#but for the purposes of. seven sentences sunday?

[louisferrignojr]

last snippet of the fake dating au because i'm almost done writing and will post soon!!!

Evan shuffles closer, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s chin, then settles with his head tucked in the crook of Tommy’s neck. “My evil ploy worked.”

“Your evil ploy?”

“Yeah, you know, pretending I need a fake boyfriend, bla bla. I’ve been playing you from the beginning, Tommy.” 

Tommy snorts a laugh. “Nice try. You’re not that good an actor, honey.”

Evan pokes him in the chest a couple of times, then flattens his palm in between his pecs. “How did you know?”

“That you’re into me?”

“Yeah.”

Tommy breathes out a sigh. He wraps an arm around Evan’s shoulder, bringing him closer and holding him tightly before he rolls onto his back, smiling to himself as Evan settles with his head on his shoulder. “You followed me to the bathroom, for one.”

[wikiangela]

seven sentence sunday

tagged by @tizniz 💖

well, today it's actually only 6 sentences bc I just started this last night lol - a new wip! still working on my 7x10 coda but had this idea of buck slowly moving in without either of them noticing and had to start it lol (don't ask me how many bucktommy wips i have rn, i can't even count them all lmao)

___

Tommy doesn’t notice it right away. He doesn’t even pay it any mind once it’s pointed out for the first few times. It’s happening so slowly, so subtly, and he wonders if Evan’s doing it on purpose or maybe he missed it, too. Because the thing is, he’s pretty sure his boyfriend is moving in with him, one item at a time. And Tommy had no idea. And knowing Evan, Tommy’s pretty sure he has no idea, either.

___

no pressure tags: @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @bucks-daddy-issues @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @dangerpronebuddie @loveyouanyway @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @kinard-buckley @bidisasterevankinard @the-hoziest

if anyone wants to stop being tagged just lmk pls

[lemonzestywrites]

seven sentence sunday

tagged by @eddiebabygirldiaz MWAH ty bestie adore you!!

i know zesty’s back to writing— CRAZY right? anyways here’s a little bucktommy fix-it fic cause if i’m being honest gang even as much as my multishipper heart loves buddie that breakup was fucking wack and if there’s anything i love doing, it’s ignoring canon when it suits me

anyways hope y’all enjoy :)

====

“He wanted serious, and I—” Something violent. A grey and harsh shoots through his veins. A sicken feeling that Tommy hasn’t felt in so long. He almost forgot what it felt like. He swallows deeply, trying to shove the rash of emotion that threatens to crawl up his throat. He glances over, hoping his eyes don’t look as wet as they feel. “Lucy, no one wants serious. Not with me.”

“It sounds like Buck does,” she insists.

For a second, a fleeting moment, hope flickers in his heart. Dancing at the idea of something more. But the emotion only lasts for so long before it feels extinguished by something else— something greater.

It’s like a dog he can’t control, something rapid and full of hate. Tired of mistreatment, of being used for another purpose. It kicks back wildly at the thought, harsh memories shooting back through his mind so many times before.

Of promises pressed into intimate skin. Of someone else he used to know so damn well that left him like a stranger at a train stop. In another life maybe it worked out. But being used isn’t abnormal to Tommy. He’s better as an experience.

A fragment of time that was glorious and good. Like a meteor shower hung beautifully in the sky that you witness for the night while the moon sits overhead. The promise of something better.

Tommy redirects his eyes back into his locker, head down as he finishes buttoning up his suit, prominently ignoring the hung photo of him and Evan on a picnic date a few weeks back that Tommy hasn’t had the heart to take down yet.

“Sal didn’t.”

tagging - @hippolotamus @devirnis @aroeddiediaz @jeeyuns @shyaudacity

[in-my-loki-feels]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tags @elodiah @lokimobius @thosegayoldmen @kcscribbler @devilbearingtrouble!

@wolfpup026's Avengers AU set up camp in brain from the moment I saw it and wouldn't leave until I started writing, so here's a taste of what I've been working on:

From the moment Mobius had put a steadying hand on Loki’s back, he'd known what his purpose was. Protect, protect, protect, became the mantra inside him.  And far below that a whisper of, Obey.  At first, he'd been frozen in place, flooded by fear as he watched the other S.H.I.E.L.D. members go down. Then his training had kicked in and he’d tried to get to the scientists to protect them. He'd still been processing what this newcomer had done to Barton to get him to holster his gun, when suddenly the man was in front of Mobius. Tall, radiating an almost manic glee, but with a hollowed-out look to him.

Tagging @andthekitchensinkao3 and anyone else who wants to join in! <3

[pameluke]

seven sentence sunday (I don't have a banner or a taglist, but here's seven lines)

Carlos is making the bed when he first notices it. A barely there scent on the sheets.

Like everything in the loft, the bed smells overwhelmingly like Carlos, like home and nest and safety. Before he met TK, he had these fantasies about how his scent would mix with someone else's someday. How he'd wear them proudly on his skin. How his home would smell like well-loved omega.

TK is definitely well-loved, Carlos makes sure of that every day, but for all intents and purposes he's a beta, and Carlos has adapted his expectations accordingly.

The sheets smell like someone though. Not like sex or sweat or sleep; all scents Carlos is intimately familiar with, scents he has inhaled and tasted and rolled around in when his hormones ride him and his instincts crave olfactory feedback.

Carlos buries his nose in the sheets and breathes in deeply. It's still barely there, but it's sweet and lovely.

Every fiber in Carlos's body reacts to it.

This is TK.

[affectionatelyrs]

Seven Sentence Sunday🌟

I've gotten so many tags today which means that I've gotten to read so many amazing snippets - thank you @littlemisskittentoes @welcometololaland @adreamareads @nocoastposts @itsmaybitheway @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @magicandarchery @getmehighonmagic @leaves-of-laurelin and @kiwiana-writes

I'm almost done with the truth or dare fic and like... I'm genuinely so excited to post it. It's been a while since I've posted, and I just really like this fic for some reason. So here's more than seven sentences because I can (and because I accidentally made people think that this fic is angsty last week and it's not)

“So…back to the game, then?” Henry seems to mull this over in his mind before replying, “Sure, why not. I could go for a few more rounds.” Alex doesn’t choke on the sip of his drink he’d been in the process of taking, but it’s a damn close thing. He doesn’t know if Henry knows how dirty that sounded, but Alex sure does. It does nothing to quell his imagination from conjuring up an image of Henry in bed, flushed and panting yet begging for more, that he can go again, that he can take it. That he can take Alex. Fucking… Fuck. “Whose turn was it?” Henry asks while Alex is busy pondering the merits of throwing himself out their fifth-story window and hoping his boner doesn’t take anyone’s eye out on his way down. “Forgive me, but I am a bit tired. Do you think you could take it?” There’s no way that Henry’s not doing this on purpose. He makes words mean things when put in a certain order for a living, for fucks sake. Alex almost quips back depends on how big it is just to see how—or if—Henry would react.

No pressure tagging @anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @sherryvalli @dumbpeachjuice @firenati0n @gayrootvegetable @leojfitz @lizzie-bennetdarcy @whimsymanaged @everwitch-magiks @read-and-write- @rmd-writes @tintagel-or-cockleshells @inexplicablymine @orchidscript @cultofsappho @cricketnationrise @bigassbowlingballhead @myheartalivewrites and @matherines

[hbyrde36]

WIP Something

Last Thursday @dreamwatch tagged me in a post that for her counted towards a Seven Sentence Sunday tag and a WIP Wednesday tag. And I was ill and not really writing for a few days there, but today—TODAY I made words happen and a pretty big push towards finally getting the next (THE PENULTIMATE) chapter of a WIP out.

And oh haha look we're back at Wednesday which was totally on purpose! 😅

So, anyway

Words:

“Huh,” Eddie huffed, flopping down onto Chrissy’s neatly made bed. It jostled the carefully arranged mountain of pillows that were stacked up against the headboard, sending several of them tumbling to the floor. Why did girls always have so many goddamn pillows? “So that’s why you never let me come in here before. You do live in a two bedroom!” Chrissy bent to retrieve her fallen children and put them back in their proper place, except for the last, a bright pink fuzzy number with a cross-stitched peace sign on its front that she wacked him in the back of the head with. “I thought we’d moved past this. Haven't I apologized enough for the setup?” Eddie stuck out his bottom lip, arms crossing over his chest. “Will the lies never cease, Christine? I feel robbed! You and Robin were never sharing a bed?!” “We are now and that’s what matters, right?” “Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waved a hand through the air. “But where’s the pining for the person lying right next to you night after night?! Where’s the lovesick staring at the other person’s face while they sleep and wishing you could just tell them how you feel?! Where’s the drama?!” “I think we've had more than enough of that around here—for life. Maybe now it’s time for us all to just be happy.”

from chapter 11 of No Vacancy

No pressure tags for whatever flavor of WIP game strikes your fancy: @penny00dreadful @pearynice @rocknrollsalad @momotonescreaming @sidekick-hero

@shares-a-vest @griefabyss69 @kikidoesfanfic @thefreakandthehair @medusapelagia

[thewolvesof1998]

Saw the prompts post and I'm very curious about the 'pulling them on their lap' one. I feel like Buddie barely does that in fics unless it's sexual meanwhile I love it when ships casually sit on each other's laps :)

Doesn't matter if they're established or pre-relationship

Only if it sparks joy of course! No pressure ❤️

HI! Thanks for your ask!!! <3

So yeah this made me actually feral because you are so right we need more casual lap sitting!!!

I wrote over 1000 words thinking it would work for my No-Nut-November fic but it just doesn't work -which I would have realised if I just read my notes- anyways so it's now a one-shot!

let me cradle your body (be a safe place to rest)

“Seat theif,” Buck pouts, “Where am I supposed to sit?” He asks and look, if he purposely makes his eyes all big and puts a little whine in his voice in a deadly combination that usually has Eddie folding to his whims that it’s between him and the universe okay? “Here,” Eddie says, patting his thigh and it shortcircuits Buck’s brain for longer than it probably should’ve. Eddie doesn’t actually mean that, he’s just messing with Buck right? Because as much as they’ve been accused of practically sitting on each other, they’ve never actually sat in each other’s laps. Buck opens and closes his mouth a few times before deciding that if Eddie is pulling his chain then he’s going to regret it and if it’s being earnest then it probably is comfier than the floor and better than being squeezed into a too-tight spot. “Okay,” Buck says, Eddie offers him a smile and his hand, as if daring him to do it. Buck takes the offered hand and Eddie pulls Buck onto his lap.

Read on ao3

I'm using this as my Seven Sentence Sunday!

So thanks for the tags: @disasterbuckdiaz mwah!

Tagging: @wikiangela @wildlife4life ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz  @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @spagheddiediaz @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @malewifediaz @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @daffi-990 @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @sammysouffle @smilingbuckley @jamespearce9-1-1 @carrierofthepaperclips @jeeyuns @callmenewbie @thosetwofirefighters

make 'em swoon prompts

[diazsdimples]

Seven Sentence Sunday but it's more like eighteen sentences

Tagged by @thewolvesof1998 and @disasterbuckdiaz thanks guys, I look forward to reading your works ASAP!

Here we have yet another Musician AU snippet. At this point I think I'm like halfway through maybe? It's at 14k words and I still have 2 sex scenes, a handjob and an entire concert to write 🫥

“I could have sworn I saw him kiss you after he saved you” Hen muses. “Wonder why you’d keep something like that from us?” Eddie huffs dramatically. “Maybe I don’t want my sex life to be discussed in public, thank you.” Both Hen and Chimney’s eyebrows shoot up into their hairlines and Chim splutters, scandalised, while Hen hisses “Sex? I didn’t say anything about sex, have you fucked the man?” “Jesus Christ” Eddie mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, I haven’t had sex with him, per se, just – uh – gave him a blowjob in the storeroom yesterday.” “You did what?” Chimney crows, delighted and Eddie whacks him hard on the arm. “Shut up” he hisses, “Everyone will hear you!” “Seriously, a blowjob?” Hen tuts. “Edmundo, I thought you were better than this” Eddie wishes a hole would swallow him up. He doesn’t specify who’s hole. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just kind of – happened” he finishes lamely. Hen arches an eyebrow at him. “What, you tripped and swallowed his dick by accident? Eddie, c’mon…” Eddie’s face flushes and he opens his mouth to stammer a response when Bobby announces it’s time to commence for the day, and him and Chimney slink back to their seats with the agreement that they’ll continue the discussion at break.

(no pressure) tagging @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @theotherbuckley @eddiebabygirldiaz @fionaswhvre @wikiangela @daffi-990 @wildlife4life @malewifediaz @housewifebuck @knightlywonders @eddie---diaz @monsterrae1 @evanbegins @callmenewbie @cal-daisies-and-briars @incorrect9-1-1 @smilingbuckley @spagheddiediaz @loserdiaz @fruitandbubbles @fortheloveofbuddie and anyone else who is interested!

[all-pacas]

k i'm stressed and have my job interview in a few minutes and so i need some ass pats! have some of the babytrapping story and tell me i'm cool even if you don't believe it!!

House has been making fun of him for taking out his phone so often, and Chase is sure House knows — not only that Chase keeps thinking of calling Cameron, but why and for what purpose. Somehow, no one seems to have realized she was there the night of the lockdown. That he’d signed the divorce papers, that they’d had sex in an exam room, although he’s sure that if House knew about that there’d be no mystery left. Can practically hear it: So, how did your pathetic last-ditch attempt to win her back work out for you?

Very well, if you looked at it one way.

Terribly, if you looked at it another.

Since Dibala, he’s been going to church again. It’s a reoccurring disorder. Goes once every couple years and it turns into addiction, confessing all his petty sins for the relief of forgiveness. Placebo effect, pure and simple. Eventually the rush wears off. He starts self-editing. Confessing to little things he doesn’t regret, leaving out Father, I don’t think my wife would leave me if she was pregnant.

The odds are decent, he thinks, that the Church would agree.

He calls Cameron, finally. A Sunday afternoon. She’s seven weeks along. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Fine,” she says, her tone brisk. “No physical symptoms yet. I’ve made an appointment on June 20th for the ultrasound.” There is a pause: he waits for her to invite him, then realizes she isn’t going to.

“I’d like to be there,” he says.

It’s hard to tell over the phone, but he hopes she’s relieved. “Good. That’s why I gave you the date.”

Everything they say is terse. Short words, short sentences. He is afraid of offending her. Of hurting her more than he has. Every time she texts him, he flinches. At any moment, she will tell him how much she hates him. She must blame him for this, and the fact that she has yet to say anything leaves him more wary.

He considers telling her his little joke about the catholic church. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he says finally. I’m sorry is on the tip of his tongue, caught in his throat. But he isn’t. Because she is still on the phone.

“That’s not true,” Cameron says slowly. Carefully.

“I love you,” he says.

And then no one says anything: his phone is hot against his ear. He listens intently to the static, the occasional burst of white noise. A breath. A fumble. She does not answer; she does not hang up the phone.

[hogans-heroes]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday

Rule: Post seven(ish) sentences of your current WIP - or just a snippet who cares! And tag your writer friends to see what they're working on.

(Snippet near the beginning of my Alex pov fic Learning Curve because I really need to work more on it I’ve been slacking/tired)

Tagged by @avonne-writes ���

…

“What’s wrong?” Alex whispered, but even that felt too loud in the dark, cramped barracks, with the steady breaths of sleeping men around them.

He leaned his shoulder into Buck’s, and his heart sank at the trembling of the other’s lean frame. Buck remained silent, wiping a hand over his face and looking in what Alex thought was a random direction until he realized it was Major Egan’s bunk. The broad-shouldered form was just visible in the darkness and Buck’s gaze kept flickering to it every few seconds like a moth to a flame.

This close, Alex could hear Buck’s breathing, uneven and barely controlled, and he took the chance of overstepping to turn to face him, sliding an arm around his back and coaxing Buck to his chest.

Buck tensed at first, but Alex purposely stayed relaxed and unthreatening, rubbing his thumb on Buck’s arm until he began to soften. Soon Buck had melted completely, pained breathing slowing and head slumping until it rested on Alex’s shoulder, the fabric of his shirt growing damp.

I tag @swifty-fox !

[endwersed]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday(ish)

Tagged by the always amazing @dear-massacre 💘

So I'm a little out on the seven sentences, and I'm a little out on the Sunday, but - hey. We're all here to have fun! Here's a little more from my upcoming Sterek FWB AU - you don't see me. Very close to completion, and hopefully coming to an AO3 near you in the next couple of weeks 😊

-

Stiles leans back onto his haunches, running slightly shaky fingers through his already wild hair. His cheeks are flushed pink, so contrastingly obvious against his usually pale skin, and his brown eyes are wide, they are worried. He chews down on his bottom lip for a moment as he blinks up at Derek.

A thought flashes, unbidden, into Derek’s mind. A thought that – wow, guys must go absolutely fucking feral for Stiles, when he sucks them off.

Staring down at him, at the delicate angles of his face, at the jutting bone of his collar slipping out from his loose shirt, at the slender length of his fingers still resting against Derek’s thighs, Derek thinks that he looks... he looks like he’s fucking made for this, somehow. Like he was created for this earth, for the sole purpose of being on his knees, with those big doe eyes and that soft cheeky smile.

Guys – guys who aren’t straight, guys not like Derek, obviously – they must just fucking eat him up.

-

Low pressure tags! @aurevell @eevylynn @hedwig221b @lucky-bishop @violetfairydust

[theghostofashton]

seven sentence sunday

thank you @heartstringsduet @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @carlos-in-glasses @strandnreyes @lemonlyman-dotcom @vineofroses @bonheur-cafe for the tags <3

TK watches him, the way Carlos occasionally pauses in his tracks – clearly remembering various things he wanted to do, moving back and forth from the open suitcase on the bed to the en-suite. He has his own unpacking and settling in to do, but he can’t bring himself to move. Some entire days pass by like this, tracking Carlos like he’s a piece of art, meant to be studied and appreciated from every angle. “Hey.” TK blinks, focusing back in on the present moment. There’s a playful look in Carlos’s eyes as he looks at him, a hanger in one hand. “Aren’t you gonna unpack?” “I’ll get to it,” TK manages, barely holding his gaze. His mouth feels dry. Three years and countless hours trying not to get caught staring, and he still struggles unpacking how Carlos is just this gorgeous. Carlos quirks an eyebrow. “Really?” TK hates him sometimes. It’s like he does this on purpose, knows exactly how to render him useless and takes full advantage.   He slides off the bed. Carlos has turned back to the closet, hung up the one hanger and is now rearranging another on the rod beside it. TK bypasses the open suitcase and intercepts Carlos as he goes for it again, crashing their lips together.

open tag!

[rriavian]

Seven Sentence(ish) Sunday - Lyta Hall finds an Endless in her kitchen, WIP snippet:

The King of Dreams is standing in Lyta's kitchen.

He looks just as he did before. The same black coat, the same slim form beneath, the same pale blue eyes. A colour so curiously normal, as human looking as the rest of him, but Lyta doesn’t think that's because her species has a monopoly on the form. The more she looks the more she sees. Lyta shivers at the hints of what lurks beneath skin so pale. It's like the light of stars, the hue of what glows in the darkness of a night sky. A turned down version of a sun, what is nonetheless still burning, far away perhaps, in front of her but muted so her eyes don’t pop in her skull.

It’s a consideration she doesn’t understand.

“Lyta Hall.” He says; soft, melodic, rhythmic like a poems purposeful verse. Calibrated deliberation but warm, free, like the lullaby her mother had sung to her, like the ones she sings to Daniel. The beloved baby this being has promised to take. Would he sing to him? Would this being sing lullabies to Lyta’s son when he took him from her arms? “I believe we should talk.”

“Get out.” Lyta manages. “I don’t—get out of my house.”

The creature tilts his head.

It’s perfect. It freezes the blood in her veins. The motion smooth, the neck an elegant thing; he’s beautiful in a way she can’t deny, morality not so easy to see, goodness and ugliness not so easy to define as separate.

“I am not here to take your son.”

“But you still plan to.”

“Plan?” A curious undercurrent that Lyta can’t decipher. “I suppose it would seem as such.”

“It is what you said.”

The lips quirk upwards; amusement now in the tilt, lurking within starlight, those blue eyes now seem to glow to reveal it beckoning in the glimmer. A slim hand rests on the back of a chair, drawing it away from the table without a sound.

Dream of the Endless sits down and says—

“Is it?”

[caterpills]

(Six) (Seven) Several Sentence Sunday

Hello, friends!! Thanks again for the tags @myheartalivewrites @blueeyedgrlwrites and I'm going to borrow @sparklepocalypse's open tag too! It's a weird time this Sunday, and I have an 'everything I write is not great' vibe today, but I'm powering through!! And I know I'm my own worst critic, so... I wasn't exactly sure what to share from the next chapter of This Is More of a Comment Than a Question without spoiling some surprises (or just copy-pasting a whole scene), so here's a little bit:

Henry seems to have caught onto Alex's tangential subject changes and doesn't even ask for clarification this time. "Yes, I'd like to think so. But even still, saying it out loud wasn't always an option for me. It took much longer." "When? Like, when did you finally say it out loud?" "After I finished my first draft of Generations," Henry says quietly, simply. The statement catches Alex off guard. That doesn't seem right. The way Alex remembers Generations, there was such surety in James's narration, in the deft and decisive way he speaks to his father about his identity as a gay man, what it means to him, and what it will still mean after he is gone. The impossibility that Henry might not have had that same confidence before he wrote the book doesn't exactly compute. "Really?"

(This takes place in one of my favorite locations of this chapter, so I'm excited to eventually share!!)

Open tag as always, friends! Please tag me if you use it because I would love to read what you're working on ❤️

Because this has been a hard writing week, I'm going to share some "behind the scenes" stuff from the most recent chapter about the locations around D.C. that Henry and Alex visited. (I did this for the Boston chapter, too!)

The Hay-Adams Hotel

The historic Hay-Adams Hotel might be the most ridiculous place Alex has encountered in his life. It's bougie, like old-money white people bougie. His teeth hurt from clenching his jaw so that he doesn't say anything off-the-cuff to get him immediately kicked out. Valets are at every door, rushing to grab the handles before Alex can even think to reach for it. The interior is covered in plush burgundy rugs, thick brocade curtains, slick wood paneling, and ugly as sin chandeliers. Sure, its proximity to museums, parks, and the White House make it a prime location for tourists to blow money for a deluxe experience in the nation's capital. But there is something so viscerally unsettling about the distinct haunted house aesthetic the whole place is giving off. The Great Hall, Library of Congress

The cocktail hour takes place inside the Great Hall of the Library. Alex gawks at the lofty ceilings, rising a steep two stories, and ending in radically intricate stained glass windows above them. After their visit in Boston, Alex finds himself looking everywhere, trying to find the pieces that cursory glances would miss. It's not just a historical building, but there is a purpose in the choices and a beauty in everything, even in the absence of something. Henry taught him that.

The Coolidge Auditorium, Library of Congress

At the podium, Henry runs through the obligatory thanks: to the hosts, the Library of Congress, the National Book Festival organizers, the committee of literary judges who have given his novels so much consideration over the years, the rest of his fellow authors who have done such groundbreaking work this year, and to the readers—always the readers.

He clears his throat, looking up to the back of the auditorium. Whatever Henry is searching for, and ultimately doesn't find, changes the way he stands. There's a drop in his shoulders, a disappointment sliding across his face. Before Alex can look for himself, Henry starts reading.

Off the Record Bar, The Hays-Adams Hotel

His dinner is a bowl of mixed nuts and a glass of whiskey, neat. He takes another sip, and finds his tumbler empty. So, scratch that, make it two whiskeys for dinner.

Alex knows he can't stay here forever—the bartender kicking him out at closing time doesn't count—but he wants to wallow. It feels good to wallow, where the only things that can see him feel so spectacularly low are strangers and the framed caricatures of notorious political figures on the wall. He can drink away his disappointment, encased by the black-and-crimson color scheme of the speakeasy decor.

[ironheartwriter]

Seven Sentence Sunday!

I am up entirely too late, so I felt like starting off Seven Sentence Sunday. Y'all already know the drill. Post seven or more sentences from your current WIP. Tag, or don't tag others to join in.

I'm finally back to working on Kaleidoscopic Hearts so enjoy this new peek!

[TK Strand]: My favorite color? Um… blue. Like the sky in the middle of the day. It was one of the first colors I ever noticed. What about you? [Carlos Reyes]: Ever since I started being able to see in color, I’ve really been drawn to different shades of green. TK feels the heat rise to his cheeks as he reads Carlos’s response, once, twice, three times, before he responds. The answer was just vague enough that TK was certain there was more to it than that. He couldn’t help but feel that Carlos was being purposely vague, wanting TK to ask him for more information. TK hesitates before he types out a response, weighing his options. Surely, if Carlos was texting him, he could take a chance and have a little fun with him, right? [TK Strand]: Different shades of green, huh? Any particular reason for that? He swears he can hear the gears turning in Carlos’s mind from wherever he might be, trying to calculate the risks associated with how he would choose to answer that particular question. His interactions with Carlos had been pretty limited, all things considered, but he knew Carlos’s type. He was a cop, after all. TK would bet half his salary that any choice Carlos ever made had to be turned over his mind a dozen and a half times and weighed from every possible angle before it could ever be made. [Carlos Reyes]: Should there be a reason for that?

Gonna tag a bunch of people today...

@tellmegoodbye, @nancys-braids, @tailoredshirt, @carlos-in-glasses, @emsprovisions

@heartstringsduet, @paperstorm, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @carlos-tk, @rmd-writes

@sapphic--kiwi, @literateowl, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @thisbuildinghasfeelings, @your-catfish-friend

@firstprince-history-huh, @welcometololaland

Tag! All of y'all are it!