, probably after a winning match, when the memory of the crowd and the smell of football is still present?

Lets say the cameras don't work at night. Or he - of course - knows which spots around the stadium are hidden from cameras. It's basically jerking off in an empty stadium - but in a very frantic manner, with all the reasons described above, it's not just about rubbing a quick one out lol, it's intense and deep and maybe he gets to rub himself against a seat. Or, if there are really no cameras, he would probably want to get on the pitch actually. While being very respectful and fearful, almost afraid to lay his hands on the sacred grass but - I mean he's religious. He fears and loves at the same time, right? Does the same there as well. A football pitch is a sacred place and he worships it in the best way possible, knowing that this is the most intense and for him a lasting way to build and have a connection with the club that nobody else can understand.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk, you can unfollow now.

[fade-touched-shenanigans]

So, that sketch grew on me 💖 Early morning cuddle pile! I'm pretty sure Abelas can't feel a single one of his limbs

I am so somft for this drawing, you guys have no idea ;-;

[judesstfrancis]

WHY is nobody writing about trans women. jesus christ I have to do everything myself

[cha1cedony]

Disregard my previous posts about having a oneshot out in the next few days 😭💔 Writer’s block is a bitch, so I’m working on my HTML fic instead rn. Because it’s fun! And then probably my longfic and thennn I have other stuff with deadlines to work on (plus the semester starts in like a week). But SOMEDAY. Someday I will finish this fuckin Closeson oneshot. I believe 🙏🙏

[byebyeskylark]

Women should legally be able to take off work when the fic writing inspiration hits. Like, here's my doctor's note, it's the 500 words of very promising [insert trope] I just wrote.

[jaynovz]

starting to be Real Normal about 1899

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Holy shit. I was just laughing at that post about how Goncharov has more fics on AO3 than Avatar, the highest-grossing film of all time, so I went to check it out.

Not only is it true (at the time of posting, Goncharov (1973) has 544 fics, and Avatar (Cameron Movies) has 339) but the first Goncharov fic was posted on NOVEMBER 20TH.

It is November 25th.