#birthday snippet

[tryalittlejoytomorrow]

Happy birthday, @scarletslippers !!! Here's a little, off the top of my hat snippet for you! Hope you enjoy 💜

"You're engaged?" Jesper's eyes widen almost comically, if it weren't for the fact that nothing about this whole situation is funny at all. "As in, to be married?"

Nina takes a long gulp from the drink Anika served her with a pitiful look. Kaelish whiskey, probably the finest money can buy - and Kaz can afford to buy the very best to lure tourists and partygoers and serious businessmen with extra coin to spare for a night to remember. This is her third, and this one's on the house - a sure tell that Kaz had somehow heard of the news before she announced it herself. "Yep," Nina shrugs as she puts her glass down with a loud click. "As in, to produce big, blond Fjerdan heirs because that's my purpose and my duty and my honor."

She almost chokes on the last word as she remembers Zoya reading the official proposal to her. As if a political alliance wasn't retrograde enough on its own, she's meant to be happy and grateful about being a good little housewife to some Fjerdan oaf who's probably never been with a girl who wasn't paid for it before. Because that's totally every princess's dream, right?

Save for the fact that Nina's a duchess, her point still stands - a fact that Zoya, her advisor, had not bothered rebuffing before allowing her one last night of fun with her unlikely friends in Ketterdam before they made the journey back to Ravka, where all the wedding preparations would start as soon as they crossed the Little Palace's doors.

"Is he cute?" Jesper asks. "Do you have any pictures?"

Inej almost stabs him with the blunt force of her elbow in his side; Jesper doubles over, and Nina can't help a chuckle. "That's hardly the point now, is it?" Inej scolds him.

"Right," Jesper nods his head a few times in apology. "But - I mean...that would help, right?" he still tries tentatively.

Inej only narrows her eyes at him, her gaze as dark as the bitter coffee of Kaz's eyes. For once, Nina almost wishes Kaz were here; his cold, callous comments would be so much better than Jesper's naive views on a betrothal that is, ultimately, nothing more than men shaking hands two decades ago and deciding her fate before she was old enough to understand what and who she was, as if her life was nothing but a deal.

The deal is the deal, as they said in Kerch, the capital of trade. And right now, Nina would trade anything to be anyone else.

She sighs and collects her phone from her purse. She flicks through her emails, finds the proposal - there had been a real emissary from Fjerda with an ancient roll of parchment, but there's an email too, because this is the twenty-first century despite the outdated practice - and slides her phone across the table. "There, you can have him if you like."

Jesper lets out a low whistle. Any other day, Nina would probably share his enthusiasm - if Matthias Helvar had popped on her Tinder instead of sending an emissary with a marriage proposal from His Grace, Duke Matthias of Halmhend, First of His Name.

Nina likes uniforms as much as the next girl - and even she has to admit that he looks delicious in his black and silver drüskelle uniform, his long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, blue eyes as unforgiving as the ice surrounding his land. But she's not going to be happy about being married off to some man she's never met before just because he's hot.

She'd rather take that shameful secret to the grave.

Perhaps read more from this modern royals AU soon 👀

[mundrakan]

Snippet for/from the Birthday boy

From the fic I am currently working on and hope to finish this week... Even when it likely will only get posted by the end of the year.

“Sirius?” He didn't turn to Moony, just moved on as if he had not heard him at all. It was too dangerous. But Remus didn't get the message. With a few quick steps he was at his side and pulled him around. “Sirius. So Mundungus didn't lie for a change. He said he saw you here...” Sirius knew already that he was on thin ice. Under his skin the snakes of the Thrall bond began to pulse painfully. Whatever he said had potential to set them off and render him into a writhing mess on the ground. So for now he said nothing at all. “He also said you were running errands for the Death Eaters.” Remus threw him a look as if to ask him for a denial. “Not them. Just him. Greyback.” Remus wrinkled his nose in disgust, but before Sirius could leave he caught himself again, holding on to Sirius' sleeve. “I can smell him all over you. But... that's not the end of the world. I beat him. I can help you do the same.” The snake around Sirius' neck twitched and tightened, ready to cut off his breathing, but he barely noticed above the bitter disappointment that rose in his mind. “How did I not think of this. So obvious, isn't it?” He knew what he looked like, teeth bared and eyes wide, barely tethered on the edge of sanity in his rising rage. But there was no point in sparing Remus. The sooner he realized the lost cause the better. “The thing is...” Sirius bared enough of his neck to show the scaly abomination on his skin. “I can't. They hurt, and the moment I just think of straying from the path they suffocate me, poison me.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes to Remus' pity. “I cannot tell you what I want to tell, nor ask what I want to ask.” This lament was enough already to tighten his throat and he shivered. “I could just tell you. Without you asking.” Sirius didn't remember Remus to be this stubborn. “Don't. The less I know the better. I already have to much vital information. One day I might no more be able to refuse, if they ask me again. It could be today.” He stared beyond Remus, telling the thin air what needed to be said. “For all that matters I am dead. I died a long time ago. Months. The moment I was captured. You did well to remember that. Hell, you should make it reality.” “But Sirius,” Remus' hands nervously ran over his arms as if they could bring him back. “You are my friend.” “As a friend...” Sirius struggled to bring the words out against the pressure of the Thrall snake closing his throat. “If you cared about my wishes, my well-being, you would leave and never come back.” He knew Remus would not do that, so he freed himself and ran, finding shelter in the next dark alley to let the bindings calm down.

[conversationsofyou]

a birthdaze snip from Fastlove in honor of another trip around the sun. tis the season 🫶🏻

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Song: Take The A Train by Duke Ellington 

It's a quarter past five o'clock, peak end of day travel. All the nine to fives are itching to get home. Harry and Zayn have been riding the subway for a few minutes. The chaos that is Manhattan rush hour has begun. It's an unspoken way of life for New Yorkers, don't draw attention and mind your business. 

Harry's trying and failing to not suffocate to death from the designer denim he decided to wear straight out of the store. They didn't feel this stiff in the fitting room.

After much deliberation, they agreed on a few different washes. Zayn managed to pull a rabbit out of his hat and convinced Harry to buy a white pair of jeans. Zayn took a photo of him in them and sent it to everyone in the group chat.

Of course their close friend Nicky, who's also a fellow drag queen from Lucky Cheng's, chimed in first and asked where Harry's dick had disappeared to. Harry proceeded to shove the phone down his pants for a quick shot as hard evidence. 

Now, filled with deep regret, Harry shifts and struggles in the orange and beige plastic seat. 

He attempts to be as subtle as possible while grabbing his crotch. "Shit. They're so fucking tight," he whispers.

"That's what he sa—" Harry pinches Zayn's nipple. He doesn't even flinch. 

Harry releases a meditative exhale. "I feel like I can't breathe and my balls will never forgive me."

Zayn shakes his head. "They're brand new designer jeans. Of course it's cramped in there. Why is this an issue? Your jeans normally look painted on."

"Don't mock my pain."

"I told you to wear your old ones out of the store. Designer needs time to meld to your body."

"They're not new shoes. I don't need to break them in." He stretches his legs out to admire his new boots.

"Says the one who owns two pairs of jeans."

He grips onto Zayn's bicep. "Thank you Zayneth, overlord of retail. Do you finally receive your horns with another sacrifice to the fashion gods?"

"You'll be thanking me when someone with a modicum of good taste notices how hot you look in overpriced jeans. Just lay one on me now, you know I'm right." Zayn nudges his sharp cheek in his face.

Harry rolls his eyes. "I don't care if anyone notices," he mumbles through a smile and kisses Zayn's cheek.

The suit beside them clears his throat. Harry glances over as the bloke squirms in his seat, discomfort evident from their harmless embrace. The Wall Street Journal's clasped tightly in his fingers. He flips a page obnoxiously to drive the point home.

Zayn, never one to bite his tongue, snips, "Something wrong, sweetheart?" He angles his head toward the man's face.

"Zayn..."

"No H, I'd like to know what the fuss is." He edges closer. "Oh cupcake, did your Viagra stock plummet?" He clicks his tongue against his teeth in mock sympathy. Harry needs to get them off this train before The Brooklyn is fully unleashed.

"Not now. Look, our transfers next. Get up." 

He grabs Zayn’s hand to spring him into action. The familiar monotone voice announces the next stop over the crackled speaker.

Song: Where Angels Fear To Tread by Disclosure 

Harry collects the copious amount of shopping bags and nudges his tempestuous friend, urging him to move. Wills him to. Zayn stands up to leave and, of course, blows a kiss to the suit.

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bonus snippet/summary up next. tagging the usual suspects and anyone else feeling frisky w some high art to share: @alarrylarrie @becomeawendybird @beelou @crinkle-eyed-boo @femstyles @fallinglikethis @hiccoops @kingsofeverything @louandhazaf @lookslikefairytale @twopoppies @toomanydreamers

[myonmukyuu]

[20980wan]

art dump

cakeverse au (because why not) i like it when the "victim" is actually the freaky one

mafia au (??) for a friend

and random doodles

[prince-liest]

Writing Lucifer's dialogue is like 50% socially anxious motormouth and 50% Dad (TM).

[creationsabyss]

A Home Amidst The Infinite Stars

He looks inhuman, with his smile that strains just a little too much at the corners and eyes that gleam with an artificial liveliness. An ink black stain on his skin, marring his neck and displaying his sin. Dangerous, you hear the whispers, mocking and cruel with a hint of caution that feels ice cold. Aventurine, they call him, with eyes of vivid colors that perhaps would have been mesmerizing once, but were dull and glassy now. A gem, polished and set on a pedestal for all to see.

You find it, and him most of all, tragic. Someone clearly put effort into making him presentable, clothing him in bright hues that are impossible to ignore, and his personality is loud, ringing in your ears like the echoes of a scream within the long halls of desolation. He hides himself away, protecting himself in the only way he can. Even then, you see the scars that chip away at his mind, the tiny nicks and scratches that feel like chasms to your stardust vision.

You want to reach out, wish you could cup his soul in your hands, and hide him away beneath the starshine veil you wear. You want to fill his wound with sunglow and stitch him back together with a long thread, shadow stained to prevent another scar. Perhaps he would not notice a new mark on his skin, but you did not wish to add to his canvas. Perhaps kindness is poison to him now, years of cruelty that led to painful isolation.

He is frozen, frostbitten limbs that burn as they warm by the fire. You wonder if he would cry if you hugged him, the steady pulse of a star in your chest that reaches out for him just as it has for your cherished companions. You wonder how long it will take before he willingly returns to your side, head bowed as he presses himself into your chest and shudders as though he'll fall apart the moment you let him go.

You wonder when he will relax in your hold and when he will not flinch but lean willingly into your touch. Perhaps it will take years, or even decades. Perhaps he will never lose the sharp, jagged edges of his broken pieces. But that's okay, you have time. You will wait however long it takes, just as you have for each and every one of your beloved companions.

[ecstarry]

A little snippet for the one-shot of crop top james for my boy's birthday

Regulus was going to kill Barty. 

“You did WHAT!?” His voice was nothing short of absolute irritation. 

“Relax! It’s just a stupid contest, and honestly? If someone manages to impress you it would be an actual achievement,” Barty was still laughing from when he gave Regulus the news, who was clearly not amused. Regulus directed a questioning look at Evan who simply shrugged him off with an unintelligible mumble.

“If you do it I will also participate, okay?” Evans eyes widened at Barty's new proposition. 

“Regulus, you are doing it. It is decided!”

“What!?” Regulus was hysterical. “And what gives you the right to decide for me!?”

“It’s my hotel and I’m saying so.”

Their spring break was about to get very interesting. 

---- or

Regulus is the judge of a wet t-shirt contest with James Potter as a participant.

completed work here

[moontearpensfic]

The Dinner Snippet

a;slkdjf have a snippet from my upcoming crack treated seriously one-shot, The Dinner, a soulmark AU! For some context, Harry is a second-year. 😂

"Tom!" a blond-haired man cries from the entrance to the room. "Tom?" Harry mouths at his soulmate. Ignoring him, Voldemort inclines his head. "Father." The man rushes forward, pulling the powerful wizard who most people are afraid to even look at directly into an embrace. Voldemort keeps his hands at his sides, but he doesn't look annoyed. More like he's—what was the word he used earlier?—tolerating the hug. In fact, after a moment, he gives a single, awkward pat to the man's head. That seems enough to break apart the men. Blond Man straightens, releasing Voldemort, and turns to Harry with an indulgent smile. His warm eyes, crinkled at the corners, one brown, one silver, don't look confused to see Harry in the least. "You must be Harry," he says. "Tom has told me a lot about you." "Hello," Harry greets politely. "I'm Gellert. Tom's father, of course. And Albus should be along any moment." Albus? Albus… Dumbledore? Harry's headmaster at Hogwarts? "I'm here now," a deep, calm voice says, one that is more than familiar to Harry. They turn to spot Dumbledore coming their way. He pauses a few steps in, those usually twinkling blue eyes not twinkling at all as they land in surprise on the boy centered between the two men. "Harry?" "Headmaster Dumbledore?" Harry squeaks, his cheeks red. "You're here?"

[northern-passage]

here are a few snippets for you all to chew on 💕

[enbysiriusblack]

Lily' birthday- jily snippet

"You're spending your birthday in the library?"

Lily ignored James, carrying on writing her notes for Potions as James sat down opposite her.

He placed his head in his hands and peered over at her work, "Interesting, interesting."

Lily huffed, looking up, "You don't even take potions, whilst I love it; yet I am finding this specific topic excruciatingly boring, so how is this interesting to you?"

James grinned, "Your handwriting is just really shit. I can't read a word of it so I'm imagining you're writing about transfiguration."

Lily snorted, "Well, I'm not."

"What a shame", he sighed.

She nodded in agreement as she glanced back down to her work. He sat quietly opposite her as she did so.

After almost ten minutes, she glanced back up with a frown.

"Are you just going to sit there?"

"Until you finish."

"Well what if I'm planning on working until the library shuts at nine... in about seven hours."

James shrugged, "I can keep myself entertained."

Lily groaned and shook her head.

James let out a laugh, "I did not think you were so dirty minded, Miss Evans. Merlin, I meant I'll do some doodling or something."

"For seven hours?"

"Yep!"

"Why?"

He leaned back in his chair, hand coming up to brush his hair out his eyes, "You don't want the company?"

"No, I'm happy for the company. But shouldn't you be practicing quidditch or corrupting the youth with Sirius?"

"No, it's your birthday. If you're set on studying until the evening then I'll happily keep you company."

Lily smiled, "Well, I'm not actually going to do that. I'll only be here for an hour or so more and then Mary and Marlene are taking me rollerskating... Do you want to come with us? I was planning on inviting Remus anyway, and so you, Sirius, and Peter by extension."

James nodded, "Yeah. I'd- I mean we would like that."

Lily beamed, "Okay."

"Okay."

Lily smiled at him again before slowly moving her gaze back to her notes. James stole one of her sheets of paper and doodled as Lily worked. As Lily began to pack away, James folded then slid the paper into her bag. His doodles of Lily as a jedi surrounded by hearts now resting in Lily's bag.

[words-after-midnight]

Weekend kiss tag 😘

Thank you for the tag, @fortunatetragedy! 🦥

Tagging (no pressure): @revenantlore, @cwritesfiction, @klywrites, @mrbexwrites, @saturnine-saturneight,

@davycoquette, @sableglass, @sentfromwolves, @winterandwords, @randomstupidchaos, @jev-urisk + open tag

Rules: From your story/WIP, share a kiss. It can be any kiss, from forehead kisses, familial pecks on the cheek, platonic kisses, to full-blown make-outs.

I AM HERE TO EMBARRASS MY BIRTHDAY BRAINFRUIT. 🎉 Here's the entire scene featuring Gabriel and Jeff's first kiss, shown in a flashback scene in Act I, Chapter 7, "Easy Target."

Some context: immediately prior to this flashback, in the previous (past timeline) chapter, Gabriel made a promise to the moon (yes, you read that right) that he would not get drunk in Jeff's company. Also, Catricia was his therapist at the time of these events. Evan is his current (present day) roommate. In the flashback, Gabriel is 17 (almost 18) and Jeff is 18. Gabriel is 21 in the present day at this point.

At night, I head back to my room, where, for whatever reason, I’m alone. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Evan all day. I can’t help but wonder if something happened – if he’s been brought back up to high security, if he’s been hurt, if he’s been spontaneously released, if he just said “fuck it” and flew the coop of his own accord. Maybe he’s dead. It’s probably nothing. Maybe he killed someone. Maybe his Thursday night group is running late. Maybe they found out he was plotting to kill you. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.

Crawling into bed, I lie under the plain white sheets, closing my eyes. But, as it happens, I can’t seem to fall asleep. My mind still runs from me, heart squeezed with the familiar, relentless, haunting grasp of grief. Dried from fatigue, my eyes stick to the ceiling fan as it single-mindedly spins to its death.

Thwack-thwack-thwack.

My mind is out on the balcony with Jeff on that warm summer’s night, three years ago now, watching his beer can plunge into the darkness of the backyard. Because I can’t think about the night I ran away from my dad’s without lingering on what happened afterward – about the twisted, beautiful mess I unwittingly dove into headfirst, and where I now tread water in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. Of course, there are things about this situation I’ll carry to the grave. But that doesn’t mean they’ll ever let me drown in peace.

Jeff brought a six-pack of beer and a bowl of cinema popcorn with us to the basement. The popcorn was Daphne’s, but we both knew she wouldn’t notice one bag missing. At least, I hoped she wouldn’t. Jeff, being Jeff, probably didn’t give a shit. He could talk his way out of anything and he knew it, the bastard.

We sat on the couch. He switched on the TV and propped the bowl of popcorn and the beer on the coffee table in front of us, telling me I could feel free to take a beer or two if I wanted. “After the vodka, you mean?” I mused. “Are you trying to kill me?” He just laughed. It wasn’t hard to make him laugh, I’d noticed.

I took a sip of the vodka – just a sip, because my head was properly fuzzy now we were inside, and I was very conscious of what could happen if I drank much more. I told the moon I wouldn’t get drunk. If I broke my promise now, I’d be forced to remember it every time the night was clear and there were no clouds to prevent her from looking down upon me in abject judgment.

I capped the bottle, setting the vodka on the damn table, because I was the boss and it wasn’t. Jeff snatched it immediately, uncapping it and pouring out a decent volume into the glass I figured he originally brought for the beer, mouth full of popcorn. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said enthusiastically, which I barely understood due to the popcorn.

He turned on GTA and I sunk into the back of the couch, feeling a strange sort of peace, like floating on a cloud. He offered me the controller first, but I was in no state to be running people over with any kind of precision, so I said, “Nah, it’s cool, I’ll watch.”

I took the bowl of popcorn and grabbed a handful, then another. It felt like I was sinking further and further into the couch as the moments passed. I was just starting to think I may, in fact, have overdone it a bit with the vodka when Jeff reached over and grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl in my lap.

“You know,” he said, once the mouthful was gone. He paused the game and glanced over at me, taking a swig from his too-tall vodka glass. “It’s cool if you want to stay here. I don’t mind having you around. Only thing is, if you do, you’re gonna have to do some work and stuff. Wouldn’t be fair to the others if not, you know.”

My heart practically skipped a beat. Oh my God, is he actually suggesting I can stay here? As in, live here? As in permanently? No fucking way. It must be the vodka. I must be hearing things. I just said, “Obviously.”

He was laughing. As I sat there trying to be cool – and, by the look on his face, evidently failing – he kind of turned to me, propped his arm along the back of the couch. His eyes tore into my soul again, and he looked like he’d just seen something extremely amusing (spoiler alert: it was me). He asked, “Dude, how drunk are you right now?”

Before I knew what’d hit me, I was kissing him. His mouth tasted like a combination of vodka and popcorn that had no business being so intoxicating. Moments – could have been seconds, could have been minutes, I was too buzzed to be sure – passed before I snapped out of it, one hand on his back and the other under his shirt, where his hip met the top of his boxers, and realized what I was fucking doing. I quickly broke away.

My forehead was in my hands. I could only hope they weren’t visibly shaking. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, but to my surprise, he didn’t sound particularly bothered by this truly unfortunate turn of events. “It’s fine, dude, you’re wasted as fuck. Shit happens.”

Stomach lurching, heart pounding, not knowing what else to do, I got up and booked it toward the staircase. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”

He laughed. He fucking laughed. “That’d be the half-pint of vodka.”

I stumbled upstairs and locked myself in the first-floor bathroom, sitting up against the door, willing my breathing to stabilize before I had either the world’s biggest panic attack, or an actual heart attack, or both. Oh my God, I fucked up. I’ve really fucked up now. I can never face the fucking moon again. He’s definitely not going to let me stay now. He’ll probably never speak to me again.

I curled up beside the toilet – no blanket, no pillow, just the cold tiles under me and nothing but my burning face and renewed tears for warmth. I imagined this is what hell must be like. I found myself wishing I’d had the foresight to bring the rest of the bottle with me, because now that I was alone in the bathroom and not with him, I could have been drinking myself into oblivion stress-free. I hadn’t brought it, though, obviously, so that wasn’t an option. Neither was cutting, because I had no knife on me, either, and you’d have genuinely had to drag my cold, dead body out of that bathroom. All I could do was shed hot, silent tears into the floor, mortified, wishing I could turn back time and decide not to come here in the first place.

The next morning, I remember – also very vividly – being jolted awake by loud, rambunctious singing somewhere nearby, which quickly reminded me of the terrible, horrible, really bad fact that I spent the night locked in the bathroom at Silverwood Manor, and that, therefore, what had happened the night before was in fact real, and not a terrible, horrible, really bad dream.

I remember thinking to myself, even then, Oh my God, I’m so fucked.

I still can’t quite believe I was able to fall asleep that night. Groggy, my head having felt better, I rose to a sitting position, trying to rub the stiffness out of my muscles – the ones I could reach, anyway. I’m not sure even Isabelle’s chiropractor could have fixed my neck at that point. Even my eyes felt stiff – or at least puffy.

Before I could resign myself to the grave I dug and to spending the rest of my miserable life in that bathroom, there was a firm knock on the door.

“Gabriel? You in there?”

Daphne. Shit. “Be out in a sec.” Great, my voice sounded like a cat being strangled. Cool. Awesome. The morning was off to a great start.

“Is everything okay? Jeff said he thinks you spent the night in there.”

No. I have to get out of this goddamned bathroom. Everything is very much not okay. Jesus fucking Christ. What else had Jeff told her?

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Sitting there on the polished tile, trembling like a wet kitten, I tried my best to gain some semblance of composure. I thought about mindfulness, and after a few excruciating moments, I forced myself up and toward the door. Maybe Catricia isn’t entirely full of shit after all, I thought to myself.

I unlocked the door, letting Daphne in. Her face fell upon seeing me. “Wow. You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Daphne.”

“No, I mean –”

My heart rate picked up – not that it had slowed down much at all since last night. What does she know? I tried my best to play it cool. “Yeah… I kind of, you know… got really drunk last night.”

Her face looked like how I imagine the moon’s would have, if the moon had been a person currently with me in that bathroom. But when she spoke, she just said, “Eh, happens to the best of us. Come on, Kyle made pancakes – you’ll feel better when you get some food in you.”

Oh, shit, I was thinking. The kitchen. Fuck. “You know, Daph –”

“Food first. You’ll thank me later.”

I followed her into the kitchen, dreadful as it is, wishing I had the power to dissociate on command. He was there, obviously. He’d now integrated some kind of interpretive dance into his musical spiel. Holding a newspaper over his head, he gestured and strutted unabashedly around the kitchen island, humming loudly. I sat down, carefully staring at the dotted white marble of the tabletop. Daphne went straight for the coffee maker.

“I dunno,” she said – likely in my general direction, seeing as there was no one but the three of us in the kitchen. Because of course there wasn’t. “He just got up and started singing. He’s still pissed off about his probation. Which, by the way, he wouldn’t have if he stopped punching people in the face at bars.”

A plate containing two thick pancakes was set in front of me. It was joined by black coffee and utensils moments later.

“Enjoy,” said Daphne. “Kyle’s a dick, but he makes the world’s best pancakes.”

Jeff, still humming cheerfully, circled the kitchen island like a vulture stalking its prey. He came up behind me, hand on my shoulder. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall out of my chair. “How ya feeling, kid?”

I want to dig a hole in the backyard, crawl into it, and die. “Been better.”

He chuckled. He was back at the front of the island now, and sat down facing me, swiping a chunk from one of my pancakes with his fingers. As my mouth opened in protest, he asked, “How’s the hangover on a scale from one to ten? I’m at about a three.”

He was acting like nothing happened. Maybe I should, too, I tell myself. “A good seven.”

“Fuck did you guys get up to last night?” asked Daphne, who, I could tell through my peripheral vision, was now sitting beside Jeff. I was staring at the pancakes. “I didn’t even know you stayed over. Sounds like I missed a rad party.”

Jeff responded while I was frantically trying to figure out what to say. “If by ‘rad party’ you mean playing GTA in the basement with beer and a bottle of vodka until two in the morning and Killjoy passing out cold in the bathroom, then yeah, you missed a rad party.”

He was acting so normal. I risked a glance up toward Daphne. If you don’t get it together, she’s going to figure out something’s wrong, my frantic mind shouted at me.

She smiled at me. “Pancakes are getting cold, dude.”

I ate the pancakes. Mechanically. I grabbed the dish of butter and the syrup already placed in the center of the island. I took a gulp of coffee and it burned going down. When I finally dared to look at him, his playful eyes met mine – just for a brief second, but still enough to feel like a hot spear in the center of my chest. Why did I decide not to hate him again? I was really regretting that at the moment. I am so fucking doomed. I’m so fucked it’s not even funny.

I had no idea. None at all.

[magistralucis]

what happens in the sanctum stays in the sanctum... maybe 😳 [Trazyn/Orikan snippet]

(Excerpt from the second chapter of Viridian. Simple and straightforward, two lovers getting down to business after thousands of words of foreplay. Chapter is mostly done; I've not been very well recently so progress is slow, but we're getting there.

Literally nothing about this snippet is SFW. Please be mindful reading 😆)

-----------

In hindsight, the Way had not been his finest choice in life as an oracle; when Orikan broke his vow he suffered little as a result, but he truly hadn't sworn it with the intent of breaking it. He had looked out for himself, he had tried to be indifferent. But fast-forward two decades and Orikan was regularly making love to an overlord, guiding his hot flesh inside his body until the lord was begging to spend, so suffice to say that part of his life plan had been nixed for good. Oh, the soul's ironies, the curious twists of fate.

"Trazyn…"

As soon as the archivist was made comfortable Orikan fell upon him again with kisses, his lips roaming from throat to lip to forehead. Trazyn's hair was most exquisitely mussed about the temples and he kissed that too, nigh clutching the lord's head to his chest. By this point Orikan's inner robes were barely hanging on from his shoulders, and he laughed breathlessly as Trazyn rifled and sucked his bare bosoms, leaving the tips glistening when he finally pulled away. "The lord archivist asks me to take a seat." He said, panting slightly as he felt how firm and keen Trazyn was beneath his hand. "Shall I take you now, then? Should I lead on?"

"Yes, do." Trazyn's eyes were fair glazed with lust. His index traced the metagold glyphs on Orikan's chest, toying with the hardened tip of one nipple. "You can do anything you like with me, dear one."

A smile quirked the astromancer's lips. "A dangerous thing to say to a cryptek, my lord, you'd risk anything?"

Trazyn nodded, too short of breath to speak. Orikan bent down to kiss him again, linking the fingers of both their hands and gently pinning Trazyn in place. He was just raising his hips to get into position when he spotted a slip of cloth trailing from his pocket - Trazyn's blindfold, quite forgotten since they'd stepped foot into the sanctum - and a refined desire bloomed in his heart. "Allow me."

He gently guided the overlord's wrists above his head. "Now what's this?" Trazyn laughed muzzily, glancing upwards as Orikan began to bind his wrists with the cloth. The posture made him arch his back further, his robes sliding from his chest and accentuating the hollow of his sternum. "Keep my hands to myself, I see. Have I been too eager, little one, is this a punishment?"

"You made a promise and I hold you to it." Orikan deadpanned, though his eyes glittered with mischief: the knot was so loose that Trazyn could escape it with a tug, they both knew it was just play. His fingers paced slowly down the dip of Trazyn's chest. "No, it's not. You've been very good, actually, I didn't think you'd hold out for so long."

Trazyn puffed out a laugh. Oh, ye of little faith. He held back the faintest moan as Orikan's hand slid down past his belly, stopping just short of his quivering arousal. "There's one thing in this sanctum more precious than anything else inside it, and he already belongs to me. Why would I stray to anything else?"

Orikan felt a great tenderness overtake him. "Trazyn."

There was no reason to delay any longer. The Diviner moored a knee beside each of Trazyn's thighs to straddle him, then sat back to show off his sex, parted like a seashell and glistening. Primal heat radiated from it, his small opening clenching and unclenching with anticipation. Trazyn blushed and struggled weakly against his bonds, wanting to caress the taut muscles of Orikan's thighs. They were his only Immortals' inheritance, but how lovely and powerful they were, how well he wrestled with them indeed. "Orikan, sweet Orikan. Pray have mercy on an old man."

"Not that old." Orikan coaxed as he slid himself slowly over the erection, his juices slicking it in slow hot drips. (They had a slew of other lubricating products - scented oils, warming balms, salves to tighten or loosen as desired - but they never actually remembered to use them, so easy they were to arouse.) The nether lips brushed against the leaking tip in a kiss, paused to let their fluids mingle; Orikan then grasped the arousal and guided it to his entrance, and embraced it with a steady plunge, savouring the lord's heated moan as they were finally united. "Oh, oh."

Trazyn normally liked to take his time with this part, nudging the tip of his member again and again between Orikan's lips and smiling leisurely at the other's frustration. Oh, how the tables were turned, and how sweetly did the overlord sigh, breathless and languorous and luxuriant. "Darling."

They had missed this so terribly.

[awriternamedart]

“He needs to be stopped.”

“Whadda want me to do about it?!”

“I dunno, but you gotta do something!!” Futaba whined, clinging to Ryuji sleeve. “He’s become a monster!”

They both glanced back to the middle of the room where Akira sat with Ann, Yusuke, and Makoto- all of them groaning in sync as Akira set down another eight- flushing out the cards with a smirk.

It was true- in terms of Tycoon, Akira had become scarily good. It was borderline terrifying, he seemed to know everyones tells- and showed no mercy to anyone. Anyone.

Akira placed down his final four cards, leaving the rest scrambling as he called a revolution. He proudly sat back, the title of Tycoon still sitting proudly with him- round 2 being yet another victory for him.

“See?? Cmon, Ryuji- you're like, the only one who can save us here!” As the rest finished off the round, Ryuji pulled his hand to the back of his neck, groaning.

“Cmon, ‘Taba, what can I even do?? Ya know well as I do that breakin ‘Kira outta a focus is a pain in the ass!” He bemoaned- besides, he had already had his own ass kicked multiple times in Tycoon, and not just by Akira. He showed no weakness to anyone, not even his best friend turned boyfriend.

“Which is why we catch him off guard.” The grin on Futaba’s face suddenly sharped, a wicked look that almost seemed to reflect Akira’s for a second. Ryuji felt a shiver shoot down his back- god no, there were two of them now.

“..whaddya mean by that.”

“What I mean is that we gotta do a major sneak attack on his ass. Ambush him just enough to throw him off his game and give literally anyone, mostly me, but anyone a chance to win! So heres the plan…” By now, their vicious whisper arguments had dragged some minor attention, but they both shut up as the final round ended, Akira once again being placed as the Tycoon.

“Ugh, no fair!” Ann whined, tossing her remaining cards onto the pile. “Begger is not fun at all.”

Makoto just sighed, pushing the hair from her face.

“You are seriously too good at this game.”

“Indeed. It's really quite impressive- a display of passion.” Yusuke may have ended up the Poor, but it was better than his usual beggar. He much rather would build a house of the cards, besides. “Exquisite display as always, Akira.”

“Who’s next then?” His grey eyes darted around the room, landing on where Futaba and Ryuji were still huddled up in the corner, their whispered argument having come to a halt. In a few seconds, Futaba bounced up, exclaiming that her turn was next, and that she was gonna take Akira down.

“I have a secret weapon~!” She proclaimed with her whole chest, hands on her hips- glasses falling slightly askew. “You stand no chance, Kurusu!!”

“If you say so.” Without fail, he met her challenge, shuffling the deck with ease as she plopped herself on his left. “What about you, Ryuji?”

“Nah, man- I've had enough of gettin my ass kicked.” With a slight chuckle, Ryuji lifted himself from the little corner alcove, grabbin the chair to sit on it. Morgana leapt from his sunbathing spot, exclaiming that he wanted to play- though no one was quite sure how that would work until Haru offered to hold his cards for him.

The final spot was taken by Makoto again, her fiery desire to take the crown from Akira once and for all still shining bright.

And so, the round began yet again, Futaba starting them off. It was an average round, Akira quickly taking control of the turns to get as many cards down as he could. It was fascinating to watch, the ease in which he took everyones attacks into stride- quickly twisting them to his advantage. In a card game of all places, Akira’s abilities truly shone.

Not like Akira had gotten a great hand, either- Ryuji peered over his shoulder, grimacing slightly at the cards Akira held. Not a great start, but Akira made it look effortlessly easy- manipulating the cards just right to force others to place their highest cards.

And when Akira pulled a stop to the round that looked like Morgana could take by slamming down his three of spades- they all collectively groaned, knowing this round was over.

“You are too good.” Makoto sighed as she took Rich, placing her final card she had been holding for far too long. Morgana-Haru duo took Beggar, and Futaba placed Poor, making her grumble as she hid her face in her knees- eyes narrowly taking in the sight before her.

“About that secret weapon, ‘Taba-”

She shot Akira a glare, making him laugh a bit as he finished shuffling. He handed the deck to Haru, letting her deal the stacks, customary of beggar.

“Just you wait. Your goin down, pretty boy.”

“You think I'm pretty?”

“Ugh, gross!”

The entire team had to hide a laugh as Akira faked a pout, Futaba just sticking out her tongue at him. Both took their hands from Haru, who was still giggling a little before she began to organize Morgana’s hand for him.

Ryuji’s leg started bouncin.

As Morgana began the round, he could feel his cheeks light up, not failing to notice the sideways looks Futaba was giving him. They had a deal, he couldn’t back out now- besides, it would be nice to see literally anyone win other than Akira. Sure, he was datin the guy- but other people deserved at least a chance, right? Thats what the Phantom Thieves did, gave the chance to the good people in the world.

So about halfway through the round, Futaba whined out an elongated version of Akira’s name- the signal.

Red flooded his neck and cheeks as he meandered up from where he sat, rubbing the short hairs on the back of his neck. Ugh, was he really goin through with this.. ?

Akira looked back, Ryuji comin up directly behind him.

“Yuji? Whats wrong?”

“Nothin, man.” Miraculously, he managed to keep his voice even, lips twisting into a scowl as Futaba snickered. Tiny gremlin.

“Oh, then, let me finish-”

He didnt get a chance to turn back to the game, Ryuji leaning over his shoulder and catching him off guard. Akira’s eyes widened as his glasses were knocked askew, the entire team going dead silent as Ryuji pulled back from placing the kiss on Akira’s lips.

“Im uh- Im gonna go grab some more snacks. Ill be back.” Despite the red on his face, Ryuji barely managed to play it off, a shaky shark grin dancing on his face as he got back up. It didnt take much for him to skid down the stairs- stealing a glance at Akira as he dashed down.

His glasses were still askew, eyes open in what could only be described as shock.

By the time he was down the stairs, he kinda lamented not looking longer- was his face pink, or red maybe? He was pale as eff, so Ryuji’s bet was on red- just how red was what he didn't quite know.

He idly shifted through the fridge, right- snacks. Where had..

Luckily, Boss had shut down the cafe for the night hours ago. They had all been lingering, since Akira was on room lock right now. Still had people thinkin he was as dead as could be.

“You’re mean.”

Looking up from where he had his head practically buried in his backpack, Ryuji felt a grin on his face grow upon seeing Akira at the base of the stairs. Mussed up black hair n all, glasses discarded who knows where- and pink rouge still lingering in his cheeks.

“Sorry, man- Futaba offered me a good deal on an exclusive manga she got her hands on.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. God, he needed a haircut. “Didja win?”

“..no.” Rolling his eyes, Akira finally stepped onto the cafe floor, leaning on the bar. “The secret weapon worked.”

He got a laugh at that, before tugging out a pack of salty snacks he had and tossing them at Akira’s chest.

“Sorry, dude- someone had to humble you eventually.”

“Oh, cause my ego is practically soaring above yours.” He snorted, catching the pack and easily tearing open the side. “How mean of you to absolutely crush it like its nothing.”

“Hey! If ya wanna blame someone, blame the gremlin!”

“But my beloved boyfriend betrayed me.”

Ryuji just rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t a bone in his body that could retort to that, face lighting on fire as he tried to laugh it off.

“Cmon, man- yknow I wouldn't do that.”

“...Yeah, I know.” The sudden softness in Akira’s voice made Ryuji’s head dart up, surprise dancing across his tan face.

It was quickly clouded up by black hair, that damned, piercing stare looking at him as a quick kiss was pressed to his lips again, red splotches immediately growing across his neck and cheeks- but he wasted no time in returning the favor, rolling his eyes as he felt Akira snicker. Bastard.

-

The Secret Weapon- Your Brother's Boyfriend

awriternamedart

[midnightsun-if]

Happy Birthday Cienna! 🎂 I can’t believe she’s 616 today, they grow up so fast 🥹 /j (I can definitely imagine Christian teasing her like that lmao)

The sly smile upon her little brother’s face is all she needs to see to know what’s about to occur, electric blue eyes slipping shut in exhausted exasperation in preparation. “Oh, don’t be like that, Neesa,” Christian complains, pout in full effect. “I only wanted to ask you as question. Is that so bad?”

Cienna arches a brow. “Do you wish for me to answer that honestly or politely?”

His smile blossoms into a full blown grin, amusement dancing within forest green eyes; bringing out the shimmering gold flakes that lay within. “You wound me, dearest sister, but I truly want to know something.” He draws an x over his chest with a finger. “Cross my heart.”

Knowing she’d come to regret this — was already beginning to, in fact — Cienna finally relents with a resigned sigh.

“What do you wish to know, Christian?”

“I’ve just been wondering something as it is your birthday today.” Here it comes… “I mean I obviously wouldn’t know anything about this time period as you’re pretty much a fossil next to me. So, I just had to ask.” The cheekiness once again appears across his face. “What do you miss most about the 1400s?”

“Not having you around to bother me.”

[lichen-punk]

this is the face of a 25 year old

📸it/its 📸