#fic but i can't stop

[taffingtons]

WIP meme

i got tagged by both @fablewritesnonsense and @notanandalitebandit so y'all are gonna get... hm... y'know what, let's go with the current draft of my prologue for let the moss gather, the first fic in my series but i can't stop

fun fact: if you go to the memory den before the main quest takes you there, you can go through a trial to see if they'll take you as a client! it, uh, doesn't go well. that hidden quest serves as the inspiration for this opening

just in case tumblr eats the formatting, the text in asterisks is supposed to be indented...

---

"This one — Here."

"Open it."

She remembers. The cold, bone-aching. The frosted window. The shadows, deep and swallowing. The stark light. The echoes — The voices.

She has a good memory.

"Is it over? Are we okay?"

"Almost. Everything's gonna be fine."

Riley. She can't bring herself to look at him. This isn't... This isn't how she wants to remember him. Confused. Desperate. Soon, in pain.

Focus.

Those hazmat suits aren't Vault-Tec design. That man is wearing leather and armor. The way he carries himself —

"Come here... Come here, baby."

"No! I've got him."

Riley. She remembers. She can't help but remember. He is —

He was so full of sunlight he couldn't hold it in, no matter how he tried. Always gentle, with her, with the dog, with Shaun. The kind of heart the wasteland sees so rarely, and needs more than anything. Riley cares — cared — so much, he —

"Let the boy go. I'm only gonna tell you once."

"I'm not giving you Shaun!"

That gunshot.

*"Oh my god...!"*

Explosive. Echoing. Made only louder by all the cold steel around them.

That — That's what she's here for. That clue. That gun.

She saw it back then, of course she did, and she remembers the size of it, but not the make. There — Revolver. It was a revolver. If she's to guess, .44 Magnum? Bull barrel, ventilated. Synthetic grip, not wooden. Clean, but well-used. Post-War.

"Goddammit. Get the kid out of here and let's go."

That man's face, so close to hers —

"At least we still have the back-up."

She has a good memory. She remembers. She remembers his face. The length of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the color of his eyes, his stubble. That scar.

That's not what she's here for.

It’s not just the gun. It’s — Every little thing matters. The unusual design of those hazmat suits. The way they spoke. The condition of their clothes. If they left dirty or muddy footprints.

Details she lost in the haze, the rush, the fear, the shock. The grief.

"Cryogenic sequence re-initialized."

Riley. Slumped back in his pod. Hole in his chest. (The size of that entry wound matches her .44 estimate.)

Was there still a small part of him awake in there when the door closed? Did he feel Shaun sliding out of his arms? He'd already lost his wife, months before the bombs fell. Was he still alive, even if barely, to know he lost his son, too? Riley —

He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve a vault. They were going to be left there on ice forever, even if this didn't happen.

She knew better. She knew they couldn't trust Vault-Tec. How many times did she see it? Vault 11. Vault 19. Vault 22. Vault 34. Even Vault 21.

Why didn't she beg Riley to stay at the house? Why did she think she could protect them once the door closed? Why —

*"Elle! Try to calm down. Your blood pressure is spiking."*

It's her fault he died like this, alone and afraid and so, so cold.

It should've been her. It should've been her. She should've paid the price. She's never the one to pay the price. It isn't right. It isn't fair. It should've been her. It should've —

*"We're reaching the end of the memory. Hold on."*

No —

She can't leave him again —

*"I'll have you out of there in three... two..."*

[nekrosmos]

I know 0 things about Rugby but I had to put Price in situations after reading this fic by @on-a-lucky-tide , the man was made for tiny shorts, come on

[keferon]

“Mistakes on mistakes until” ch 69 spoilers below!

Ahahahahahahah here I go again

Mistakes on mistakes until until I can draw Jazz with my eyes closed

I woke up, checked my phone, woke up for real and decided that whatever plans I had for this day yeah no they can wait a little bit kfkgnfk

Also. Consider listening this while reading. Or don't who am I to tell you what to do~

[petricorah]

scenes i loved from Real Enough to Get Me Through by @marriedzukka <333 [ids in alt]

[weevilfan2006]

Now I Wanna Be Your Dog

[outromoony]

Sirius who secretly spends weeks learning how to knit (cursing under his breath at every dropped stitch, tangled thread, and pricked finger) just to make Remus a new jumper.

[soulwrencher]

imagine pitfighter!vi who makes her opponents swallow their pride and prepare to accept defeat when coming across her, no one dares to look her in the eye. that's just who vi is, but when she comes home to you and you're patching her up, taking care of her wounds and cuts, she struggles to bite down her wails. she struggles to sit still,

vi struggles to act tough in front of you.

you find it quite endearing, zaun's most feared pitfighter turns to wobbly pudding once you cup her face and stroke her cheek.

"good job," you say as you plant a kiss on her forehead. two words, and two words only are enough to make her squeeze her thighs together and sack her whole body into the bed.

"you're hot, cutie," she whispers, trying to play off the fact that you just made her pussy throb, so she glides her hands up your body and stops at your hips, in hopes to affect you.

"me taking care of you is hot?" you chuckle. vi nods, trying to hold up her tough act. but the second you catch a glimpse of her flushed face and puppy eyes looking at you, a beast unleashes inside you.

vi is a whimpering mess when you glide over her pulsating clit and play with the slick that's been gushing out of her. she looks so pretty gripping the sheets, vi looks so pretty underneath you. her back arches into your chest and she bucks her hips, "please," she begs. she wanted you bad, so bad that she starts to grind her cunt against the palm of your hand, wild grinding smearing her slick all over down your forearm, vi is desperate, her hole is aching for you. so you give in, how could you not when her pussy was glistening that pretty and she was moaning so desperately for you?

her chest raises against yours, she's whimpering into your neck as you slide in two fingers, she's already clenching around you. vi is looking through her lashes at you, eyes threatening to roll far back. "i won't let you cum yet." you pull out and trail kisses down her neck.

not yet? vi tangles her fingers in your hair and pulls you back up, nipples brushing against yours. she usually doesn't like using her body strength with you, but vi is aching for you, her cunt is pulsating for you to fuck her. so she gazes at you, eyes flickering between yours and your lips, full of surprises, you think to yourself. next thing you know she's devouring you, sloppy kisses and saliva trails when she stops to take a breath.

"please make me cum," vi begs, she's out of breath, still holding the back of your head. you catch a glimpse of a sly grin plastering her face as she nestles her nose into your neck. "please," she whispers once again, vi knew exactly how to get you weak. you scoff-laugh in response, kissing your way down town.

"don't beg me to stop then." you're in between her thighs as you look up to her and blow hot air onto her glistening clit. her hands immediately reach back, tugging on your hair and squeezes your head. you're not even doing anything but she's huffing and puffing, high-pitched noises escaping her pretty mouth, just how you like it, just how you like her.

vi might be the toughest pitfighter out there, but she's your pretty doll underneath you.

[voiider]

I need codependent Danny/Jason as a little treat (for me) and I love the idea of them having some sort of instant connection the moment they meet (bc ghost stuff idk)

Danny who's been dropped in Gotham with no way home (alt universe??) and he's been here for 36 hours and having a Very bad time senses a liminal being and immediately latches onto them heedless of the fact that his new best friend is shooting at some seedy guys in an alley and goes off about how stressed he is and how he can't make it back to the ghost zone and what a bad day he's been having (and it's important to note Danny is a littol ghost boy literally hanging off of Jason's neck as he floats aimlessly) and Jason is like "who are you??" And Danny is like "oh sorry I'm Danny lol" and then just continues lamenting his woes

And honestly ? This might as well happen. Nothing about this Danny guy(is he human?) gives Jason a bad vibe and tbh he's never felt more calm and level headed before so he just keeps up his usual Red Hood patrol and doesn't even think about it when he heads back to a safehouse and feeds Danny dinner (breakfast) before crashing for half the day

The only thing I actually need is Jason meeting up with the bats for some sort of Intel meeting and they're like "uhhh who's that" and Jason is like "that's Danny." And does not elaborate (very ".... What do you have there?" "A smoothie" vibes)

And it takes them a while to realize that these two have known each other for less than 12 hours and are literally attached at the hip

[that1geek06]

Me scrolling thru tags:

I just want a good fluff story 😔

Also me one hour into a deeply plotted smut that has an even dirtier part two:

YES!! GIVE ME MORE!! 😩😈

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[nikkento-writes]

It's your brother who suggests that you and his best friend Ino live together. On-campus housing is so expensive, and he figures that while he attends college out of town, Ino could be the one to step in as your "big brother", watching over and protecting you, like he always has over the years.

Unfortunately for your brother, he has no clue what a bad idea this actually is.

"Fuck. Fuck," Ino moans, bouncing you on his lap. You're in his room, riding him on his little twin-sized bed, blankets and pillows thrown messily on the floor. He's working his thumb on you, massaging deep circles into your clit while he pounds up into your pussy, already full of cum from his first orgasm. "Baby...oh fuck, baby." His voice is shaky, so sensitive but so fucking horny still. "Gonna make me come again."

You kiss him sloppily, licking into his mouth. "Go ahead, Taku. Fill me up. Make it really creamy."

He shuts his eyes, his grip tightening on your hips, shooting his load inside you. "Fuck!" he cries out, shuddering as you ride out your own climax on top of him, rocking yourself back and forth on his cock. "Too much," he stutters, kissing you softly on the lips, caressing your cheek. "You're too much, baby."

You giggle, nuzzling your nose to him. "You love it."

The sudden pounding on the front door of your apartment startles the both of you back to your senses. "Guess who!" You instantly recognize the familiar voice of your brother cheerfully calling out to you on the other side, sending you and Ino into a panic, frantically slipping back into the clothes that you hastily stripped off each other just moments ago.

Miraculously, you manage to get past your brother's surprise visit unscathed. The three of you watch a movie together on the couch, Ino's fingers interlaced with yours beneath the shared blanket, your legs crossed tightly to keep his creampie inside you. And your poor brother doesn't suspect a thing.

[sunsburns]

I feel like Joaquin would be a really great dancer both seriously and jokingly, he'd probably try to seduce you with it too and you'd just be standing there absolutely captivated (I would fr)

joaquín torres sooo would be a really great dancer; both seriously and jokingly.

he’d absolutely use it against you, trying to seduce you with smooth footwork and sharp spins while you just stand there in awe.

because the truth is, dancing is in his blood. he had no choice. he was that little kid who fell asleep on a plastic chair during family parties, arms crossed, only to be rudely awakened by his tías dragging him onto the dance floor. they’d squeeze his cheeks, laugh about how cute he was, and then pass him around from cousin to cousin, aunt to aunt, until he figured out how to move. he doesn’t even remember learning how to dance—it’s just something that’s always been part of him, as natural as breathing.

and he’s good at it. damn good.

joaquín takes you dancing all the time, always with that cocky little smirk that dares you to say no. it doesn’t matter that you’re not the best dancer in the world (some would say you have two left feet).

joaquín never minds. he holds onto your hips, pulls you close, and has you swaying against him with the fast-paced rhythm of the music, guiding you like it’s second nature.

one night, he takes you to a bar in miami. it’s packed—full of cumbia, huapango, salsa, la bamba—straw hats, beer, leather boots, so much denim. the energy is electric, the floor a blur of movement and heat. the music pulses through your chest, vibrating in your ribs, and before you can blink, joaquín’s pulling you onto the dance floor.

the first few buttons of his white shirt are undone, sweat glistening on his skin. at some point in the night, he’s found a cowboy hat that now sits low on his head, making him look unfairly good. he’s laughing, spinning you, dipping you like he’s showing off—and he is. because he can.

you’re trying so hard to keep up. your eyes stay locked on your feet, determined not to step on his, but the rhythm keeps picking up, faster and faster. you never thought of yourself as much of a dancer before you met joaquín. now, most of your weekends are spent on your feet, grinning so hard your face hurts.

“you’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear as he pulls you close, his hips slotted with yours. “just feel it.”

his hands tighten on your waist, guiding you. and for once, you don’t think and you just move.

[hitorimaron]

back brace

[setmeatopthepyre]

having thoughts about buck and tommy and the concept of receiving attention.

buck has spent so much of his life receiving too little attention, being starved of it. so much so that he learns, at a young age, that any attention is good attention. getting hurt means he gets attention. fucking up and getting yelled at is still attention. he's spent so long being a ghost in the lives of others that if someone ends up emotionally eviscerating him, at least that means they cared enough to put in the effort, at least they were there to see him fuck up if that's what he did. pain is attention.

maybe that's why he becomes such a social butterfly. he's not afraid of messing up, because if he pisses someone off at least that means they know he's there, that they see him, because that's something that's been missing, that he's been craving. a lot of the ways he screws up in relation to others are linked to the fact that he didn't think about the impact he had on other people before he acted. can you blame him, if he never really had an impact for most of his life? he had so little of an impact that daniel died anyway. there's a reason the only way to escape his coma dream is to realize the impact he's made on bobby's life -- by causing him grief, by pushing his buttons, by demanding attention. it's almost a test, in a way. if someone cares enough to be angry with him, to express that anger, that means they might even stick around.

tommy, on the other hand, has spent most of his life learning to avoid attracting attention, because attention is pain. to receive attention is to be seen, and to be seen is to be judged, and to be judged is to be found wanting again and again and again. if his dad is like gerrard, that means tommy was picked apart for the littlest things, for the tiniest transgressions, and judged in broad strokes for most of his life. at first, tommy tries to conform. if he has to receive attention, if he has to be seen, if he has to be judged, maybe he can change the outcome and not be found wanting. so he tries to become the man they demand him to be. attention from girls leads to uncomfortable questions? be the straight guy they want to see. if all else fails, redirect judgement, turn the spotlight onto someone else, blend in. avoid detection, avoid being seen. the professions he's had all involve a uniform so he doesn't stand out, doesn't demand attention. his casual wear is practical and unassuming, even now.

after gerrard leaves the 118, tommy slowly becomes familiar with attention that doesn't always hurt. so he leaves the 118 and reinvents himself. he trades avoiding attention for being in control of it. instead of completely avoiding judgement, he minimizes its impact.

he goes back to flying, where's he's up in the sky, where everyone can see him in action, but he's the one at the helm. he becomes bigger, stronger. he attracts more attention, but it's attention he chooses. he steps out of the closet, doesn't hide who he is, but if he flies under the radar, that's okay too. he practices muay thai. arms himself, physically, mentally, with a strong body and a sharp tongue, to make sure he can always take the hits that may come with the attention he gets.

he craves the family, the people on his side when things get bad, because it's such a dream to let anyone close enough to help him up when he gets hurt. to let anyone see him enough to know when he gets hurt. and he wants it, but that doesn't make it easy, because letting someone close enough to help also means letting them see your soft underbelly, to surrender yourself to their attention, to let them through your defenses. to give them the ability to make an impact on you, and trust them with it.

and buck, who is still learning that he even has an impact on other people's lives, asks him to move in, like a bull in a carefully curated china shop.

[rhearoyces]

if someone asked me at the end i'd tell them put me back in it darling, i would do it again if i could hold you for a minute

yet another incredible commission by the amazing @murmel-malt, this time of my favourite hotd lesbians, alicent hightower and my oc daena royce, stars of my future fic and though i burn

[miwachan2]

welp any previous plans are now on hold, I gotta take my brainrot out for some walkies

ive been hyper thinking about this au again for 5 days now and counting. Listen - cryptid sightings creeped back into my brain and is controlling me like a french rat that can cook so anything i post for the next few days will most likely be me hyper fixating on cryptid sightings and Meeps Cryptid Eclipse design for it <3

Cryptid Sightings by @naffeclipse Cryptid Eclipse design by @themeeplord