#and yes this is from a WIP I WILL NOT BE SHARING EARLY I PROMISE

[withacapitalp]

tagged by @stargyle and @thefreakandthehair thanks yall I love getting tagged in these things!!

RULES: post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence

And all Steve has now is a gravestone above an empty grave, a stone dedicated to a boy who had never really belonged to him in the first place. 

Twenty. Nine. LIAM WRITE SMALLER SENTENCES CHALLENGE

@stevethehairington @riality-check @subbaculture @thelastwalkingsoul @henderdads @steveshairychest @stevesbipanic @strawberryspence @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @willowworkswithwords @unclewaynemunson @hexiewrites @legitcookie @steddiealltheway @sidekick-hero @yournowheregirl @steventhusiast @cassaloopa @hairstevington @sharpbutsoft @findafight @i-less-than-three-you @bayouteche @shares-a-vest @spoookysix @maxinemaxmayfield @maxineholtzmann @findafight @farahsamboolents @cranberrymoons

[pedrospatch]

call it what it is

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel. fair warning, i am quite rusty.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: hi hello. i have not shared a wip in over 2 months. i was going back and forth on whether or not i wanted to share a fic with so much going on but decided i wanted to get back to doing what i enjoy. that and ofc that new footage was a boost of inspo. i am sending so, so much love to anyone who happens to see this author note, whether you read this fic or just happen to see this note in passing whilst scrolling. i know things have been tough, but i am here with you. <3

Joel wakes with a gentle start. Yawning, he rolls over from his side onto his back, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as warm, golden sunlight filters into the bedroom through the sheer, white linen curtains drawn over the window. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing slow, steady, and even. He’s still getting used to it, it seems. Waking this calmly, with a tranquil peace he had been so certain he would never in his life feel again. He knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence the nightmares had all but stopped tormenting him in his sleep when the two of you stopped doing that awkward little tap dance around one another and began sharing a bed, a home, a life.

No more bolting upright in sheer panic in the middle of the night, heart pounding and drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. No more believing he’s failing in his sleep. No more waking up feeling like he’s lost something.

Even his dreams about Sarah had become so, so much more pleasant. Images of her in that field on that night were replaced by different memories, like watching her teammates dogpile her after she’d scored the winning goal in their soccer tournament, or the big, triumphant grin she’d flashed him over her chocolate milkshake as the pair sat in their usual corner booth at their favorite fifties-themed diner in Austin—much to Joel’s surprise, Sarah had politely declined her teammates’ invitation for pizza once the match ended, choosing to celebrate her victory with him. Just the two of them.

“Y’sure you don’t wanna go with your friends, kiddo?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been certain she was approaching the age where she would start spending less and less time with her old man. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know.”

“Positive,” she had reassured him with a smile, looping her arm through his and leading him off the pitch. “I’d much rather be with you, dad.”

Rather than smelling metallic in his slumber, he smells the grass that stained her white and blue striped jersey. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt, not with crimson.

Stifling another loud yawn, Joel stretches his arm out over towards your side of the bed, his calloused fingers seeking the warmth and softness of your naked body—instead, all they find are empty sheets, cold and long abandoned. He turns his head, and as suspected, you are not laying there beside him. That’s hardly out of the ordinary. Out of the two of you, you were the early riser, up before the neighbors’ rooster even had the chance to sound the alarm. Joel knows how much you treasure your quiet mornings lounging on the porch swing he’d built for you as you watched the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He often made a genuine effort to get up and join you, but lately, his patrol rotations had been all over the place thanks to a shortage of patrolmen. He found himself sleeping in whenever he had the chance, seeing as he never knew when he might have to work a damn double. Or maybe it was just his age catching up with him.

He checks the time and then rolls out of bed, groaning when his sore knees and his aching lower back protest his movement.

After taking a quick shower using whatever hot water the kid had left for him after her own shower—much to his annoyance, it was not very much—Joel brushes his teeth and gets dressed for the day before pulling on his boots and heading downstairs into the kitchen where he finds the culprit responsible for the cold downpour he’d been forced to wash himself under. Ellie’s sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal around her bowl with her spoon as she flips through one of her comic books. Just as he’s about to greet her, he spots the clean, empty coffee pot on the kitchen counter and frowns. You hadn’t even made coffee yet?

Now, that—that is out of the ordinary.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Well, good morning to you too, old man. Oh, I slept great, thanks for asking,” Ellie quips without looking up at him as she flips the page. She mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch, something like, and you get on my ass about my manners?

Rolling his eyes, Joel snorts in response and pads over to the coffee maker on the counter. He spoons in some of the grounds he’d traded for earlier that week into the reusable filter, pours in water from the tap, and turns it on to brew. He grabs two ceramic mugs from the wire dish rack beside the sink and sets them down on the counter. “She out back?” he questions, yanking the refrigerator door open—he tries to remember the little things, like how you enjoyed your coffee with a bit of milk as well as a dash of cinnamon, if you had the rations, or something to trade for the precious spice. He always made sure that you did.

“Nope.” Ellie shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and adds thickly, “She went to get some eggs.”

Joel shoots her a look of disgust over his shoulder. “Jesus, Ellie! How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s bad manners,” he scolds her, shaking his head. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator. As he reaches for the glass bottle of milk, he pauses and his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he sees the wicker basket on the top shelf. “Wait a minute.” He feels her stiffen in her chair. “Why the hell would she go get eggs when we’ve got a full basket of ‘em right here in the fridge?”

She clears her throat. “Oh, uh, my bad. I got confused. Think she said she was gonna go get more honey? Uh, I used the last of it to make my breakfast this morning and she, uh—she wanted some for her toast. You know, ‘cause she really likes putting honey on her toast,” she rambles before piling more oatmeal into her mouth.

Closing the refrigerator door, he turns to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as uneasiness settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “Ellie?”

There’s a momentary pause. “...yeah?”

This time, Joel doesn’t bother to chastise the teenager for talking with her mouth full. “Where is she?”

Ellie nervously swallows her food and holds up both of her hands. “Hey, I already fucking told you, man.”

“Look, I know you like the back of my own hand, kiddo. And I know damn good and well when you’re lying to me.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Now tell me the truth. What do you know that I don���t?”

Groaning, Ellie sits back in her chair. “Ugh. She made me swear not to tell you! She’ll fucking strangle me if I do—”

“Yeah, well, not if I fuckin’ strangle you first myself,” he threatens her. “M’Serious, Ellie. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Alright, alright! Jesus,” she huffs. “She’s with Tommy. He’s been taking her out of town to do target practice in the mornings, just the two of them. She usually gets back to the house before you get up,” she admits.

Joel’s arms fall back to his sides, his shoulders tense. “And how long has this been goin’ on?” he asks, rigidly. There’s a sudden tightness inside his chest, a feeling he hasn’t felt it in a while, but is still all too familiar to him.

After Tommy spread the word around town that more people were needed for patrol duties, you’d expressed an interest in the role, but Joel had been all too quick to shut you down, telling you he didn’t want you stepping foot outside the community’s gates.

“No,” he’d said. “Not happenin’. S’too dangerous.”

“But Joel—”

“I said,” he lowered his voice. “No.”

He hadn’t offered you an explanation as to why he was against it, refused to give you one good, solid reason as to why it was acceptable for him to risk his own life to protect Jackson, but it wasn’t acceptable for you to do the same.

Joel hadn’t known how to tell you the truth. How he needed you far, far more than you needed him, how the mere thought of losing you, the best fucking thing that could have possibly happened to him since the world ended, made him feel like his heart was going to stop.

A few weeks had passed since then, and thankfully, you never brought it up to him again. You had lost interest in patrol duty. Or so he’d thought.

“How long has this been going on?” he repeats after a minute.

“C’mon, man! Haven’t I already snitched enough?”

“Ellie,” Joel bites out her name. “Tell me. How long?”

She sighs in defeat. “Two weeks? Maybe three?” When she notices the muscle in his jaw tick, she grimaces. “You do realize why she didn’t fucking tell you, right?”

“Don’t,” he warns her, sharply.

“I’m just saying,” Ellie mutters, peering down into her bowl.

Without another word, Joel angrily storms past her and straight out the front door, snatching up his rifle on the way. He heads straight for the stables, trying to ignore the anxiety flaring inside of his chest.

Focus.

Now, breathe in. And breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe...

You exhale as you slowly squeeze the trigger.

Y’squeeze it like you love it, you had been told by your reluctant instructor.

The round fires off into the distance and you swiftly grab the bolt handle, bringing it up, back, forward, and then down again. You pull the trigger once more, then repeat and continue firing one shot after the other for a total of five rounds.

The rifle’s recoil nearly sends you flying backwards, but a strong hand on your back keeps you nice and steady. That same hand then moves to your shoulder and gives you three firm taps.

“Alright, alright! Christ,” Tommy laughs. He withdraws his arm from around you and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ calm down, Annie Oakley.”

Picking up his binoculars, he rises to his feet and looks through the lens at the makeshift targets that he’d set up for you, three empty soup cans lined up in a row on top of a wooden fence about twenty-five yards away—your longest shooting distance to date.

“Well?” You don’t even bother masking your impatience as you lower the rifle, carefully propping the weapon up against the tree stump you’re perched behind. Rubbing your sore shoulder, you hope the kickback won’t leave a bruise. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to Joel. “How did I do?”

His response comes in the form of a long, low whistle.

There is no telling if that had been good whistle, or if it had been a bad one. You groan. Now was not the time for him to dick around. “Please tell me I got at least one of them?”

“You got ‘em all, actually.” Tommy replies, lowering the binoculars and peering down at you. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Good job, kid.”

Kid? Not exactly a nickname one wants to be called by the brother of the much, much older man that they are romantically involved with. It’d taken Tommy months to accept your relationship with Joel, especially when you moved your things out of your unit and into his over the summer. Part of you wonders if him referring to you as a kid is simply his own subtle way of telling you—no, of reminding you, that he’s still not comfortable with it.

And perhaps he never would be.

After all, you had still been a teenager when you first arrived to Jackson a few years ago, stumbling upon the town just a few months shy of the twentieth birthday you weren’t sure you would survive long enough to see.

You were indeed a kid when you’d met Tommy Miller.

Were.

Scowling up at him, you snap, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not nineteen anymore, Tommy.”

Having read your mind, he gives you a small smile and acknowledges, “Yeah, you’re right. You definitely ain’t a kid anymore.” He offers you his hand and hoists you up to your feet. Before dropping your hand, he gives it an apologetic squeeze.

You relax a little and smile back at him. “Did I really get all three?”

Tommy nods. “You sure did. You’re a damn good shot. I gotta be honest with you—I didn’t expect you to be this fuckin’ good,” he admits sheepishly.

Chuckling, you scoff, “Thanks. I think.”

“It’s a compliment, sugar.” He winks and flashes you a lopsided grin. “In fact, I’d say my work here is done.”

“Great! So when are you putting me on the roster?”

His grin instantly vanishes. “Uh, listen. About that....”

He trails off, and your heart sinks a little.

Tommy wouldn’t back out of this now—would he?

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare go back on your word, Miller,” you say, lightly poking him in the chest. “We had a deal. You said if I did well enough, you’d think about it.”

He nods in agreement. “Exactly. Said I’d think about it. And I think that puttin’ you on the roster for patrol ain’t a good idea.”

Your mouth falls open. If he never had any intention of holding up his end of the bargain, then what had been the point of teaching you how to shoot?

You didn’t understand.

“You just said it yourself, I’m a great shot! I’m a good on horseback, too. I’m stealthy. I’m diligent. What more do you fucking need from me, Tommy?”

Tommy’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “Joel would fuckin’ murder me with his bare hands if I even thought about puttin’ you on patrol duty. Hell, he’d murder me just knowin’ we’re out here and I’m teachin’ you how to shoot. It’s a damn fuckin’ miracle he still hasn’t caught onto this, y’know.”

Shocked, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “This is about Joel? Are you serious?”

“‘Course it is.” He pauses. “Listen, now I know the three of us had our—differences—when he first told me ‘bout you two. Still takin’ me a bit of gettin’ used to, but I can see he’s real serious about you. I know my brother, and I know he won’t risk losin’ what’s most important to him. Ain’t no way in hell. He doesn’t want you out here and you know that as well as I do.” Tommy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging as he shuffles his weight from one cowboy boot to the other. “Unless he’s alright with it, I ain’t gonna put you on the roster.”

For a moment, you’re at a complete loss for words.

Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he makes a suggestion. “You can try talkin’ to him ‘bout it again if it means that much to you. Ask him—”

“Ask?” You want to laugh. You almost do. “I’m an adult, Tommy. I don’t need his permission to do this. Or to do anything for that matter. Joel doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Tommy smiles wryly. “Well then, if that’s the case, why are we sneakin’ around and doin’ this behind his back?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

Because the ramifications could be disastrous.

Joel had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear, and yet here you were, deliberately disobeying him.

“Stumped you real good, didn’t I?”

Before you can even start to think about how you can possibly respond to that, you hear the sound of hooves in the dirt behind you, followed by whinny of a horse.

Tommy’s face pales as he glances over your shoulder.

“Shit.”

There’s no need for you to ask. His grimace says it all.

Somehow, you will yourself to turn around just as Joel’s steed comes to a halt beside the mare you and Tommy had ridden out on together. He jumps out of the saddle, grunting at the forceful impact on his knees when his feet hit the ground. His rifle hangs from a worn, brown leather strap slung across his back.

He approaches the two of you looking absolutely livid, and your throat goes dry.

“The hell is goin’ on here?” He breezes right past you, roughly shoving his brother with both hands. “Why the fuck would you bring her out here, Tommy? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Joel, c’mon. Take it easy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy!”

“Joel!” You reach for his arm. “Wait, it’s not his fault!”

Joel shoves him again, then takes him by the collar of his shirt and pins him against the ponderosa pine tree behind him. “You’ve been bringin’ her outside the gates behind my fuckin’ back for weeks, asshole?”

The panic begins to set in—he’s taking his anger out on the wrong person, and deep down, he knows this too.

“Joel! Stop! Let him go!” Grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, you try pulling him off of the younger man. “Stop it! It’s not his fault! I asked Tommy to bring me out here!”

He whirls around, his nostrils flared, jaw clenched.

You’ve seen this side of him a handful of times before.

But his anger has never been directed at you.

“What?”

Immediately, you let go of him and take a step back. “I asked Tommy to bring me out here and teach me how to shoot so that I can start working patrol,” you explain, hoping, praying, he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. “This was all my idea, okay? If you’re going to be mad at someone, then be mad at me. Not at him.”

“So you did this after I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you out here?” Joel seethes. His neck becomes flushed, his tan skin now a deep shade of red.

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “I had to find out from Ellie? You tried to get her to fuckin’ lie to me? After all the work it took for me and her to—” Stopping mid sentence, he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Joel. Please.” Behind the anger in his dark brown eyes, you detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

Tommy awkwardly clears his throat. “Well I’m, uh—I’m gonna head back to town,” he says, touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll let the two of you work things out in private.” As he passes Joel, he lightly claps him on the shoulder. “Girl’s a sharp shooter, big brother. I’d reckon she’s almost better than you.”

His effort to lighten the mood fails. Miserably.

Offering you a subtle nod of encouragement, Tommy hops into the saddle of his mare and takes off towards the commune.

Silence falls over the both of you. It feels suffocating.

Unfamiliar.

Finally, you speak. “Joel, please just hear me out—”

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Or were you just not thinkin’ at all?”

“I was thinking I want to pull my weight in Jackson.”

“You already have a fuckin’ job,” Joel reminds you.

“Making sandwiches and serving whiskey at The Tipsy Bison?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am capable of more than that, Joel. So much more. Don’t you believe I’m capable of doing more?”

“I don’t want you out here,” he grits through his teeth. “Capable or not, I don’t want you outside Jackson’s walls. I don’t want you on patrol and that’s fuckin’ final. You understand me?” Now it’s him who falters, and you wonder if you’re imagining things, or if that’s really a tear you see sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.

“That’s not your decision to make, Joel. It’s mine.”

“M’responsible for you. It’s my job to look after you—to protect you.”

Something about the way he is looking at you, it feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at that precise moment when you begin to realize that he’s not angry. He’s afraid.

“Joel, I know that all you want to do is protect me,” you sigh, letting your arms fall down to your sides. “I know you do. But you’re doing me no favors by trying to keep me sheltered. By treating me like I’m defenseless. Don’t forget, I’m a survivor too.”

“You already know how fuckin’ dangerous it is out here. Clickers, raiders—”

“I can handle it,” you insist, stubbornly.

“You’d be puttin’ yourself right in harm’s way!”

You shoot back, “You mean, the way you and so many other people put yourselves in harm’s way every single day for the sake of keeping Jackson safe?”

A frustrated growl rumbles through his chest. “Christ, why are you bein’ so fuckin’ foolish? You’re just askin’ to get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself!” You realize your hands are shaking and curl them into tight fists at your sides in an effort to hide it. “Just accept it, Joel! Accept that I can take care of myself, alright?”

That is all it takes to tip Joel over the edge he’s been teetering on. “Then what do you fuckin’ need me for?” he shouts, his voice thundering over the quiet plains of Wyoming. “If you can take care of yourself, what’s the point in us bein’ together? Why are you with me?”

“Because I love you!”

As soon as the confession comes tumbling out of your mouth, you take a step back, your wide eyes meeting his own. Until now, neither of you have ever called this what it is, been bold enough to say it’s love.

Loving after so much grief, so much loss, is daunting. It’s something you thought you would never be capable of doing again, not in this lifetime. Not in this world. It’s happened, though.

You love Joel Miller.

And he loves you.

He’s never told you he does, but he’s shown you.

From the way remembers how you take your coffee in the mornings, to the way he laces his fingers with your own, holding your hand when he’s buried inside of you, whispering sweet nothings into your collarbone every single night.

“You—you what?” Joel’s whisper is hardly audible.

You inch your way closer to him, your voice soft. “I love you,” you declare once more. “I’m not with you because of what you can do for me. I’m not with you because you can take care of me.” Closer. “I’m with you because I love you—because I’m in love with you, Joel.” Closer, until your chest brushes against his, and he can smell the subtle scent of your homemade, rosewater soap. “The only thing I need, and have ever needed from you, is your love in return.”

His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he lifts his hands and gently takes your face, cradling it in between his large palms, gently. His eyes search yours, immediately finding the sincerity behind your words. Leaning down, he brushes the tip of nose against your own as one of his hands travels down, his long fingers curling around the nape of your neck. His thumb lightly strokes the column of your throat.

“I love you,” Joel says hoarsely. Three words he hadn’t said to anyone in over two decades—it feels foreign to him, they ring strange in his own ears. He tries it again, clearer this time, and with a little more confidence. After all, he’s only saying what he has known from the very start. “I love you.” His other hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer to him. “M’gonna love you for the rest of my life, baby.”

He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly, at first, but he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, silently asking for more.

Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the ponderosa, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved.

You whimper into him, your hands sliding up his broad chest and past his shoulders until they’re tangled in his soft, graying curls. He breathes you in, like you are the oxygen he needs to stay alive.

It isn’t until you both hear the sound of rustling behind a nearby shrub that you’re forced to pull apart. “Don’t move,” Joel instructs in a hushed voice. He keeps you pinned against the tree, his hand abandoning your hip. He glances around, slowly reaching behind his back for his rifle. His tense shoulders relax when the both of you see a pair of rabbits dart out from one dried bush and straight into another. Exhaling an amused huff, Joel shifts his attention back to you and rests his forehead against yours.

Smiling, you reach up and softly graze his beard with your fingertips. “Guess it’s about time we called this what it is, huh?”

“Guess you’re right, darlin’.” He lifts his chin, brushing a kiss onto your forehead. “M’sorry for raisin’ my voice to you. For talkin’ to you the way I did. S’just, the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you out here scares shit out of me.” Taking a step back, he pulls the strap of his rifle from around his shoulder. He chews the inside of his cheek and silently stares at the gun in his hands. After a minute, he meets your curious gaze. “Do you really wanna do this, sweet girl?”

You nod. “Yeah. I really do.”

Joel sighs. “Can I put a condition it?”

“Depends on what that condition is.”

“I’m your patrol partner. Every shift. Every rotation.”

You roll your eyes. “Joel.”

“At least for the first few weeks,” he bargains. “Last thing I need is for you to be paired up with some fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”

Knowing that would be the only way he’d have some peace of mind, you decide to agree. “Fine. We’re patrol partners.”

“Alright then.” Joel nods and hands you the rifle. He flashes you a small grin. “Show me what you got, baby.”

divider credit to @/saradika 💛

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

[wososcripts]

Face to Face (Part 1)

Fridolina Rolfö x reader

Summary: After months of a toxic back and forth with Frido, things reach a breaking point.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I know it's been forever but that's what being a full time uni student will do! I hope you all enjoy this fic as much as I do, its been a wip for a while now!

As usual this is all fiction and in good fun! Nothing is meant to represent reality. All italicized dialogue is in a language other than English, and I promise... things will get better in this fic eventually.

Warnings⚠️: unhealthy situationship lol, injury, light medical description

"Get out!" You screamed, repeating it over and over until you were alone in your bedroom.

You hated yelling. Absolutely hated it. You couldn't remember the last time before today that you had actually yelled in someone's face. Plenty of people in your sport lost their tempers and shouted on the pitch—whether at a ref or another player—but it wasn’t your style. You always managed to keep your cool. It was your sport, yes, but not your life.

You'd been yelled at too much as a child to think it had any productive effect on a situation, which may have been part of why you immediately felt horrible once Fridolina left the room. You pulled your comforter around your half-naked form, wishing you were less exposed.

This was the end. Whatever you and Fridolina had, it was over. Finally.

You'd been trying to build up the will to make this happen for weeks, and yet your heart felt like it was being strangled with every moment you sat here alone. The worst part was, you knew Fridolina didn't care. She was probably angry, sure, but she was not feeling the heartbreak you were.

You weren't sure how you were going to make it through the next few days. You had to fly to Germany tomorrow for national camp—and then on Friday you were playing Sweden in a friendly. It was hard to imagine that you had been excited to get the news about the friendly last month. It meant you got to be around Frido more, got to see a few of your old teammates from Chelsea like Magda and Zećira, and you genuinely enjoyed being around the German girls. It was still home to you, there, even if you hadn't played for a German league in nearly a decade.

Now you just wanted to stay in Barcelona while Frido left. You wanted to call Alexia, or Patri, and ask them to come over and comfort you. You wanted Patri’s jokes and Alexia’s solid presence, but you were afraid of the questions they might ask. Your eyes were red now, tears running down your face, and your room was a mess. Everything had a trace of Frido, and you hated it.

Ingrid and Mapí, who you would usually call if you wanted to get your mind off of things, weren’t an option either. Though you were fairly certain they wouldn’t ask any pressing questions, Ingrid was Frido’s best friend. And that made her off limits for now, for anything regarding this.

You just had to make it through the night, and the next morning. Then you could collapse into the familiar arms of your national teammates, your family, your language, and try to forget all about this.

—

Your mother knew something was off the second you appeared on her doorstep, Laura in tow.

She wrapped her arms firmly around you, holding you tight for a minute. It had been three months since you were home for Christmas, and you hadn’t seen each other since then. You melted into her, wanting nothing more than the comfort of her protective embrace after all that had been swimming around your head lately.

Your mother greeted Laura next, and you were instructed to bring your bags up to the guest room. You’d have to share, but it wasn’t all that big of an issue. You and Laura often shared rooms when you were at national camp anyway, so this wouldn’t be much different.

“Wie ist Barcelona? Gefällt es? ” Laura asked you quietly that night, rolling over in the bed to face you.

It was late, too late to still be up. Tomorrow you’d have to be at training bright and early.

“I love it there.”

Something about your voice must have been off, because Laura stayed silent. You knew she fretted over you. She was protective too, something you experienced first hand when people were rough with you on the field—Laura hated most of your exes too. You’d known each other since secondary school, when you were barely tall enough to reach the top of your lockers.

“I’ve always wondered if it’s difficult, fitting in with the Spanish girls…”

“And I’m shy, which doesn’t make it easier.”

Laura laughed lightly.

“Well I wasn’t going to say anything!”

You poked her side playfully, and smiled.

“They’re all very welcoming. It can be intimidating when you don’t speak Spanish at first, but I’m pretty good now so I don’t have many issues.”

Laura began playing with strands of your long hair, putting it in small braids.

“What is it, Lau?”

“I can tell something is bothering you. In your texts, the way you looked when I picked you up at the airport, something is off.”

You weren't sure what to say. Laura didn't know anything about you and Frido. Nobody did. You'd have to explain the whole thing, start to finish. You'd have to explain why you stayed even when she treated you like garbage. Why you made excuses for her, compromised things you told yourself you wouldn't.

"It's hard to explain…" you mumbled.

Laura continued to play with your hair, pushing a few wisps back from your forehead.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

You needed an ally in this, you realized. Desperately.

"Just be prepared, it's kind of a long story."

And so you launched into how you and Frido had been attracted to each other immediately when she was playing at Bayern and you were at Frankfurt. How you had danced around each other when you were signed in Barcelona. How she kissed you one day after a game, before she was even out of her relationship, and then ignored you for weeks—a pattern you didn't realize was going to dominate your life for the next year.

By the end you were crying. You hadn't cried in so long it felt foreign. Everything had been building up for months and nobody had been there to help you carry the weight of it until that moment.

Laura pulled you into her arms, rubbing your back in soothing circles as you sobbed into her neck.

"It's okay, you're okay," she whispered.

"I feel like a fucking idiot."

"She's the idiot for treating you like that, not you. Not you at all." Laura looked at you sternly. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that all by yourself…"

You snuggled closer to her and kept quiet.

"If you need someone to accidentally slide tackle her on Monday let me know…" Laura teased.

You giggled into her hair, and she couldn't help but smile in return.

-

You were nervous. Typically friendlies didn't worry you much, but you didn't want to see Fridolina. You had been playing well in training sessions, but your teammates could tell something was on your mind.

"Hey—" Sara's voice broke you out of your thoughts. The two of you had played together at Frankfurt for a little while, and she was like an older sister to you. She placed both her hands on your cheeks and pressed her forehead to yours. "Whatever it is, put it out of your mind. Leave it here and just play. Just for a few hours."

You closed your eyes and listened to her, letting her voice ground you. You squeezed her hands and nodded. Just a few hours. Then you could avoid Frido for an entire week before you had to fly back to Barcelona.

You assumed your position on the pitch, the roar of the German fans filling your ears. That was the benefit of playing at home. You spotted a few of the Swedish girls you knew: Magda, Zećira, Stina, and Rebecca. All of whom gave you small smiles.

In the few seconds before the match began you closed your eyes, counting down from seven as you always did before a match. Then the whistle blew and you began.

It was a tough match between the two teams. Where the Germans were weak the Swedish girls pounced, and vice versa. You were constantly fighting for the ball, the defenders packed onto you. Stina was the first to score, slipping the ball into the box amidst a chaotic mess just the way she was good at.

From there on out you were determined to score. You were playing all out, more than necessary really. It was a throwaway game, but you just had to get a point on the board.

When your quick pass to Lena had the ball soaring into the back of the net you thought you might explode from joy. You jumped into her arms, letting her twirl you around, laughing. In your head you might as well have won the Olympics.

At halftime it was still 1-1. Your heart was pounding. Laura made you drink some of your water, massaging your shoulders in an effort to get you to calm down. Popp was side eyeing you, considering pulling you out. This behavior wasn't like you.

The second half was considerably more intense than the first. Both teams wanted to score, and the more physical players on both sides were pushing hard. It was a miracle nobody had been carded.

And then suddenly you had the ball at your feet. There was a golden opportunity in front of you. Eyes facing forward, you raced down the pitch, completely blindsided to the weight that slammed into from the side. Suddenly the world went sideways and you were slamming into the ground, not enough time to even think about trying to catch yourself. Your hip and shoulder took most of the initial impact, but something about how you'd been standing, or how you'd been hit, meant your head followed, hitting the ground with a resounding thud.

You came to a few seconds later. Someone was kneeling next to your head, and their hands were on your cheeks.

Fuck. Everything hurt. You kept your eyes closed, thinking maybe that would lessen the next wave of pain you knew was coming. At first you weren't sure what had happened.

"Are you okay?" You heard Zećira's voice in your ear.

"Zećira?" You mumbled. "What happened?"

"You went down and hit your head."

You had gone down near the goal, that was right. Things were a bit blurry. You figured it was a bad idea to move your neck, what with the severe headache you could feel blossoming, and opening your eyes seemed to run the 50/50 chance of you vomiting.

"Do you remember that now? Do you feel okay?"

So you gave her a weak thumbs up, hoping it was clear you needed the medics.

After a moment in which you gathered your resolve and swallowed your nausea, you opened your eyes. There was Zećira looking worriedly down at you. She glanced upwards, probably at the medical team that was surely coming.

"Fuck, fuck…" you heard another voice, those of your German teammates beginning to filter into your awareness. And further away, the sharp sound of yelling.

The medical team finally arrived, clearing the space around you. Your hand shot out, grabbing onto Zećira's you gave her a look that said it all. Fear and panic met in equal amounts as she squeezed your hand lightly.

"You're gonna be okay, älskling, everything is gonna be alright." If anything, her tone scared you even more. You knew Zećira, and she wasn't someone you would describe as warm and cuddly. For her to be using that tone with you meant something had gone wrong.

"Okay, we're gonna sit you up now." The medic warned you, and you felt two pairs of hands rest on your body, one on the back of your neck, slowly pull you upright.

Your nausea came back in full swing, and you fought to keep your breakfast in.

"Can you hear me?" You nodded.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?" You nodded again, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"Can you squeeze my hand?" You squeezed his hand tightly.

"Okay, I'm gonna shine this light in your eyes for a moment, can you try and follow it for me?" You did your best, but it wasn't easy.

"Okay," he put the light away and you thanked whatever God in the universe for that. "We think it's likely you have a pretty bad concussion. We'll have to run a few more tests to be sure, but she definitely has to come off."

He must've been talking to your coach at that point, because the next thing you knew Zećira and the medic were helping you up to your feet, the man supporting you heavily with your arms draped across his shoulders.

"I'll visit you after the match, okay?" You heard Zećira assure you, to which you gave another thumbs up.

You cringed slightly at the sound of the crowd cheering you off.

[softboynick]

wip wednesday - 6/19/2024

good morning my loves! (why am I up so early???)

thank you for the tags @onthewaytosomewhere @henryspearl @thesleepyskipper @eusuntgratie <3333

I started to write something inspired by the song “Yuck” by Charli xcx (and yes, I know I should be working on a beautiful chance but I swear I am I promise) so I thought I’d share what I have so far hehe:

Love is such a pesky, little thing, and Henry has absolutely no time for it. Or, that’s what he tells himself when he decides to end things with yet another man for the third time in six months. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy going on dates. They’re always a load of fun, and the men he meets are quite nice and pleasant to be around (and if they have a big dick, that’s just an added bonus). It’s what comes after that tends to always put a damper on things. He makes it very clear that he intends to keep things casual right from the start. The men he dates are usually amenable to the request, but then, they’ll ask for a second date and then a third; they’ll ask him to meet their friends for lunch, for dinner, for a drink; they’ll buy him flowers and look at him like he hung the moon every time they fuck. They start doing the kinds of things that aren’t at all casual, and his immediate reaction is to run away. He’s been hurt before, back when he was young and clouded with the naivete of a hopeless romantic whose idea of love stemmed from the classics. Back when he thought someone could love him wholly and unconditionally. But now that he is older—though, not much wiser—he refuses to give his heart away so easily to someone who doesn’t even deserve it. He may be jaded, but at least he knows that his heart is protected.

tagging: @henrysfox @taste-thewaste @tinyarmedtrex @lfg1986-2 @stratocumulusperlucidus

@anincompletelist @bigassbowlingballhead @remembertheskittles @meraki-yao @priincebutt

@onpurposeilovehimonpurpose @england-would-fall @wordsofhoneydew @bitbybitwrites @itsmaybitheway

@luainthewild @sheepywritesfics @firstprincehornyramblings @theprinceandagcd @anchor-bird-94

@fivequartersoftheorange @thinkof-england @doublecheekedkinard @tailsbeth-writes @blueeyedgrlwrites + OPEN TAG

[crispyjenkins]

dha kar'ta "crispy has lost control of their life again" celebration sneak peek

am planning on starting up a wip wednesday sort of thing (maybe next week?), which will definitely be more than star wars related stuff, but i've also just exceeded a thousand hours on skyrim in less than a year and wanted to celebrate(?) (i actually hit a thousand a few days ago, but in true fixation fashion, kept playing instead of posting anything over here lmao) so here's a dha kar'ta wip 'cause jango is fighting me a little bit but new chapter soon!! i promise!!

 “As soon as Satine is unseated, the Mandalore System’s full neutrality nullifies, unless Jango chooses to reinstate it.”

  “And he’d rather die than do that,” Bosoloc pipes up helpfully.

  “Yes, and at that point, Mandalore can choose to pursue rejoining the Republic for the first time since the Kyr’am Turr’e, because New Mandalore never officially seceded to the Senate.”

  “Which Jang’alor would also rather die than do.”

  Obi-Wan acknowledges Ezovac with a nod. “The politics of sovereign states that exist within sectors technically under control of the Republic are a disaster at best, and almost no one in the Senate is willing to deal with it long enough for a planet to get the flimsiwork through.” Melidaan is a Republic planet now, but the Young didn’t always intend it to be, and Nield couldn’t read, so Obi-Wan had done a lot of that research between battles; and being on the run from Death Watch actually afforded a considerable amount of downtime during his year on Mandalore, and, well. A big part of that Obi-Wan had thought it was all information he’d need to know if Satine asked him to stay, and Obi-Wan still hasn’t quite learned how to let someone love him unless he can be useful to them.

  Actually, it’s rather convenient that he had done all this research for Mandalore specifically, if thirteen years too early — perhaps the Force was simply preparing him for this Mandalore, not Satine’s. 

  Across the mess table, Kal groans loudly and slumps his head down. “Fine, I’ll bite, kih’Alor: what’s any of that got to do with Duchess Demagolka?”

  “Theoretically,” Obi-Wan sighs again, pushing a grumbling Dha further into his mind so he can concentrate, “Mandalore does not actually have to declare itself as anything; there are plenty of planets in the outer rim that have sovereignty without officialising it with the Republic.”

  “But...?”

  “But, thanks to Satine, Mandalore is embroiled in Senate politics nine ways to Corellian Hells, and it’ll be even worse if she makes any headway with the beskar mines while we’re off fighting Vizsla. We simply can’t withdraw from those politics, not when Mandalore’s history is so entwined with the Republic’s, not unless we want to go full isolationist from the rest of the galaxy.” He glances at his other table-/councilmates, and is relieved to see they seem to be keeping up, if looking a bit exhausted by it; Obi-Wan shares the sentiment.

  Luckily, the mess is empty now with everyone returning to their increased post-battle duties, or Obi-Wan is sure they’d have had quite a few more complaints about the impromptu government lesson happening in the middle of the tent.

  Kal rubs his eyes, shaking himself before turning back to Obi-Wan, his frown as deep as ever, but at least he still seems willing to listen.

  “So, we can’t just go after the Senate’s pet Mandalorian without burning those bridges, unless we have proof she’s in league with a terrorist?”

  “Precisely. And technically, with Mandalore as a sovereign state, the Senate can’t do anything about the change in power, unless they plan to go to war with every Mandalorian in the galaxy, but proving she made the first move will give us significantly more support for instating Jango instead.”

  “I feel like my brains are coming out my ears,” Bosoloc whispers woodenly, staring down at the remains of the protein gruel on her tray. 

  “You don’t have ears,” Myles reminds her, chin in his hand, and she kicks him under the table. 

  “What I want to know,” Mij speaks for the first time, easily dodging one of Myles’ flailing arms, “is how you even know about the Kyr’am Turr’e, Obi-Wan.”

  Bosoloc turns away from tormenting Myles to add, “Yes, I was going to ask about that, because I have no idea what the Death Days are.”

-

[halfbakedspuds]

Alright, I see other writing blogs doing this, so here's my writeblr intro. Still needs some work but this'll do for now.

Hi! I'm Logan (Yes, like Wolverine), I'm 18 years old, use He/him pronouns, and I'm from South Africa. My main interests are writing, philosophy, history, binge-reading entire series' at a time and any kind of experimental artistic media. All my characters' sexualities and gender identities are up for interpretation unless explicitly stated.

Despite being an English language writer, English is not actually my first language and thus I do still have my fair share of braindead moments in it. If you notice that I used a word wrong, or if my grammar or a phrase seems little bit off, don't hesitate to let me know.

Below are my current WIP's:

Children of the Stars

Perspective: third person limitted.

Genre: Science fiction political drama and mystery.

Tropes: Slowburn lovers, enemies to friends to lovers (more like mutual annoyances to friends to lovers), a stranger in a stranger land, found family.

Status: Currently being worked on.

First chapter

Lyanni has been condemned and incarcerated, charged with witchcraft under the paranoid reign of her home kingdom. Under the laws of her people, she is offered up to their patron Angel as a gift of thanks for ending a long and bloody war, and to her horror: he accepts.

Soon, however, she learns the shocking truth of the universe. Her people's angels are members of an Alien organisation in service to the Empire of Earth, charged with working from the shadows to foster the upliftment of her people in order to free up the human garrison for the front lines of a star-spanning war, and the same is happening on a thousand other worlds.

This Angel, however- who calls himself Adrian- is about as happy about their new living arrangement as she is, which is to say not at all.

When a ship carrying an experimental superweapon crashes on her world, the two must begrudgingly work together in a desperate race against time to find it, while also holding back the tide of forces that threaten to plunge her world into armageddon.

The Tempest prince

Children of the Wolves

Perspective: First person limitted

Genre: Sci-fi political drama and heist story with some pulp western and cyberpunk elements.

Tropes: found family, heists, honour among thieves, glorious bastards, a lot of gay, high-tech Low-lifes, class divide, redemption arc.

Status: Scheduled to be written sometime after Children of the Stars.

Four years after Children of the Stars, Adrian Castellan returns to Callisto to make amends with his family and tie up the final loose ends of his early life.

Accompanied by Lyanni Sverik and Wilhelm Freedman, he links up with his siblings: Isabelle and Marcus Castellan, and while the trio catch up and scheme to finally exact vengeance for the deaths of their mother and friends at the hands of a rival clan's lord, Lyanni learns the story of why Adrian left his homeworld in the first place.

Seven years before Adrian became an IUC praetor, he was a member of the Volnur, a gang of six young but promising Callistoan gunslingers who acted as the enforcers of clan Castellan.

After a slightly botched trade negotiation with a rival clan forces them to scatter and regroup at home base, Adrian bumps into a mysterious offworlder running from both civil security and the Solar homeguard themselves, and offers to bring him to his clan's holdings for safety.

With supplies running low and the botching of the deal that was meant to save them, the six gunslingers and their new offworlder tagalong begin plotting to rob a Civil Security supply train.

Yet other forces move in the shadows, snapping at their people and waiting for their eventual fall, and with a young Adrian's ambition growing constantly, fostered by his mother's guidance as the Lady of clan Castellan, he will eventually come to match wits with some of the most powerful people not only on Callisto, but throughout the entirety of the Jupiter Prefecture, he will come to question who can be trusted, and whether his own well-founded ambition has given way to a fatal hubris.

Perspective: multiple pov first person.

Genre: YA contemporary fantasy with some elements of eldritch horror.

Tropes: Stranger in a strange land, finding identity, causality loop, found family (to an extent), recruiting teenagers with an attitude.

Status: On the back-burner til I gain a little more experience with certain writing skills that'll be necessary to write a 21 book series.

"Congratulations. You are now dead"

Those were the last words he heard before his normal life came to an end.

It was just a another day in February, the scorching, vampiric heat of the sun beating down on the brothers as they slogged through just another school day. At least it was just another day, at least until they stumbled into another dimension and accidentally brought something back with them.

From then on, Jason and Alex Haliday found themselves caught up in a hidden world, one where Jaegers -a race of magic-capable supersoldiers- contain and hunt that which shouldn't be; where ancient gods and forgotten horrors seep through every crack and crevice right under humanity's collective nose. When the brothers show abilities that no-one -Human or Jaeger- ever have, they are offered a job.

Of course, the pair first need to survive two years of training. Noone wants to send a pair of untrained teens into the longest battle of human history, after all. But between a school rivalry, a bloodsport tournament, and a looming ancient threat, it quickly becomes apparent that even while surrounded the extraordinary, their lives still refuse to fall within the established 'normal'.

When their home is attacked: their mother put into a coma and Alex kidnapped, Jason- accompanied by his new Demihuman friend Helga Ravenscar- goes on a manhunt to find his brother against the express orders of some of the most powerful people in the hunter cities. The pair must balance hiding such a dangerous endeavour with excelling in the taxing student life of a mage and a medical officer in training, while eldritch forces plot and scheme in the backdrop.

Echoes of Shadows

Perspective: multiple pov third person limitted.

Genre: Gritty Fantasy-noir detective story.

Tropes: Five man band, (Dunno what to call this but it's like the world is halfway through a transition that'll change every aspect of daily life. Will edit once I've figured it out)

Status: Scheduled to be the next project I finish. Probably.

First chapter

The city goes by many names: Novya Koroleva, Zuidpunkt, De Gat, but the local Ost-Rietlanders simply call it The Pit: the city that'll swallow you whole and spit out whatever bones may remain, a nature that has been exasperbated by the recent surge in mages, splitting the population almost evenly between regular people and the magic capable.

To Johan Suiderkloof and Anastasia Retvenko, the city offered a new start, free of the horrors of their pasts, and among it's verminous populace, they have carved out work for themselves as a private detective agency.

It's a stable job, with many opportunities to find work in the Sodom. By day: the pair investigate cartels, murders, infidelity, all the worst that society has to offer.

But late at night, when Zuurveldt, Ost-Rietland and the rest of the continent of Sumer sleep soundly, they stalk the shadows for leads, tracking down the fanatic followers of dark gods and puttinh an end to their machinations.

When mysterious murders with occult symbolism surrounding them begin to crop up throughout the city and surrounding countryside, the pair find their lot unceremoniously cast in with complete strangers, caught in the powerplay of cults and dead gods as they try to untangle a growing conspiracy that threatens their world as they know it.

The lonely god

Perspective: First person.

Genre: Science fiction.

Status: In the process of being finished up.

The lonely god is a short story I wrote more than a year ago (Originally titled "The last human) and am currently in the process of remastering. I'll be posting it here when I'm done with it.

Some sixteen millenia in the future, humanity finds itself forceably coalesced into a single, immortal being. This individual, born of a trillion infighting souls, is the last human, a species made into a god, and 'The lonely god' follows their story til the end of the universe and beyond as they seek out revenge for what was done to their people while slowly learning to let go of hate.

What does it mean to be alive when you'll outlive even the sand beneath your feet? How do you cherish or love when everything vanishes in but a blink of the eye? How can the product of trillions ever be an individual?

And when the score has been settled; When every trail has been blazed, and all knowledge learnt; When all that is left is to watch as the stars slowly whimper away: how will you find meaning?

[mish-anthropy]

This week's featured... angst, I guess? 🔞

A thousand years post-canon Ascended Astarion x Rayna

I've been working hard on a brutally difficult fic for a few weeks now, but then suddenly I was possessed to try something entirely different.

It's been three days. I've barely eaten, barely slept, and these two godsdamned heartbroken fools have shattered me to pieces and I just can't let go. So, I guess I'm working on this now.

I hope you enjoy the preview, and there will be a snippet of what I've been working on below the fold. (Just beware, it does get a little smutty. It is me we're talking about, after all.)

-----

Fic preview

It's been centuries since Astarion completed the Rite of Profane Ascension to become the Vampire Ascendant. Over time his power has grown, but so has his malice and cruelty as the man he used to be disappeared into the distant past. He's embraced his identity as Lord Astarion Ancunin—a name that strikes fear into the hearts of even the most twisted monsters.

Then he meets Rayna. At first, she was a convenient tool to use in yet another elaborate scheme, but that of course meant he had to keep her alive and mortal... for now. He forces her to stay in his Crimson Palace, giving her every luxury an honoured guest could expect even though she knew she was nothing more than his prisoner. It was something that Lord Ancunin cruelly enjoyed to remind her of whenever she dared to defy him.

But the more Rayna fights back against his malice, the more she refuses to quake in terror before his cruelty, slowly the mask of Lord Astarion begins to fracture—the man he used to be shining through his darkness. The man who would make Rayna laugh with his theatrics and silly puns; the man who would annoy her endlessly with the most absurd and lurid pranks. The man who swore to protect her and carried her to his bed when she was sick. Over time he becomes not just Astarion, but her Astarion, and he considers abandoning the mask of Lord Astarion Ancunin entirely.

Until one night, when Rayna learns a devastating secret. She lashes out at him in pain and anger, and all too easily Astarion dons the mask of the malicious and cruel monster she feared most, breaking his promise to her and shattering her heart.

Will they recover? Will he ever be her Astarion again?

Or will he embrace the dark persona of Lord Ancunin completely and discard her like all the others who came before her?

Errr... So, this still needs extensive editing, so please keep that in mind. It's nowhere near ready to publish on AO3, but I just couldn't resist sharing. Mostly because I wanted other people to cry as much I did while writing this (I'm sorry) 😭

-----

Fractured (WIP)

Rayna looks up at him in terror as he comes closer, stumbling as she tries to get up off the floor of his room. “Stay away from me!”

She stands and steps away, her back colliding with the wall. She’s still completely naked after their earlier intimate encounter, leaving her even more vulnerable. But she doesn’t seem to notice as she stares at him, her eyes wide with terror. “All those people,” she whispers. “You brought people here to feed your vampire nobles. You called them ‘dinner’.”

Astarion stops in his tracks, the pain in his heart deepening as he sees the fear in her eyes. “Rayna,” he says softly, holding up his hands as if to show her that he means no harm. “Yes, I brought people here to feed my vampires.”

She shakes her head as he admits it. “No...” And then she remembers what he told the gathered vampires about her. “You said you were ‘having dinner early’,” she says, the horror evident in her voice. “I was meant to be your ‘dinner’...”

He closes his eyes for a moment, a pained expression on his face as he mentally prepares himself for the fallout of this revelation. “Yes,” he admits, slowly opening his eyes to meet hers. “I did say that. I’m sorry, Rayna.”

She shakes her head as she stares at him. “You planned to drink my blood... And it didn’t matter whether I was willing, did it?” she asks, pressing against the wall even more, as if it would yield and allow her to escape. “I know you wouldn’t have killed me... You need me alive.” She slides down to the floor as she leans against the wall, pulling her knees against her chest.

“You need me alive... But the lives of all those people mean nothing to you.” She looks up at him. “If you didn’t need me alive, I would mean nothing to you. Just a toy for you to play with, to drain and to kill.”

He can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as she speaks. He takes a step towards her, extending a hand in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “Rayna... It’s not like that,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady and calm.

“Stay back,” she says, her voice shaking. “Please.” Her eyes begin to well up with tears.

"If you didn’t need me... I’d be dead by now, wouldn’t I? You would have made me your plaything, had your way with me, drank my blood and killed me.”

She looks down and makes yet another terrible realisation. “And I wouldn’t have been the first. That’s why your spawn told me I was nothing more than your pet. You’ve done it before.”

Tears begin to run down her cheeks as she looks up at him.

His hand pauses mid-air, unsure of how to proceed. He looks at her, really looks at her, and sees the fear and despair in her eyes. He remembers all the others, the countless lives he’s claimed and discarded over the centuries, and for the first time, he feels a pang of genuine remorse.

She dips her head between her knees and begins to sob. “I really mean nothing to you. My life means nothing to you. I’m nothing more than a tool for you to use for your plans and discard.” Her whole body shakes as she cries.

He can’t bear it. The sight of her crying, the sound of her sobs... it tears at something deep inside him, ripping apart the facade he’s spent so long building. He reaches out a hand, hesitant, unsure, and gently touches her shoulder. “No, Rayna. You are not nothing to me.”

She flinches as he touches her, her head snapping up to look at him, fear and despair in her eyes. “How am I supposed to believe you?” she asks.

“How am I supposed to believe you won’t just throw my life away when you’re done with me, like you did the lives of all those people tonight? Of all the people you had in your bed before me?”

His face falls, the touch of guilt bringing a pained expression to his features. His hand drops from her shoulder like a stone, as if burned. “Rayna...” He pauses, struggling to find the right words, his mouth twisting in a grimace.

She turns away from him, pressing against the wall as she dips her head between her knees and begins sobbing again.

He lets out a frustrated growl and grabs her face, forcing her to look at him. “Godsdamnit, Rayna, listen to me!” he shouts, his voice rough with emotion.

She doesn’t fight him as he makes her face him, too heartbroken and exhausted to try. She knows it would be pointless, anyway. He’s already proven she wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop him from doing whatever he wanted.

He stares deeply into her eyes, his own clouded with regret and sadness. “I did what I had to do,” he says softly, his fingers gently brushing away a stray tear on her cheek. “I never wanted to hurt you, Rayna.”

“I know that’s not true,” she says, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “Before tonight, you had every intention of killing me as soon as I was no longer of any use to you.” Her blue eyes bore into his red ones. “Tell me the truth. You owe me at least that, Astarion.”

His eyes flicked away from hers, a silent admission of her words. He sighs heavily and releases her face, taking a few steps back. “I won’t deny it. You were nothing more than a tool to me. But...” He hesitates, before meeting her gaze once more.

“But what?” she says, her voice suddenly laced with anger. “But then I showed how good I could fuck you, and you decided I was worth keeping around?” she spits out the words, every single one dripping with venom.

He raises an eyebrow at her sudden outburst, his cruel mask slipping back into place. “You dare speak to me that way, mortal?” He sneers, taking a step closer to her. “You should be grateful for the crumbs I throw you.”

Her face falls as he adorns the mask she knew so well. The persona of the man who struck fear into her heart with his malice and cruelty. “I see you made your choice. You’ve chosen to be Lord Astarion Ancunin, the Vampire Ascendant.”

She looks away, her heartbreak written all over her body as she seems to shrink even smaller. “It didn’t even take you until morning,” she says, her voice breaking.

A moment later, she looks up at him again. “I could have loved him, you know. I might even have loved him already. The ridiculous man who made me laugh with his theatrics and silly puns. The man who could be so incredibly sweet and gentle. The man who carried me to bed when I was sick.”

She looks away from him, leaning her head against the wall. “The man I thought you truly wanted to be. My Astarion.”

Astarion’s expression softens ever so slightly at the mention of the man she speaks of.

The man he was just hours before. The man she brought out in him. The man who wanted to be better, who wanted to be more than a monster.

A flicker of pain crosses his face before he quickly masks it with his usual cold, calculating demeanour. “Enough of this sentimental nonsense,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain.

Rayna winces when she hears his tone. But then she wipes her tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and stands up to face him, crossing her arms over her bare chest. “Yes, Lord Ancunin,” she says, her voice emotionless. “My apologies for that display.”

“If you would grant me permission, I would be grateful if I could borrow some clothes, since my dress has been destroyed.”

Her blues eyes are even more striking when they’re red from crying, shining in the moonlight with her tears. “I believe it should be safe for me to return to my room, now that the other vampires have fed.”

Astarion studies her for a moment, his red eyes piercing through the darkness. He can see the pain and vulnerability behind her cool exterior. His heart aches, knowing he’s the one who broke her heart.

No, not just her heart. He broke her spirit.

His face falls as the realisation hits him. The fiery spirit who blazed through his cold exterior and frozen heart stood before him, shattered into fragments.

And it was his fault.

He broke her spirit when he chose to be Lord Ancunin, the man she fears. He broke her heart when he chose not to be Astarion, the man she was learning to love. “Rayna...”

She looks away from him, fresh tears running down her cheeks. “Please, Lord Ancunin. If I could borrow some of your clothes, I will be on my way and leave you in peace.” Despite her tears, her tone is completely emotionless.

It cuts him deeply when she refers to him with his full title. Though it is his right as the Vampire Ascendant, it was never as important to him as being her Astarion.

He reaches out to gently tilt her chin back up, forcing her to look at him once more.

“Rayna, please,” he looks down at her, reaching out to hold her hands in his. “Please, don’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I brought him back.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath, trying to contain the storm of emotions inside her. But as Astarion holds her hands tightly, his thumbs gently stroked the back of her hands. Her resolve shatters, and she looks up at him, her face twisted in pain. “Astarion?”

The moment she says his name, he knows he’s lost. He’s lost the battle to maintain his persona as Lord Ancunin. He pulls her into his arms, holding her close as he buries his face in her hair. “Rayna, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Her fear dissipates as he pulls her against his chest. He was her Astarion. The man who swore to protect her, who made her laugh when she thought she never would again.

She wraps her arms around him, her palms pressing against the runic scars on his back. She sobs against him, her small body shaking as her tears fall on his chest.

He holds her tightly, his own tears falling onto her hair as he buries his face in her neck. He never thought he’d be the one crying, but here he is, tears streaming down his face as he clings to the one person who can ground him, who can remind him of his humanity.

She can’t stop sobbing, even as his arms wrap around her. It’s too much. It’s all too much. The monsters in the palace, the constant threat of danger, the absolute terror every time she is forced to face Lord Ancunin. But worst of all is the hope that started to bloom in heart.

A tiny seed, first planted when she first saw a flicker of vulnerability in Lord Ancunin’s eyes, hinting at something more. That hope was nurtured with each small, genuine smile she saw on his face, each time she heard a hint of compassion and care in his voice. It thrived every time he made her laugh, winding around her heart every time he laughed with her. And it blossomed that same night, the first night they were intimate together, and she fell asleep in his arms. When she let herself believe, just for a moment, that her life could be better. That the curse that followed had been dispelled, allowing her to finally look up and see every glittering star in the night sky.

But now that hope felt like a weed covered in thorns, twisting tighter and tighter around her heart and choking its life away.

“It’s too much, Astarion,” she says, still sobbing against him. “I can’t take it anymore.”

He holds her close, his red eyes watching the stars twinkling outside the window as she cries against him. He can feel the desperation and hopelessness in her voice the way her heart aches with a longing for something more. Something better. Something that he can’t give her. Something he might never be able to give her.

He gently scoops her up in his arms, striding to his bed and laying her down. He slips into the bed next to her and pulls her against his chest again, wrapping an arm around her as she continues to sob. His free hand reaches up to gently stroke her long, dishevelled auburn hair as she cries.

Eventually, after several long moments, she gradually stops sobbing, more out of exhaustion than anything else. Her eyes bleary and swollen from crying, she tries to reach for his hand, but can’t see it. She gently pats her hand up and down his chest as she tries to find it.

Astarion smiles softly as he realises what she’s doing. He takes her hand in his and their fingers intertwine before gently lying on his chest. He remains silent for a long moment, letting her rest against him as she catches her breath. His other arm wrapped around her, holding her close as she tries to calm down, still sniffling softly.

Rayna turns on her side away from him, but still grips his hand tightly. She pulls him to turn with her, and when she feels his chest against her back, she scoots back against him. She pulls his arm across her chest as she lets of his hand, and she sighs softly. She’s grateful for this moment of closeness with him. Even if it was likely their last.

Feeling her weight shift against him, Astarion follows suit and carefully manoeuvres around her, settling in behind her as she scoots back against him. He wraps his arm around her chest, releasing her hand as she lets it fall to the bed, pulling her close against him.

As he pulls her against him, she scoots back even more, pressing against him harder.

Astarion’s grip around her tightens ever so slightly as he feels her press against him, pulling her even closer into the nook of his body. He nuzzles into her neck gently, letting out a soft sigh as she settles against him. And then he feels his body react to her closeness as she lies naked next to him. To his dismay, he feels himself harden against her lower back, right above the curve of her rear. “Rayna, I--”

Rayna opens her eyes as she feels it... his length slowly hardening against her back. And despite her heartbreak, she feels a warmth in her core, her body reacting as she remembers their encounter only a few hours ago. And she finds herself longing for that same intimacy, wetness pooling between her thighs. At the same moment that he begins to speak, she interrupts him by rolling her rear against his length, arching her back and his hand grazes over her breast.

Astarion groans softly as she rolls her hips against him. A sudden jolt of pleasure shoots through his body, making him shiver slightly. Her sudden movement catches him off guard and for a moment he tries to find his words but fails.

“Rayna,” he says, whispering her name against her neck, his breath ghosting over her skin.

She reaches her hand behind her back to grab his hip, rolling her own against him as she holds him close against her. She feels his cock stiffen even more, her core growing even more wet as she feels him throb. She shivers as he whispers her name against her neck, and a soft moan involuntarily escapes her lips.

Feeling her shudder under his touch and hearing her soft moan sends a surge of desire through Astarion. He hesitates for a moment, but then his hand grips her waist, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh as he moves his hips against hers in return.

Even as she still sniffles, her head pounding from crying, she needs him. She wants him. Just one last time. Suddenly she turns to face him, grasping his face in her hands before crashing her lips against his and kissing him deeply. She intertwines her legs with his, her wetness pressing against his leg as she continues to grind against him. She moans softly as she kisses him, opening her eyes and whispering his name against his lips. “My Astarion...”

She closes her eyes as she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him again. Her fingers tangle in his curls and she continues to roll her hips against him, her wetness pressed against his leg.

His heart races as she takes control, kissing him deeply and with a desperate longing. As she grinds against his leg, he can feel her wetness and he feels his control begin to slip. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss as his brows knit together. But then he breaks away, gasping slightly. He presses his palm against her cheek, holding her still for a moment. When she opens her eyes, he gently strokes her cheek with his thumb. “Rayna... Are you sure about this?” His voice cracks as he asks, rough with emotion. His red eyes search hers as he waits for her to answer.

Rayna stares into his eyes. She sees his pain and sadness, making her heart ache even more and her eyes shine with a sadness of her own. As her tears run along her face, she crashes her lips into his again, rolling her hips against him even harder in desperation. She pushes her tongue into his mouth as his gently presses against his lips, and they kiss deeply, passionately, as both their hearts begin to race... even as they throb in pain.

Astarion barely holds on to any sense of control as Rayna kisses him like this. He wraps his arms around her tightly, holding her close as he returns the kiss with equal fervour. He feels her tears on his cheeks and it breaks him, his own tears falling as he kisses her. But once again, he forces himself to break the kiss and he grips her tightly, holding her still. She opens her eyes again, her desperation to be close to him stabbing into his chest. He pants for a moment, willing himself to ask one more time, afraid of what her answer might be. “Rayna, please... I need you to answer me.” His red eyes meet her blue ones, searching for any sign of hesitation. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He strokes his thumb against her cheek, daring to hope that she’ll say the words he wants to hear.

Rayna pants softly as she bites her lip. She glances down at his lips and tries to move to kiss him again, but he won’t let her. Her brows knit together as her eyes shine with tears. “Please, Astarion,” she whispers. “I need you.”

She feels as he loosens his grip, and she leans in to kiss him. She stops just short of doing so, her lips brushing softly against his. “Just one last time,” she whispers, before closing the distance and kissing him again.

He watches her for a moment, the desperation in her voice calling to the possessive, selfish tendencies that he can’t seem to shake. He lets out a soft sigh as she says the words he hoped for, his grip on her growing weaker and his pulse quickening as she leans in to kiss him. But then he hears the last four words she whispers against his lips, and his heart shatters completely. He closes his eyes when she kisses him again.

The realisation that she wanted this to be their last night together burns through him and he takes a brief second before he responds to her kiss. But if that’s what she really wanted, he will make it a night he will never, ever forget. He will burn every detail into his memory, and a thousand years from now, he’ll still remember the last night he spent with the first and only person he ever truly loved. The last night he was her Astarion.

He pushes her onto her back, pressing her against the mattress with his body as he grinds his hips against her. He reaches to grasp her hands where they landed on either side of her face, intertwining her fingers with hers. Astarion pulls away to look at her, to memorise the sight of her lying beneath him. She looks up at him, her long, beautiful dark hair splayed out behind her, her deep blue eyes shining in the moonlight.

But then he sees his own tears land on her cheeks. His control shatters completely as he refuses to give in to his grief. He reaches down between them, gently stroking her folds, before guiding his length to her entrance. He hesitates for a moment, looking into her eyes again, and he sees her give the smallest nod as she smiles sadly. And then pushes into his slowly, his eyes never leaving her face as he sears the vision of her gasping into his memory.

Rayna moans softly and closes her eyes as he slowly slides into her, her fingers gripping into his hands where he pushes hers against the mattress. She arches her back as he stretches her, gasping at the slight pain. When his hips meet hers, his length fully inside her, she bites her lip and turns to look at him. She sees the need and desperation in his eyes, even as they shine with tears. And when he begins to thrust slowly, gently, she can’t help but moan.

Astarion watches her closely, refusing to look away as he memorises every detail. The way her fingers intertwine with his, her fingers digging into the back of his hands. The way she feels around his length as he slowly slides between her folds, her back arching as she winces and adjusts to him.

Astarion memorises the sound of her soft moans and gasps. He leans down to kiss her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers. He memorises the scent of her skin, a faint smell of vanilla—soap he gave her as a gift.

He releases her hands to hold her face between his palms, and memorises how her hands immediately wrapped around his neck, her fingers twisting in his hair, and she pulled him even closer as she kissed him.

Astarion memorises every single godsdamned roll of her hips as she grinds against him, and the way it nearly makes him lose control and give in to his pleasure, rather than focusing on committing their last night to memory. He leans down to kiss and gently bite her neck, and he savours the taste of her sweat and the way she shivers as his teeth scrape against her skin.

He groans her name against her neck, not even bothering to mask the sadness and desperation in his voice. He told her he wouldn’t wear a mask when they were alone together, but it was so much more than that now.

If this really was to be their last night together, he wanted every moment with her to be brutally, painfully real.

[bruggle]

I really wish I could finish something at the moment without a heavy need to share the wip. BUT ALAS, my brain doesn't want to work anymore today, but AAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS IS CUTE. So here. For @waythroughtheice :3

Geo stared at the gun in his hands.

  “You want me to… what?” he asked, giving Axl and Brook a confused look.

  “Play a game of paintball with us,” Axl grinned. Ah. So he had heard them correctly the first time.

  “You’ve played laser tag before, right?” asked Brook.

  “Yeah,” Geo muttered. Back then. Back before-

  “It’s like that,” Axl assured him. “Only a bit more physical. Think of it as target practice.” Brook turned to Omega. “You gonna join us, handsome?” she queried. The blonde reploid let out a scoff. “No,” he grumbled. “It makes a shit ton of a mess.”

  “Kill joy,” she teased.

  “Okay, but like… why?” Geo spoke up. Axl shrugged. “Like I said,” the prototype started. “It’s good real time target practice. You can actually see where you’ve shot.”

  “Plus, it’s fun,” Brook added. He didn’t deserve fun. Geo still wasn’t too sure about this. “Does it hurt?” he fretted.

  “I mean, yeah,” Brook answered. “But nothing worse than a couple of bruises. It’s good for you. And, makes a fun mess. Watch.” The ruddy haired woman then turned and shot Axl in the back of his leg, causing a splash of green paint to explode on his jeans. He wasn’t wearing any armor. Nobody wore armor unless at HQ. Axl let out a yelp as he turned to glare at Brook. “Why do you always do that?” he hissed.

  “Funny,” Brook grinned, causing Omega to let out a raucous laughter. Axl glared at the crimson clad reploid, shooting him in the chest with his own paint gun; the splash of orange paint clashing horribly with his deep red shirt.

  It definitely shut him up.

  But now he looked royally pissed at the prototype.

  “Whoops, my finger slipped,” Axl said, trying to play innocent. It didn’t pacify Omega in the least.

  “Give me one of those stupid things,” he growled. Brook merely chuckled as she loaded up a fourth paintball gun.

  “Brook! Brook!” a young voice called from the porch, causing Geo to look in that direction. Everyone else was currently sitting outside in the early summer sun; a small get-together X had insisted Geo join. He still wasn’t sure why.

  In any case, Fefnir was currently running towards Brook, an excited expression on his face. “Can I play too?!” he enthusiastically asked. “Can I? Please?!” Brook regarded her younger sibling for a second. “You’ll have to ask Dad on that one, Fef,” she told him.

  “DAD! Please?!” Fefnir begged, causing X to sigh. “Are you going to get upset if you lose?” the blue clad reploid demanded.

  “I won’t” the dark haired guardian promised. “Please? Please can I play?” X gave the three adults a look, why wasn’t he looking at Geo like that? before letting out another sigh. “Fine,” he relented. “Just… please be careful.”

  “YES!” Fefnir cheered. He ran over to Brook, taking a prepared paint gun from her. “Anyone else wanna join?” she called, getting no response from the other party-goers. She shrugged. “Guess we’re doing a free-for-all, then.”

  “Psst, Geo!” Fefnir ‘whispered’. (He was really bad at this.) “Let’s be secret teammates!”

  …Geo wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but he couldn’t help the smile that slowly spread on his face. “Uh… sure,” he said, extending his pinky finger out to the child-sized reploid. Fefnir in turn, gleefully wrapped his own pinky around Geo’s.

  “Alright boys,” Brook called out. “Ground rules. No intentional headshots. Yes, Axl, that goes for you, too.” The ginger reploid gave out an exaggerated groan. “Rule two, no shooting anyone who isn’t playing. Yes, Omega, that goes for you, too.” Geo was beginning to think there was some history with these rules. “Rule three, keep your safety gear on at all times. Yes, Geo, that goes for you, too.” The brunette opened his mouth to protest, he hadn’t even played before! But, Brook continued on. “Rule four, stay on the property. Yes, Fefnir, that goes for you, too. You’re tasked with showing Geo the borders, okay?” The reploid giggled as he nodded. “And rule five, be yourself and have fun. Any questions?”

  “Are you sure we can’t shoot anyone who isn’t playing?” Omega asked, smirking.

  “Sir, I will shoot you myself,” Brook deadpanned. “With a buster. Anyone else?”

  “Uh… how do we pick a winner?” Geo hesitantly asked. Brook gave him a wicked grin. “Whoever has the least amount of paint on them by the time everyone runs out of ammo wins,” she told him. “Alright, y’all got one minute to hide. Good luck!” And with that, the ruddy haired woman ducked into the trees; Omega and Axl quickly running into the small stretch of woods after her.

  Huh.

  Now what?

  “C’mon Geo!” Fefnir called. “I’ll show you the best hiding spot!”

[dystopicjumpsuit]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for tagging me @starrylothcat and @523rdrebel! I have a little snippet of banter from "Double, Double Boil and Trouble" part 2 (because you know Boil would be the king of banter). And yes, this has turned into a full multi-chapter fic, FFS. I anticipate four chapters total, but who knows? No power in the 'verse can stop me!

Thank you again to @goblininawig for inspiring this fic; I never would have considered writing for Boil if not for you, and now I'm hooked.

SFW below the cut, but minors DNI as always.

He took in your attire with astonishment, then said, “You’re really committed to the bit, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who barged in at the crack of dawn—”

“It’s ten o’clock in the mornin’,” he interrupted.

“—and then have the audacity to mock my pyjamas?” you continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “What do you want?”

He glanced down once again and smirked. “What pyjamas?”

“Ugh.” You started to close the door in his face, but he blocked it with his foot.

“Wait! Just, wait,” he said. “I promise not to make fun of your nonexistent pyjamas or your retina-searing bathrobe.”

“You’re still doing it!” you exclaimed, disgruntled.

“Yeah, but I won’t do it again! At least not more than three or four times…”

You growled and braced your hands against his broad, solid chest, trying to dislodge him from your shop door. Infuriatingly, he didn’t even sway under your hands. Even more infuriatingly, he smelled better than he had any business smelling this early in the morning. He watched you with an expression of amusement that only raised your ire more, until you gave up in disgust and turned away.

Boil followed you into the shop as you stomped toward the reception desk and rummaged around in it until you found what you sought.

“Here,” you said, slapping his leather gloves against his chest. “Now go away.”

He looked down, surprised. “Huh, I wondered where I’d left those.”

“That’s not why you’re here?” you asked.

“No, but it is a nice bonus.” You narrowed your eyes dangerously at him, and he hastened to continue. “I actually came to apologize. And… to bring you this.”

---

No pressure tags for fics, artwork, and anything else you'd like to share (sorry if you've already been tagged): @deejadabbles @multi-fan-dom-madness @nika6q @dickarchivist @mythical-illustrator

[thelordofgifs]

Super curious about ‘sore must be the storm’ that’s an incredible title!

(WIP titles tag game)

sore must be the storm is the Russingon post-Bragollach fic I work on in little bursts! The title is from Dickinson's "Hope" is the thing with feathers:

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm -

yes I'm on my Fingon as the narrative embodiment of hope train again don't mind me.

Anyway! This is a tricky fic to write because I need to get the character dynamics just so and also because it has some very fade-to-black sex in it which nonetheless is well outside my usual experience haha. I've shared tiny snippets of the draft before, but here is another:

Maedhros sighed and removed his arm from Fingon’s shoulders. His bare skin felt instantly cold without it. “It is true,” he said, “that we were unwise, too easily contented. Your father foresaw that the Leaguer could not last, and we should have heeded him.” “Yes,” said Fingon, “and because you did not, the Eastmarch is fallen, and Angaráto and Aikanáro are dead, and my father—” “But if we had heeded him,” Maedhros said quietly, “and marched with all our force on Angamando – would it have sufficed?” “A better showing, at least, than this!” cried Fingon. Maedhros closed his eyes. His coppery lashes, glinting in the firelight, cast long shadows on his cheek. “Perhaps,” he said, in that maddening way that meant he knew better than you and did not think it worth his while to argue. He had used that manner often with Fingon in their early youth in Tirion, when he had been simply a splendid and adored older cousin; less so after Fingon had kissed him for the first time, and discovered that he held a new power to beguile and overcome him, who had previously seemed so untouchable; but it had returned again in Beleriand, more than once by the shores of Lake Mithrim when Fingon had promised Maedhros that they would wed someday, when the war was won, and Maedhros had merely smiled and looked away.

[dogmomwrites]

Heads Up Seven Up

These tags came from @charlesjosephwrites, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @eccaiia, and @tabswrites, so thank you all for including me in this game!

Gonna pass it on with soft tags to @cat-esper, @littlepatchofhell, @athenswrites, @andromeda-grace, @sliceofardath, @hallwriteblr, and @leebrontide, as well as keeping this an open tag! Rules—share the last seven lines of your WIP and tag seven people. Or, if you're like me and have a section that works better uncut, you can group multiple tags in one post. You don't even have to be as far behind as me! 😅

These lines are taken from the unnamed sequel to my unnamed wip (I promise it'll get a title eventually!)

Aaron couldn’t keep his smile away. It was as though they were both incapable of not arguing. Even for a moment. 

“I do make sense—” 

“No the fuck you don’t.” 

Aaron could stop them. If he wanted to. 

“How do I not make sense?” 

“You run, Riley. Every day. Every single day. And so early—you wake up early! Willingly!” 

He could jump in and end the bickering before either of them could really get going. Though he knew they’d just start a new one if he did. He did have to consider that they might go from mild annoyance to actual anger if he let them argue long enough. 

“For my health, James. For my physical maintenance. For my rockin’ bod.” 

But this was real. He knew it. It was real. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such certainty in his reality—had it been years? Or just an hour? 

“You’re not that hot—” 

“Yes, I am.” 

But this was real. Two brothers, six feet apart. They faced each other, one covered in white from bandages, the other covered in white fur, unaware how similar they were from where Aaron sat. 

“I fucking hate that you’re right. I hate it. You’re so unbearable.” 

This was real. And so he let them argue. He shared a smile with Avalanche, knowing she found them just as amusing. Knowing she had no idea that they were all that kept him from the darkness he’d been lost in for a timespan he couldn’t discern. 

This was real.

[oh-stars]

For the WIP Wednesday game: bed-sharing trope in Heart. 👀

Funny enough, this is the opener!! So... double bonus? Thanks for asking :) --

It’s mornings like this that Steve wants to stay in. He’s cocooned in the softest comforter he’s ever found, snuggled under the sheets with Eddie’s legs tangled in his and a hand on his hip, and his head is tucked under the covers blocking out any light. He’s pretty sure there’s a cat pressed against his back in the space between him and Eddie; purring softly in the early hours. It’s perfect.

Until it isn’t. 

The alarm blares beside him, angry red numbers glaring at him to move when he peeks out of the covers. 

“Just turn it off,” Eddie mumbles, gripping his waist tighter. 

“Can’t,” Steve huffs as he pulls his hand out of the warm sheets to turn off the alarm. “You’ve got work.” 

Eddie whines, but his hand eases from Steve’s waist. “I don’t want to go to work.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and untangles their legs so he can roll over. “You weren’t saying that last night,” he says, moving Starbreaker from her perch on their pillows. She glares at him, escaping his hold to tuck herself under Eddie’s chin. “Aren’t you doing that elephant piece today?” 

The weird rumbly noise Eddie makes means yes, Steve’s learned. “Don’t wanna get up though.” 

“God, you’re worse than Max,” Steve says, slowly sliding over to tuck himself into Eddie’s side. He nuzzles his neck, kissing softly at the sleep-warm skin. “I don’t want you to get up either,” he admits, voice lower as he whispers. 

Eddie moves Starbreaker to the side and pulls Steve more on top of him. “Then I’m not going anywhere,” he says, legs wrapping around Steve’s waist. 

Steve closes his eyes and melts into Eddie’s body. He could stay like this forever, honestly. And he would, if Eddie didn’t have work and he didn’t promise to pick Nancy up from the airport in a few hours. “You’re a bad influence,” Steve says into Eddie’s skin. 

“You say that every morning.” 

“And I mean it.” 

Eddie kisses Steve’s head. “I love you.” 

Steve hums and lifts his head, sleepy smile on his face. “Love you,” he mumbles, before capturing Eddie’s lips with his – morning breath be damned. They lay like that for way longer than they’re meant to, trading kisses and soaking in the other’s warmth for a few more minutes.

Starbreaker eventually decides she’s had enough. She climbs onto Eddie’s torso where Steve hasn’t quite managed to shift his body to cover, and begins to knead her paws into his skin. A whiny little mew pierces the room as she cries for food or attention, Steve’s never sure. 

“Oh mighty Starbreak, is thou starved?” Eddie asks, gently moving Steve off him to cradle Starbreaker close. 

He’s been replaced by a cat. 

Steve rolls his eyes and rolls back to his side of the bed. May as well get up. “She asks you to get up once and you do. What is that, Eds?” 

“Aww, baby,” Eddie coos as he climbs out of the bed, boxers low on his hips. “Are you jealous?” He walks toward the door, then stops, brow furrowed. 

“Of our cat? Never.”

[maxdurden]

WIP Whenever

i was tagged by the wonderful and talented @johaerys-writes

tagging the usual gang, no pressure as always @dearestaeneas @deadchannelradio @sarcasticbeanie and!! anyone else that sees this and wants to share something go for it

(bernie sanders voice) i am once again putting the writing behind a read more.

it's more oc stuff i swear one day i'll start writing and thinking about something other than ocs but,,, that day is not today

“Dick said you lost your tooth?” Jason stood in the doorway, still dressed in his body armor, sounding disappointed. He had already missed the first time they lost a tooth with the family. He had promised to help them out the second time. I know a trick, he had promised with a wink. 

“Yeah.” Wes said, baring their teeth so Jason could see the gap where a tooth had been when he’d left last week. With the top incisor still coming in and a new gaping hole, their smile looked like it had been haphazardly thrown together by someone who wasn’t quite sure what they were trying to emulate. Jason knelt down next to them to get a better look. 

“Damn. I’m sorry, kid.” He had promised to be there. But things were complicated. Surely he had meant to. And Wes couldn’t really get a grasp on any anger they might have felt after overhearing the muffled yelling from a room over. 

He didn’t make any promises about next time.

“Your uncle’s pretty set on taking you back to Blüdhaven with him.” He looked down at his gloved hands and sighed. 

At 22, Wes could try and imagine what it would be like to suddenly have a seven year old to take care of. It only truly made sense then that their father had practically been a kid himself at the time. But when they were younger, Jason had looked so old and so exhausted at times like these. It was hard to think of him as anything but the adult in the room. 

“You’d better go. Roy and I will come and visit.” He hated visiting Blüdhaven. Almost as much as he hated visiting Gotham. He never said as much to Wes, but it wasn’t like it was hard to tell. “Cross my heart.” 

Wes just wrapped their arms around him and tried to promise themself they wouldn’t be upset if he didn’t visit. They also promised themself they wouldn't cry. They were tired and overwhelmed and the yelling hadn't helped, but there was a constant pressure to be brave that no one had directly laid at their feet, but Wes had picked up regardless. 

There was an awkward silence for a beat after the hug, before something caught Jason's eye. “The tooth fairy gave you these?” He asked, reaching over towards Wes' suitcase and the shuriken neatly stacked next to it. He picked one up gently, inspecting it and obviously fighting back some kind of smile. 

“Yes.” Wes said. “I got one to stick in the wall.” They offered up, hoping for some kind of praise. Maybe Uncle Dick would even let them show Jason before they left. They hadn't packed the weapons yet because they were debating whether to hide them. Something told them Dick wouldn't be enthused by the tooth fairy's gift. 

Jason stifled a chuckle. He was never any good at playing the part of the stern parent. “Things like these are really dangerous, Wes.” He sighed, reaching over to grab the rest of the shuriken. They were almost the size of Wes' entire hand, but they fit much better in Jason's grasp. They were his, after all. 

“But, the tooth fairy—”

“The tooth fairy gave me this to give to you.” Jason shoved the shuriken in one pocket of his jacket while rummaging around in another with his free hand. Finally, he produced a relatively impressive wad of cash. It was no Gotham tooth fairy payout, but it was more than generous. “Sometimes, when the tooth fairy knows a kid is going to lose a tooth, she gives their parents the money a little early. Like an advance. Since, ya know, the tooth fairy is so busy. And, uh, I guess since I wasn't here there was a mix up. Sorry about that, kid.” Jason was never particularly good with things like the tooth fairy or Santa, either. 

“Oh,” Wes tried their best not to sound disappointed. They swallowed the urge to insist that he should at least see how far they could stand from the wall while still sticking the shuriken into it—though, the holes in the gym wall would speak for themselves. “Thank you.” They almost blurted as they took the cash, suddenly remembering their manners. 

Jason’s expression was stuck somewhere bittersweet. He looked almost guilty when he opened his mouth to speak, but a voice from the doorway interrupted. “Ready to go, little bird?” 

[arminsumi]

WIP WIP WIP WIP!!

started writing the last request in my drafts but then got distracted and wrote a whole plot for an angsty satosugu x reader love triangle 🥴

so have this WIP (yes i know my brain works very messy i'm sorry idk how to be organized)

suguru kitchen scene:

sat on the kitchen countertop. lights off. still night. talking to suguru about platonic and romantic love. he's very laid back. went out to get midnight glass of water. fake 'test run' relationship with satoru, promised to try make it work by trying to date for 1 month. he is asleep, sharing bed trope precedes kitchen scene. tension between suguru x reader is evident early on, but neither acknowledges it and in fact they ignore it to protect satoru from heartbreak.

suguru's key dialogue - - - "i love you platonically, but i also want to kiss you."

kiss at the doorframe. sauntering visual. etc. tallness. he kisses first because he remembers you saying something about wishing you didn't have to be the one to initiate everything yourself.

soooooooooo how do we feel abt that class? any thoughts on a fic like this? 👉👈

[cranberrymoons]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @steventhusiast a billion years ago and more recently by @thefreakandthehair and @just-my-latest-hyperfixation🥰

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 49 under my current account, there are some fics for other fandoms buried deep within the depths of the archive which we WILL NOT DISCUSS at this time

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 128,515

3. What fandoms do you write for? currently just stranger things! I wrote one fic for Crazyhead this summer, a single-season Netflix show from 2016 (?) and that fic has 6 hits 😎 I'm also considering writing a top gun fic (entirely your fault @urmomsonfire) (affectionate) but no promises yet

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

get it off your chest

can't start a fire

so fondly today

something so pretty

i carry this feeling

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? yes!! I always respond to comments, even though it sometimes takes me a week or two. comments are genuinely so special to me and my FAVORITE thing is when someone reads a bunch of my fics in a row and I can follow their comment trail 🥹 I love comments

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I'm a happy endings girlie all the way, I genuinely don't have an answer for this 😅

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? so many of my fics are fluff-fest so I'm not really sure. maybe i carry this feeling because it's (currently) the end to a long future fic series and feels like a good buttoning-up of that story which is still being added to

8. Do you get hate on fics? someone once called me transphobic for having steve paint his nails in a fic (??) but that turned out to be a random anon from that twitter meltdown that was happening over the summer (i am not on twitter and didn't know it was even happening until after the fact)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? LMAO (yes, i write lots of fluffy goofy smut with feelings. if they're not talking and/or laughing a lot during sex, it's not a sage fic)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? no, I really struggle with the concept of crossovers in general. I don't read them usually and wouldn't really know how to begin to write one! but fics set IN the universe of something else (not a crossover where two different universe's characters interact) – I like those.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that I know of in this fandom

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? yes! but not in this fandom

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? no, but I would definitely be interested if it was with the right person!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? I can't answer this 🫣 I will say steddie is the ship I've written the most words for

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I'm not sure I really have one that's out there right now. there are a few things in my google docs that might not see the light of day

16. What are your writing strengths? dialogue! good communication is so important to meeee and I have so much fun writing it

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I always feel like I struggle with scene-setting/imagery because I focus so much on character interaction

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I've written French dialogue in fics before (not in this fandom) which made sense situationally. I think it works as long as you make sure to translate in end notes and/or through context clues, so the reader doesn't have to keep jumping back and forth between google translate

19. First fandom you wrote for? early 00s, the wizards who must not be named

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? this changes depending on my mood tbh. my usual answer is either so fondly today because I love the energy of that fic or back in the new york groove which has so much pulled from my own life. I also had a lot of fun writing wanna help my worlds collide

no pressure 😇 @urmomsonfire @wynnyfryd @thisapplepielife @shares-a-vest

[potatowitch]

Ten Random Lines Tag

Thank you for the tag, @sillyliterature​!

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it.

1 - From loved, lost, loved again (Anders/Karl, Anders/Nathaniel, Anders/Fenris)

He watches as Gregoir shoves Karl towards the door. “Time to go, Thekla,” he sneers. Karl swallows thickly, watching as the templar holding Anders drags him backwards.

“Be brave for me,” he breathes.

2 - From gaunt hands, full moon (Anders/Fenris)

Anders thinks he might just understand how it feels to mourn yourself - the way his heart still aches when he thinks of a skinny blond boy being dragged screaming from a burning barn, and a name Anders hasn’t heard spoken since. He understands, though he doesn’t know how to tell Fenris this, so instead he brings his hand to his lips and kisses Fenris’ marked palm, stroking his thumb over Fenris’ knuckles.

3 - From there are some secrets I will take to my grave (Anders/Fenris)

They’re home, alive and safe - but they were lucky, Anders realises. They could have both died. With the lives they lead, they could both be dead tomorrow, or the day after that.

4 - From things that die over and over (Sigrun/Velanna)

“Something like that, yes,” Velanna mutters. “And now I have … this. A half-life. An early death, going grey because I am a monster, not because I am an old woman. Buried in rock and filth instead of in the soil where I belong, and I don’t know if I’m angrier at the Darkspawn or the humans who lead us into their clutches…”

5 - From sit there and watch (E, Anders/Fenris/Justice)

Anders lifts his head slightly to look at him. His gaze is unfocused, eyes glassy and heavy lidded, his red mouth hanging open. His hair is damp with sweat, his long lashes are clumped together with tears, and his chest heaves with every gasping breath he takes.

“Fen -” he breathes, crying out as Justice twists the fingers inside him. “I, I … oh, Maker, Fenris, Justice, fucking Maker, I -”

6 - From writhe (E, Anders/Justice)

“Fuck, Justice!” he shrieks, thrashing in the spirit’s grip. “Fucking bastard -”  

I am nowhere near done with you, Anders.  

7 - From and still, I will live here (Anders/Fenris/Justice)

He can feel when Justice recedes in the way the kiss changes, when the hand resting on his waist clutches his shirt and the one at the base of his neck shoots up into his hair. Anders kisses him desperately, hiccuping a sob against Fenris' lips that turns into a gasp when Fenris yanks him closer, hands twisted in the front of Anders' filthy coat.

Here’s some WIPs too (with placeholder names lmao)

8 - From rip fenris (not really) (Anders/Fenris/Justice)

He keeps talking, but Anders can’t hear him. His blood thunders in his ears, heart rattling against his ribcage, and he’s vaguely aware of the strangled sound that rips its way out of his throat as he turns away from the bar. He doesn’t see where he’s going. His feet carry him out of the tavern and into the dark streets in a haze, the world narrowing to the sharp ache in his chest and Justice roiling beneath the surface of his skin.

9 - From i am here (Anders/Fenris)

"I am here," Fenris says at last. It is the truth, plain and simple and irrefutable, not marred by false promises or reassurances - I am here. You are not alone. In this moment, it is all Fenris can think to offer him.

He hopes, desperately, that it is enough.

10 - From justice wants a spring wedding and a three tiered cake (Anders/Fenris/Justice)

Anders turns his face to the sky, breathing in the smell of woodsmoke as he gazes at the stars. "He could choose not to come back from Gwaren," he whispers, "leave us behind and take a ship to anywhere he likes, and I wouldn't blame him for a second."

Tagging (let me know if you’d prefer me not to tag you in the future): @chaosride @justcallmecappy @tea42 @wildercrow @dismalzelenka @barbex