#meant to post this yesterday for wip wednesday

[jittyjames]

alexander hamilton, judas iscariot, and marius pontmercy in my fics

[monsoon-of-art]

almost posted this yesterday (unsure why i thought it was a wip wednesday lmao) but!! heres some Barry :)

---

He paused. A strange look came across his face, and he grabbed Dawn's hands and held them tight. “I need you to tell me something. Something that only you would know.”

“Barry-?”

“Please. Please. Something only you would know. Please.”

Sadness overtook her features, not directed at him, thankfully, but she clearly felt bad for him, and wanted to soothe his worries.

“When you were little, you wanted to have a big birthday party with a big cake. And you invited the entire class. Your dad asked Elite 4 member Lucian, to borrow his Mr Mime for entertainment. And…uhm. When Mr Mime walked out with your birthday cake, you were so scared that you started crying, and you even-”

“NO! DAWN THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT?!”

“What did you mean then??”

“I dunno! Something deeply personal and special to us??”

“Well you didn't specify! What about the time you got your Halloween costume based on heracross and you asked me to hit you with a branch to ‘prove how strong' you were?”

“No, that's not what I meant either! I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose! Do you need me to fine you?!”

Dawn couldn't help but laugh. When was the last time she had been threatened with fines? She couldn't remember. It felt good, familiar.

For a moment, the medical room walls melted away. They were back home, camping, just teasing each other after a long day of training.

[forgetmenotsassenach17]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

Still reeling from the WIP Wednesday update @flyinghome-againstthewind posted yesterday but I have rallied enough to share my own update.

This bit is from what will probably be chapter 10 of Time Comes in Roses.🌹

Claire captured his hand and laced their fingers together. Their joined hands fell to the bed, too close to Adso’s head, apparently, as the cat grumpily meowed before getting up and jumping off of the bed, leaving the bedroom. Both Jamie and Claire laughed. 

Now in bed, burrowed under her duvet, Claire felt the exhaustion settle into her body. It would be a fight to keep her eyes open for much longer, but she still wanted to do one last thing before she let sleep overtake her. She inched herself closer to Jamie, closing the gap between them, touching her lips to his for her bedtime kiss. He moved his lips softly, sweetly over hers, the intensity of their previous kisses replaced with a languid ease. Claire hummed happily as they broke apart. She turned over, her back to Jamie’s front, and grabbed his arm, draping it across her waist. 

Nearly asleep, she felt him gently kiss the top of her head and whisper something in Gaelic to her. She didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded like hope. Like possibility. 

[nokstella]

— wip wednesday

was tagged by @imogenkol and since I've been picking at various things, have a bit of this. it's from a wayhaven au fic I'm in the process of plotting out, so it's rough and subject to change but, it came to me yesterday and I had to jot it down.

also yeah, Everett was the name in the last wip I posted, but I switched that character's name to Elliot because it fit better and listen. I don't have to explain myself lmao

Nothing could've prepared Mason for what being human (again) would feel like. As if someone, all of a sudden, slammed on the brakes. He went from a hundred to zero with no warning, no time to brace for the inevitable crash. One minute, he felt everything — every sound and scent, the world heightened to a near deafening cacophony of sensations — and then, bam!, nothing. It was... disorienting, to say the least. Like someone had cut the power, leaving him stumbling blind in the dark. He'd spent the first few days after waking up in the medical wing huddled under as many blankets as Elidor would give him, alternating between freezing his ass off and feeling like his insides were a furnace. You're sick, the fae had told him, just a common cold, but given how long it's been since you've experienced one, your body is likely struggling to adapt, and wasn't that just fucking grand? As if being kidnapped, tortured, and the guinea pig of some fucked up ritual hadn't been enough, his own body decided to celebrate it's newfound humanity again by catching a damned cold. The only good thing to come out of the ordeal had been the way, through it all, Everett never once left his side. Sure, he'd spent the majority of the time shifted, and the hospital beds weren't really meant to accommodate a full grown man and a massive wolf, but they'd made it work. Surprisingly, Elidor never once tried to make Everett leave. Though, he did scold him for growling at a nurse who'd attempted to take Mason's temperature when he wasn't in the mood for it. Mason hadn't seen what the big deal was; he'd only growled a little, it wasn't like he'd bitten her head off or anything.

taglist (click here to be added or removed): @alexios @beifongisms @breadedsinner @dekarios @eluvixns

@fialine @gallusneve @gothimp @halkuonn @happilyobsessing

@hiddenbeks @lestatlioncunt @leviiackrman @magebastard @morgotts

@pavus @rindemption @risingsh0t @terendelev @thedeadthree

@thee-morrigan @turian

[bbcphile]

In Memory of Kiah

cw/tw: death, medical assistance in dying

If you’re wondering why I kind of disappeared from the Mysterious Lotus Casebook tag and stopped posted WIP Wednesday things, here’s the explanation: One of my closest friends, who has been dying progressively and increasingly painfully over the last two years, told me about 3 weeks ago that they were going to pursue medical assistance in dying because it is legal where they live. It was originally scheduled for the end of July, then moved up to the end of June, and then on Monday, they moved it to Wednesday (yesterday), because their life was agony and they couldn’t wait any longer.

I’m lucky that I had enough advanced notice that I was able to say goodbye–both by sending them a message telling them in detail how much they’ve meant to me and thanking them for everything, and then in one last phone call the night before–so I’m glad they knew how much I loved them and that I could be there for them emotionally, even though I couldn’t physically be there for the end itself, because they live too far away. We met on Tumblr through the chronic illness community because we share the same genetic connective tissue disorder and many of its comorbidities, and I will always be so, so grateful to Tumblr for bringing us together.

I wanted to post about them here because it just felt wrong to keep going like nothing had happened, and because I wanted to do something to pay tribute to how good a person they were and how much I miss them. So, some words about Kiah: 

Kiah was one of the kindest, funniest, intellectually curious, loving, and fiercely protective people I have ever met. I loved that we could talk about anything, including the terror of living in a failing body or how to come to terms with being disabled when you were always an overcommitted overachiever who defined yourself on external metrics of success, analyze media together during watch parties, and laugh together about literally anything (including during our last conversation, where we were both bawling our eyes out, but also somehow laughing about how absurd it is that you can’t really cry hard and talk at the same time and how that seems like a real design flaw). We didn’t share any fandoms, but we still had fun sharing details about our blorbos and fandom activities: I loved hearing about their cosplay adventures, and they always wanted to keep up to date on the metas I was writing. Even once they went blind and couldn’t read my metas on tumblr anymore because it wouldn’t work with their screenreader, they had me send them Google doc versions so their computer could read my posts to them because they didn’t want to miss any of my analyses. And when they were too sick to listen to the full posts, they asked for summaries because they still wanted to keep up as much as they could. 

They were always so caring and compassionate: when they first called to tell me in January that they were going to do medical assistance in dying, and after I had told them I understood and supported them and we’d talked about how they felt about it, they asked me how I was. I had told them that while I was heartbroken, I would handle it, because I didn’t want to make them feel responsible for comforting me when they had their hands full with processing everything and feeling their own grief. They said that while they appreciated my not wanting to make it harder on them, they didn’t want me to feel like I had to be ok in front of them, because they wanted to comfort me and support me even in this if they could, since they didn’t have that much time left to be there for me and they wanted to make it count. (yeah, I’m sobbing right now.)

None of those descriptions could even begin to do justice to how much they meant to me, but I hope this anecdote will:

I couldn’t be with them at the end because I’m a country and an opposite coast away, but I hated the idea of not being able to say goodbye in person or hold their hand if they were scared during the injection. So I played piano and imagined they could hear it.

Most of you probably won’t know what that means or why it would be a big deal. Here’s why:

I used to be a musician. Music was my life and my most important means of self-expression, and was absolutely going to be my career. But in high school and college, an extensive series of very traumatic things happened that made me essentially have to give up performing. For the better part of the last 18 years, literally up until I sat down to play for Kiah, even just the idea of performing for someone or a neighbor overhearing me play was triggering enough that I would have a full-blown panic attack and dissociate so badly I would literally go from concert pianist level ability to mostly forgetting how to read music and having to count ledger lines. But my desire to do something so that maybe, just maybe, I could make Kiah’s final moments better apparently trumped my trauma, because I was able to do it. I had wanted to play some Rachmaninoff, Brahms, or Chopin, but apparently those are still too closely tied to Events and I started to have skill loss issues again (fucking dissociative amnesia), so I switched to a piece I had played long ago enough that it was reliably in my mind and fingers (and that I could sight-read if I forgot it partway through). 

And I played it.

I hope, somehow, they were able to hear it.

I also recorded it.

And I’m going to share it here.

It kind of feels like serving my heart up on a platter, but that feels kind of appropriate for this tribute to them. 

I think they’d be happy, knowing that I’m “doing it scared,” as Tumblr recommends, and that my attempt to give them the biggest gift of love and support I could think of, somehow, even if just temporarily, gave music back to me.

Also, I think they’d get a kick out of the fact that you can hear me giggle a little at one point in the recording when the sheet music falls on my hands, both because it’s a great middle finger to perfectionism, but also because laughing through the tears (and yeah, I was crying while playing this) is very much a chronic illness and disability thing, and feels like a good metaphor for much of the last few months.

So. All that to say:

Kiah, I love you. I miss you so much already.

Here’s Robert D. Vandall’s “Lakeside Retreat.”

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 3

Hello! I was going to post this yesterday but I thought I would be busier for WIP Wednesday which only two people participated in (sad author noises). And then I was waffling about putting up a meta about Steve’s parents (I ended up just saving it in my ‘bit of everything’ file). And then I realized it was super late and should put this up before I forget again.

This next part is for @weirdandabsurd42  who mentioned being excited to see Wayne and was thusly added (because I almost forgot to put him there, oops!), thereby creating one of my favorite lines I’ve ever written so...thanks! 

Part 1 Part 2

***

Steve closed up his shop with a spring in his step and a grumpy Robin following behind.

“I can’t believe you are dragging me to a metal concert,” she groused as she locked the door behind her.

“You don’t have to come,” Steve said with a grin. “You can stay home on a Saturday, all by yourself with a pint of ice cream and the latest rom-com.”

Robin glared at him. “You know that I have to come with you so you don’t throw yourself at Eddie.”

Steve rolled his eyes as they walked to his car. “I’m not going to throw myself at him.”

Robin clutched her hands to her chest. “Oh that’s right I forgot! You already have!”

Steve glared at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” she asked, sliding into the car. “So what do you call offering to do his back tattoo?”

Steve already in the car, hit his head on his steering wheel. “Fucccckkkk.” He hit it over and over. “Why did I do that? Why did he agree? What am I going to do?”

Robin rubbed his back. “I think this is good thing for you. If you do well on his wings then you can start doing large pieces again. And if not, then you know it’s not something you can do and you’ll never do another one ever again.”

Steve sighed and wrapped his arms around the steering wheel. “I just wanted him to like me.”

“As person, as friend or as a boyfriend?” Robin asked seriously.

“All of the above?” Steve said raising his head to look at her. “Apparently the first one has been met. I’d take the second one, but I would love the last one more than anything.”

“Well this weekend will be a great opportunity to test the waters and see how he feels. Because even if he wants to be friends now, there’s still a chance he might want something more in the future. Just don’t bank on it.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.” He turned the key and pulled out of their parking lot.

“This would be a good time to get a couple of apprentices of your own,” she said after a few miles of silence. “You’re going to be spending a lot of hours on Eddie’s tattoo and you’re going to need someone to pick up the slack.”

Steve let out a shuddering sigh. “I know. I’ll start putting out feelers in the community and see what’s out there.”

Robin nodded. “We’ll put up filers at the local colleges and universities as well as putting it up on our website. I’ll talk to Will and see what he can come up with for both.”

“I know he’ll turn it down but offer him the usual rates for that sort of thing,” Steve agreed.

Robin laughed. “Fingers crossed he’ll accept this time.”

*

Eddie walked into his apartment and flopped face first into his couch. It had been such a whirlwind day. He wasn’t even sure he could function. That really was the downside to having a full time gig. Having all this free time.

Because yeah, Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin practiced nearly every day, and they were always coming up with new music, it just wasn’t the same as full time job. He didn’t have to do anything but show up and perform two nights a week. He could phone it in if he wanted.

Not that he would. Just...that he could. Which meant on days when his head was spiraling he could stew for days and never leave this couch.

He rolled over and pulled out his phone and dialed that familiar number.

“Munson residence!” came the gruff familiar voice.

“When are you going to at least get a caller ID, old man!” Eddie crowed.

“Shut it, boy,” Wayne growled. “I have one and it works just fine, the greeting is polite. Something I thought I raised you better in.”

Eddie giggled. “You love me.”

“Lord help me, but I do,” Wayne agreed. “You calling to talk or to listen?”

It was something that they had established long before Eddie left Hawkins to live on his own in the big city. Long before before Eddie took three years to graduate. Long before Al Munson abandoned his son on his baby brother’s door step for one last job. A job that would land him in prison. They had this code. Well, not really a code.

Just this thing between them. When Eddie had a rough day, he would call Wayne. But depending on the swirling of emotions going through his head, sometimes he just need to hear Wayne talk about his day. Gossip about his neighbors. Let the words flow over him until he felt at ease enough to go to sleep.

Other nights, though. The really bad ones. The ones where Eddie needed advice, he would talk. Sometimes Eddie would figure it out on his own, other times he would need Wayne to give him advice. This was one of those nights.

“Talk,” Eddie breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Wha’cha got, Ed?” Wayne asked gently.

And Eddie just let it all spill out. The tattoos, Steve, the band, feeling like they had stagnated.

“That’s a lot on your plate, boy,” Wayne said. “I can see why you wanted to share.”

Eddie let out a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know what to do about...well any of it to be honest.”

Wayne hummed. “When was the last time you went out and did something fun? Something for just yourself? And don’t say get a tattoo because that’s part of the tangled mess right now.”

Eddie blinked. When was the last time he had gone out for drinks, saw a movie, or even listened to music other than his own? “I’m not sure.”

“Well there you go,” Wayne said. “Creativity isn’t endless, boy. It’s a well and you’re going through a drought because you aren’t taking in any influences other then that feedback loop you’re on.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t have to be with your friends or even that boy you’ve got your eye on,” Wayne explained. “Just go out and have fun for yourself, ya hear?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, already feeling lighter. “Thanks, Uncle Wayne.”

“Rest well, okay?” Wayne murmured.

“You too.”

*

Jeff shook his head and rolled his eyes as he watched Eddie play with his rings, his knee bouncing up and down.

“Chill!” Gareth growled. “For fuck’s sake. We are professionals, we’ve done this twice a week for years. What’s got your panties in a twist this time?”

Jeff wagged his eyebrows. “This time pretty boy Steve Harrington is going to be in the crowd. With a girl no less.”

“She’s gay,” Eddie bit out. “A literal flaming lesbian. I just have to pass the best friend test with her. And considering she wanted me to get his number, I’m pretty sure I don’t have to work that hard.”

“I noticed you didn’t deny that you’re nervous about Pretty Boy being in the audience tonight,” Brian teased.

Eddie threw up his hands in the air and leapt to his feet. “All right, yeah. I’m nervous. Even when I did have boyfriends that would show up, I knew they liked the music. But I have no idea if Steve is just being nice or if he’s actually interested in hearing us play.”

Jeff cocked his head. “Yeah, I can see how you might be worried he won’t like it. But if he doesn’t, isn’t better you know that now, before your feelings get in too deep?”

Eddie’s lip quivered. “Yes. I mean, of course. But it still makes me feel like crawling out of my skin, okay?”

“Okay,” Gareth said. “So do what you do best and throw yourself into the music. Let it wash over you. You are a consummate performer. So kick ass.”

Eddie nodded and the nod slowly turned into a head bang with him playing air guitar. By the time the knock came to let them know it was time, Eddie was ready to go out there and rock.

*

Steve hadn’t been to The Nightmare Holes before. It hadn’t even been on his radar at all. That was so weird, especially since it was almost literally doors down from Robin and his favorite club.

Well that was until they were dropped off in front of a large concrete building that didn’t look like a bar from the outside at any stretch of the imagination. In fact the only thing that stuck out at all was a neon sign with a large arrow pointing to a set of stairs leading down proclaiming this to be The Nightmare Holes.

When they got into the bar, Steve realized that they were going to stick out like a sore thumb. With Steve looking prep and Robin looking punk, they were going to be murdered before Eddie even got on stage.

They were saved by a goddess if you believed Robin later. This pretty woman in a tank top and tight leather pants with four inch heeled boots came up to them.

“Hey!” she greeted warmly. “You must be Stevie, right?”

Steve nodded. “I’m afraid you’re one up on me. You know me, but I don’t know you.”

She smiled much to Robin’s chagrin. “I’m Miranda, girlfriend of the rhythm guitarist, Jeff Lawrence. He was worried that Eddie might have forgotten to tell you that wearing your usual clothes might make you stand out.” She waved her hands at them. Both Robin and Steve blushed. “You aren’t too bad actually. I was think you would be much worse the way Jeff was going on.”

“He only saw us at work,” Robin explained once she picked her jaw up off the ground. “He might have assumed that we wear that on the regular.”

Miranda nodded. “You can do this one of two ways. Stay dressed as you are as big middle finger to conformity no matter who’s conforming to what or you come with me and I can tweak your looks enough that you don’t stand out as much.”

Steve looked down at his clothes and tilted his head. “I think I’m going to give conformity the middle finger, thanks. I’ve been bucking what people think a tattoo artist should look like for years. I’m not going to change that for one little concert.”

Miranda nodded appreciatively. “Good on you. How about you, princess? You gonna give conformity the middle finger, too?”

Robin looked down at her clothes and blushed. “I think most metalheads would say a punk is being a step too far.”

Miranda laughed. “You’re probably right. Let’s go see if I can metal you up a bit.”

The two ladies came back a few minutes later. Robin still had her chunky jewelry and smudged makeup. But her billowy plaid pants were replaced by tight black jeans and instead of her vest, she wore a black jacket. Her hair had been tamed to a more relaxed style.

Steve grinned at her. “Looking good, Robs!”

Robin blushed. “I made a new friend.”

Miranda laughed. “Thanks for that.” She looked around and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Just a little secret between us new besties.”

Steve and Robin shared a glance, but both nodded.

“I don’t like metal music, either,” she whispered and winked. She turned around so she faced the stage. “But I’m here because my Jeffie does. So if you don’t like the music, because hey, you might not, don’t sweat it. They put on a good show and we’re here for them.” She jutted her chin up at the stage just as the house lights went down and the stage lights went up.

Standing the spotlight was Eddie. He wore a slashed up band shirt, tight jeans, and his leather jacket. A jacket Steve was about to learn wasn’t going to feature long. About twenty minutes into the show, the jacket was gone and Steve could see a peek of the new tattoo through the slits in the shirt.

He licked his lips slowly. Ooh...that was tantalizing. And then Eddie threw caution and his shirt to the wind and everyone saw Eddie’s new tattoo.

Robin turned to Steve wide-eyed. “Holy shit, it blends seamlessly into the rest of the tattoos, like it was there first.”

Miranda peered around Robin to look at Steve, too. “Yeah, man. You did a hell of a job. You should be proud of that.”

Steve was. No doubt. But he was prouder of the fact that Eddie wanted everyone to see it. It melted his heart and settled at the base of his spine, like he had drank a cup of hot chocolate all at once.

And that was when Steve realized he would do anything for Eddie. Even if that meant just being friends.

***

My new favorite line? * “Lord help me, but I do,” Wayne agreed. “You calling to talk or to listen?” * It’s just so...Wayne, you know?

Part 4  Part 5 Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11 Part 12  Part 13 Part 14  Part 15  Part 16 Part 17  Part 18 Part 19  Part 20  Part 21 Part 22  Part 23  Part 24  Part 25 Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Epilogue

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[froizetta]

WIP Wednesday (but it's Thursday)

So I told myself I would post this yesterday, but when I left for the evening I realised I hadn't in fact done that. Whoops! But hey, it's only like 4 and a half past midnight on Baker Island, so if you think about it, it basically still counts as Wednesday. Right?

Anyway, this one is the next chunk of my superbatlantern fic, because I thought I might as well just commit and post what's basically the end of chapter 1. (For anyone who hasn't read the preceding parts: part 1 and part 2.)

“You were spying on us,” Bats said in that rough, low growl of his. He didn’t sound happy.

Well, there didn’t seem much point in denying it at this point, huh? “Yeah,” he said.

“Why.”

“Is that really important?” Hal shrugged. “Curiosity, mostly. I sensed a little sexual tension earlier in that meeting, while you two were going at it with each other.” The word choice made Batman’s eyebrow twitch gratifyingly. “I thought maybe you’d come in here to continue what you started, so I decided to check. That’s all.”

Superman went from looking mostly dismayed to a little bewildered. “So you wanted to catch us—what? Having sex? This is the Watchtower, we wouldn’t— Why would you think we’d even do that here?”

Hal felt his eyebrows raise. “What, you mean you haven’t? Ever?” Superman didn’t say anything to that, which to Hal was pretty much as good as an admission. He grinned. “Heh, thought so. I always knew you were less of a boy scout than you let on.”

Superman looked like he wanted to respond to that, but Batman cut him off coolly before he could. “Clark, focus. Hal’s concerning attempts at voyeurism aside—”

“Hey!” Hal objected. “I wasn’t out there trying to jack off or anything, don’t make it weird—”

“Putting that aside,” Bats continued firmly, “we need to deal with the real issue here.”

He turned his ice-blue gaze on Superman, who met it immediately as if by instinct. They did that kind of thing a lot, silently communicating with each other with just a look or a subtle gesture, like they had some kind of freaky, psychic bond. Just like now, where the meaningful glances exchanged above Hal’s head were a whole conversation he couldn’t hear.

…Huh. Hal probably should have figured they were dating a while ago, actually.

After a long few seconds, they seemed to come to an agreement. Superman turned back to address him, stoic and serious. “Hal, we need to know you’re not going to spread this around.”

Hal raised an eyebrow. “Or what? You’re gonna blackmail me? Kick me out of the League? Put my feet in a bucket of cement and drop me into the Atlantic?”

A muscle flexed in Batman’s jaw, the way it always did when he was pissy. “Obviously not.”

“Good,” he said, flashing the ring alongside his signature grin. “Because I’m not feeling super threatened.”

That muscle flexed again and Batman’s hands clenched to fists. Okay, so he was really pissed, huh? “Christ, Jordan, this isn’t the time for your pointless posturing,” he snarled. “Can't you take this seriously, for once in your life—”

“Bruce,” Superman said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine, okay? It’s Hal.”

Hal bristled, unsure what the guy meant by that but instinctually convinced that it had to be some kind of dig at his expense. But before he could say anything righteously indignant, Bats just kind of…softened? There wasn’t really another word for it, all that sneering tension seeping out of him in an instant. Bats reached up to squeeze the hand on his shoulder, grateful and reassuring, and it all felt so easily intimate that whatever words were about to come out caught in Hal’s throat.

Hal swallowed. Geez, what was wrong with him? He wasn’t normally like this around Ollie and Dinah, and god knows they weren’t that shy about PDA. And this was barely even that. What about it was weirding him out so much? Just because it was them?

Superman smiled at him, all benevolence and understanding but for the tension around his eyes. “Look, there’s a reason we’ve been keeping our relationship private. We agreed when this started that dating openly would be too complicated and too much risk for our secret identities. And unfortunately, that includes the Justice League. You know how gossip spreads among the superhero community.”

Boy did he. When Carol had dumped him for good, he’d gotten a commiseration text from Booster Gold. Fucking Booster Gold.

“And I don’t want what we do in our private time encroaching on what we do here,” he went on. “We have a leadership position in League together with Diana. The two of us being in a relationship could…complicate things, here.”

“You don’t want that, huh, big guy?” Hal said. “That not a concern your boyfriend shares?”

Batman’s expression remained blank. Superman’s eyes hardened. “Don't try to change the subject, please. This is serious.”

“Clark is right,” Bats said. “Hal, we need explicit verbal confirmation. Will you agree to keep this a secret, or are we going to have a problem?”

Hal shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

Both of them paused.

“Really,” Batman said, with an edge of suspicion. “Just like that.”

“Yeah, just like that. Why are you acting so surprised? I’m in this game too, I know the drill. I can keep a secret.”

“You wear a flight suit with your name on it under your Lantern uniform.”

“And yet somehow, the general public hasn’t worked it out yet. Go figure.” He felt his lips pull into a sneer. “Look, what do you want from me? I said I won’t blab and I won’t. Am I supposed to sign a pact in blood or something?”

“Shockingly, I wasn’t actually going to suggest that,” Batman said dryly. “But it would certainly be more comforting than just taking it on faith.”

Hal gritted his teeth. “Oh, right. So you don’t trust me, is that it?”

“Bruce,” Superman said, frowning.

Bats just shook his head. “It’s nothing personal. Trust alone is a poor basis for most agreements.”

“So that’s a 'no, I don’t trust you' then? Fuck you too. How many times have I pulled your ass out of the fire by now, Spooky—”

“Fewer times than I’ve done the same for you—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Superman cut in, face like gentle thunder. “Bruce, we’re asking him for a favor here. Antagonizing him is counterproductive.” Bats just grunted and looked away. “And Hal, you have to understand this is difficult for us. For both of us. We’ve kept this hidden for a long time, from almost everyone in our lives, and you’re the first person to find out like this. I hope you can appreciate the gravity of that.”

Hal scrubbed a hand through his hair, feeling the sudden rush of anger drain out of him. It was honestly hard to stay mad when Superman was using his Nice Reasonable Mediator voice. “Yeah, I… Look, I do get it, okay? I’m not gonna blab, because no matter what either of you think, I’m not that big of an asshole. I don’t go around fucking up other people’s relationships for fun, you know.”

“We know, Hal,” Superman said, reassuringly. Batman was annoyingly silent.

“Cool. Are we done here?”

“We’re done,” Bats said.

Thank god. Hal was feeling shittier and antsier the longer he sat here with these guys.

[thewolvesof1998]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the amazingly talented @daffi-990 @jesuisici33

Here an another snippet of the fic I posted yesterday, I need you guys help with it I'm not sure if I should keep it workplace PG or add some Smut?

“Eds,” Buck says taking another step, Eddie’s spine hits the shelf. “What are you doing?” Eddie hisses as Buck takes another step closer, he’s so close that if they’d had been at one of his Catholic middle school’s dances there wouldn’t be enough room for Jesus between them. His fingers itch to reach across the distance and touch that tantalising skin.  “I want to tell you something.” “And you have to stand so close to do that?” His voice is definitely an octave higher than usual.  “I didn’t just wear this because it’s laundry day.” Buck leans in, one hand coming up beside Eddie’s head blocking any chance of escape out of the closet door. Eddie has to tilt his head up slightly to look Buck in the eye, he’s never had to look up at someone before. “I wore it because I was hoping you’d look.” “Only look?” Eddie asks, it's barely above a whisper but Buck’s close enough to hear it. Buck leans in further, his lips come to Eddie’s ear and graze it; it’s the first time they’ve made contact since Eddie’s dragged them into this closet. Buck’s close enough that if either of them breaths in too deeply their chests would touch but Buck’s been careful not to and Eddie’s taking his cue from him because he can’t fuck up his relationship with Buck.  “Well,” Buck whispers in his ear, “I was really hoping you’d touch me but I didn’t think that’s something you’d want.” And it hadn’t been, or it had been but Eddie had just been too blind to it, it had taken Buck parading himself around in this fucking outfit for it all to click into place. If he had known earlier, god. “I didn’t- I didn’t know, if I had known-”  Buck leans back so Eddie can see his face again, “You know now.” It’s not a question but Eddie answers it like it is, “Yeah, yes, god I want to touch you, I’ve wanted to touch you for a long time I think.” “Then touch me,” Buck says and Eddie’s hands are on him before the final sounds have left his lips. His left hand lands on the small divot of Buck’s waist, it feels familiar, like his hand is meant to fit there. His right hand comes up to cradle Buck’s jaw, can feel the slight stubble Buck sometimes allows to grow when he’s got a few days off in a row. Eddie loves how he knows about that, can’t believe he didn’t realise all of this sooner.

 Tagging: @wikiangela @wildlife4life �� @eddiebabygirldiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @bekkachaos @buddierights @forthewolves @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @eddiediaztho @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck

[honestlydarkprincess]

WIP Wednesday!

tagged by @prince-buck-diaz, @wikiangela 💕

okay so technically this isn't a wip cause i finished it yesterday but i won't be posting until October so i thought i'd give y'all a lil snippet from the buck wonders if he's bad in bed/the praise kink fic! it was gonna be a pwp and then i added angst :3

“So,” Buck started from his place still sprawled out on the bed, sweat soaked and blissed-out. “This means I’m good in bed, right?”

Eddie stopped, his body freezing as he remembered exactly why they had just fucked. Right. He had offered to help Buck prove that he wasn’t bad in bed. While he had hoped that this meant that Buck felt the same way about him— maybe it didn’t? Maybe Buck truly was just looking to see if he was good in bed or not.

Fuck.

All of Eddie’s post-coital bliss vanished as the thought settled heavily in his mind. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was a mistake— he shouldn’t have done this without making it clear to Buck that he wanted more than just a fuck. Shit.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie mumbled, tugging some sweatpants on. “You’re very good in bed, Buck. You have nothing to worry about.”

Buck sat up, giving Eddie a confused look. “Oh, I— uh, thanks. You too.” He muttered, standing up from the bed and grabbing his boxers and jeans. “I, uh, I should get going, huh.”

“Or, you could stay?” Eddie chanced, begging the universe for Buck to say yes, he would stay, that this is more than just sex.

But Buck didn’t.

“We have an early shift tomorrow, I should get going. Get a good nights sleep, y’know,” Buck shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. He missed the wounded look on Eddie’s face as he pulled on his shirt and did up his belt.

“Yeah, okay.”

no pressure tagging: @bigfootsmom, @maygrantgf, @lovebuck, @princessfbi, @alyxmastershipper, @buddierights, @cowboy-buddie, @panbuckley, @housewifebuck, @eddiescowboy, @paranoidbean, @fleurdebeton, @midnightsbuck, @ravens-words, @roy-kents, @heartbeatdiaz, @monsterrae1, @barbiediaz, @911onabc, @hippolotamus, @spotsandsocks, @shortsighted-owl, @transboybuckley, and @transbuck 💖

[steviestits]

WIP Wednesday - By the Pricking of My Thumb Ch4 Part 1

From now on, going to be posting previews of what I have of the fics that weren't originally posted to my Tumblr on Wednesdays. The first three chapters are here on Ao3 if you wish to read them.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: T Summary: After Jonathan bashed Steve's head into the pavement, Steve remembered he had powers, setting off a chain reaction from Nancy breaking up with him early to certain enemies showing up sooner than expected.

Coming back into consciousness, Steve felt as if his head was about to explode, like he’d just healed from a major injury. He didn’t know how he’d been injured, though. The last thing he remembered was Eddie apologizing to him behind the arcade then the rest was blank. He didn’t hear Eddie now and only heard the sound of a coffee pot gurgling in the distance, which he shouldn’t have heard since his bedroom was on the second floor, furthest from the kitchen.

Steve opened his eyes then glanced around, recognizing the space instantly. It was his bedroom, but not the one in the house that belonged to the government. When the weather had warmed up, Hopper built an addition onto the hunting cabin, hoping that Steve would use it whenever he needed a break. However, Steve hadn’t. He felt like he was intruding since Hopper was El’s dad, not his, and he didn’t want to become a third wheel yet again.

The room wasn’t large, only able to fit a full-size bed, work desk, and armoire. There were some shelves on the beige walls, for his sports trophies Hopper had said, though they were still empty since Steve never planned on using the room. Everything in the room was empty without even a comforter on the bed, but it was a different kind of empty than the one he was used to back at the other house. This room was empty in an expectant sort of way, as if it was waiting for someone to add personal touches to it.

Though, if Steve was here, that meant something had to have happened since he wouldn’t have left the kids at the arcade alone. And since Hopper was involved, he was sure that the kids got home safely, which was at least one thing he didn’t have to worry about. What he did have to worry about, though, was Eddie, since at some point, Hopper had gotten involved. Had Eddie’s apology gone wrong somehow? Did Steve piss him off enough to the point where it came to blows? He guessed he could ask Hopper, but that would involve leaving his bed.

Fate wasn’t on his side, however, as a knock on the door sounded before it slowly opened to reveal El. She toed her way into the room, edging in carefully, worry etched into her face. She was different than when they met for the first time after her escape. It wasn’t only that her hair had grown out or that her face was a little fuller, but also that she didn’t look at Steve like he was a stranger any longer. They were siblings again.

“Okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Steve assured her. “What about you? You okay?”

“Better now.” El smiled brightly. “Hop made breakfast. Come eat.”

“Triple decker extravaganza?” When she nodded excitedly, Steve laughed. “Why am I not surprised? Tell Hop I’ll be right there.”

El smiled, showing she understood, then left, not bothering to close the door behind her. She most likely felt as if she didn’t need to, assuming that Steve would follow her directly to the breakfast table. Steve, however, couldn’t as he had to change his shirt first since he was dressed in the same clothes he wore yesterday. He figured he could get away with wearing his jean again, but the shirt would be too obvious.

There was a second-hand dresser shoved against the wall, and Steve rose out of bed then walked over to it. The drawers were filled with spare clothes, so he wouldn’t have to pack if he ever needed to lie low from the suits. He chose a maroon long-sleeved shirt with blue stripes, feeling that the color suited, and changed into it quickly.

A mirror hung above the dresser, which Steve used to check his hair. He grimaced when he noticed how wildly out of place each strand was and attempted to use his fingers to style his hair into something that didn’t resemble a bird’s nest. Despite his best efforts, though, Steve only seemed to be making it worse, finding that he couldn’t get the same hold without his hair spray.

“Jesus, kid, you’re going to make yourself go bald pulling at it like that.”

Looking over his shoulder, Steve saw Hopper standing in the doorway. The police chief looked awkward, trying to appear casual, though there was a tension in stance that couldn’t be missed. His brow was also furrowed, possibly with worry, making Steve question what had happened last night and how he ended up here.

“Do you have a brush I could borrow?” Steve asked instead. “You know, so I don’t go bald.”

“Yeah, I do. Go sit at the table and eat before your waffles get cold. I’ll bring it over afterwards.”

“Fine. Fine. I get the message. I’m going. I’m going.”

Hopper grunted in acknowledgement then stepped aside to allow Steve to pass. Steve tried one last time to fix his hair on his own but quickly gave up when his efforts proved fruitless. He did as Hopper suggested and left the room to join El at the breakfast table, who was sitting eagerly in her seat, waiting for Steve’s arrival.

There was an extra chair at the table, clearly squeezed in to make room for him, and a third plate filled with waffles and whip cream. If he allowed himself such fantasies, then he’d think that maybe he could be a part of their family. Steve knew better by now, though. The facility would never let him go, never let him have anyone besides his handlers as parents. At least El got to have a family outside the other numbers, friends that she found on her own, and El being happy was enough for him.

[captain-of-silvenar]

(Late) WIP Wednesday

Meant to post this yesterday, but I'm doing it today and it doesn't matter.

Finished up the weapons on the last WIP post and now I'm onto my best gal Kerasil and her Z'en armor. Having less difficulty doing this than I thought, so I'm just trucking on and having a great time.

Tagging: @throughtrialbyfire @sniperviper @plantly-plant @ashyam-xivilai @baileybooradly

and anyone else who wants to join in and share the stuff they're working on!

[avatarskywalker78]

It's Work in Progress Wednesday and I've been trying to make a dent in my WIP list!! I completed and uploaded the Wario centric one yesterday and I've been trying to make some headway into the others using the advice from the WIP clearout post. The first extract is from my 'Alex & Daniel' wip - where Daniel Sousa offers to look after an eight-year-old Alex Thompson for the day, and is a little apprehensive about it.

Daniel would like to say that he didn’t know how he’d been talked into this, but that would be a lie – he’d been talked into it because the Thompsons were practically family and had asked for this favour, and because Peggy was too busy at SHIELD to help look after Alex for the day, so it had been left up to him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t had to look after children before, of course, but still, he couldn’t help but be a little nervous – he’d only looked after Alex a handful of times and those had been when she was very small, not the bouncy eight-year-old who’d be coming to stay for a few hours, and there was always a worry about having to look after someone else’s child. Especially the granddaughter of one of his closest friends. Plus, he wasn’t exactly getting any younger here, so he wouldn’t be able to keep up as much as he might’ve done back in the day – and he already felt exhausted as Sophia parked the car and Alex came running over with a speed he envied. “Uncle Daniel!” She rushed towards him and for a second he feared she was about to leap at him and expect him to catch her because that really would send him crashing to the floor— She didn’t. She did, however, knock the wind out of him and almost bowl him over with the force of the resulting hug. “Oof.” “Sorry!” She jumped back, apologetic. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Mom says I get too overexcited sometimes.” “I’m fine.” He assured her as he got his breath back, Sophia coming over and looking faintly amused. “Nothing wrong with a hug, kiddo, you just gotta be a little careful - you could’ve knocked me flying.” “Sorry.” She hugged him gentler this time. “I’ve just been looking forward to this for ages.” “I got that.” He said with a laugh, returning the hug. “It’s great to see you too, Alex.”

I have identified a couple of the main blocks; not only have I not watched the source material for a few years, but...I also don't have a clear plan for the fic!! Which isn't helpful, but now I know I can work on it - I've already found both seasons so a rewatch will be a great help (and not just for this one).

Another one I've been working on is...the Sad Westhallen Fic!! Which might not be as sad as it originally was - Barry's still dead but the bulk of the fic is going to be his friends and family sharing all the good memories they have and celebrating his life - but, of course, Eddie and Iris are still dealing with the loss, compounded by the fact their twins have basically no memories of their dad.

It wasn't meant to be like this. Days after Eddie had been freed from captivity, days after Barry, Oliver, and Teams Flash and Arrow brought down Eobard and called in Rip Hunter to see justice served, that had been when he'd finally start to believe - at least a little - that maybe, maybe things would get better. It had been far from easy, of course - Eddie and Iris's relationship was...not on hold, exactly, but any talk of marriage was shelved for the time being until he got the help he needed, which had made sense, of course, but...part of him had worried that she'd choose Barry in the end after all, because the other man was kind and brave and unflinching, someone who would treat Iris right and all Eddie had ever, ever wanted was for Iris to be happy. And if Barry was the one to make her happy... Who was he to stand in the way of that? Course, this had been a symptom of his depression, and once he'd started going to therapy he'd realised how spectacularly untrue it was. Iris and Barry were nothing but supportive the whole time and Iris assured him that she still loved him and always would. She wasn't going anywhere - and neither was Barry. This had made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside - and he'd finally had to admit that yes, he was in love with Barry too, and had been for some time.

This one needs a rewatch too, so it'll either be this or Agent Carter that I rewatch after I finished OUAT S1.

Tagging (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @shrinkthisviolet @starstruckpurpledragon @dream-beyond-the-fantasy @daughter-of-melpomene

[wawamouse]

wip wednesday!

Fun fact about how I perceive the passage of time: every day is like a week to me and yet every week passes in the blink of an eye. That is, yesterday as I was realising today would be Wednesday, I thought to myself, "Damn, but I've barely even written anything since posting ch. of In the Course of Destiny, which was who even knows when!" ...which prompted me to check the date on ao3 and realise it was Monday that I posted. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.

Anyhow, I have a couple of wips in the works right now. Ch.5 of Destiny, of course, and then there's Crash, which I hilariously started writing to take a break from Destiny with, and now it's its own monster. It's been on pause for the couple of days I was finishing up Destiny ch.4. I figure I'll probably return to it when I'm halfway through ch.5 and hitting a lull there 😆

There's a further three wips I have started in the past week, but I'm sort of Pretending I Do Not See even as I tinker around with them here and there. I've been trying to figure out shorter things to write. It feels like my hallmark of writing is getting stupidly invested in creating plot. Stupid, I say, because for all my ambitions, the execution of the plots I try to craft never seem to live up to my hopes. I'd say that I'd be happier trying to write juicy, tropey oneshots, except that I can't really pull those off, either, or don't know how to, or don't have the exciting creativity required. So what is there left? Long, long rambles, I guess, and the illusion of adventure. Very Tolkiencore of me

Anyway, now that my weekly glum whining is out of the way (yes, I am whining because I feel like I haven't been posting anything) (see again: my fucked up perception of time) (😔)...

While I was looking for a snippet to share, I found a hilarious typo in one of my fics:

Over his shoulder, Seamus bowled in fury.

Meant to write "howled", of course, but now I'm imagining an Oz where it's just competitive bowling. Could definitely imagine the Italians have a bowling league, at least.

Anyway, snippet from Desire Path: (at this point, I don't really remember what I've shared from this wip. Feels like I've shared like half the fic already...)

[vivifriend]

WIP Something

Meant to post this yesterday but got distracted by TES Castles. I blame @hircines-hunter and @thequeenofthewinter for making me aware of that game. (Ironic that you're also who tagged me for wip wednesday. And thank you for those tags 💖💖💖). It's Thursday. So, if you see this, and wrote something this week and haven't shared a snippet and want to, I'd love a tag so I can read it. ^^

More from Snowflake's Chance:

>>>

"Well, I'll go let Tril know you lot aren't dead," Sinding said, smirking when Serana glared again.

"There a reason he's poking at you?" Copper wondered.

"He made jokes about me mother henning you, and I fell for the bait," Serana admitted. "And I think he's relieved that he won't have to explain to Hircine that his son got killed on his watch. Seems he's been lectured by him before, and doesn't want a repeat."

"He spent time in the Hunting Grounds, as punishment for rejecting his wolf and stealing Hircine's ring," Vice said. "It left a mark."

Lewin winced. "I can see why," he said quietly. He's prone to holding grudges when mortals reject their wolves. I understand the why of it, and I can also see why it's troublesome for mortals to deal with.

"Impressive that he survived his time in the Grounds. Your father must have set someone to watch over him," his wolf noted.

Likely. Shaking his head, he finished his meal, pushing the plate back when the door opened to admit Sinding and Captain Tril.

"Vilkas. Good to see you in good health," Tril greeted, walking in fully, glancing at Erik. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better," Erik said. "You were right that more fighting helped. Though I'm conflicted about that."

"If you want, we can step out once darkness hits and talk it over," Vilkas suggested, worry seeping into his scent.

"I'd like that."

"Copper. Sinding says he passed on word about the missives?"

"Yes," they said. "Is it liable to be a problem?"

"We're not sure," he said. "My King would like to speak to you about it though." He nodded to Lewin. "And I mentioned you were minor nobility from High Rock who managed to help with a situation in the city so he'd like to speak with you as well. I did not mention your parentage but one of his advisors did."

"How did the advisor know?" he wondered. Great. I didn't want to delve into any of this. I've never had it become such common knowledge before.

"She is the Hagraven who told me that I would meet you," he explained.

"Madanach has Hagraven advisors?" Vilkas asked. "I thought he kept Calcelmo on."

"He did. Calcelmo was frantic at the idea of losing his research, talked him into allowing him to remain. And Madanach finds him useful when dealing with ambassadors from other lands. But he has three Hagravens to advise on spiritual matters."

"Ah, I can imagine that helps him with the local redoubts," Lewin said.

[throughtrialbyfire]

WIP Wednesday <3

thank you so much to the incredible @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter @dirty-bosmer @gilgamish for tagging me this week, if you haven't read their posts or checked out their art, you absolutely should!!

i'm gonna tag @orfeoarte @umbracirrus @aphocryphas @wispstalk @thana-topsy @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @totally-not-deacon and YOU! yes, you, reader, if you haven't been tagged then consider yourself tagged and feel free to hop in! i'm so excited to see what you're all working on this week, and no pressure as always!

i'm doing another two-for-one special this week because i'm having so much fun with writing the different points of view of the dragonborn trio, and want to show how their thought processes differ when grappling with situations. these are snippets from chapters 22 and 23 of "Cycle of the Serpent", Wyndrelis and Emeros' POVs respectively. hope you enjoy it! <3

Chapter 22, Wyndrelis POV

Wyndrelis sipped coffee. Ate little. Did his best to recall yesterday. They had wandered into Solitude on a bright noon, sun glistening off the Sea of Ghosts. Every green tree and every bounce of the light off the stones and the grass, every palm of the wind along their backs and sound of Athenath's tambourine, the birds dove and swept the breath of Kyne along their wings. It had been picturesque, a painting, a moving landscape of a perfect journey. To get into Solitude, to get their official Imperial pardons. To join the Bard's College, and maybe spend a few months learning from them before heading back on the road. The kinds of things that made sense, that formed coherent images in Wyndrelis' mind. The gates opened. Then, the shouting. Then, the crowd and the gates locking and the Nord up on the block, instantaneous, nothing they could do, crowd cheering and dispersing and all so quick, all so calm, a reminder of where they were and what that meant. This land was a leviathan, spines rising from the seas of calm as a reminder that this land was fed in blood.

Athenath had cupped their fingers over their mouth. Emeros stood, still, balling his fists. Wyndrelis didn't remember anything much further. He'd slid down the city wall. He felt grass beneath his palms. Sweat on his brow. Tremors. Helgen. He smelled it still. Burnt flesh and homes destroyed. Ash still stained his clothes if he thought on it too long, creeping back just when he'd been able to push it from his mind. Emeros had made an absent motion. The other two followed him closely, Athenath fidgeting with his hands, Wyndrelis' gaze focused on the ground. The Bosmer paid for a room at the inn. The laughter at the tables and the songs of a student bard gave the Dunmer a headache. Had they eaten? Had anything to drink since they'd stepped foot into the inn - the Winking Skeever - up until now? The bitter gnawing of his stomach when he'd awoken told him no, they hadn't. He sipped water slowly. Athenath had made a small dent into their soup. Every bite took more strength than the last. Wyndrelis held his gaze on his own meal, now. Half-consumed. Barely tasted. The linger of salt on his tongue. "I don't think we're doing much of anything for a few days," Emeros commented, attempting a light tone, "so if neither of you have any immediate plans, we should…" trailing off, he caught sight of Wyndrelis, the furrow of his dark brow, then the look on Athenath's face, neutral aside from the reddening under their eyes, and he sighed, "…gods. Let's… Take a few days. To collect ourselves, I suppose. We're no good to anyone, not even ourselves, if we're in this state."

Chapter 23, Emeros POV

If Emeros ever got General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak together in a room, he'd kill them both. A languid haze shone off the waters of the Sea of Ghosts. He watched it from the window of the Winking Skeever with what could only be described as mild contempt. Contempt for the silence. For the goings-on of the people down the hall, at the hearth, in the town square. The sundry moods of them in all their garish hues, impish laughter coating one, stress coating another, cloaked all in these colors of the day ahead. But in none of them, did Emeros sense grief. Roggvir's head had lolled off the stone stage, landing squarely with a grotesque plop at the foot of an Imperial soldier. This had aroused no response. Another head. Another axe. What difference, then, was made in this one? None. None at all, he concluded with a quiet scoff. So, it had meant what, nothing? A life cut with a deft swinging of a blade at orders given, same as a tree fallen to a woodsman? Sawmill machinery, this war. The warmth of a hand on his arm startled him from thought. In the reflection of the glass, he saw the face of Athenath, Wyndrelis' figure hovering close behind. The night's rest had done them all some good; Athenath's unusually rosy hue returned, and Wyndrelis seemed to have regained some light in his eyes, or at the very least, stopped shaking. "You okay?" The question arrested him, a quiet surprise settling in the Bosmers features. What good would it do to answer honestly? What would be the point? They had all seen the same thing, the same, horrific thing. They shared, too, in the suffering for it, the knowledge of their own terrible near-miss with the executioners. How ironic, then, the dragons, those dreadful bastards of Akatosh, had been the ones to save them. The bashful shuffling of Wyndrelis' fur-lined boots against the stone floors drew Emeros back from his silent thoughts, meeting Athenath's gaze. "Yes, I'm fine," he replied, shaking his head, "I'm more worried about you two." The sprawl of Athenath's thumb along the side of his shoulder forced Emeros to find some way to redirect. To keep the other two grounded. He cleared his throat, turning slow on his heel to face both of his friends in full, amber eyes darting from one to the other, small smile catching on at the edges of his lips. "Truly, I do hope you're both feeling at least a little better." The other Mer glanced to one another. Emeros turned back only to the window to catch sight of a hawk, sweeping the sun away a moment, his own grave face staring back at him, his smile a grim touch. He dropped it.

[nightimedreamersworld]

Six Sentence Sunday Monday

thank you for the tags this Sunday my lovelies @rimeswithpurple @martsonmars @prettygoododds @forabeatofadrum ❤️ love seeing your wips!

I totally meant to post this yesterday, but I was busy packing and spending a few last hours with my family. Now I'm inside a bus and headed back to Uni.

Still, I figured I'd share a little something from the super-sad AWTWB au I've teased before. It's that scene from the book again, you know which:

Snow follows closely, shining light ahead. To be honest, it's probably scaring away the already scarce animals, but his presence comforts me. This might as well be the only time we do this. The last time.  I catch one last squirrel and bash the poor thing's head against the nearest tree. Snow lets out a low whistle.   I can't help but smirk at him. “Four to six," I say, without thinking.  He frowns. “What?"  "It's… well. I mean." I wave the dead squirrels at him. “How many I need. To feel full."  Snow's frown deepens. Now I want to bash my head against a tree.  I sigh. "It was just… forget it."  “No, I get it. Four to six." He gives me a lopsided smile. "Is that, like, an inside joke?"  I shrug. “You seemed to think it was funny before."  And that's obviously the wrong thing to say, as his face closes off immediately.  “Yeah," he says, “right."

It's obviously not Sunday anymore, so I'm tagging in advance of Wip Wednesday: @artsyunderstudy @cutestkilla @captain-aralias @bookish-bogwitch @ivelovedhimthroughworse @valeffelees @blackberrysummerblog @j-nipper-95 @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @palimpsessed @alexalexinii @iamamythologicalcreature @hushed-chorus @whatevertheweather @confused-bi-queer @aristocratic-otter and anyone else who would like to share!