#but until then have snippets :)))))

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[nyoomfruits]

wakeboarding snippet from the wag au because apparently i have psychic powers and oscar went wakeboarding today

“Alright Piastri!” Jack hollers from near the speedboat. “You’re up, mate!”

“Coming!” Oscar yells, and turns to look at Lando one last time, doing a little ‘well here I am’ motion with his arms. “How do I look?”

“Like a dork,” Lando tells him, because he’s pretty sure that ‘edible’ would put him in some serious trouble.

“Fantastic, that’s exactly what I was going for,” Oscar says dryly, but his eyes are smiling. “Wish me luck?”

Lando smiles, tilts his head. “Like you need it.”

“From you?” Oscar says, eyes crinkling. “Always.”

“Gross,” Max says, appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around Lando’s shoulders. “Stop fucking flirting you two and get a move on, yeah?”

“We weren’t-“ Lando splutters, but he completely gets ignored as Oscar does a little salute motion and wanders off towards he boat. “Good luck!” Lando yells after him a little belated.

“You know, I had my doubts,” Max says, staring after Oscar attempts to get the board on his feet. “I mean, with Brad and all that. And then you just pull this guy out of nowhere? I don’t know. It seemed suspicious.”

“Right,” Lando says, voice a little tight. He wishes Oscar was still here. He would know what to say.

“But Oscar’s a good guy. Sweet. Nothing like Brad, which, believe me, is a compliment. I know you were in love with the guy, but Lan, he was a fucking dick to you most of the time. But Oscar,” Max shrugs. “I hope it works out, for you two. You seem to have found something special.”

“Thanks,” Lando says, and for a moment he doesn’t really know what to do with all the emotions swirling around his head. On one hand, he’s glad Max likes Oscar. He values his opinion, probably should’ve listened to it sooner on the whole Brad thing. So it’s nice, that Max thinks that him and Oscar. That they could work.

But it’s. They won’t work, is the thing. Because it’s fake. He hasn’t found anything special, and he will never have anything special. Not with Oscar, at least. It’s all fake. A ruse. A very successful one so far, but still.

By now Oscar’s successfully gotten onto the board, and is zooming past, somehow managing to wave at them as he goes, making Lando laugh and wave back.

“Fucking bastard’s good, too,” Max grumbles, claps Lando on the shoulder again. “Alright, let me go get ready. And remind me to go before Oscar, next time. Going to look like a right tit now that he’s all shown us how it’s done.”

Lando doesn’t react, merely stares at Oscar as he jumps from wave to wave, doing a few tricks Lando is sure is just him showing off. Next time, Max had said. And that’s the thing. Standing on the back of this enormous yacht, watching his fake boyfriend in the water, he can’t help but wish there would be a next time.

But that’s wistful thinking. So Lando shrugs it off, and goes to retrieve his own life jacket.

[lilacthebooklover]

'And something shifts in Shadow Milk's gaze, a sort of vindictive delight drawing that confident smirk into a vicious grin. "Well now, Pure Vanilla Cookie," he says, the amusement and anticipation dripping from his voice palpable. Pure Vanilla can't quite hide the way he tries to recoil, but the vice-like grip upon his wrist remains terrifyingly unrelenting. "This certainly changes the script up a little, doesn't it?"

The question is too light, too cheerful, too casual for what this truly means. For right there on Shadow Milk's face, painted in damningly permanent blue hues, is the unmistakable mark of a four-point crown. Pure Vanilla's forearm burns where his own identical mark has been exposed for all the world to see, Shadow Milk peering at it with a sense of sickening awe that's impossible to miss. Because there it is, imprinted on his skin and written in the stars: undeniable proof that they've been predestined to meet since the start.

Shadow Milk Cookie is his soulmate. And Pure Vanilla has never been more afraid.'

(Vanilla Milkshake fans, when I tell you I am COOKING-)

[johnslittlespoon]

tough and sweet boys are cuddling btw. at this very moment. kiss is mere hundreds of words away. sweating profusely.

[prince-liest]

This fic has been done for two! days!!! and I am posting a snippet so that I may resist posting the whole thing until tomorrow, because I feel like dropping two 8-10k word fics within like two days of each other is. A little much. BUT SOON.

[cartsandhorses]

obsessed with prime’s synopsis of nbc hannibal sounding relatively normal like any thriller show but then one of the previews is the FBI’s profiler Will Graham— who you are not familiar with if it’s your first encounter with the show– trespassing and scaling a fence in Lithuanian when supposedly the show takes place in the U.S.

[overtake]

I was tagged by @powerful-owl to post the last 6 sentences I wrote in a WIP. I'm cheating quite egregiously. It is far longer than 6 sentences. I cannot control myself to post just six sentences. This is from a tennis AU.

Max smiles into Daniel’s pec. “Going to hide on the farm forever?” 

“It’s not hiding if you know where I am.” 

“Still have the dirt bikes?” 

Daniel thinks of Max drenched in Australia's golden sun at 23 — his smile blinding as he took the bikes over jumps with the same ease he used to swing a racket. He'd spent days inventing funny backstories for the cows, making friends with the evil poodle at the nearest grocery store that Daniel swears is plotting to chomp off his leg, and diving off a boat into the ocean with reckless abandon. He took great glee in teasing Daniel from the water. Daniel always dipped a toe in and searched for anything that could kill him before he jumped.

Max hasn’t been back in the years since, but Daniel sometimes imagines Max in the mundane parts of his long, lazy days at home and subconsciously reaches out to find him in all the places he should still be.

“There’s a dirt bike for you any time you want,” Daniel promises, “and Monaco would miss me if I didn’t come back for a game of padel every so often.” 

Max presses a gentle kiss over the tan skin where he rests his chin. Daniel holds him tight to his chest and imagines the ball popping between them one final time tomorrow: current gentle smiles twisted into hard stares; orgasmic moans shifted into effortful grunts. He falls asleep with a fresh hard-on.

Tags: I feel like everyone's probably been tagged by now because I took days to get to this so please do it if this game speaks to you and say I tagged you!!!!

[euripidestrousers]

The Bridget Jones Wolfstar AU that No One Asked For

Dear Diary, 

Even writing those words makes me physically ill so I’d like to start this off by disclosing that getting a diary was not my idea. 

You see, my best friend, James - excellent, wonderful best friend who has recently become a family man by choice, and has therefore become one of the most insufferable people on earth - gave me this diary and said it’s either this or he’s buying me therapy because one more rubbish one-week relationship of mine is going to kill him.

And I don’t need a fucking therapist, so here you are, and here I am. I feel better already.

(haha)

Dear Diary, 

James might be onto something. Today I found myself smoking my third morning cigarette while drinking my coffee and muttering that the drive to work is going to be hell because of the rain. 

I’ve become my father. 

Of course, I asked James if he ever looks in the mirror and sees Monty staring back and if it makes him want to buy a motorbike and he replied, ‘Uh, I’m literally his son, we look alike. Are you okay?’

My thirty third birthday is coming up. 

Please don’t let this be a mid-life crisis. I’m not in a relationship because I don’t want one, and haven’t had one in over ten years because the men in London either want to meet you in the park or meet your parents. It’s the last hour of the buffet and all that’s left is the salad. And I don’t need a relationship either. James and Lily are a match made in heaven since the first time he told her ugly friend he was ugly (rightfully so, the man is still hideous and a complete prick), and she told him to watch his fucking mouth. Made for each other.

But the last time I met a guy that made me laugh and was any sort of attractive and not a complete knob about being attractive, was over three years ago. 

Ie, it’s not for me. End of story.

I bought a motorbike

Dear Diary, 

I’m going to do away with the whole ‘dear diary’ thing, it makes me feel like a schoolgirl and if James ever finds you when we’re drunk he’s going to read out at least one embarrassing entry at me. They’re all embarrassing. 

I went on a blind date today.

“Long black for… Sirish?”

What? Oh. That vague jumble of mush must have been his name. Sirius grabs the takeaway cup and makes for the door briskly. He has the Binkley case to catch up on and write a piece on by the end of the week and he’s still not clear who the man is. A football star perhaps? He’s still being sidelined into the sports area of the paper because he did football for a year. Nevermind that he has an interest in politics and would very much like to report on where the country will be in ten years if it keeps going-

J: You busy after work?

Sirius grins, flopping his jacket over one arm to type back to James Potter, best friend and inarguably lesser half of Lily Potter. 

S: drinks?

J: I have a one year old

S: too early for him to start?

S: kidding. Don’t tell Lily. She’s already started making him take his helmet every time I take him for a day. 

J: It’s not for drinks. Lily has a friend who’s just come to town. I thought maybe you could show him around.

S: Worst lie ever. 

J: I haven’t had coffee yet.

J: It’s actually true though. He just came to town and doesn’t know anyone other than Lily, and Harry has a cold so we’re both staying home.

J: He’s quite attractive I’m told. Lily told me to say ‘tall Martin Freeman’, and that you’d know what it means

S: Potter, if I was so desperate that I would open to a blind date, I definitely wouldn’t start with any of Lily’s friends, they’re all college professors and about 50 years old. 

J: He’s 37

S: He has elbow patches. Guaranteed. Bet he says ‘but the Torries are actually not as conservative as they’re made out to be.’

S: Bet he has a mahogany desk and wanks to Aristotle

J: Jesus christ

J: Photo sent

Sirius glances down uninterestedly and sees a photo of a man. But instead of the expected stuffy looking balding man with a sour face, as most of Lily’s fellow professors are to be fair, instead he’s looking at a tall, brown haired man with flecks of grey at the temples and smiling softly at the camera, and he’s well, he’s not not handsome. Tall Martin Freeman is actually quite right. Hello.

He brings the phone closer to examine the photo as he blindly barges into the office building with the large Get Up, Britain sign gaudy and bright above him. 

The man is younger on second glance, although he is wearing a suit jacket with elbow patches (told you, Jamie), and standing a little awkwardly, like he’s not used to photos being taken of him, and it’s entirely likely that he’s more accustomed to being nose deep in a book ninety percent of the time. 

He’s shagged worse. 

S: I was right about the elbow patches

J: I really tried to find one without them too

J: But he sounds nice. Funny. Lily likes him, she talks about him all the time. They were prefects together in school and used to bunk off and smoke behind the bins

One the one hand: prefect. Disgusting. Hall monitors. Pigs-to-be, snooty, law-abiding to the most irritating degree (Lily being the exception, of course). On the other hand: smoking behind the bins is more his style. Speaking of, he’d love one right now-

J: I really think you’d like him. Even just friends. Moving cities is lonely and he sounds alright. He likes Manchester U?

S: Fine, I’m free after 6

S: Don’t yell at me if I shag him, work has been shit.

So that’s how Sirius finds himself, half past six, swearing up a storm and running with his tote bag over his head in the pouring rain, late for his blind date (or something).

He slams into the restaurant door, shaking himself off like a wet dog, his casual Friday jeans and black t-shirt soaking wet, his shoulder length, black hair is dripping around his face, hoping his laptop has survived, and shivering like a chihuahua at a children’s party. 

“Uh, I’m here for uh-” he consults his phone again and reads the name to the maitre d, “Reh-mus?”

“It’s Remus, actually”, comes a soft voice from his left. 

Sirius turns quickly and immediately drenches the man standing at his elbow in droplets of water from his hair and coat. Tall Martin Freeman indeed - he has one of those faces that’s even better in person, where the way he stoops his shoulders and holds himself makes him look soft and welcoming, and the warm lighting gives him that attractive, cozy professor look, rather than an uptight old man.

“Oh”, Sirius grins quickly, hoping his dazzling smile will make up for their flimsy introduction, “Right, Sirius. Are you still waiting for a table-?”

“I er, well, I was about to leave actually”, Remus says, glancing at the maitre d awkwardly, “You’re quite late.”

Sirius’ smile freezes. Well, then. 

“Got caught up at work”, he replies stiffly, brushing his hair back and letting his eyes go cold, “If you’d prefer we don’t-”

“No, no, of course not”, Remus appears to snap back, as if remembering his manners and seeming oddly distracted, “Please, let’s sit. You look like you could use a drink.”

Sirius runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he follows Remus to the table and wonders if that was a slight about him looking like a drowned rat. He notices the man has worn an absolutely hideous brown jumper that wouldn’t be out of place in an aged care home, so he doesn’t really have the right to judge Sirius’ appearance. 

“Wine?” The waiter offers politely. It’s a nice place - James said Lily had picked it because she thought Remus would like it. It is a little stuffy, honestly. Something his parents might have stopped by and deemed adequate, which is to say, the beer is fucking overpriced, Jesus-

“I’ll have the Stout again, please”, Remus answers briskly, nodding at Sirius to order his.

“Uh, yeah, Stout. Cheers”, Sirius adds, dumping his bag beneath the table and trying to surreptitiously dry his hair in the napkin. Remus looks away as if embarrassed by him. Swot.

“So, you know Lily through school?” Sirius starts, unable to keep the boredom completely out of his voice. 

“Yes. I take it you know James through yours”, Remus answers, very politely but also sounding just as bored. 

“Yeah, grew up together”, Sirius nods. 

Remus doesn’t say anything to that, just hums and sips some water. 

It’s fucking awkward. Normally, Sirius would give him an ultimatum - ‘look, do you want to liven it up a bit and turn this into a fun one-night thing? Because otherwise, I’m not feeling it and I’ve got work to do.’

But Lily knows this guy, they have mutual friends, and if this isn’t what makes blind dates the most excruciating, hellish thing on earth, worse than job interviews, worse than-

“I don’t really do blind dates”, Remus says suddenly, and then blinks as if he hadn’t meant to say anything at all.

“Right”, Sirius says, bewildered. 

“I, er, the dating scene. Not really my thing”, he says quietly, still not looking Sirius in the eye, “But I just moved here from Wales and I don’t know anyone, so this doesn’t have to be… anything. Just-”

“Oh- oh yeah. Fine with me”, Sirius finds himself swallowing down a touch of regret, offended really, because he’s not used to someone not immediately being ready to come home with him. “I’m not really looking for anything and blind dates are, well - eugh, you know? Like, thanks, my friends think I can’t get laid on my own or something so they set me up with whoever they think isn’t a serial killer, like any gay dude will do-”

“Yes, well”, Remus says tightly, taking another sip, “I rather thought Lily knew me better than that.”

His tone is rather pointed and Sirius realises he’s let his mouth run. Well… to be fair, the guy is kind of a snob. What was Lily thinking anyway?

“Yeah”, he agrees through his teeth, crossing his arms and legs and sitting back in his chair to wait for his beer. Maybe he can make an excuse after one drink. He can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t have a sense of humour and if this bloke doesn’t want to be a one-night stand, then he’d much rather be home. Alone.

“Is there anything around here you’d recommend?” Remus tries, voice clipped and still sounding slightly offended, “Restaurants? More importantly, ones you don’t recommend?”

“There’s a place that does turkey curry. It’s awful.”

“What? What curry?” The tightness in Remus’ face slips momentarily and he looks genuinely bewildered. He’s actually not a bad looker when he’s not frowning. 

“Turkey. It’s as bad as it sounds. Actually it’s worse, like eating a lamb burrito, it’s just not right. Shittest fucking curry and it’s as bad going in as it is bad going ou-”

“Two Stouts.”

The waiter delivers their beers and they fade off into silence as they drink. 

Remus sips delicately, in a way that’s completely inappropriate for a beer, and says awkwardly, “Yes well, thank you for the tip. I’ll rest easy never knowing what turkey curry tastes like.”

“Yeah, I mean, if you can avoid it then I guess this date wasn’t a waste after all.”

Remus blinks, expression dropping. 

Oh. Oh fuck. Double fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom”, Remus says abruptly and stands. He stalks away quickly and leaves Sirius gnawing at his lip and furious at both himself and this infuriating man who seems to loathe him, minutes after meeting him and who Lily apparently thinks is nice. 

He’s got other shit to be getting on with, he decides. And this bloke probably shags like a limp fish anyway, an Oxford type that thinks poetry is foreplay and once a month sex is scandalously frequent.

He drains his beer and half of Remus’ for good measure, and heads to the bathroom so he can catch Remus on his way out, only to hear his own name hissed furiously. He sees Remus standing out the front of the restaurant, shoulders raised against the cold and holding the phone to his ear. He steps closer and half opens the door to tell him he’s going to head off when he hears the conversation.

“... how did you think someone like Sirius would be good for me? After the hell I’ve had in the last year? Going on a date with someone like him? He showed up thirty minutes late, dressed like he’s going to a bar playing exclusively Metallica, and insulted me immediately. I told you, I don’t mind being alone for a while, especially after the divorce. I certainly don’t want to be shown around London by a rude, arrogant berk who dresses like a teenager and doesn’t seem to have a filter between his brain and his mouth. He probably thinks the bar scene is-oh”

Remus catches sight of him out of the corner of his eye and he spins. They stare at each other for a few excruciation moments, Remus still holding the phone to his ear. 

Sirius breaks the tension with a forced laugh, “Right. I’m definitely going home.”

“Wait, shit, I’ll call you back”, Remus mutters into the phone and hangs up, stepping forward but Sirius pushes past him, temper steadily rising into a roaring bonfire within his chest.

“Sirius, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You’re absolutely right, I wouldn’t know the first thing about showing a bloke like you around London”, he turns and says loudly so it carries over the sounds of the cars driving by on the busy street, “You’d be more comfortable in a fucking graveyard, honestly. There’s one ten minutes that way-” he turns his back and points over to the left, calling back over his shoulder, “You’ll find someone much more your speed there, Remus.”

Blind date disastrous as expected. 

Remus fucking Lupin, a professor extraordinaire who wouldn’t be able to find his funny bone if it conked him on the fucking head, is not an exception to the blind date rule, even though he’s easy on the eyes at first glance. At second glance, he is a miserable, dried up academic whose own self-importance has completely consumed him despite dressing like his grandfather for Halloween. 

If this is what my friends think of me, I need to sort my fucking shit out. 

I should have asked him to shag before he opened his stupid fucking mouth. 

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @tizniz @diazsdimples @buddieswhvre @disasterbuckdiaz @dangerpronebuddie 💖💖💖

more of the cheating fic bc I said this is my main focus rn and it is haha (I might have something different for friday tho 🙈) I hope I'll finish this scene before I post all of it in snippets lol the convo just keeps going and going istg haha

prev snippet

___

 “What are you doing here so early? After last night, I thought you two would be dead to the world the whole day.” she teases, then goes to get a cup of coffee.

“Hey, Karen.” Buck responds quietly, not answering the question. Hen does it for him.

“Buck’s having a crisis. He slept with Eddie.” Hen says, and Karen turns towards them, eyes wide, but then the surprise turns into a smile.

“Well, finally.” she chuckles, reaching into the cupboard for a mug. “I thought it’d take them decades to figure it out.” she pauses, then frowns, turning towards Buck again. And he chooses to ignore that comment, because what the hell did she even mean? “Wait, what happened with you and Taylor? When did you guys break up? Did I miss some 118 gossip?” she asks, shooting her wife a questioning look.

“No, you didn’t, they’re still together..” Hen responds, scrutinizing gaze not leaving Buck. “He cheated on her.”

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @fortheloveofbuddie @911-on-abc @daffi-990 @jesuisici33

[fluffydancer618]

Being into lost media be like

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

snippet 3, 1, 2

Rhaenyra looked beautiful today.  To Alicent’s annoyance, she looked beautiful every day.  Her long, soft hair was loose and straight, draped around her shoulders like a veil.  Her dress was Targaryen red with silver accents, just toeing the line of scandal by revealing her pretty neck and defined collarbones.  Around her throat was a heavy chain of rubies and black diamonds, chosen to complement the platinum rings decorating her fine fingers.  She stood tall, with hands clasped in front of her.  Unbothered by the heat, if she even noticed it.

She was a stark contrast to her father.  An alpha unlike him, she was bold where he was demure and brave where he was cowardly.  She was strong, healthy, and undoubtedly potent if her heavy scent and powerful allure were anything to judge by.

Thinking about that gave Alicent pause.  Potent.  That’s… no.  

She shook herself harshly.  What a ludicrous thought.  Ridiculous.  Ripping her gaze away from the princess, she forced herself to pay attention to the next petitioner, a sunburnt farmer from Duskendale.  He complained long to the King about a crop blight on his fields, one made worse by a lengthening drought gripping the area.  It was a pitiful situation, made more so by how it took all of ten minutes for her mind to stray again, this time to her latest failure the night before.  She fucked the King as her father bid, but Viserys had barely seemed interested.  He agreed to bed her more than he wanted to, and as she made the lonely walk back to her chambers afterward, she was made to confront the bleak, awful truth.

Viserys didn’t care about her anymore, if he ever did in the first place.  At best, she was convenient for him, a shield against the pestering of his Small Council.  At worst, she was a distraction less engaging than his model city, something he could pick up and put down as he pleased, like a plaything.  By all the world’s standards, he was a fine husband.  He never beat her.  He didn’t stray to mistresses or galavant with whores.  He wasn’t cruel.  Many would say that was the best she could ask for.  But what was a lack of cruelty worth when it stemmed from pure apathy?

She knew better.  She could lose what little was left of his interest at any time.  And if he finally grew bored of her, he could set her aside.  He could send her away, have their marriage annulled, and exile her to live out her days as a ruined woman.  Her father was very fond of telling her so.  The only way to ensure he couldn’t would be to have his child, to bind herself to the Targaryen dynasty with her own flesh and blood.  And if he couldn’t give her a child…

A civil war was raging in her mind.  To even consider the possibility was a sin, a smack in the face to all of her lifelong values.  To cheat on her husband and have a bastard?  To have Rhaenyra’s bastard?  The Seven would cast her soul straight into the Hells.  They would throw her down and seal the gates shut without a second thought.

And Rhaenyra would never agree to it.  She might be seduced away from her betrothed, but she would never betray her father, particularly not for Alicent’s sake.  Their relationship had not improved in the past five years.  At best, it had merely cooled.  Their interactions no longer devolved into screaming matches, but they were far from the warm, easy intimacy of the past.  Mostly, they were distant from each other, with everything they once shared forming an uncrossable gulf between them.

(Sometimes their eyes would meet, at balls or over dinner tables, and Alicent would feel weak.  She’d catch a flicker of heat in her friend’s gaze, and suddenly the years of festering ire and mistrust would fall away.  She’d see the desire for connection and feel it burn in her own chest.  Only for Rhaenyra to look away, always.  And whenever Alicent wanted to chase that spark, chase her, she succumbed to cowardice instead.)

So they were at an impasse.  It was a cold, bitter fact, but knowing it could not stop her mind from treading this dangerous ground.

If they were mated, Rhaenyra would do more than just fuck babies into her.  She would take care of Alicent; love her, pleasure her, protect her.  She would shower her with attention and never ignore her needs.  She would never lock her away to suffer her heats alone.  She would never rut inside her without care and fall asleep on top of her.  She would listen to Alicent’s opinions.  She would be the best sire a child could ask for.  She would be perfect.

But she would never be any of that for Alicent now, not with their friendship in ruins and Laena Velaryon on her arm.  She would also never give Alicent a child that could threaten her own claim to the Throne.  If she bore a beta or alpha son that was believed to be legitimate, tradition would give him the stronger claim.  Then Rhaenyra would be forced to fight for her rights, possibly to the point of war.

So it would never happen.  It was pointless to even think about it.

But she did, doggedly, helplessly, losing herself in girlish fantasy while the court’s misery dragged on and on.

[jula483]

Rhett in Portugal - instagram story from Jessie

[plusultraetc]

oh how the poor sleeping habits tables have turned

[lavenoon]

@naffeclipse I don't know enough about cryptids to know if it's like. A Rule that they show up blurry in pictures, but it's definitely funny to assume that

[summaryscar]

Ask game: Hero of Warriors?!?!!?! 👀

🤗

🍿

Oh, dang, this was from forever ago I didn’t think I’d see an ask for this game ever again. However, this was one that I wasn’t asked about that I really wanted to talk about, so thank you for asking about it!

I’ll talk about it for a bit first, then share a snippet of what I’ve got done, if that’s alright with you.

So, this is a fic I haven’t worked on in months because I kinda got distracted with other ones and haven’t yet had the time to go back to it. For those who have heard of Epic: The Musical (which I’ve come to realize is a lot of people in the LU fandom), the fic is based off of the songs Survive and Remember Them. I haven’t quite gotten to the part where these two songs actually come into play, but I’m extremely close to getting started on where Survive will happen, if that makes sense.

Besides the fact that I got distracted, another reason as to why the fic has been untouched for so long is because I’m unsure as to how much of the song lyrics and such to include in the fic. There are certain lines I know for certain that I will be including, because how could I not?, but I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to have the dialogue be the lyrics word for word, or if it’s better to skip over certain things.

This fic has also somehow managed to branch off into ideas for other fics titled similarly and revolving around the same idea for each Lu character. These ones are still completely unwritten, and I’m not planning on starting them until I get the one for Wars done.

(Okay, that’s a lie. I have, like, a sentence for two written for Legend and one of the others that I can’t remember which one it is, nor do I want to search all my docs at the moment)

Now for the snippet I promised:

“Well, I suppose we can lend a hand or two, what do you guys say?” Warriors turned around, addressing the rest of the Chain who had managed to cut down the surrounding monsters enough for them all to talk.

Wild’s immediate reaction was to run off and charge some nearby Bokoblins that had gotten too close to some of the soldiers. He was soon followed by Wind and Four, the two of them yelling some sort of battle cry as they slashed through any enemy that crossed their path. The rest of them were quick to join the battle, assisting soldiers who appeared to be in need of reinforcements.

After some time, the monster forces seemed to be dwindling, and while it took longer to kill these ones off, — Legend learned the hard way that they had infected blood — they were making more progress than the troops had been making without the Heroes of Courage.

“I think we’ve almost got them all,” said Twilight from across the battlefield. It was hard to hear him properly due to the sound of clashing shields and weapons, but the Rancher was loud enough that it sparked some hope in everyone present, giving them all the more reason to continue fighting until they no longer could.

“Well, that’s good,” breathed Hyrule from somewhere off to the side, treating Legend’s injured arm while still keeping an eye out for any threats coming their way.

Warriors looked around, scanning the area for the rest of his fellow heroes. He caught a glimpse of Wild running through a crowd of ChuChus, slicing them apart with ease, before he lost sight of the Champion. Sky wasn’t too far away from him, using the Master Sword to fight some Moblins from Wild’s world. He didn’t have time to worry about the fact that they were not only battling black-blooded enemies, but also ones from Wild’s era, some of the strongest they’d ever encountered even when not infected. From behind him, he heard Wind’s battle cries once more and came across the sight of his little brother caught in combat with an Aeralfos, the winged creature swooping down on him. That, however, didn’t appear to be a problem for the Sailor seeing how he just jumped out of the way before stabbing it with his sword

That brought the total up to six, seven counting himself. Only two others were left.

I (surprisingly) have a lot more than this written, it just might take a while to get out, but I promise it’ll come eventually

[leaves-of-laurelin]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you to @cricketnationrise, @kiwiana-writes, @affectionatelyrs, @happiness-of-the-pursuit for the tags from both today and Sunday! Here is some more of the sci-fi actors au:

“I think maybe I’m just not cut out for relationships,” Alex says, pushing the orzo around his plate with a fork. “Might avoid them from now on, just date around a bunch.” “The paps will enjoy that,” Luna responds with a smile. Alex knows exactly what he’s talking about; those pictures of him and Dana leaving that nightclub weren’t the first of their kind to get plastered all over the internet since Alex’s newly single status began. He watches as Luna’s expression turns warm and serious. “You’re hurting right now, kid, and that’s understandable. Don’t let it close your heart off forever.” “Hmm,” Alex hums before taking a swig of his beer and deciding to change the subject. “So, the name for the sequel, Binary Light: Zodiac Fading. Is there a reason you went with that instead of something like… Binary Light: Queers in Space!” That gets a small chuckle out of Luna. “Not sure the studio would let me name it that, even if it is accurate.” “No last minute script revisions then? Henry and I are definitely kissing?” “Of course. The characters already fell in love during the first movie, they’re just finally admitting it to themselves in this movie.” Luna eyes him. “Not the worst mug to have to kiss though, right?” Alex shrugs. “I guess not.” He looks down and focuses on cutting his chicken. “Well, I know at least he is excited to get started on filming,” Luna adds. “I’m excited,” Alex responds defensively. “You know I love this character, this whole world you created. And, heck, I’d star in a toothpaste commercial as long as you were directing it.” Alex takes a bite of food and chews it thoroughly. “How do you know Henry is excited?”

Tagging everyone who tagged me plus @cha-melodius, @rmd-writes, @dumbpeachjuice, @inexplicablymine, @daisymae-12, @littlemisskittentoes, @clottedcreamfudge and whoever else wants to join.