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cal-writes · 4 months

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train au snippet number 2! this time it's namis pov. it takes place after chapter 3 and i think that wraps up train au for now! that's all she wrote™ thanks so much everyone for your love and excitement for this story it was a joy to write and share. if you have questions about the universe that i didnt get into in the main story feel free to shoot me an ask bc i probably thought about it. here is the other snippet and heres the full fic!

Nami turns on the bed. Despite sharing it, she and Zoro are miles apart on the king sized mattress. It doesn't even creak in the slightest, only the fabric rustles softly. She loves staying over at Kaya's. Everything is lush and extravagant, like staying at a hotel for free and without strangers. A vacation from real life which is what they sorely needed after tonight. Her dress is draped over one of the chairs next to the bed. In the dim light of the night the wine stain at the hem looks black. She'll have to remember to take it to a different dry cleaners than the one she stole it from.

She looks over, pulling her hair out from under her head. With the moonlight falling in from the window she can see Zoro's profile in the dark. His eyes are closed, chest falling and rising slowly.

"You okay?" Nami asks, loud enough to wake Zoro up should he already be asleep. He shuffles around with his eyes closed.

"Yeah. Didn't even hit me." He replies, nonchalant. Wide awake.

She scowls at him. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Zoro sighs and moves his arms until he can cross them behind his head. He opens his eyes and glares at the ceiling. He shrugs half heartedly with one shoulder. "Was only a matter of time, so."

Nami sits up in bed so she can put her hands on her hips. "What's that supposed to mean?" She demands.

Zoro narrows his eye at her. “We both know what.”

“You’re a catch.” She tells him and gives her a look.

“Right." He huffs, angrily adjusting the duvet around him. "I’ve been sleeping on my friends’ couches for months when I’m not sleeping on a train.”

"So what?" She says petulantly.

"Not to mention 'a hopeless wreck and pathetic child'." He tells her pointedly and Nami scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I said that when I was mad at you, you can't hold that against me." She says and Zoro shakes his head, closing his eyes to deem the conversation over with. Nami pouts. "Even if-," She says and Zoro opens one eye, the vein on his forehead announcing his irritation. "He's a much bigger loser than you. You're perfect for each other."

Zoro groans. "You hate him, what do you care?" One of his hands pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I don't hate him. He doesn't deserve you. There's a difference."

Zoro sits up, throwing the blanket off of him and his hands into the air. "Yes, of course. The accomplished doctor with his own apartment, obviously the teenage dropout criminal is much too good for him." Zoro's voice says, dripping in sarcasm so she stabs him in the ribs with her nails.

He lets her, rubbing his side afterwards. "This guy paid me 50 bucks to know if you're still alive. He's a mess." She tells him.

Zoro gets off the bed in a huff. "Doesn't matter who's more pathetic. It's not up to me."

"So you're not even gonna fight?" She says and he glares at her.

Something builds up in him, a tidal wave sweeping in, but it crashes against the shore before he can let it lose. She sees it in the rise and fall of his shoulders. His breath leaves him in a short and violent burst. He shakes his head, shrugging.

"What's there to fight for?" He asks, letting himself fall on the couch underneath the giant window. The sheer curtains are open, bathing the entire room in the light of the full moon. He pulls his legs up and pops his elbow on the back of the couch, gaze through the glass. "As you said, he got something out of it. I had a good time. Whatever."

Nami sighs deeply. "Zoro-"

"Wouldn't have lasted anyway." He tells her sharply. "Nothing ever does." He mutters into his hand and exhales heavily. The brief stint in the holding cell making him all melodramatic. Nami purses her lips. Zoro had been looking forward to tonight, even if he hadn’t said it in so many words.

The blanket rustles as Nami gets up and her feet pad softly over the carpeted floors. "Come on now." She says, softly chiding. He folds his legs to make room for her on the couch as she joins him, grabbing a pillow to put on her lap in lieu of a blanket.

Zoro glances over. "Let's be honest. He can do better." He says with misplaced humor, avoiding Nami's indignant gaze.

She exhales loudly. "Okay, you want to feel sorry for yourself tonight. Fine. I'll let it slide." She tells him before reaching out to grab his chin with her sharp fingers and turn it to face her. "But he would be so lucky to have you. And if he doesn't see that he's an idiot. Don't argue with me, we both know I'm always right."

Zoro sighs softly, resignation on his face. He knows she won't take any rebuttal so he stays silent, cheeks squished in her hold. She releases him. Shuffling closer until he has to put his legs over her lap.

She lets her hands fall on his knees. "I know things suck right now."

"Not more than usual." Zoro says, looking out into the dark. Their view stretches out across the gardens. Out here where Kaya's mansion sits, there are even a few stars visible at night. "Been way worse." He adds.

Nami sighs again and sinks further down until the upholstery. "True." She admits.

"I miss Luffy." Zoro mutters into the night. A rare admission. The ache and weight of the night has crushed him underfoot and revealed his mushy center. Nami puts her chin on his propped up knee and wraps her arms around his legs.

"Me too." She says miserably. Only a little while longer now. She should check when Luffy’s flight is scheduled for again. "He's gonna be so mad at you that you didn't tell him." She says with a small smirk.

Zoro huffs. "He would have come back early if he knew." And Zoro has been doing just about everything to avoid that. Luffy had been excited about this trip for months. One of the reasons Zoro hadn't wanted to tell Chopper about his situation was because Chopper wouldn't have been able to keep a secret. They both knew Luffy would have dropped everything, helped him, maybe even fought for him against that stupid parent and the police. Zoro would only have to ask but he never would have done that. It had taken weeks for him to even consider crashing at Nami's place. She probably wouldn't even know about it if Franky hadn't told Robin who had told her. And Franky only knew because he had nagged Zoro on the train for days until he spilled the beans.

It was infuriating, the way he insisted he didn't need help. He was going to figure his own shit out. He always did.

If she weren't wired exactly the same, she would have throttled him already.

Nami hums. "Heard back from Kidd yet?" She asks.

"No. Next week they said." Zoro mutters. She clicks her tongue grumbling under her breath. How long did Kidd need to decide to hire someone when he was desperate for any help in the bar? Bastard.

Zoro sighs, looking up at the moon above. "Let's go to sleep."

Nami blows out a breath. "Yeah." She says and neither of them move. Outside the moon makes its way across the sky.

#train au #moi #op #one piece #roronoa zoro #nami #op nami

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heyidkyay · 11 months

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part One

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Warnings: This is gonna deal with a lot of controversial shit surrounding Matty and his past I'm ngl, so if you're not into that then I'd suggest not reading this! But if you are, then hi!! I hope you enjoy?

Authors Note: I'm back...:)) Back with a series too, or it will be if this first part goes down well! Lmao so pls don't hate it! Butttt in all honestly, I do have to quickly thank @procrastinatinglikeapro for all the kind words she gave me on the snippets I annoyed her with recently and for forcing me to actually believe in this fic because I very much was on the fence about posting again. So thank youuuu, it means a whole lot<3 Also, the skeleton of this was taken from a very old fic of mine which I started during the height of covid that I've just been thinking about trying to better for a long while now, so... enjoy?

And I guess let me know if this is something anyone would want to read more of? Yeeeeah, I really don't know what else to write here now, it's been a while, so! Hi, help, bye:)

Masterlist

Chapter 1: He's got the whole world falling at his feet

“Yeah, yeah! I’m really into their sound at the minute! Honestly fell in love with their recent performance at the VMA’s– didn’t overdo it and kept it true to themselves. Definitely did a great job there, so well done with that one if you’re listening in, lads!”

I was grinning from ear to ear as I spoke into the microphone before me, which was to be expected whenever I was at work. Strange, yeah I know, but only to any typical person with the usual nine to five, because I truly did love my job. It was tough work, strenuous at times, contrary to what most might believe, but it was pretty much everything I’d ever dreamt of.

See, I’d grown up on the outskirts of this tiny village in the Isles, where everybody knew everything about everybody. Secrets were never well kept– you could just ask our local priest about that one, who often used to regale most of the confessions he’d heard in the only pub around for miles whenever he’d been pissed beyond being able to sit on his barstool.

It was also incredibly tight-knit, as in, all the kids who went to school together, then grew up and married one another, settling down and taking over the jobs that their parents or grandparents would soon retire from. Hardly anyone moved away, if ever.

In reality though, it was actually just a place I’d always felt like a stranger in. Where I’d struggled to fit in and make friends, to form bonds outside of the one I shared with my mum.

Which sounds sad speaking about it, but still true, I’d had a real tough go of it back in school. ‘Mouse’ was what they’d seemingly dubbed me back then, a nickname which had travelled throughout the masses all too quickly seeing as there had only been about sixteen kids in both my year and the one above.

The name had mostly started due to me just having been an extremely timid child, hiding behind my mum’s flowing skirts whenever we went into town and much preferring that of my own company whenever other kids were mulling about. But that fact hadn’t gotten any easier for me once I’d been forced out of school for a few years after an accident that had flipped my entire life on its head. Resulting in me being further isolated from the rest of the world and my fuck-face of a father running for the hills.

Still. Shit happened, I supposed, and I’d been forced to deal with it and grow up.

Too quickly, in truth.

So whilst everyone else had been out living, I’d been holed up in our little dove cottage miles away from them all, with only books and music to keep me company. Music which had been a true constant in my life and just about the only thing that had gotten me by.

As well as my mum, who’d forever be my rock. And back when we’d both been growing up– because that was how it’d always felt with us– she had constantly had the tele on full blast throughout the day, cycling through the freeview channels that played the recent top 50 and old school classics.

It was one of my favourite things to look back on now. Sometimes if she was ever in the mood, or when the power would finally flicker and go out completely when a storm hit, she’d spin this old phonograph her own father had gifted her in the days before she’d left home. The two of us would dance around the living room whilst she would clean on Saturday mornings and then hum to it as we settled in for a long downpour, her working on her trusty crossword whilst I would read or draw. The brass pavilion would croon out old French records she had bought long before she’d moved to the UK, and before she’d ever even met my father.

And I would just lose myself in it all.

It wasn’t just the basic premise of music that I had enjoyed though, it was everything else that also came along with it. The opinions, the reviews, the personal stories and thoughts, the way it could make a person think and feel.

So, for years I would just sit down at the kitchen table and write for hours on end about the sound, the rhythms I’d felt and heard, the lyrics that had had me bellowing out or playing on a never-ending loop in my head. And then, as a teen, Twitter had come along and had been just another way for me to express it all.

It was actually Twitter that had eventually led to all of this.

The radio.

At first, I’d never paid much mind to all of the people who had started to discover the small page I’d created, the few users that had enjoyed reading my inner thoughts. But then one day I had and it had been an insane concept to comprehend, the very idea that people cared enough to stop and read my thoughts, but it was also what had, ultimately, pushed me into continuing with it.

From there, opinions on genres of music and their style throughout different decades quickly turned into thoughts on up and coming artists, then actors and other A-list celebrities. So I had ended up spending an awful lot of time online, simply just tweeting about it all, on subjects followers had wanted to hear about and answering questions on whether I loved a certain album or this new EP.

The account had grown rapidly shortly after and by the time I’d had the balls to tell my mum I had wanted to leave home and make a start for myself, in London of all places, the account I used had gained well over fifteen thousand followers.

I went to uni down there and met people. People who didn’t shy away from me or shine a light on my odd quirks. I met my best mate there, too. And Finn was unlike any other. The platonic love of my life, or so I’d since dubbed. He was eccentric, witty, and didn’t care about what anyone else thought of him. Forced me to feel that way too, slowly but surely. And it had only taken a few weeks before he'd grown rather suspicious of my constant need to always have my phone near.

He had, pretty early on, decided that I must’ve had some secret boyfriend back at home that I’d yet to tell him about and had annoyed me about it at every twist and turn, basically backed me into a metaphorical corner. So to say I’d relented fairly quickly wouldn’t be a lie, and I’d told him all about the account soon enough.

Finn had actually been the one to suggest that I take it further, somewhere bigger, make it into something that people could actually tune into and not just read about. I had taken the consideration on board way back then, but had only acted on it when shit had hit the fan a year or so later. But we'll soon get into that.

So with it all, I ended up making an actual radio show out of my thoughtless Twitter account, allowing people to listen in and actually get to know the person behind the name.

That was essentially how ‘Mouse On A Mic' had come to life.

Yup, I’d kept the fucking nickname! I couldn’t not in truth, it was familiar, reminded me of the person I once was, and who I currently am now. But the only difference was, I’d given it a new story. I’d reclaimed it.

The show's audience grew fairly quickly during that first year, I was new on the scene and seemingly refreshing. I had a no-bullshit kind of attitude that my listeners apparently admired. I called celebs out on their crap and went to new extremes to conjure up inventive ways to get followers involved.

Ultimately ended up doing things that other radio presenters were too afraid to do at the time. Which was fair enough, in hindsight, they had actual endorsers and brands that were backing them up and funding their streams. Me, on the other hand, I had no-one to answer to for my mistakes or any of the backlash the show received. It was just me, sat alone in my bedroom, speaking into a mic.

Only, a few years had since passed and now it was me sitting in a quaint little studio in East London, not too far from my flat and walking distance from any and every coffee chain that the city had to offer.

Anyway, I forced myself to adjust my headset over my right ear as I wheeled closer to the table, aware of the one too many monitors and power cables I had to constantly avoid, and glanced upwards, locking eyes with my co-producer, Adi.

The girl shot me a hurried gesture, a circular wave of her hand that had me chuckling to myself even as I silently waved her off, knowing I’d already gotten off track one too many times this recording.

"Alright! It seems as though we've got to move on with the next segment of the show now! Unfortunately, Ads here has informed me that I can't just sit around all day and talk about Inhaler forever. A right shame that, don’t you think?”

I huffed theatrically whilst Adi merely shook her head in return, dark ringlets brushing the length of her shoulders as she mouthed the word 'prick' through the thick sheet of plexiglass that separated us.

Ignoring that loving endearment in favour of continuing on with the commentary, I hoped I hadn’t steered too far off track seeing as there was still an awful lot scheduled for today's show that I had yet to go over.

“So moving on!” I sighed on into the mic and rubbed my palms together, eyes flitting over the few sheets of paper I had perched before me, “It seems like quite a few of you lot, over on Twitter especially, have made it loudly known that you want to hear my thoughts on Manchester’s very own Matthew Healy. God, is there yet another scandal under his belt I don’t yet know about? Makes me wonder where he’s finding the time.”

I shook my head briefly at the bulleted point I’d been given and rolled forward in my seat. The wheels squeaked beneath my weight and I made a silent prayer that the mics hadn’t picked up the sound.

What a fucking topic, I thought quietly to myself and sent Adi a semi-amused smile before peering down at the recent headline she had handed over to me earlier that morning.

It was the same old thing. Expected really at this point.

“Healy’s at it again! Whatever will we do?” I gasped, playing up the whole thing as I stared down at a few images of the haughty singer that were plastered across the printout I held in front of me.

There were four of them, a quick succession of pictures that had all seemingly come from a clip at a recent concert. Bit blurry but the title gave away to what was happening.

A laugh bubbled up out of my throat as soon as I read the headline. “Oh God! It appears Matty Healy is– wait for it!– back at it again, only this time it seems he’s gone and traded off a drumstick for…” I paused to drum quite the anticipating beat against the tabletop of my desk and, as stoic as I possibly could, I then added, “A joint!”

A smug grin slid its way up onto my lips when I heard Adi’s faint cackle echo from just outside the booth.

“Honestly, I swear that everything this man does makes the rags! Reckon I actually saw an article about how he took his tea this one time. And like, do me a favour, yeah?” I rolled my eyes but relented, “A man of the people though, in’t he? He’s got to be! I mean, just look at this headline. Fucking who the hell writes this shit?”

Tossers, I supposed. But even so.

“It’s madness.” I muttered, gently clucking my tongue as I shook my head at the so-called news that had made the front page. “But anyway, I’m guessing that most people claim him to be the epitome of a real time rockstar, and sure, he might just be. 'Sex, drugs, rock & roll', all that shit. But really, how much longer is it going to last until everything goes tits up, hey?

“I mean, Healy can pretty much do whatever he wants at this point in his career, he’s got half the world either falling at his feet or complaining about him- has done since he was what, a kid? Following his parents amongst the shadows of their fame before he eventually stepped out and made an actual name for himself. Saying that, it still is insane to see how much he’s changed!”

And it was. Healy and his band had risen to fame so evidently, their music everywhere, they sold out shows constantly and had the privilege to fly across the globe doing whatever they pleased. But they’d also practically grown up in the limelight, Matty especially. So it was hard not to notice the resounding changes that shone through in all the news and gossip that ran riot.

“But, if I am being truthful.” I went on to say, thumb toying with the page’s sharp edge, “And when am I not? I thought that most of the shit that went around about him at first was a load of crap– publicity of sorts, if you get where I'm going with that. Or maybe just him being an idiot, a young lad who’s had to grow up with all these cameras consistently on him and had to basically learn what he can and can’t say in front of them. Slipping up from time to time, like most do. But, now? I’m honestly not too sure… It’s just a bit sad. Isn't it? There was so much potential there.”

I shrugged, a hearty sigh falling with my shoulders.

“I actually used to quite like his stuff a couple years ago, he’s got a way with words, with music overall really. Reckon if he’d gotten his shit together that he probably could’ve been ranked higher up on the list of rockstars. Could’ve changed or paved a way for newer musicians entering the scene. But not so much anymore. His songs lack the passion they once had, they’re not what they used to be. He works hard, I’ll give him that. Still, I can’t help but wonder if it’s just his band pulling his dead weight along with them now.”

I took a slow breath, then gazed down at the small amount of sticky notes I had pinned to the monitor beside me: the next segment. I’d have to wrap this one up quickly.

“Maybe that’s a bit harsh.” I said, chewing on my lower lip, “But honestly, I just hope that he takes an actual break sooner rather than later. The band looks spent and he just seems like he could do with some shut eye, some time away from all the cameras and prying eyes. Just so he can sort himself out good and proper, you know? Then again, that’s just my opinion among a sea of many.”

In truth, I really did think that Matty had real talent, that raw kind, and he seemed like a nice enough guy– or at least he had done, a couple of years back, before all the controversy and whatever else.

Now though, the man just seemed so caught up in it all, in the fame, the tabloids, the drama. Unaware of just how far he’d fallen.

Me, I’d seen it one too many times before, with many of the greats even, and as painful as it was to watch, what more could I say or do? I'm nobody in comparison.

I blew out a short breath.

“Fuck, that got all serious didn’t it?” I tried to laugh it all off and only felt a little more at ease when I finally glanced up and caught Adi’s sincere smile, “Anyway, onto our next segment, reading a couple of your lots tweets! Let's see what everyone's saying about our amazing Adi today, shall we? What was it last week, Ads, those yellow trousers you were wearing?”

“Oi, will you two please stop mucking about? We’ve got to get going!” I scolded without any actual heat, shaking my head as I held back a chuckle, forever amused by the infamous pair stood a way away from me.

I’d not long since left the studio, having walked with Adi to the nearby tube station so that she could hop a train home before I had headed on over to Finn’s. It was a typical route for me and not too long of a walk, but since arriving I’d been roped into packing up the many belongings that had been messily upended from the Spiderman backpack I was so often seen carrying about.

My gaze skittered over to the other side of the room once I’d teethed together the bag’s plastic zipper, over to where my son, Teddy, was currently in the midst of being whirled around by his godfather, tawny coloured curls flying in every-which direction whilst his cheeky grin grew even more prominent.

I felt the corners of my mouth lift upwards as I watched my best mate laugh at whatever it was the toddler had just said to him, tickling the boy’s sides as he did. If I was feeling incredibly sappy, I’d tell Finn then just how thankful I was to have him around, because he truly was incredible.

From the moment I’d found out that I was pregnant, Finn had been there for me. He loved my son almost as though Teddy was his own, he adored the kid like no other and had placed him on a pedestal high above everyone else since the day he was born.

Finn was always free to take Teddy whenever I had the show to fret about too, or if I was ever in dire need of another helping hand. He was fiercely protective of the two of us and I knew in the very depths of my heart that there would never be a hair harmed on my son’s head so long as he was around.

I was pulled from my thoughts just as the toddler in question came bounding over, giggling uncontrollably as Finn chased after him, his arms stretched out wide and crouched down low to mimic the small boy's height. I couldn't help but notice the matching grins they both wore.

“Help!” Teddy squealed as he flung himself into my awaiting arms, allowing me to wrap him up and settle him safely on my hip, using my frame as a shield to block him from Finn’s view.

"You can't hide from me Teds, I’ll always find you!" Finn taunted playfully, laughing merrily whilst he wiggled his fingers at Teddy, who was only just peeking out at him from over my shoulder.

Teddy squirmed in my grasp, giggling and screaming senselessly as he tried to dodge Finn’s oncoming hands that had since managed to softly graze his sides. I could only roll his eyes in fond exasperation, the pair never failing to brighten my day, and couldn't help but feel ever so grateful for whatever being had brought Finn into both mine and Teddy’s lives.

You see, Finn was the closest thing I’d ever had to a brother, let alone a best friend. He’d been the family I’d never known I’d needed, a home away from home. And I knew that I could always count on him for just about anything and he had proved that the day I’d turned up on his doorstep in the pissing rain one Tuesday night, utterly terrified after having just found out that I was expecting.

“Alright, you lot!” I began, batting away one of Finn’s advancing hands as he made to grab at Teddy's tiny ankle. “We've got to get home in time for your bath and tea, and I think Finn here has to pick up Liv from work.”

I was directing my voice towards the toddler in my arms but also sent a knowing look Finn’s way, one which caused the man’s eyes to widen in immediate realisation. ‘Liv’ was actually the lovely Olivia, Finn’s newest fling– only she had managed to last quite a while longer than the rest, a new record for him really.

“Shit, yeah.” Finn muttered mostly to himself before he hurried on over to his desk in the far corner. I could only laugh quietly, Teddy joining in too when he noticed, and watched on as Finn hastily started to grab at an array of items, shoving them into his jean pockets. Phone. Wallet. Keys.

When he was finished, and somewhat out of breath, Finn spun back around towards us and shot an accusing brow our way, not too pleased about having been the source of our mirth. Teddy and I couldn't help ourselves then and laughed a little harder at his impervious expression.

But with that all done and over with, I simply pressed my nose against the side of Teddy's head and smiled contently into his curls whilst Finn merely rolled his eyes at the two of us, chuckling before he made a start for the door. I followed just behind him, Teddy's backpack slung low over my shoulder and a happy little boy nestled in my arms.

***

People lover @/user1 Imagine being a mediocre radio host and thinking you know the ins and outs of the music industry.. #CancelMouse

102 @/user2 Don't mind me, reckon I just found my new favourite radio show:)

Ugh! @/user3 Mouse sounded proper excited today but switched up so quick when that 75 bloke came up://

Soloveme @/user4 Hate to see people supporting toxic behaviour, sit down.

Milk @/user5 Don’t hate me, I'll forever be a matty girlie!! But @Mouseonamic I kinda agree??

Paris @/user6 Do you think he’s seen it yet? > Too_shy @/user7 Probably, it’s trending rn >> Drummepls @/user8 Hope he’s okay and doesn’t take it as a personal attack..

He should’ve known really.

He should’ve fucking known.

Even in his drunken state he should have known not to look at what they were all fucking saying about him. Slumped on the floor of his hotel room, propped up against the bathroom door, too exhausted to think about moving, let alone try.

He’d only heard a small snippet, caught the last of a conversation on it in a cab ride back from the club the band had found themselves in. But he had heard it, and he had listened.

"He's got the whole world falling at his feet." He fucking wished. "Changed." Too right. "A load of crap- publicity of sorts, if you get where I'm going with that- but now I'm not too sure." Laughable, man. "It's just a bit sad." The story of his fucking life. "Potential." When’s he never not disappointing someone? "Lacks passion." Passion lies in living, mate, and he hasn't felt alive in a very long time.

"Not what it used to be." Who he used to be.

He lit another cigarette from a crumpled pack he’d pulled from his back pocket and watched on as a curl of smoke unfurled in the air. He only wished he’d gone and brought something upstairs with him, or grabbed one of them little bottles from the minibar before he had decided he’d needed a piss. But if he closed his eyes hard enough he could imagine it all going dark, the world just fading around him, and the cigarette was suddenly enough.

Though, even then he still couldn’t quite muffle the loud, pitying laugh that escaped him as he continued to scroll through the mass of tweets that never faltered on his phone. They were like a freight train, unable to stop.

Matty wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Never had he ever felt so fucking lost. Desperate for everything to just pause for a simple second. To stop and just leave him alone for a bit. To have the world let him wallow in the dark dank pit he's hollowed out for himself.

But what a fucking life, hey?

Carelessly, Matty thumbed across the dimming screen, his intoxicated mind too focused on the task at hand to remember why exactly it was he was even sitting there on the cold bathroom floor. Something to do with Hann, he supposed, or George. Perhaps another heated encounter? Probably.

The sound of his phone's keyboard echoed off the surrounding walls and he breathed out a self-depreciating chuckle when he clicked send on the tweet he’d been attempting to curate, not caring enough for the consequences. Hardly even thinking, in truth.

He was far too gone to care anymore, already knew firsthand what the repercussions would be tomorrow. But at that moment, he just wanted honesty. To tell the truth, for once. To let them all know that he knew he was a shit excuse for a person.

What more could the world possibly say anyway?

Everyone around him was the same. He was simply just a puppet on a string. They’d make him sing and dance until the day he finally wrapped those wired strings tightly around his neck, and then all they'd be able to do is sit back and watch the show. And he'd enjoy every unabating second of it.

Matty @/trumanblack 10s ago Radio shows are sick man, gotta love them! And I sort of am sad haha. And I do lie? We all lie, I spose. But just listen to the radio, kids! Open your ears!

He laughed silently after, thoroughly amused with himself, and tossed the phone off somewhere off to the side so that he wouldn’t have to look at it again.

Bullshit. It was all just fucking bullshit.

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praetorqueenreyna · 30 days

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For Rhysand Week Day 7: Free Day, I give you: romcom Rhysta AU. I have to give credit to @beansidhebumbling, who shared a snippet of a "10 Things I Hate About You" Rhysta fic that changed me at a molecular level. In that vein, I give you: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days Rhysta!

@officialrhysandweek

Nesta is a journalist for a woman's magazine that's always wanted to write things that matter. Her boss has promised her that she'll be able to write whatever she wants after one more article: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. She has to find a guy, start dating him, then convince him to break up with her within 10 days. The problem? Her target is Rhysand, a playboy advertising executive who needs to make a woman fall in love with him within 10 days to be his company's liason for a lucrative diamond marketing campaign.

*****************************************

Rhys leaned against the railing on his balcony, eyes glued to the gorgeous woman sashaying towards a taxi with a tantalizing sway of her hips. His lips still stung from their kiss; the little minx had bitten him. He had to admit, he had almost gotten carried away, on the verge of careening off the edge from first base all the way home. But he had to stay focused. His entire career was on the line. He had ten days to win this bet and get Nesta Archeron to fall for him, head over heels.

There were worse people to seduce, he mused as Nesta opened the door to her cab. She was hot, smart, and just a little mean in a sexy way. The kind of woman who prided herself on being able to sniff out bullshit a mile away. Still, she had succumbed to his charm already. He wouldn’t need the full ten days.

Nesta turned just before getting into the cab, giving him a flirtatious wiggle of her fingers. Rhys blew her a kiss, causing her to roll her eyes and laugh. “Oh, you are already falling in love with me,” he murmured to himself.

Her mark was cute, she had to give him that. And a good kisser. Unsurprising, considering Nesta could practically smell the playboy sleeze coming off him in waves. It was a shame she couldn’t actually sleep with him, but that wasn’t part of the plan.

She could feel his eyes on her ass as she walked away. Rhysand was easy, and Nesta felt like she already knew everything about him. It had been laughably simple to get an invite over to his place. Men like that loved tittering docile women, but they craved someone with a little bit of a bite. Just a few minutes of flirty sarcasm and he was putty in her hands. The stage was perfectly set. She had ten days to drive him insane. Rhysand would lose it and break up with her. She’d write her article, and then her obnoxious boss would lighten up and let Nesta write whatever she wanted.

In the open doorway of the taxi she glanced back, displaying the gleaming arch of her neck. She waggled her fingers in farewell, and Rhys blew her a kiss from the balcony. It was so cheesy it prompted a real laugh, and she rolled her eyes. She looked up at him again once the cab door was closed and her face was shielded behind the window. Her coy grin shifted into a wicked smirk.

“I’m gonna make you wish you were dead.”

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhysta #nesta archeron #rhysand #rhysand/nesta #rhysand week #why is rhysta SO PERFECT for early 2000s rom coms????#I don't have a full fic but I do have. this.#UR WELCOME

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clockwayswrites · 2 years

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Hollowing Bones Prequel Bit

Aka: Danny is not a necromancer, he swears.

The small skull clattered as it tumbled across the scattering of stone. The toe of his boot must have caught it as he walked through the secluded jungle. The rest of the skeleton, long decayed of any flesh, half peaked out of mud.

Danny crouched, cradling the skull in his hand. It was so small in the curl his palm, nestled there as it stared up at him with hollow eyes.

It watched him.

Danny scoffed, closing his fingers over the skull. ‘Necromancer’ they called him, spat at him. Usually the word came with color additions and none of them favorable. Sometimes, sometimes, it was Psychopomp or Speaker instead. But if he pissed other occult people off (which, to be fair, he did a lot), it was ‘evil necromancer’. It made Danny want to crush the tiny skull cradled in his hand.

He wouldn’t, of course he wouldn’t. It was this little one’s fault. He twisted towards the rest of the skeleton, brushing away the leaves and muck. It was a lizard of some sort— gecko maybe? It was hardly longer than his hand, tail and all.

Gently, Danny placed the skull back down in it’s resting place.

He couldn’t actually be a necromancer, could he? Sure, death magic sung at his fingertips He could feel it even now, humming under the skin and scars and tattoos of his left hand. His fingers twitched and green shimmered between the digits like a hand held aurora.

He could try.

He’d know if he tried. He’d know what he really was now.

(How much of a monster he’d become.)

Danny tilted his head, listening for any sounds of people around. Not that there would be. Danny came here specifically to get away from people. He may have not had Constantine’s talent with portals, but with enough time to set up, he could go anywhere in the world. (Just not back to where he really wanted to be.)

Bird songs and wind rustled leaves were all that answered him.

The tiny skull stared up at him from the rich brown earth.

It was easy to imagine the life the little lizard must have had, here in the jungle that was teaming with life. He could picture the lizard— gecko. Bright green like the others Danny had spotted on his walk. He could picture it scurrying up the side of trees and hiding under leaves. They would have stalk bugs and beetles slowly and carefully with their tiny blue feet. They would have drank from water pooled in a leaf as the world around them was dripped in rain. They would have feasted on fallen, fermented fruit on the forest floor.

They would have lived.

A gasp— soft, fragile, full of life— spilled from Danny’s lips as a sensation ripped down his arm. He doubled over at it, bending just enough that his fingers and the auroras that clung to the tips brushed over the tiny skull.

Danny came too staring up at a forest canopy lit golden with sunset. Everything hurt. Pinpricks of pain shot down his arm, along his Lichtenberg scars. Something was crawling on his left hand.

Slowly, hesitantly, Danny raised his arm.

Laying over it was the gecko skeleton.

The little skull tilted— looked at him with eyes that weren’t there.

The skull was moving all on it’s own.

Danny giggled, a small, hysterics tinged laugh.

Guess they were right.

He was a necromancer.

Well, fuck.

____

AN: Since you all had such a positive reaction to the post about Squiggles, meet the (re)birth of the little dear!

Danny is having a real time of it.

This is a bit of a prequel for Hollowing Bones (snippet 1 and snippet 2), so part of the Salt in the Bones AU that @mokulule and I are doing together. Or the "Danny is totally not a necromancer, back off Constantine" AU. (Endgame dead on main.) This was supposed to be part of a fic about Danny's tattoos, but Squiggles might get their own little fic at this rate to explain where they came from!

Tag list ye be warned, this is one I'll be sharing bits of entirely out of order as I'm just working on it around other stuff. LBFD and Shadow of a Bat are still priority. And Specter of Starlight will prob come before this series too- at least befor the Big Part. If that might bother you/you want to read it in order and want off the list or on the tag list when it goes love in ao3, just let me know!

#dp x dc #danny fenton #salt in the bones #squiggles the undead gecko #little living bones

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seizethedre · 1 month

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New Fic Alert!

Here’s a summary followed by a snippet of the new radioapple human au I’m working on. Name is TBD and I’m open to suggestions! Enjoy xx

Summary:

In the 1930s, to be a Morningstar is to be perfection: the paragons on pedigree, wealth, and status.

Lucifer Morningstar is a disgrace to the family name.

An artist renowned globally for his work, the pride and joy of the Morningstar name until a scandal abroad led to his own queerness being revealed. Dishonored and disowned, he flees Europe and turns to the deepest, unlikeliest corners of the American south, hoping beyond reason that he can outrun his past.

Alastor Moreau is a writer, striking regional fame after the success of his latest novel in New York City. It helps that his wife, Rosie, is the heiress to one of the most prominent and well-established families East of the Mississippi. After all, even a man of dubious heritage can get anywhere in this world so long as he has a good name.

When a fateful night of drinks brings these two together, tensions fly and emotions boil over. The attraction between them is palpable, but with so many secrets, how can they ever hope to make it out in one piece?

_____________________________________________

“You have a bed in your office?”

“I’m afraid I don’t spend much time outside of here. Besides, the night is perfect for plotting. Better to have one here should inspiration strike in the middle of the night.”

“My real name is Lucifer,” he whispered into the quiet of the room, “Lucifer Morningstar.”His cheek was pressed to the other man’s chest and he ran a finger up and down along the length of his sternum, the fine hairs of his chest bending freely under his ministrations.

He closed his eyes, waiting for Alastor’s reaction to his confession. He would be sad to lose this, though just how sad he’d be was something he was avidly avoiding thinking about for now. He would miss Alastor, surely. His wit and his poetry, all the dancing and the laughter that had seemingly filled their shared time together. And he’d miss this, too, the press of their bare and spent bodies against one another in a bed much too small for them both, smelling of sweetness and sex and sweat and ink, but shrouded in a freedom that left nothing to hide under the cover of nighttime.

But the punishment fit the crime.

It wasn’t everyday the man you chose to spend your nights with turned out to be a liar, after all, and although neither one of them were strangers to keeping secrets, there was a different kind of weight attached to his—a legacy of magnitude and disgrace that could change their lives for the worse if his true identity ever drifted into the wrong ears. He was a stain, large and irredeemable.

Alastor stilled, pausing his own fingers where they were brushing against the smaller man’s shoulder. “Lucifer Morningstar,” he repeated. There was no discernible emotion to the way it spilled from his mouth, slow and deliberate as he pronounced every letter like he was tasting it and, oh, Lucifer had heard that name a million times from a million different mouths in his life, but something about the way it sounded coming from Alastor made him want to hold the man closer and spend the rest of his life weeping at his feet.

“Lucifer,” he murmured, quiet and gentle like he was sharing a secret of his own.

Lucifer’s fingers curled into a fist against Alastor’s chest and a single, hot tear broke free from behind his tightly shut eyelid in a blazing trail down his cheekbones before landing on Alastor’s chest. Long, gentle fingers rubbed comfortingly against the skin of his back and Lucifer could suddenly breathe again, releasing the tension that had held the air in his lungs hostage.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning to hide his face in the other man’s skin. “So, so sorry.”

Alastor shifted underneath him, gently prying Lucifer’s hands from him as he pulled away and propped himself up on an elbow, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. Lucifer refused to look at him, shame coloring his features. Eventually he was persuaded, coaxed into submission by the caress of long, imploring fingers under his chin, and the tender look that greeted him left him aching and breathless as a new onslaught of tears came over him.

“My darling Lucifer,” Alastor cooed. “There is no need for apologies.”

#alastor #appleradio #lucifer morningstar #radioapple #alastor x lucifer #ao3 #lucifer x alastor #radioapple fic #radioapple au #appleradio au #hazbin au

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oh-no-its-bird · 2 months

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reading ur fic one step three steps rn and I don't usually read oc-insert fics but ichigo is SUCH a menace I love her to death... and the idea of this feral, unchecked little kid being put in kakashi's care is so good. he's gonna suffer so much but it'll be good for him I think 👍 anyway I can't help but wonder how things would go down with the whole. obito thing. because I can't help making everything about my favorite insane guy. do you think they'd bond over their love for making kakashi suffer. do you think they'd bond over their shared affinity for chaos. I don't know I just!! think they have so much potential as a duo ANYWAY sorry for rambling have a nice day

DJFBDKDJDJS IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE HER???

I'm also kind of in the boat of not especially liking or reading oc centered fics, I think making Ichigo was a bit easier for me than it would have been otherwise bc I really went into it treating her like a plot divice. Still am tbh. I love Ichigo but the story isn't there for her, it's there bc of her. I needed someone to stir shit up and bring up some very specific topics and issues, so she became that. And I fell a little in love with her character along the way

Inevitable tbh, it's probably impossible to write a character that much without finding or molding them into something you can like writing

Kakashi absoloutley deserves to be harassed by tiny children, and now he can't escape bc Ichigo is in his fucking house!! She's gonna bring back more (even tinier) children to harass him, starting with Naruto. He will never know peace.

ITS FUNNY YOU MENTION OBITO BC I ACTUALLY HAVE ALREADY WRITTEN SOME STUFF FOR HIM IN THE FUTURE WHENEVER HES INTRODUCED!!

I have so many notes and plans laid out for One Step Three Steps u don't even know

Anyways spoilers for the eventually Obito introduction in the fic, take a snippet for his introduction (it's liable to change tho, we won't be seeing Obito for a while in the fic)

"I . . . am Madara Uchiha."

Ichigo opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Finally, in her flattest voice, she went, "No you're not."

The imposter paused, then shook his head and gave a sinister chuckle. It was a decent enough imitation but she'd seen Hashirama give a better Madara impression.

While drunk.

"I understand it's hard for you to believe, but the stories of my death were greatly exaggerated."

Ichigo aimed her best impression of Ojisan's unimpressed face at him. Lip curled in distaste and head tilted to stare down at him like he was a bug.

He twitched. It was a pretty good impression. (Better than his Madara one, anyways)

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No. You're really not."

"Yes, I really am."

They stared at eachother, locked in stalemate, till she smirked.

"Ok sure, you're Madara-sama. What's my name then?"

"Um."

"Come on, Dara-chan," she batted her eyes at him innocently. "I'm sure you can remember."

He seemed to regain control of myself, straightening up and giving another echo of what might have been Madara's laugh. If he was a crazy cave hermit who'd decided to inject a gallon of cringe fail evil villain juice into his laughter, anyways.

"Come now, Ichigo, I know it's hard to believe but it really is me."

"Ha!" She shoved her hand towards him, pointing triumphantly. "My real name is Hatake Miko! I gave them a fake when I got here, and if you were the real Madara-sama you'd know that!"

"O-of course, Miko-chan, I was just testing you. I had to be sure you were the real Miko I remembered, after all."

"No, I lied I really am Ichigo." She deadpanned, giving him a little peace sign.

He staggered under some invisible weight, making a noise like a popped balloon.

"I don't usually kill children, but . . ." He mumbled to himself, and she scoffed.

"You don't even have his hair." She squinted at him, feeling insulted om Madara's behalf. "You're pretending to be Madara with hair like that? Have some standards.

#one step three steps #birds asks #naruto #hatake oc #obito uchiha #uchiha obito

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 3 months

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Would love to hear about The Gang Plays D&D :)

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH

I'm SO CLOSE to being finished with this fic. By which I mean I'm 40k in and praying it doesn't go over 50k. Please little fic, please, I'm begging you, do NOT grow up big and strong, stay a reasonable length!

For those of you who might be new and missed the various snippets I've shared, this fic is about the 118 starting a D&D campaign DM'd by Bobby where Buck and Eddie promptly romance one another's characters and refuse to admit that they're romancing one another in real life. Shenanigans ensue.

"What kind of shenanigans?" you ask. Well, I'm so glad you did! Have a snippet:

I want that. I want you. His hips twitch, trying to rut up into the heel of his hand where it’s pressed to his cock. Eddie breathes carefully through his nose. He is not going to get off to this. He’s not. Atton’s going kiss him a lot for that. And then he’s going to wait is there lube? There’s lube in this setting right? Do not fucking text Bobby to ask him if this setting has lube. Yes it has lube. People are people, Buck. Okay but like. What is the lube like. Would we have any? Do you want to roll for it? There’s a suspiciously long pause so Eddie adds, Buck for the love of god you are not rolling a d20 to find out if our characters have lube. They have something, okay? They have like face cream that can also be used as lube. Hey now a lot of creams are topical use only! Buck you have a man with his legs spread willing to fuck you, you have lube. Christ yeah okay fine there’s lube. Eddie closes his eyes, switches to voice-to-text, and resigns himself to burning in Hell. “Pass it to me. I want to feel you open up on my fingers.” He’ll make a really embarrassing noise at that. Eddie can’t help the smirk that slides across his face, imagining Buck responding for real. “Aww, was that a whine, sweetheart?” Fuck you no it wasn’t. Help me out of this stupid robe. “With pleasure.” Buck’s response comes in suspiciously fast given all the words it contains and how much typing it would’ve needed. It’s going to take a minute because I’m going to keep kissing you. Kind of hard to undress each other when we keep kissing but I don’t care I don’t want to stop. You feel really good against me.

Surely this is completely normal behavior and won't blow up in their faces. :3

#lincoln answers things #lincoln writes stuff #evilmindsresearchmuseum #WIP Game #there are actual D&D groups that incorporate sex roleplay #and that's totally valid!#but uh that is um NOT what is happening here #they're pining and being idiots about it #as per usual

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larluce · 3 months

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Wip Game

Thank you @tansyuduri for tagging me 😊

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I actually do have a lot of drafts of each story I have. I don't mind sharing snippets if you don't mind spoilers, of course. So I'm going to catagorize them as this:

Drafts of my fic "From the Grave to the Cradle" (because yes, I'm still working on it, I havent forgotten it):

Chapter 6: So far and yet so close (incomplete)

Merlin and Arthur after Emry's dead

Merlin and Gaius after Arthur is discovered as "The Lost Prince"

Arthur's confinement in his Royal Chambers

Morgana meets Kilgharrah

After war with Essetir

Merlin kills impostor knights

Merlin discovers Gwaine

And eye for and eye

The real prophecy

Memory transferency

Arthur hides Merlin's dagger

(I'm willing to share more of this one cause the story has been on pause for too long and I think it's the least you deserve)

2. Drafts of my fic "Dragonlord's son series" (or rather the sequel of it, "Loving the Dragonlord's son"):

Reconciliation (kind of the end of the saga, I already published the summaries of all the chapters in a previous post. I needed to have the end clear to know where I was going)

3. Drafts of my "Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU"

"The sins of a father"

Alternative "La morte of Arthur"

4. Drafts of my "Merlin as Arthur's familiar/Arthur's shapeshifter falcon AU"

Arthur arrests King Carleon's cousin

5. MerlinxThe son of The Song of Achilles AU

@theroundbartable , @star-rie , @evadne01 , @that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction , @ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral

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k-s-morgan · 1 month

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Recently checked back up on ATLWETD to see if it had updated and followed the tumblr thread here. Imagine my surprise seeing all of the wonderful snippets and asks you answered. Tom using the mood stone? I almost forgot that was a thing. And finding out that Tom was just being a possesive/calculating bastard when he took Harrys food is embarassing to me since my guess was so far off. I thought that Tom inferred that Harry suspected him of poisoning/ truth seruming his food when he told Tom "Happy Poisoning".

Anyways, I decided it was finally my time to step up and praise you like the glorious writer you are. How on earth you could ever believe that your works arent as creative or as plot heavy as other tomarry works is beyond me. To me, your fics have lovely foreshadowing that makes me pay very close attention to anything that is mentioned offhandedly by a character because in your works everything means something. (Like seriously, one detail I missed in WHGTB on the first read was Harry reading the description of the book Tom was going to use to bond him and you stuffing permanent bonding inbetween fertility and necromancy. You had Harry misdirect us by having him muse about necromancy so we wouldn't notice. And you're right, I didn't)

And the humanity and characterization that you give to any character you write? Hell, i'd say you give them more layers than the origional authors. I always know that you won't make the characters make stupid and out of character actions just to advance the plot.

My experience with your writing started with WHGTB (my first convincing tomarry fic btw, you were the one who snagged me). After that, I trailed after your content like a lost puppy. I consumed your hannigram fics without having a spec of knowledge other than "haha cannibal eats the rude". I have now watched the telltale John Doe/Bruce Wayne playthroughs on youtube and rewatched the lego batman movie for the first time since i saw it in theaters when it came out. A Rule for a Rule is shaping up to be the best thing that happened to batjokes (outside of Half Way Across). I've even tenatively read through your Black Butler work, which I was hesitant to look at given the age gap and having never watched the anime. Should have never doubted that your approach to their relationship would make sense. You make an anime which could be categorized as ridiculous (I apologize, I have no nostalgic memories of this anime holding me back. I read your fic first, the anime can't compare) into something psychological and beautiful. Just so so real.

Anywho, there's my small (because I could genuinely write an analytical essay on your works and enjoy it) love letter to your writing.

Stay safe angel, it's unfortunate that I can't do anything to help you or your country. Even more disgusting that my country could help if they gave half a shit but won't. I would say I'm praying for you, but given that I'm not religious that goes nowhere. So, pathetically, my 11:11 wishes will be used for your continuted health.

Hope your writing continues to bring you joy <3

Hi! Thank you so much for such a lengthy, wonderful ask - I have a few more unanswered ones in my ask box, and I'm so delighted that my stories evoke so many thoughts and feelings in my readers!

Funnily, quite a few people thought that Tom sharing Harry's food and drinking from his cup is related to Harry's 'happy poisoning'! This never occured to me. I admit I love when such stuff happens because it proves how a text is its own thing, a living organism, something that the author and every reader can have vastly different interpretations of. In this case, yes, I intended for Tom to keep testing the intimate boundaries and to see how much Harry would allow, to gauge what exact type of relationship they used to share. Slowly turning him into a possessive, obsessed monster in love is such a delight.

I'm so gratified that you enjoy the foreshadowing I'm trying to build! I do love it, and I can tell that in ATLWETD, the seeds of the largest plot twists and the ending have already been planted. It's difficult to recognize them without knowing the rest, but if someone re-reads the whole story after it's done, these little hints should become obvious.

Also, it's so flattering that WHGTB became the first Tomarry story you really liked! Really, it's an honor, considering how big this part of fandom is and how many brilliant stories fill it. And knowing that you followed my fics across the fandoms despite not being a part of them - wow! I'm speechless! You honestly made me blush, I'm so happy to hear all this.

I appreciate every word you wrote - this means so much to me, I re-read your ask a couple of times because of how happy it made me. I hope you continue to enjoy my stories and discovering new great fandoms :D Thank you!

#my fics #personal #tomarry #atlwetd

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suzukiblu · 10 months

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WIP Wednesday Game

Taken from @kedreeva.

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

file names:

Kon is too trans for this pregnancy shit

the one where Clark is trans and Kon is not

transfemme Kon and her Amazon soulmoms

Cassie has a sexuality crisis, Kon has a gender one, and Circe makes everything worse

the one where Kryptonians have omegaverse genders, but nobody told Match

( why yes this week is WIP Wednesday: Sex And Gender Is Weird And Complicated Edition™ )

snippet from "Kon is too trans for this pregnancy shit":

Kon slams his bedroom door just shy of hard enough to crack the doorframe, melts the pregnancy test in his hand into slag with his heat vision, and then throws its remnants into his trash can and hides in his bed. Because he’s pregnant. Because he’s an idiot. An idiot who is pregnant. Pregnantly.

Fucking Christ alive, how could he be this fucking stupid?!

Just–Kon has fucked up a whole lot of times in his life. This time is probably the worst time that didn't get somebody else hurt, though. Well, like. Not hurt-hurt.

Somebody is definitely getting hurt here.

Kon kind of just . . . doesn't tell people that he's . . . that he isn't technically . . .

He flirts? A lot? Like, a lot more than he really should. But he flirts with girls a lot. And he is very, very careful about how close he lets those girls get. And he . . . and he . . .

Just–when he actually wants laid, when he really gets the itch, he doesn't go out as Superboy.

There's a reason he never got anywhere with Cassie, after all. Or with Tana or Knockout. Or with . . . anyone he ever actually, like . . . gave an actual fuck about the opinion of or was gonna see again.

He’s not a real guy, after all, so . . . so how could he have? He’s not . . .

When Cadmus was still a thing, he didn't have to worry so much. It wasn't hard to get treatment and whatever, and his files were all very firmly locked down. And when Cadmus went underground, Serling deleted all those files and hooked him up with a little machine that replicates hybrid-appropriate T before she cleared out, because Serling is the fucking best like that and literally the one true ally, as far as Kon's concerned, so . . . yeah. And the replicator has mercifully kept working for him, at least so far, so all he's ever had to do was hide the thing in the back of his closet and make sure the Kents never catch him pulling any of the blue K needles out of their little lead-lined case or injecting himself with said needles. Fuck knows what they'd think if they ever did.

Probably that he was a drug addict or something. That seems like the most logical conclusion for them to jump to. They sure as shit know he's not diabetic or anything like that, so . . . yeah.

They'd definitely think he was a drug addict.

He's sure Clark would, if nothing else.

Although that'd probably be less of a disaster than this, really. At least if he was an addict, he could go to rehab or something. For this . . .

What is he supposed to do about this?

#meme #wip wednesday #omegaverse #wip: kon is too trans for this pregnancy shit #long post

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damallarky · 13 days

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"Truce" Snippet

This fic is fighting me guys. But here are two snippets so I can share something and get the fic worms out into the ether. Enjoy.

"If there was one truth Neria Lavellan knew above all else, it was that she hated Solas with every fiber of her twelve-year-old being. It was her opinion that the man who abandoned her and her family before she was even born did not have any right to any of their time. Yet in the days following his release from the Fade, Neria noticed her family’s carefully constructed unit begin to shift and change to make room for him anyway.

It started fairly innocuously, with Mamae checking in on him when she could. It seemed Solas was apparently left weakened by his stint in the Fade and needed the bedrest. This was fine to Neria; it meant she wouldn’t have to see the man, and it gave Mamae a chance to do what she loved most: fret over people.

Yet, as Solas regained his strength and could leave his bed, he continued to weasel into her family’s lives, starting with Neria’s mother. Unless Solas was needed for Veilguard stuff, he was stuck to Mamae like a tick.

A stupid, bald tick.

Wherever Aisling Lavellan was, Solas was not far behind. If Mamae was cooking, Solas would be there to “help.” If Mamae was holding Neria’s new baby sister, Enasali, and she began to fuss, Solas would sweep in out of nowhere and offer to hold her. If Mamae was doing embroidery work in the library, Solas was close by, reading a book.

What was worse was that Mamae seemed to enjoy having Solas around. It did not escape Neria’s notice how Mamae would leave Veilguard meetings with her hand (always her real hand) entwined with Solas’s own. Nor did Neria miss the look on Mamae’s face whenever she would feed him a bite of whatever it was she was cooking… By hand.

It made Neria want to hurl..." -

"...The leather was old and worn, covered in a thick layer of dust like it had been forgotten for years. Upon opening it, she saw that the writing was tiny, impeccably neat, and seemed to alternate between common and Elven. Along with what looked like regular journal entries, there were also diagrams, formulas, and countless sketches.

Neria had a sneaking suspicion as to who this journal belonged to. So, with a vindictiveness she didn’t even know she possessed, she turned to a random page.

It was a journal entry written in common and, according to the date, was written on what would have been her fourth name day. It read:

‘I have a near mountain of work, yet I have accomplished nothing. Today is Neria’s name day, and is the case every year, I am finding it hard to concentrate.

She is turning four years old this year. Four years old! I am still unused to the flow of time in this new world, and I fear that when I next see her, Neria will be a woman grown…’

The next passage had what looked like water droplets smearing the ink and making the text nearly illegible. Neria thought she saw the word ‘heart’ and perhaps ‘mother,’ but she couldn’t be sure. Frustrated, she skipped to the next few lines.

‘I had one of my agents deliver the gift I had picked out. I found it while I was working with my contact in Kirkwall.

It was a toy stuffed wolf, and it was quite the odd-looking thing with its misshapen body and mismatched buttons for eyes. Yet I found it endearing (and incredibly soft), so I couldn’t help but purchase it.

I can only hope that Neria enjoys it as well...’"

@buttsonthebeach @beardedladyqueen and all the others, thank you for cheering me on. It helps a lot. :D

#will this fic ever come back from the war?#who knows #it also doesn't help that it's supposed to be part of a larger fic #and that larger fic is based off of a game that isn't out yet #lol #Dragon Age #DA:V #DA:TV #Dragon Age: The Veilguard #Dragon Age: Veilguard #Dragon Age fanfiction #Solavellan fanfiction #Papa Solas #Papae!Solas #fanfiction #Prairie Writes

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conkers-thecosy · 1 year

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Bagginshield-tober / Day 6 / Recovery

Hey folks! Here's my offering for day six of the "Bagginshield-tober" prompt list, by the lovely @smolestboop 💛

You can also find these little snippets compiled into one fic on AO3 - day seven is posted there too, but it's only a short one!

This one is a liiiiittle angsty, so be warned, but as always there's an element of hurt/comfort and a fluffy end, which hopefully balances it out.

Hope you enjoy!

~*~*~

It had been three weeks since Thorin and Bilbo had begun to share one another’s beds.

It was perfectly innocent, of course, and Bilbo had gone out of his way to explain that in hobbit culture it was more than acceptable to share a bunk with friends or family for comfort. Co-sleeping, he called it. In truth, it wasn’t the first time they had done so, as on the road to and from Erebor, they had often slept side by side for warmth and safety. Not just the two of them, either - all of the company had piled in wherever there was a space.

Now in Bag End, they never began the night in bed together. They would say goodnight as they always had, then head to their respective bedrooms. It was September now, and much cooler, so they were able to shut their doors once again. Still, since that first night when Thorin had been incapable of ignoring Bilbo calling his name in such distress, they had both come to an unspoken agreement; if one had a nightmare, then the other would knock on their door and quietly ask if they wanted company.

It seemed to settle them both, and often once they were in the same bed, feeling the weight and warmth of the other beside them, they would both settle into a much more peaceful slumber than if they were apart.

Tonight it was Thorin who had cried out, and Bilbo who had come to him, quietly asking if he had need of him. Thorin had accepted the comfort, wishing he was confident enough to ask the Hobbit to start the night with them sharing a bed, and spare them both the distress. He would only say it was platonic, and of course it would be, but in his heart he wished fervently that it might turn into more, that it might in turn answer another question that he longed to ask, but dare not.

He was shocked and shaken to wake again the same night from another nightmare, despite Bilbo already being beside him. Awakening with a muffled cry, his body taut and chest constricted, he was confused for a moment to find a small hand pressed gently over his heart.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” Bilbo shushed him softly. “Just a nightmare, Thorin. It’s not real.”

Thorin looked up with wide eyes as Bilbo leant over him, sleep-tousled and concerned, and felt immediately ashamed. He didn’t know why, couldn’t hardly think straight, but it felt like some kind of failure to still be woken so, even with Bilbo as close as he was. Like he was too broken, too used up to ever recover, that he would always be haunted by the horror of his own actions.

“Try to breathe,” Bilbo pressed, his voice quiet, as though afraid they might wake others despite being the only ones in the smial. “It’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” he grit out, turning on the mattress so his back was to Bilbo.

There was a long pause, and Thorin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe normally again through sheer willpower and shame alone. Then Bilbo spoke carefully.

“Would you like for me to leave?”

Thorin’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Had he frightened Bilbo? Did he want to leave? But no, surely if that were the case, the Hobbit would simply have gone without a word. He had been trying to offer comfort, and Thorin had snapped at him for it, but only because there was something so unsettling to be looking that the version of Bilbo that tormented his dreams, and waking to be faced with the same visage, only soft with concern for one who did not deserve it.

Still, Thorin knew he was greedy by nature. Selfish. Hateful. He could not help but reach for the things he wanted, even when it was wrong to do so.

“No.”

Another silence followed, shorter this time, before Bilbo sighed quite quietly. “I will not be offended if you wish to be alone, Thorin.”

“No, please,” Thorin shook his head against the pillow, hating how pathetic and weak he sounded. “Please stay.”

Bilbo immediately settled himself back on the bed, and the dwarf was surprised when, instead of simply laying side by side as they always had, not touching and being very careful of one another’s space, an arm was draped carefully over his waist. His heart jumped again, only for a different reason, and he felt the Hobbit press his soft, warm body flush against his broad back.

“I’ll stay as long as you like,” Bilbo promised, his breath puffing against Thorin's shoulder and disturbing his hair very gently. It was hard to breathe again.

Thorin didn’t know how long they lay like that, Bilbo holding him as a lover might, his small hand finding its way back over his heart, the warmth of it seeping through his sleeping tunic and into his skin, into his very bones. His breathing became even again, and he knew that Bilbo was still awake, if only from the way he was still holding him almost protectively. There was a time not too long ago where he would have scoffed at such a notion, but now… now he felt safer than he had in a long time.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Thorin murmured into the night.

“Don’t apologise,” Bilbo replied, his words like a caress against Thorin’s skin. “You’re still healing, and it takes time.”

Thorin closed his eyes and sighed. “I may never heal fully.”

He felt Bilbo offer some approximation of a shrug from where he was pressed up against his back.

“Maybe, but it will get easier, I’m sure of it,” the Hobbit said. “And I will be here to help, no matter how long it takes. I will be here for the duration, I promise.”

There was such conviction, such earnest faith in his words, that Thorin had no choice but to believe him. He did not remember falling asleep after that, but he must have done almost immediately, the lingering promise of forever giving his fraught mind the peace he so craved, and a fresh hope for eventual recovery.

#bagginshield #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #conkers-theficwriter #bagginshieldtober #bagginshield-tober #light angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #co-sleeping #mild trauma mention #reshirement #stealing moments moments away

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 6 months

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Finally finished the outline of Daughter of the Rain and Snow and I know exactly how the ending is going down almost pretty much (details are blurry, but plot and character arcs are completely outlined and ready to write instead of just bullet points or vague ideas) so out of interest (won’t necessarily stick to it 100% but would still like to know) what would anyone like to see next if you would like to continue reading my stuff?

Explanations below cut

Sequel

I have every intention to write this one, I have characters but thus far not a main plot more of just the premise. Would follow Ahra, Evan, Yara, maybe Vix, and maybe Lilia as our young Dregs and start around when Kaz and Inej left for Ravka since the Dregs was kinda on the verge of collapse whoops. Can’t go into too much detail or they’ll be spoilers for the current fic but there’d be the opportunity for some Aimee and Kiada, and Kanej would still be present but they might not be in focus (again, can’t explain too much or they’ll be spoilers). There might even be some Fiona or some Maya stuff who knows

I really want to write this bc I really want to write Ahra’s story so it’ll probably end up coming around at some point but I realise it might not be the most interesting to y’all when it’s mostly ocs so yeah

Feliks had been more than lenient with Ahra. He’d been the only person who ever gave her a real job - playing her violin in the reception of the White Rose - and when things had predictably gone haywire he’d been good enough to only turn her away, not Evan too. Ahra hadn’t much cared for the job, she loved her violin but she did not enjoy watching the Rose’s clients come and go and she certainly hadn’t cared for having her skin paled and her hair Tailored white for such purposes, but it was easy money and enough to keep them ticking over as all of Evan’s funds petered away on overpriced little medicine bottles. She studied the thin stack of kruge in her hand, thinking of Kaz standing opposite her in the alley by the Slat.

“I don’t need your charity, Brekker,”

“And far be it from me to offer you any,”

Not charity, but she didn’t doubt Dirtyhands had his own purposes in paying her for a job she failed to finish. Still, cash was cash. And medicine was medicine. She tucked it back into her breast pocket and tapped it lightly, slipping round the corner and pulling a bone light from her jacket.

What Evan didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

Helnik

This was an idea I had a looooong time ago and I shared a little snippet scene on here, but then I started writing Daughter of the Rain and Snow and never looked back. I really want to write this one I think it could be pretty cool, it would be relatively short set in between Crooked Kingdom and King of Scars and take place in Ravka; based on a headcanon I have about Nina learning how to use her new power and as a result of it experiencing hallucinations of Matthias being with her that she is fully convinced are real. Following Nina, Zoya, and Genya as they try to navigate this and worry that they shouldn’t let Nina got to Fjerda in this state.

“What time is it?” she mumbled into the cushions.

“A little after seven bells,”

“Saints, how disgusting,”

Nina sighed, in a mixture of content and tiredness. The luxury of the Little Palace was a mostly welcome change from crawling in next to Matthias in the tomb at Black Veil - or even of the hotel room at the Geldrenner. They’d shared a sofa, so close to each other; limbs entangled, chest against her back so she could feel his heart beating. A steady rhythm, no matter what he was feeling. The big bed here was more comfortable, but the closeness felt like an aching absence, as though the few feet between them spanned for miles. She reached out behind her and found something soft that she decided was his arm.

“Come closer,” she whispered, and she imagined the way he’d smile.

He would press her fingers to his lips and she would roll over to face him. She’d reach out and touch his cheek, and he would catch her hands in his.

“Witch,”

“Barbarian,”

“Little Red Bird,” he would say, just before his lips met hers

The sunlight would be warm and soft on their skin as they moved closer, as she felt his heart beating beneath her fingers.

But he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t come closer, or kissed her fingers, or brushed his lips against hers. He had not gently pushed her hand down towards his wrist so their fingers could intertwine.

“Matthias?”

Nina made the mistake of rolling over, and began to scream.

Wesper

There’s a line in Crooked Kingdom where Jesper says if Van Eck really couldn’t cope with Wylan not being able to read he could have told people he was blind, the point being that still would’ve been wrong but that everything he’d resorted to was unnecessary and Wylan shouldn’t feel like it was his fault. So this would be an au where Van Eck did exactly that and Wesper attend Ketterdam university together; Wylan grapples with his father being the worst and falling for Jesper as he fears telling him the truth, Jesper grapples with addiction and wanting to stay at university partly for the sake of falling for Wylan.

Jesper leaned in, pushing one of Wylan’s curls back off his face.

“It’s pity you can’t see how beautiful your eyes are,”

Wylan blushed, letting Jesper run his hand over his cheek and tilt his face up towards his own. Jesper leaned forward but then Wylan squirmed, just slightly, and Jesper tensed as he pulled his hand away.

“And me, of course,” he added, letting his voice take on a teasing lilt to brush past the moment, “It’s a shame you don’t know how gorgeous I am,”

Wylan almost smiled, but he had stepped away.

“I- erm,” he brushed his fingers through the lock of hair Jesper had moved and cleared his throat, “Excuse me,”

And then he was gone.

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fellow-travelers-fic-recs · 5 months

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Fellow Travelers Fic Recs | Old Men in Love

A collection of Fellow Travelers fics set in the 1980s era… some fix-its, lots of sweet, domestic bliss and a few bittersweet endings. Because we love pain.

Be sure to show the authors plenty of love with your comments, kudos and reblogs!

💞 Books or Blowjobs by @timothydavidlaughlin | mauralabingi [E, 1K] Tim and Hawk get back home after a day of shopping.

💞 Let Me Shower You With My Love by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific [M, 7K] Hawk helps Tim in the shower.

A 1986 canon divergent fix-it.

Sometimes it's worth the pain by @timothydavidlaughlin | mauralabingi [NR, 1K] Hawk wakes up in the morning in Tim's arms.

💞 Here We Are In Heaven by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 1K] Though it happened hours before, Hawk could see it so clearly now. That green space, lined in flowers. Marcus's proud smile. Jackson's hand, so steady as it placed that simple band of silver in Hawk's palm. And Tim.

A snippet of Hawk and Tim's reception.

💞 On a sunny day in San Francisco by @timothydavidlaughlin | mauralabingi [T, 1K] Tim and Hawk take a walk together.

💞 🪴His great consuming lovage*🪴 by @carnivalrow | nightfall_in_winter [T, 2K] Tim's potted plant has a story to tell...

💞 To Wrap Your Love Around Me by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific [T, 5K] Waking up in Tim’s apartment, Hawk discovers Skippy's old robe, the same one from years ago, and the memories all come flooding back.

Tim doesn’t have much time left. Will Hawk be brave enough to stay?

💞 Tonight, It's Very Clear by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [NR, 1K] This isn't the plan. Marcus should just be asking for Hawk's badge. Frankie and Jerome should be waiting by the back entrance. Tim has it all in his mind - this last perfect moment with Hawk. It had been agreed, his farewell to the man he loves. He has to say goodbye, to ask Hawk to let him go.

Or, Tim plans on letting Hawk go. Hawk plans on something completely different.

💞 Two Old Men at Grubstake on Pine by @vespersong | vespersong [T, 3K] Hannah's story of the two old men at Grubstake Diner, in 1980s San Francisco.

💞 Time passes by in the most cruelest of fashions by @fuddlewuddle | Fuddlewuddle [M, 2K] Hawk and Tim talk in his little apartment in 1980s America. Conversations between them have never been easy.

💞 You might not wear blue often, but it's still your color by @timothydavidlaughlin mauralabingi [G, 2K] Hawk is struggling. Then he gets a package in the mail.

💞 Don't leave it to the last dance by @fuddlewuddle | Fuddlewuddle [M, 2K] Tim is in hospital. Hawk brings him his mail. One letter is not like the others.

💞 Lazy Morning by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [M, 785] Hawk and Tim share a morning together in bed.

💞 On the Street Where You Live 💠 by imstillinhellbtw [NR, 17K] Hawk has one week to make up for 30 years lost.

Or, the last 7 days he ever spent with the love of his life.

💞 Of Snuggles and Waffles by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 2K] It's a beautiful Saturday morning and Tim should be sleeping in. Unfortunately, Hawk has other plans.

💞 Stars fading but I linger on, dear by @cinnamoncountess | CinnamonCountess []E, 5K Tulips, roses, lavenders, daisies and orchids — Tim closes his eyes for fleeting seconds as he passes the bayside and takes in the wide-ranging scent wafting over from the flower sales on each side of the road, drawing into his nostrils where it mixes with the salty sea odor from afar. It is that day of the year again that always squeezes on his heart like a fallen wall of bricks, burying him underneath.

💞 With all due respect, fuck congestion by @timothydavidlaughlin | mauralabingi [T, 2K] Tim and Hawk are going through their closet to find some clothes to donate, but Tim isn't feeling great.

💞 Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps It’s Real 💠 by drabbleswabbles [NR, 35K] And then it happened. The metallic screech of the gate, the shuffle of men stepping out beyond the prison walls. And suddenly there he was. His hair was shorter than he’d ever seen it. And his glasses were different. But it was him. Their eyes met. Tim stared at him in wide-eyed shock before recognition melted his features into a confused outrage.

Basically, a fix-it in which Hawk finds himself back in the early 70s.

💞 The one I've left behind by @carnivalrow | nightfall_in_winter [T, 884] Hawk's belated confessions in the 80s.

💞 I have loved you my whole life by @carnivalrow | nightfall_in_winter [M, 1K] 80s Tim wanted Hawk to take him back to the top of the tower, where they parted in 1954.

💞 if i have to switch the lights off, i wanna switch them off with you by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [T, 661] "I don't remember our last kiss," Hawk blurted.

Tim's face instantly changed as he parted his lips in surprise.

"The whole time you were there, with the doctors, I thought you were dying, and I couldn't remember when was the last time we kissed." Hawk's voice trembled a little. He looked at his lap. "There were so many, but I just couldn't remember the last one."

Or, a little scene after, "did you forget that I'm a convicted felon?"

💞 I'll have a Blue Christmas without You. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [M, 1K] He could almost feel his touch and hear his voice, and for a brief moment, the pain would ease. But then, reality would hit again, and Hawk would be consumed by the emptiness.

💞 Couldn't say it to your face 💠 by nataliaa [G, 1K] “I’m going to DC,” Marcus says, “next week. He’s fine,” he adds quickly. “As far as I know, anyway. But I just thought—”

It’s the most that Marcus has said about Hawk in years, and Tim instantly realizes that he hasn’t been fooling anyone, except maybe himself. Marcus knows that Tim has never stopped thinking about Hawk. Marcus has always known.

📖 More fic recs can be found at the fic register, here. Not quite what you're looking for? Tell us what you had in mind, here! -> 💌

💠 Authors: If you have a tumblr (or other socials) you’d like linked, let me know and I’ll add it. Or, if you're already linked and would rather not be, please let me know and I’ll gladly remove it.

#old men in love #fellow travelers fic recs #ftficrecs #fellow travelers fics #ftfics collections #ftfics old men in love #fellow travelers #ftfics apr24

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