#not sure how to post fic here or if i should but you know !!! snippets are there

[cspcrashing]

☠️: kurosaki. what the hell kinda shirt is this ?

🍓: i only said it would fit you, not that it would be your style. besides, it looks fine on you.

☠️: you— fuckin' whatever doc'.

🍓: you like it, don't you.

☠️: shut it.

[presepohne]

peaches and wine.

nsfw. Fuckboy!John McTavish x F!Reader [ALTERNATE UNIVERSE]

summary: johnny fucks the sweet innocent bird, just a trailer or intro to the bigger oneshot i'm writing.

warnings: johnny is a filthy man and we love that, the reader is inexperienced asf, virgin, just the reader getting half way naked, mostly for shits and giggles.

note: as i was taking forever for the johnny smut so i posted a small snippet from it.

FULL FIC !

Johnny has seen many men and women in his life, fucked 'em good. Pretty blondes, sassy women, men who could bend him at different angles, women who could step on him, men who would beg for him, women who are sweet and kind, men who are absolutely amazing at their dick game, women who cheated on their husbands, experienced and inexperienced alike.

And gods, he loves women and men both.

But women mostly.

But it bewilders him to see you creep up to him at a party. He knows you, yeah he does. He has seen you lurk at the last benches of the classes, a pen in your mouth or sometimes fiddling with it. You're a good student, great even— top scores always and he admires you for your dedication.

So it comes to him as a shock as you ask him to fuck you, straight up, no bulshit.

Clearly, you are drunk, cheeks flushed pretty as you pouted and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. The shorts looking so fucking good on you and making you ass look so fucking bite-able.

He shakes his head, clearly you're out of your mind. A sweetheart, who has never focused on anything else but her academics asking him to fuck you, without any hesitation.

"Aye lass you sure—"

He just wants to make sure, doesn't wanna take advantage, afterall he's a gentleman fuckboy. He'll ask if you're comfy, he'll make sure consent is consent, hell he'll stop half way naked if you ask him to stop.

But that gets a nervous reaction out of you, lips trembling and lashes damp with tears as you start to stutter, a fumbling mess with words as you try to look away, the soft bloom of red on your cheeks now absolutely flushing you.

That makes him groan, in want. He's trying to think of ten different ways to clam his chubbing up dick down.

Think about her doing maths– that's hot, fuck. Think about Simon– fuck he's hot too, think about Gaz— aye nah mate—

His brows are furrowed as he tries to negotiate with you— "Ay– lass nah me didn't wanne make ye cry–"

But it's already out of the box and you're getting all teary and sobbing so he complies.

He takes you to his apartment, doesn't shove his tongue down your throat— but does squeeze your waist as he leads you to his door— it's a nice place, smells like cheese more than anything. You grimace, but smile at him.

He looks at you, "Should I get ye some water lass?"

"No thank you"

Your head is now drowning in guilt— of using Johnny to lose your virginity. Some sort of pitch black feeling clawing up into the pit you call your stomach— salt already dampening your cheek because—

You are reminded of Simon's words.

Now you know you look all sweet and innocent, kind of a person who would never indulge into such activities, it makes you head spin how easily people fuck each other and give away their body.

It makes you absolutely sick.

But it also makes you feel alienated from your friend circle when they talk about sex, or one night stands. You awkwardly standing and looking here and there to appear nonchalant about the whole sex talk of your group.

It began to get worse everyday when your friends started to coo and coddle you with the tag of the innocent friend. To the point where they wouldn't really take you out— that's bad, that's mean.

Maybe logical too if you tried to squint a little— because honestly you really wouldn't enjoy.

But humiliation plays a bigger role and here you are at Johnny's apartment, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt as you try to undress yourself in a seductive manner failing horribly when you can't unbutton your shirt. Johnny has vanished somewhere in the hallway— you know Simon stays here too.

Simon, that bastard of a man. God's you want to punch him square in his face and maybe break his already crooked nose.

Tears that were on the bay now falling down your cheeks again as you wipe them furiously, recalling his words of dismissing you. Nah, don't do innocent girls like ya sweet'art. And turn around without soaring a second glance.

Johnny is back from god knows where with two popsicles in his hands, honestly he thought of trying to talk you out of it— share something sweet and book you a taxi back to your apartment.

You are half way undressed, bra on the floor, shirt crumpled somewhere along the doorway, your hands on your shorts— clearly unbuttoning it to pull 'em down.

A few minutes might have gone, Johnny gulps, the popsicles melting down his hands as he straightens up. "Ye– ye serious lass?" He's looking like a puppy, too shocked or something– closer to thanking God.

He does, in his head he is reciting prayers in the name of almighty suddenly.

Your skin is so tender, soft to look at and Johnny wonders how it would feel under his hands. Your breasts round and so fucking pretty, nipples perked up because of the cold air of the AC, your shy gaze.

All the fucking sheer will he used to clam his cock down thrown out of the window— (he shoved his dick under the cold tap water, blue balls) and the only thought that consumed him was how many angles would he be able to bend you in and fuck you raw.

You're a shy but squirmy thing now, arms wrapping around your chest instinctively as you look away, a hot blush of red over your skin as you bite your lips nervously, but then again you're more embarrassed and hurt at Simon's rejection than Johnny seeing you naked.

The surge of adrenaline as you look at him again and speak clearly, "John McTavish fuck me" has his blood searing down south.

He whistles, throws the popsicles into the dustbin.

"Aye— as you command mam—"

Oh he's gonna fuck you to oblivion.

[max-nicoxfandom]

Happy WIP Wednesday ! Here is a first draft/snippet of a random chapter in my long fic I'm working on (don't go looking for it, still unsure if I'm going to post it), bc I think I'm gonna take this part out even if I really like the concept.

Danny is like 6-7yrs old in this

Danny is a weird kid.

That's not to say Dick expected him to be normal when his family took him in. No, even if Danny wasn't still half dead, no one in this family is normal. Not even Duke and Barbara, the self proclaimed normies of the family.

Danny has brought a certain life to the manor, even in death, that has Dick contemplating moving back. Somehow, even Jason has been spending more time than usual there. Arguments have been lessened, the manor has been less creaky and more settled, Alfred even looks a little younger these days.

It's both the fault of Danny's sweet exterior, and the odd green that swirls in the blue of his eyes. Not the same hue as Jason's, but something near to it.

He's a lot like Jason, actually. Dick is sure if Jason had come to them just a little bit younger he'd be the spitting image of Danny.

It's the little things that make them look so similar. Almost everyone in the manor has the blue-green eye, black hair combo. It's everything else in Danny that makes him look exactly like Jason.

Danny likes to wish the moon good morning when he sees it during the day, and insists on opening his curtains when he goes to sleep so the moon can listen to his bedtime story too. He likes to check his stuffed animals for injuries when they fall off furniture. He thanks Alfred for his food, and thanks his food for being yummy. When he leaves the manor, he blows the building a kiss goodbye.

Dick does not tell Bruce that the house pulls itself from the ground, and creaks back.

Sure, Jason wasn't dead (not yet, anyway), but he was so excited to be alive. He had that same disposition to do good to everyone and everything that Danny does. Jason may not be some sort of partial human like Danny, but Jason was Robin, and Robin? Robin is magic.

You don't have to believe in ghosts for them to be real, and you don't have to see Danny for him to exist. On the same wavelength, you don't have to see Robin to know Jason made him magic. It was just the truth. Like how the sky is blue and Bruce is Batman.

Dick is watching his life be changed one step at a time, just like it was with Jason–like how it was supposed to be with Jason–and like it was with his siblings.

He keeps flowers in his car now. He didn't before, he never had a reason for it.

But one time, Danny cried as they passed a graveyard. He was sitting curled up against the window in the back while Dick hummed along to some ballad on the radio. It was peaceful, as things tend to be when Danny's around, and even as the kid cried Dick never stopped feeling tranquil. He knew everything would be okay, Dick would stop at nothing to make his new brother happy again.

“I have no flowers.” He’d said. Dick hadn't even gotten the chance to ask what was wrong. “They'll all be so sad I came by, and I had no flowers.”

Danny's eyes were green when he'd spoken. Green, teary, and filled with more mourning a child should ever understand. Dick's heart broke about a thousand times over.

So now Dick keeps flowers in his car. Whenever he drives past a graveyard he throws a flower out the window, just like Danny does. And if the bouquet dies before he gets to give them away, he gives them to Danny, and he buries them in the backyard.

Green eyed and sad. Sometimes Jason joins him, sometimes Damian does. Dick never feels like it's his place.

This fic also has to do with the cult thing I was talking about sometime ago, and the post about big cities. I kinda regret having this take place in Gotham instead of Amity, but it's too late now (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Asks and interactions are always welcome !

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

no doubt ── s. jy (sneak peek!)

update: this fic's been posted! click here to read <3

↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.

↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]

↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || fluff, angst, crack

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── hai everyone, the freaking turmoil & HOLD this fic has on me,,,has me writing til 8AM in the freaking morning because CLEARLY ─ i have unspoken issues . anyways here's a teaser of my recent hyperfixation that i'm sharing with the world. at the rate i'm writing this every night (& morning), it should be out soon (hopefully) :3 also this snippet i decided to include is my attempt at angst...i hope yall enjoy !

also send me an ask/comment if you'd like to be tagged !!! <3

snippet under the cut!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

“Y/N.” 

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago. You stop in your tracks, swallowing hard before turning around.  

Jake stands a few feet away, his usual easy confidence replaced by something raw, almost broken. He looks disheveled, his hands clenching at his sides as though they're the only thing anchoring him.  

“Can we talk?” he asks, his voice low but unsteady. 

You stomach twists, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"  

You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter. 

He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.  

“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation.  

"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.  

"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."  

“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…” 

"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll shatter if he gets too close. "I was nervous." 

"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest. 

You let out a hollow laugh, the sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.” 

“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."  

You look at him, your eyes stinging with unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “Then why was...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?” 

He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"  

Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens this mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you’re afraid of. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—the sound caught somewhere between a sigh of realization and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you've tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you suddenly, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment, about him. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true. 

"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."  

"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said before—I meant it."  

His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see your tears finally spilling over.  

"You promised," you let out softly. "You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you hurt me anyways."  

"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one I care about."  

You shake your head again, the tears now freely slipping down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I wanted to, I really, really did. But tonight..."  

Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. This was the first time seeing you in so long, and this sight of you—broken because of him—cuts deeper than he thought possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.” 

You look at him—at the boy who's become your safe space —and all you feel is the ache in your heart.  

"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out a deep breath and take a step back. "I think I just need space."  

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in face, "Y/N..." 

Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay, to give him the chance he's begging for. But your head knows better. 

"I have to go," you murmur softly, turning away before the tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.  

Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he sees you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.  

The hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps, a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

not my usual style of light-hearted crack...but sum of the other parts are still very rom-commy bc im sucker for dat shtuff :3

let me know if you'd like to be tagged !

<3, addie

[freneticfloetry]

I am actively writing in three different fandoms, and it's making me slightly schizophrenic. But this is a piece of the Tevan fic I started in the first place (before the fluff stormed the castle), and since I spent a not insignificant amount of time being in my Buck feelings today, it seemed like a fitting piece to post.

Thanks to @whatsintheboxmh @alrightbuckaroo @carlossreaders @lemonlyman-dotcom @heartstringsduet and @strandnreyes for the tags today. 😘

"Maddie says I should learn how to be alone." The scoff leaves his lungs before Tommy can stop it. "Sounds like they're trying to teach you whether you want the lesson or not," he mutters, and mashes the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Sorry, I… Jesus. Evan." "She didn't mean it like that," Evan rushes out, shaking his head, and Tommy’s heart aches a bit at the fierce baby brother in Evan riding to his big sister's defense. “I just think she worries, and she still feels sort of guilty, and after what she went through with Doug… I think she just wants to make sure that I’m a whole person. You know? That, that I know who I am on my own.” Tommy swallows and nods and tries not to twitch. He’s sure Maddie means well. But really, what does she think her brother had been doing all that time — plotting his way across the country in a hand-me-down Jeep, jumping from odd job to odd job. Sending souvenir postcards from every waypoint to tell her all about the person he'd tried to be there, knowing he'd never receive a word in return. Alone is the only thing Evan had been the whole way. He'd spent literal years being nothing but alone. And he'd stopped running here, laid down roots and let himself grow with the promise that he wouldn't have to be again. “And you think that she’s right.” Evan pulls his eyebrows together, genuinely contemplating what was barely a question. And the part of him that’s a little lost still looks so young, but the part of him that’s lived too much looks weary beyond his years. “She’s not usually wrong,” he finally says. “But I don’t know. I was alone a long time. Since I came to LA, even. Since I became a firefighter. Alone I can deal with. I just…” He smears both palms down the length of his thighs and looks to Tommy like he needs him to understand. “Alone and lonely are two different things, right? I haven’t been lonely, really, since I joined the 118. But I am, now. Lonely. I think I have been for a while. And I don’t know how to do that, with everything. With them. I can’t keep… I don’t think I can do that there.”

These single em dash snippets are going to give me a complex. What in the world have I become?

Tagging in @liminalmemories21 @@rmd-writes @never-blooms @paperstorm @welcometololaland @reyesstrand @orchidscript @ladytessa74 @bonheur-cafe @herefortarlos @carlos-in-glasses @anincompletelist @emsprovisions @firenati0n @firstprince-history-huh @three-drink-amy @walkinginland @carlos-tk @afiendishthingynisba and @hoko-onchi-writes

(If you'd like to be included in the tag games tag list, drop me a line and let me know!)

[thatbanditqueen]

The Cactus Tree TOST One-Shot Snippet

I've been writing this on and off for months, among about five other wip chapters ficlets etc....I am setting a goal for myself to finish it this week because I want to return to this world and dive back into Elvis and Midge and explore different times from my fic The Only Sure Thing.

This is a snippet of a TOST one-shot I'm writing set in 1968. Midge has been on her own working in TV for the last couple of years, and after a rough up and down journey is trying to claw back her career. One Friday night she finds herself stuck in Palm Springs when a blast from her past rides out of the desert and back into her life....

Warnings: Nothing...yet.

Let me know if you want to be tagged or tagged - I copied an old taglist from my last TOST posting..... thanks to my friend whositmcwhatsit for alpha-ing this post from the afterlife outside tumblr and to @vintageshanny for cheering me on in my writing when I doubt myself.... To all my friends here in elvis fic world I am grateful to connect with you through him

9:34 p.m. Friday, December 11 1968

Starlite Diner, Palm Springs

I was looking out at the desert as I whined to Rona. I caught my scowl staring back at me in the mirror above the payphone and frowned deeper.

“Midge? You still there?” 

Rona’s voice echoed over the phone line.

I balanced the phone on my shoulder and wiped off the liner and mascara under my eyes, doing my best to smooth the flyaways jumping off the sides of my french twist.

“Sorry, Ro. Lost my train of thought - what was I saying? Oh yeah, no, so then she just took the script and told me - no, ordered me - to come back tomorrow morning. She must know I drove out here from the studio. What does she think I’m going to do for the next 14 hours?”

Rona’s voice purred back at me, warm and reassuring like a cup of coffee on a cold day. 

“Oh pussycat, you know how this game works. Lucy can do whatever she wants. Besides, I thought you told Helen you’d do whatever it took to - ”

“I know,” I sighed, thinking of my desperate promises. Promises I had made when I got out of The Farm and was back in LA, made begging my old boss for a second chance. “I just  - I didn’t think she’d stick me with Bobbi. That woman has it out for me. You should have seen her jump at the chance to send me here.”

“Stop sulking, Midge, it will give you wrinkles. You’re in one of the most exclusive resorts in the world. Why not take the opportunity and spend the weekend out there.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the lifeless main street on the other side of the diner and sighed.

“I’d consider it, but it’s emptier than Macy’s after a sale. I'm at the edge of civilization out here, I can’t figure why people make such a fuss about getting away to Palm Springs. Who would want to spend time here?”

Rona coughed. Pointedly. “Ahem. Well, me, for one.”

“Oh yeah.” I gulped, remembering why I’d called.  “So, can I crash at your pad?” 

“You know I would almost be insulted, Miriam, if I weren’t used to your meshugas.”

I could hear Rona rolling her eyes.

“I know I know,I’m a thoughtless jerk always sticking my foot in my mouth.”

“Enough with the half-assed apologies already. Of course you can stay at my place, Midge. All I ask is that you keep an open mind and try to enjoy it. Because getting away from civilization is the whole point.”

“I guess I just don’t get the appeal.” 

“Peter Lawford has the house next to mine. If you see him, you should ask him why he'd want to hide out from his wife or the studios and their morality clauses, and spend the weekend suffering by the pool with his harem of mistresses. Behind all those tall hedges. In our gated community.”

“Hmm, so you’re saying Palm Springs is for sex. Of course. But wait, you can’t tell me Lucy is coming out here to have secret orgies.”

I heard a dish rattle, and turned to see the diner’s lone waitress filling my coffee cup back at the counter. I wondered if she had heard me and smiled awkwardly at her as I listened to Rona.

“You might be surprised.”

“Rona. Not everything is about sex.”

“Ok, so, it’s also privacy. Status. And relaxation. You should try it. Maybe you’ll hit it off with Peter.”

“Ha, no thanks. I’m done with men for a while.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. A good schtupping is just what you need, it’s been what, a few months?”

I caught myself frowning again and twirled the pay phone, clearing my throat.

“It’s been - a  - look. I’m just starting to get things back together, I don’t want any distractions.”

Rona tutted at me.

“Who said anything about a distraction? You’re overthinking this. Unless, what, is this some sort of AA thing or something?”

“No, not really. It’s more of a me rule.”

“OK, but wait, what if Peter doesn’t stick it in all the way, just an inch-”

“Rona!”

“That doesn’t break your rule, right?”

“That might work for the Kennedys, Ro, but not for me.”

I had to cover my mouth after another curious look from the waitress followed our burst of giggles.

A small potted cactus sat next to the cash register at the front of the diner and I stood there, studying it, as the  waitress drew me a map to Rona’s place. 

I nodded at the plant. 

“Isn’t it hard enough trying to avoid these things outside without bringing them inside as pets?” 

The waitress paused and looked up at me. Her face was framed by her long blonde hair hanging down around her face unstyled. Upon closer inspection, I realized that she wasn’t wearing any make-up. Or a bra.

“My heart is full and free like the cactus tree.” She hummed lightly. “I think she’s beautiful -”

“- she?” I mused.

“Oh yeah, she’s definitely a girl. She told me so when I liberated her.”

“Liberated, huh?”

“Mmmm. From the sun. Takes a lot for cacti to survive in the desert. Can’t blame them for trying to protect themselves, and I think it makes her all the more beautiful.” 

“Well, that’s a first. If being prickly makes you beautiful, I must be a knockout.”

“Huh?” The waitress looked up at me, eyes squinting, as if I’d just grown a third eye.

I looked at her, like really looked at her, for the first time that night. We were probably about the same age, I bet she was 25 or 26, but she spoke to me like I was some 100 years old. I wanted to pick up her liberated cactus plant and use it to pop her free spirit. Instead, I smiled sweetly and took my map.

“Well. She doesn't seem very free to me, all caged up in here just for you to admire.”

The waitress started to say something, but I didn’t hear it. I was suddenly distracted by a large cloud forming in the desert behind her.

“Say, is that some sort of nighttime sandstorm?”

She looked over her shoulder where I pointed.

“Ugh, it’s those bums -  just a bunch of rich teens from Las Palmas racing the sand dunes.”

“You’d think it would be illegal after dark.”

“It is.” The waitress shrugged. “But those pricks don’t think the rules apply to them, and I guess the cops agree. No one ever comes after them. They've done it every weekend this month.”  

The sand clouds grew until they were not more than fifty yards off, and then an army of ants drove out from under the dust, growing larger as they swerved haphazardly toward us.

“Well, I guess if you can’t find the nightlife you have to make it yourself.”

The waitress folded her arms and directed her disdain towards the fleet of buggies zooming over the sand.  “Oh yeah, they think our parking lot is just here to be a turning point in their relay race.” 

“Teenage boys are idiots. How did our species ever evolve?”

She nodded halfheartedly, quiet as we watched the buggies jump the top of the concrete wall that divided the desert from this part of town.

“Gosh, I thought for sure he was gonna eat it.”

“Nah, they make it alright. ” She turned, nonchalantly, to finish my map. “S’like Dylan said, the rich man drives his Lincoln past the red light with a grin.”

“Ain’t it the truth.” 

The sounds of teen boys hooting with delight followed me to my car, and I smiled at their youthful exuberance, trying to think of the last time I’d done anything reckless. Probably the last time I’d seen Elvis. 

And then, as if my memories were coming alive, one of the racing karts crossed my path and I was staring into a face I knew all too well. 

I blinked, frozen in my tracks. Was I hallucinating? This was no teenage boy. No. It was Alan. One of the guys in Elvis’ entourage. One of the guys I’d known almost all my life.

Alan had watched from the sidelines living, like I was, in Elvis' LA homes as I’d gone through all the cliche stages of first love in the arms of an insecure movie star incapable of fidelity: smitten idiot, playmate, devoted lover and scorned lunatic. And Elvis had played his roles impeccably, hitting all the marks of besotted loverboy, impulsive child, jealous partner and spiteful cad. 

One of the good things to come out of all those sessions at The Farm was understanding that I had done this to myself. And working with Shirley, my AA sponsor, I’d been able to let go of all the resentment I had carried around toward him like a bucket of mud I’d been carrying around on my head. When I was honest with myself, I knew that I had been with Elvis, as always, the architect of my own demise.

I had known from the moment I first smiled at Elvis that the spark I’d felt in my belly was dangerous. That to pursue him was a bad idea. Before we even kissed. He’d been dating Anita then, along with every co-star and a cadre of fairweather girls from Los Angeles to Memphis.  Facts I had known well, courtesy of my brother,  Artie, who, like Alan, was in Elvis’ entourage. Yes, even at 17 I had known all the way to my core that getting involved with Elvis was a no good, very bad absolutely train wreck of an idea. 

But I hadn’t been able to help myself. 

And it had been the mistake that kept on giving. Even after I had stopped living with him, even after I had sworn to never see him again, something would happen. I’d run into him, or Charlie would call me out of the blue, and suddenly I forgot all the pain and heartache and ran right back to him like a ship purposefully charting course for a hurricane. Until she destroyed herself.

I wasn’t that girl anymore though. I had left her and all her other bad decisions in New York when I went to The Farm a year ago. I was smart. I knew better. And I knew how to act like it too now. 

And so, when I heard his voice there, in the cool desert night, bringing me back from the past and into the moment, I took a deep breath and steeled myself against the pounding of my heart

“Quit scaring the locals, Hog Ears. Damn boy.” The buggie stopped moving and Elvis turned toward me. One arm was snaked around a petite blonde, while the other waved at me and his tone shifted to the aw shucks Southern charm he used on unsuspecting strangers.

“Sorry, ma’am, you’ll have to forgive my friend here - he can’t drive for nothin’ - “ 

Our eyes met and I blushed when the recognition knocked the words out of his mouth.

His tall, slim body was still only for a beat as he did a double take, and then launched out of the buggie like a rocket to pull me into a tight embrace before I could even say hello.

“Miryum, is it really you? I can’t believe it.”

“Uh-huh-um-yeah.”

His eyes were bright as he looked me over and I pinched my nail into my palm trying to quell the nervous flutter in my chest.

“You out here looking for me, honey?” 

His voice was low and sweet, and his hands found my waist with a familiar squeeze. They rolled over my body the way he might run them over an old coat, checking to make sure his wallet was still where he left it.

I wanted to collapse into him, soak up the smell of sweat and cheap cigars and earthy desert air that I found in his chest and stay there forever. The intensity of his fingers grasping my sides tempted me, but then I heard a cough and found a sweet blonde looking back at me over his shoulder with an even sweeter smile.

Elvis stepped back and shook his head as if coming out of a daze, then ran his hand through his hair, but it didn’t do any good. The black shiny mess flopped back out like a mushroom over the sides of his head.

I laughed out at it and he narrowed his eyes at me, licking my shin with the tip of his shoe and then shuffling back and jamming his hands into his back pockets as he glanced at his companion.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, uh, this is “

The blonde smiled bigger as she stuck out her hand and tried to hug me too. She must be a native Californian.

“Susie.”

Elvis rested his arm on her shoulder and pointed at me, 

“This is uh Miryum, Artie’s - uh - friend. Sister. From Memphhiss.” 

Susie took my hand in hers, warm and kind all the things I was much to try to even try to fake.

“Neato, I love that guy. He’s so fun. You guys here for the weekend?”

Fun. A word I never applied to my brother and his permanent frown. I smiled even bigger and friendlier. 

“Oh, no. I’m actually in Palm Springs for work. I didn’t even know you had a place out here.”

His steady gaze faltered, just for a moment, like a candle flickering in the wind.

“I guess it’s been a while, ain’t it.”

“Mmmhmmm.” 

The husky, low grain of his voice sent a shiver down my back and I had to look at the ground to escape his eyes as they searched my face.

“Artie was just here last weekend, wasn’t he, El?”

Elvis looked up at the sound of her voice, as if he had forgotten she was here. Even as his hand hung over her shoulder. 

“Huh, what honey? Oh yeah, we should get back. Joe and Richard liable to have eaten all the chow.”

Elvis gave me a kiss on the cheek and murmured how good it was to see me.

“You need anything, you just let me know, ok? Anything, baby. I mean it.”

His breath was warm against my skin and I had to bite my lip to stop the sigh at the back of my throat from coming out. I nodded and mumbled at my feet.

“I know.”

I hit his shoulder, and Susan ambushed me with a big hug and whispered “I hope I see you around.”

Our bonding was cut short by Elvis’ loud stomping back to his buggy and I watched her scurry to catch up. He waved his hand in farewell from the go-cart, and with a final wink, started his engine and descended back into the desert from whence he had emerged like a mirage at an oasis.

I clenched my fists and sighed at the moon; Ready to let gravity take me down to the dirty, rough ground of this empty parking lot, but, instead, I took a deep breath and summoned the strength to force my legs to carry me to my car and contemplate the twisted sense of humour of the universe.

Six months ago, I had returned to LA and I had purposefully been avoiding Elvis since coming back. Of course I would run into him here. Tired, disheveled, hardly able to form complete sentences after a day from hell.

It was almost too absurd to believe.

I began to doubt if this had really happened. Had Elvis been here at all, or was I having a nervous breakdown?  Maybe I was still at The Farm, strapped in for another electric shock treatment and, any minute, I would come too, sweaty and naked under a robe, screaming as I convulsed into the lights above my head. 

I slapped my cheek.

“You’re crazy, you know that? You need sleep.”

Scott McKenzie was on the radio, and I began to sing along as I put the car in first gear. Then there was a loud slap on the window and I screamed at the top of my lungs as I turned to find Alan standing there, asking me where I was staying.

comment and let me know what you think.....

@lookingforrainbows

@vintageshanny

@ellie-24

@be-my-ally

@missmaywemeetagain

@from-memphis-with-love

@shakerattlescroll

@peskybedtime

@eliseinmemphis

@notstefaniepresley

@beeandheroddobsessions

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@richardslady121

@doll-elvis

@burningloverdoll

@dkayfixates

@ohjustpeachy1

@artlover8992

@everythingelvispresley

@velvetelvis

@ashtag6887

@horror-movieshoes

@i-r-i-n-a-a

@ooihcnoiwlerh

@moonchild-daniella

@lialocklear

@obsessionisthecure

@literally-just-elvis-fics

@eapep

@lulubell3

@amix1982

[hedwig221b]

I am struggling because we have been so spoiled with basically monthly fics from you since like september and I went to your ao3 profile today because I was dying to feel something and realized it's literally only been one month since your last fic post and meanwhile my brain had convinced me it had been 5 months lol needless to say, your writing exceeds ALLLLLL.

are they that forgettable lol... hehe but also not hehe

Since I'm sure I won't be posting anything in May (but who knows really? I go deranged easily these days), here, have a snippet of sterek new moon au (one name is spoilery, so I redacted it)

“I am his mate,” Stiles said, deeply tired. “I chose this just as much as he did. It’s the price that I’m willing to pay.”

“You don’t have the funds!” [spoiler] rubbed their nose bridge. “All I’m saying is that none of this would have happened if you chose, I don’t know… Parrish for example.” They gazed at him, swinging their slipper. “Let’s go out.”

“What?” The headache loomed on the horizon.

“We need to find you a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Maybe, you should try it with the girls.”

His stomach pulsed with acid.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Why? He dumped you.”

“I told you it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“How?!”

“We’re mates. That’s it.”

[spoiler] looked ready to explode. They leaned forward and thrust a finger at him. “You are human. It’s not forever for you. You have a choice. I am supposed to be Cora’s mate, and I don’t feel shit!”

Stiles smiled. It sent [spoiler] into a stupor, that cold it was.

“Do you and Cora have this?” He grabbed his collar and pushed it away, revealing the crescent set of scars.

The imprint of his wolf’s teeth was now forever etched into his flesh. Stiles liked to push on it, to feel the craters under his finger pads. No matter how far he ran or hid, he would never be able to ignore it.

“The mating bite,” said [spoiler]. Their gaze shifted from Stiles’ neck to his face.

“Yep.” Stiles looked down. “There can never be anyone else,” he muttered. “It’s not about the ownership. He loves me. I love him. And that’s it.”

All in present tense.

It would’ve been easier if Stiles misunderstood the whole thing. If the wolf told Stiles he didn’t need him. But Stiles knew, he fucking knew that somewhere out there Derek was suffering just as much as him.

Derek.

Derek, Derek, Derek.

He was afraid to repeat it too many times, because what if it loses any meaning? He would not survive then. He was human, after all, nothing but that. Human mind was a sieve, and this time Stiles wasn’t strong enough to be an exception.

He didn’t remember his mother’s laugh. He would never be able to recreate her pancakes. She smelled like cemetery soil; her touch was gravestone-cold; her dresses hung next to Dad’s shirts in their old house as they did now in Beacon Hills.

Stiles stood up.

“I need to go,” he said roughly and moved to the exit.

[divider link]

[starmocha]

Remember when I said the Grassland!Sylus childhood friends/arranged marriage/soulmates AU was at around 4.6k words?

she grew and I still have like three scenes I need to finish writing, but instead of doing that, I kept writing new scenes and...I think I lost control of the story and my life (╥_╥)

So I'm posting another snippet, because...my brain is tired and I really, really, really want to finish this by Sunday because I have another AU wip that I'm also obsessed with I mean I need to finish part 3 of that other Sylus breeding kink fic I promise it's coming

Reminder that this story will include light breeding kink, pregnancy kink, smut, body worship, gratuitous usages of terms of endearment ("my bride" and "my beloved"), Sylus being grossly in love with you, basically lots of fluff. Anyhoo...

The following morning you were lazing in the field as the flock of sheep grazed peacefully all around you. The warm sunlight had you yawning, already feeling yourself being lured by the tempting sun into drifting back to sleep. As the time passed, your eyes felt heavier, and you nodded off a little. Another yawn escaped before you decided a few minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt. Slowly, you closed your eyes, letting them rest for a few minutes. “Is this what you do when I’m not here?” You immediately opened your eyes when you heard Sylus’ approaching voice. You let out a soft surprised squeak when he knelt down next to you, his face looming just mere inches from yours. He was smirking. “Lazing around and sleeping? What if your sheep gets stolen by wild beasts, my beloved?” You glared at him. “I was not sleeping. I…was blinking.” “Your eyes were closed for far longer than a blink should be.” “I had some dust in my eyes.” “I’m quite sure I heard you snoring.” You blushed and shoved his face aside, glowering when he started laughing at you. “Did you come all the way out here just to tease me?” “Mmhmm,” he answered with a pleased nod as he sat back with his legs propped up. His elbow rested on top of his leg while he cradled his chin in his hand. You noticed in his other hand was a wreath crafted from leaves and berries. Your heart quickened and you gasped softly. You looked at him expectantly. It was at that moment that you noticed the dark bags under his eyes. You crawled over to him and he sat back, allowing you to settle in between his long legs. You reached up and touched his face. “Did you not sleep last night?” you asked him worriedly. He simply smiled and shook his head. Without a word, Sylus placed the wreath on top of your head. You reached up and touched it tentatively as you looked at him confused. “I wanted to finish this for you,” he explained, smiling, “Just as I had thought. This suits you.” “R-really?” “Mmhmm,” he hummed again, nodding. He leaned in to steal your lips. “You look beautiful.” “Sylus…” You could feel your cheeks warming up as he spoke. “Now everyone will know you are mine and I am yours.” You felt touched by his gesture. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, surprising him into losing his balance. Sylus laid on the grass with you on top of him. You grinned and kissed him happily. He looked up, gasping softly when he saw the sunlight had formed a radiant halo behind your head. How…ethereal... He smiled, his hand gently grasped your chin, his thumb brushing over your soft, trembling lips. “We are already promised to one another,” he said, “but if I may be presumptuous, I would still like to ask.” You looked down at him confused. “My beloved,” he said, voice soft and sincere, “will you be my bride?” You stroked his cheek, and as you leaned down closer to his face, your wreath tilted on your head. “What do you think?” He smiled. “Your wreath is going to fall off.” “You’ll put it back on for me, right?” He huffed in amusement at your audacious question, but he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, reaching up to fix the wreath for you, “I will…my bride.” For that brief moment, you felt like your heart had stopped, and then you smiled again as you leaned in and kissed him, feeling his strong arms wrapped around you and holding you close to his body. “This is my vow to you, my bride” he said, “There is only you in my eyes. In this life and all of the lifetimes afterwards, I will always choose you.” “Same for me,” you answered, gazing back at him fondly. You stroked his cheek, letting yourself drown in those passionate crimson eyes. “I will always find you,” you promised, “In all of our lives together, I will always find you and choose you, my love.” Your ardent words beckoned his lips to yours, and for the rest of the day, you lay together under the warm morning sun on the grassland, lost in your own world of bliss.

[laura1633]

Oh God your bottom boxer max/pretty soft Dom Charles post just changed my brain chemistry forever

Maybe...write it?? Please???

Well I am writing a boxer Max fic and it will be bottom Max and there is definitely an element of him being submissive. I hope it will be posted in the next couple months but I haven't decided whether to do it multi chapter or one long one shot yet.

In the meantime, here is a random snippet of Charles taking care of boxer Max. Sorry for the quality, it's rushed but hopefully gets the vibe across.

It’s the day after a fight when Max seems to suffer the most. The adrenaline from the previous night all but gone and replaced with the reality of what he has put his body through.

Its tough for Charles too, in a completely different way of course. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to waking up and seeing Max laying next to him battered and bruised. He’s not even sure that he wants to get used to it. 

It gets a little easier with time though. The sight of purple abrasions against pale white skin doesn’t make him recoil quite like it used to. 

Max is still his Max. Still beautiful in a way that makes Charles’ heart burst. His soft blue eyes swollen and darkened but framed with long thick lashes that flutter when he looks at Charles and smiles. 

“Hey,” Charles coos quietly, “Do you feel okay?”

Max nods delicately. His cheeks are puffy, lips fatter than they usually are, a red nick right above his left eyebrow looks particularly sore. 

“How do I look?” Max gives Charles a lopsided smile, even the curl of his lips looks pained. 

“Beautiful,” Charles hums, “Always beautiful.” 

Max snorts out a half laugh. Tired. Uncertain. 

“You don’t believe me?” Charles leans in, presses his lips careful against Max’s jaw, “You think a few cuts and bruises would stop you looking pretty?”

Max lets out a soft exhale, the tension in his shoulders relaxing as Charles continues to let his lips brush gently over his skin. 

“Do you want me to get you something to eat? Drink?” Charles strokes a hand through Max’s hair, smiling to himself as Max nuzzles against the touch. 

“Just want you,” Max makes a happy sound as Charles scratches lightly against his scalp. It’s a far cry from the Max that was on display last night. The Max that the public knows. Aggressive. Determined. A brawler always looking for his next knock out victory. 

The public see the muscled strength. The blood and sweat. The killer instinct. Charles knows a different Max. A softer Max. Gentle. The Max who appreciates a delicate touch. 

“You look in pain,” Charles gives Max a sympathetic look. Sometimes Max can come out of a fight with barely a blemish on him. Other times it looks like even breathing is a struggle. Today is a bad day, Charles can tell from the way Max inhales and exhaled so carefully, like his ribcage aches.

Max whimpers, brows pinching together, eyes pleading. If his lips weren’t so swollen then Charles is pretty sure there would be a visible pout. 

“Remember what we said,” Charles hums. 

“I have to tell you if it hurts,” Max says softly, already getting himself more comfortable on the bed, legs starting to inch apart. 

“That’s right,” Charles soothes as he inches the covers down, letting his gaze linger on each cut and patch of discolouration on the skin. Max may have won last night but he hasn’t come away unscathed.

“You should have seen the other guy,” Max quips half heartedly as he sees Charles staring at a particularly tender looking spot on his right side.

“I did see the other guy,” Charles runs his hands up Max’s legs  “But it’s you I’m worried about.” 

Max’s breath hitches the instant Charles gets to his thighs. For a moment Charles thinks he might have accidentally pressed against an injury but then the Dutchman moans softly and rolls his hips. 

“You need something inside you,” Charles hums, more of a statement than a question. The Monegasque might not be some muscled fighter but his touch is enough to make Max come undone in an instant, “What do you need?”

“You,” Max’s eyes are closed, head titled back, his dick already hard against his stomach, precum pooling right next to pink patch of skin. 

“Legs wider for me please,” Charles splays his hands to the inside of Max’s thighs and helps spread them. Max is particularly pliant the day after a fight, “Tell me what you want me to do to you?”

Max whines softly. 

“Use your words for me Max,” Charles reaches across to get some lubricant from the bedside cabinet and warms it through his fingers, “You’re doing so well for me.” 

And he really is. Charles knows Max is beyond exhausted. It’s not just the physical fight. It’s the lead up, the media scrutiny, the psychological side of preparation. He’s given everything he has to give. Almost everything. He saves a small part of himself for Charles. 

“I want you inside me,” Max mumbles lazily, a smile still on his face.

“That’s good,” Charles soothes as he runs his fingers around Max’s hole. Soft, slow movements. Still enough for Max to start moaning and rocking against him, eager for more. 

Charles smiles to himself. Teases a little past the point Max starts making disgruntled noises. Much like how Max has learnt to take his time and pick his moments in a fight, so has Charles. He knows when to make Max work for something, when to praise him, when to give him what he deserves. 

The Monegasque slides a finger inside, drawing out a breathy sound from Max. One finger becomes two, then three until Max is moaning and clenching around him, his dick still dribbling pre all over himself. 

“How do you want to come?” Charles curls his fingers, watches Max’s right thigh jerk. 

“With your dick inside me,” Max says confidently, spreading his legs wider as an invitation. 

“Do you deserve that?” Charles lets his fingers drag against Max’s rim and heaves himself off the bed so he can slip out of his clothes. 

“I won didn’t I?” Max smiles. 

“And if you hadn’t of won?” Charles asks, “Would you still have deserved me?”

Max pauses, squints through his blue eyes. 

“Baby,” Charles hums, “What did we say?”

Max takes a long laboured breath, “That I don’t have to win to deserve you.”

“That’s right,” Charles praises, “You’re so pretty, so perfect. You deserve so much” 

Max nods although Charles still isn’t sure if Max truly believes it. He still seems like he thinks he has something to prove, otherwise he wouldn’t keep putting his body through this time and time again. 

Charles clambers over Max and press the head of his cock against the Dutchman’s rim. The sounds Max makes are beautifully desperate, his hips bucking upwards trying to take what he wants.  When Charles pushes in, Max’s face relaxes as if he’s finally contented. 

[adanseying]

I wanted to finish writing this fic in time to post on Adam’s birthday, however due to my bad priorities (finishing my work for my internship on time instead of finishing the fic) I did not, but I still wanted to post Something on Adam day so here is a snippet:

When Adam awoke, it was to the soft pitter patter of rain against the window of his Harvard dorm room. Next to him, Richard Campbell Gansey the third was waking. He blinked open those beautiful hazel eyes, dark lashes fluttering as gently as the rain. Ever since a fateful early December day, Adam had hated rain. But nothing could make him hate this moment. 

“Adam.” 

Gansey had said his name so many times over their acquaintance, yet it sounded different each time. Sometimes it sounded like “hello” or “goodbye”. Sometimes it sounded like “I choose you, I need you. You are special, wondrous, a marvelous creature. You are my favorite.” These were the times Adam was most distrustful of his name on those perfect lips. The worst times, it had sounded like “ridiculous Adam, messy, difficult, ruinous Adam, Adam the bomb which could go off at any time, Adam who breaks things”. Adam is always bracing for a time when this is the only way Gansey can say his name. He does not believe in god, but if he did, he would pray that day never occurs. 

The way Gansey pronounces his name now is not like those other times. Any of them. Today he says it quietly, so soft that if Adam were not pressed up against him as he is — oh, and how embarrassing that he can not move away, not even to preserve a modicum of his own dignity — he would not have heard it. He says it as if he is savoring a flavor on his tongue he’s afraid he’ll never taste again. Adam knows the feeling all too well. 

Seeing Gansey like this produced a multitude of feelings in Adam. That wasn’t a surprise; nobody could be indifferent to the golden, glorious sprawl of Richard Campbell Gansey III, unclothed and in their bed. Adam has never been able to stop looking at Gansey, not once in all the time he has known him. So it is unsurprising that he feels drunk on the sight of him. But the desire to touch — that was one he had wrestled down into his subconscious as much as was possible. Sometimes Gansey would do something that destroyed this resolve. Sometimes he would initiate something, like the fist bumps, and it gave Adam permission for a sliver of the indulgence he craved. But he’d never had such total permission, and so he had no defense from giving in to it now. Yet in addition to the lust and hunger, there was something more startling, more terrifying. Gansey looked so young. So innocent, with his sleep mussed hair and sleepy, blinking eyes. His boyish grin was almost shy. It was unbearable, the urge to protect him. Adam felt sure that it would break his heart. 

“What are you thinking about?” asked Gansey. His gaze had gone from out of focus and lethargic, to intent and curious. As was always the case when Gansey looked at him that way, Adam felt an odd fluttering sensation somewhere between his chest and his sternum. 

That I don’t want anything to ruin this. “That I’m tired, I had so much to do this week and it’s catching up to me. We should stay in today.” 

“Well, of course,” said Gansey. “Even if I wanted to go anywhere, this weather would have prevented me.”

Thank god for the rain. 

Adam trailed a hand across Gansey’s collarbone, then let it rest at his shoulder. He rested his head on his chest, and closed his eyes. The sounds of Gansey’s heartbeat and breathing were a steady, much welcomed metronome that both soothed and dizzied him. They remained like that for — Adam doesn’t know, there’s an alarm clock on his desk but he’s afraid if he looks at it, the spell will break. Eventually, Gansey starts to shift, and Adam, purely on instinct, digs his nails into Gansey’s shoulder blade. “Ow!” Gansey grunted. 

Adam feels his face going hot. “Oh god, I’m so sorry are you okay?” 

Gansey huffed out a laugh. “It’s fine. Be easy, tiger. I just wanted to rub your back? But if that’s weird or uncomfortable I won’t do it.” he said the last part hastily. “I really should have asked, I know you don’t like sudden movements �� it’s just that the quiet was nice, and you seemed so relaxed and peaceful. I didn’t want to ruin it with my voice.” 

Your voice could never ruin anything. “You can rub my back.” Adam did his best to say it matter of factly. 

Gansey grinned that sunlight smile of his, and proceeded to do just that. 

Adam found himself wondering if at one of the rich boy schools Gansey had attended before Aglionby, they taught some sort of massage class. Both of the rich boy schools Adam had attended at Aglionby and Harvard, offered some rather odd classes, so it didn’t seem impossible that at one of the many more Gansey had temporarily attended that could have been offered. Of course that would mean Gansey done this to people other than Adam…  If so that meant Gansey would have done this to other people before doing it to him. The thought made Adam burn with jealousy. 

         “Are you okay?” asked Gansey with concern. “You look upset, I can stop if you want—“

“No!” Adam exclaimed. Then he felt embarrassed, but Gansey looked delighted.

“Okay.”

[jakeluppin]

wip wednesday

hello i remembered this time woo. i wanted to do it last week and forgot so! snippet from my rabbot fic

Saturday update: fic has been posted on ao3

[Robby] places his phone back in his pocket and looks up to see Jack heading his way. He must be starting his shift and since he hasn’t yet started on any cases, it seems Robby gets to be his first. Lucky him.

“What happened?” Jack asks when he reaches him.

“Overhead lamp. And here I thought we were friends but it just went and attacked me for no reason.”

“No reason? You sure about that?”

“I mean maybe I was flirting with another lamp and it got jealous. Who knows. You know me, I just can’t help myself.”

Jack laughs and puts on gloves before reaching up and looking at the wound. Robby can’t seem to focus on anything more than the feeling of Jack’s hands in his hair, even if all he’s doing is moving it out of the way to get a better look at the cut.

“Well, you definitely need stitches. Shouldn’t take too long. Let me go get a suture kit and I’ll be right back.”

Robby nods and watches him walk off, his eyes maybe staring at his ass for longer than he should.

When he’s back, Jack asks, “You want something for the pain?” as he starts cleaning up the wound.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, tough guy,” Jack replies with a laugh. Robby smiles but knows it’s less about that and more that he doesn’t want to be numb, that he wants to be able to feel Jack’s hands on him.

“Happy birthday,” Jack says as he starts suturing.

“You remembered.”

“Of course. Why would I not?”

It’s a good question. Robby’s not sure why he’s surprised that Jack remembers. With how long they’ve known each other, the number of birthdays they’ve spent together, it really is no surprise.

Only it is for some reason. Robby doesn’t like to try and dig into these thoughts – these feelings – all too often. But he thinks that there’s always just this part of him that’s surprised Jack cares about him at all.

[thegingerwrites]

I've been writing quite a bit lately including making some progress on the results of this poll from the beginning of the year at least until I found an idea to obsess over which i have

The current fic I'm really into writing started out as like an outlet for my id (which is, coincidentally, how short cycle started too) I just wanted like a scrap doc to put my horniest thoughts in and it has evolved into something even more fun than i originally thought.

It's a sort of post-rots, no order 66, palpatine is dead, the galaxy is saved, anakin leaves the order to be with padme and the twins au. Obi-Wan and Anakin haven't seen each other in 4 years. I love getting to wrestle with Obi-Wan's pov in this scene where he is, in his mind justifiably, kind of a bitch

And because I feel like I haven't been around lately, here's an extended snippet:

“What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan asks. He doesn’t bother to wonder how Anakin got in. So many things that should be unlikely or impossible are child’s play to Anakin. If enough desire is there, nothing can stand in his way. Obi-Wan knows him well enough by now to know that the question to ask is not how but why.

Anakin looks at him, all of him. He rocks forward on the balls of his feet like he wants to step inside Obi-Wan’s quarters but Obi-Wan doesn’t move an inch. It’s not like Anakin can sneak past him without a struggle if Obi-Wan decides not to let him in. “I had to see you again.”

“And so you have.”

“I’ve been thinking of you a lot lately and seeing you today felt like a sign.”

Always so dramatic. “Today was a coincidence, nothing more.”

“There is no such thing as a coincidence when it comes to the Force.”

Obi-Wan tilts his head, the expression on his face veering towards amusement so that it doesn’t flirt with anger. “You sound awfully like a Jedi for a civilian.”

“Obi-Wan—” Anakin begins and for all that Obi-Wan is dying to hear where Anakin is going to go with this, Anakin doesn’t seem to have the words.

He lets Anakin struggle and fall. Keeping his face placid and still is a challenge, so he overcompensates and feigns a small, amused smile. It’s a cruel little thing but Obi-Wan doesn’t have it in himself to be gentle with Anakin. Not after all this time.

“What?” he asks, when he’s finally had enough. “You came all this way but have nothing to say to me?”

“I don’t know where to begin—Obi-Wan, can I please come inside?”

“We could start right where we left off today, couldn’t we? Exchange pleasantries?” Obi-Wan keeps his voice light and manages to hold his tongue through iron self-control. He desperately wants to pile other questions on top of those. How have you been since you decided to leave the only life you’ve ever known? How have I been since you left without a word?

Anakin scoffs. “What, you want to talk about the weather? I don’t think we’ve exchanged pleasantries in the entire time I’ve known you.”

Because that is what strangers do and they have never been strangers to each other but they might be strangers now. Anakin has made certain of that. “What do you suggest we do then? I’m still waiting to hear what brought you to my door.”

“I’d like to come inside before someone comes to investigate a shouting match in the hall.”

Obi-Wan puts on a look of innocence and peers to the left and right down the hall. “A shouting match? I haven’t heard anything of the sort but I’ll be sure to keep an ear out. Kit does like to leave the volume on his holoprograms rather loud.”

This is fun, Obi-Wan realizes. For all of his nerves, for all of the rattling sense of inevitability, he hadn’t anticipated enjoying himself trying to goad and skewer Anakin. But he does have to be careful not to push Anakin too far. He can’t risk the man storming off now that Obi-Wan has the upper hand.

“Come in, then.” Obi-Wan steps back to let Anakin past him.

“Thank you,” Anakin murmurs. Obi-Wan tries hard to find the note of sarcasm that must be hiding there but he must not have the ear for it anymore.

He takes a minute to stand back and watch Anakin in the middle of his apartment. He blinks and tries to will away the shock of it. Remind himself that Anakin is real and tangible. He won’t vanish like a ghost or a dream. Obi-Wan tries to put himself in Anakin’s shoes, see his apartment from his point of view. It isn’t as though much has changed since he left. Obi-Wan has never had very many possessions. A throw blanket on the couch, a new mug by the sink, a succulent drying out on the windowsill. He can’t get a read on what Anakin makes of it, the same but different, but Obi-Wan doesn’t much care what Anakin thinks. He isn’t ashamed of how he has led his life, the code he has always tried his best to stick to.

“Shall I put on some water for tea?” asks Obi-Wan, ready to keep pretending that Anakin is just some other house guest for as long as it gets under Anakin’s skin.

Anakin gives him a look. It’s far too familiar and something in Obi-Wan aches at the sight of it. The feeling vanishes in an instant, replaced by a kind of disgust in himself for his weakness that is far more comfortable.

Then Anakin seems to come to a decision. He moves to the kitchen cabinets with a purpose. He opens the one over the sink and lifts up onto his toes to grab—ah, yes. There is a bottle of Corellian brandy Obi-Wan once confiscated from Anakin as a padawan. He came back to their rooms dizzy, drunk, and babbling after a night out somewhere in the temple with some of the other padawans, not more than fourteen years old. At the time, Obi-Wan told him they would share it one day when he was older, when he was an adult and could handle his alcohol better. Then it became something of a joke that no, even when Anakin was nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-three, he still wasn’t quite ready yet.

Patience, my very young padawan. Some things get better with age.

Obi-Wan doesn’t go into that cabinet very often. He’d mostly forgotten that bottle was there.

[jusst-you-race]

u posted abt oscar being sandwiched between the hassbands is making u think thoughts... so may i ask that as an occ snippet prompt?

love the fic btw! <3

okay i should be writing other prompts but this was just... too tempting... sorry not sorry everyone... anyway please enjoy possibly the most unhinged thing i have every written you're all welcome <3 for the ccc snippet prompts

Oscar I’m panic texting you from the bathroom

Logan Regular occurrence 

Oscar I need your help trying to work out intentions 

Logan Not my forte but go on…

Oscar you’re better than me

okay so Kevin and Nico are here as well 

Logan Like coincidentally at the bar? Or actually at Mark’s birthday drinks?

Oscar at Mark’s birthday drinks 

Logan Oh that’s nice

I told you not to worry too much about not knowing anyone 

Oscar yeah no not worried about that 

I’ve mostly been chatting with them 

it’s been nice they’re pretty chill 

but then at one point Kevin went to get them both more drinks and Nico decided he wanted to sit down so we went over to the booth and Nico like…idk encouraged me to sit next to him?

I mean it’s loud so like it would have been hard to talk across the booth 

so it sort of makes sense 

but he was really insistent 

Logan Fascinating… I mean like you said he probably just wanted to continue the conversation 

Oscar well yeah but when Kevin came back with the drinks I was like okay I’ll get up so he can sit next to Nico 

yknow his husband 

Logan Yeah… and?

Oscar well Nico just shuffled further into the booth 

and pulled me with him

Logan Pulled you with him how?

Oscar like… by the waist 

Logan Oh I see

Okay I’ll reserve my judgment based on how Kevin reacted

Oscar well he just kind of grinned and sat down on my other side 

Logan Yeah that’s what I suspected 

Oscar the booth was kind of crowded so like it made sense to squish in a bit 

but we were really squished in 

Logan Uh huh 

Oscar and then Kevin put his hand on my thigh

and I uhhh I panicked 

and said I needed to go to the bathroom 

and now here I am 

Logan Okay well they aren’t being very subtle 

Oscar do you think so?

Logan Yeah I’d say there’s a good chance they want you to be their third buddy 

Oscar you really think so?

Logan Pretty sure 

Oscar huh 

Logan I’m sure they’d back off if you weren’t into it 

Just tell them they seem nice 

Oscar well 

Logan Well?

Oscar I’m not … not into it 

Logan Then why are you panic texting me! 

Go get laid idiot!

Oscar I just wanted to be sure? 

Logan Well just go with the flow!

Respond to whatever they’re doing

You’ll be fine 

Oscar thanks Logie 

Logan I want details later 

Oscar yeah okay okay 

wish me luck 

Logan Good luck!!! Have a good threesome!!! 

Oscar yeah I won’t be home tonight 

Logan GET IT OSCAR 

Be safe!

Oscar 👍

Logan Morning champ you coming home soon?

Oscar?

Oscar sorry yeah coming home now 

Logan Bit late… it’s afternoon already  

Oscar uhh

we were busy 

Logan Lmao 

So it was good?

Oscar best sex of my life 

Logan Tell me everything when you’re home 

Oscar nosy

yeah okay 

be there in five 

[kageyamas-tiktok]

Love Seat

Wrote a ZoSan Meet-Cute fic based off of this post. Here’s a snippet!

Summary:

Sanji is enjoying an entire movie screening room to himself… until some sentient piece of algae walks in, gets lost, then sits down right beside him. And listen, it’s not like Sanji likes algae, but the guy is kind of.. cute.

Just a little! That’s all!

Or;

Perona has sent Zoro out on a mission: watch her new favourite movie at the theatre. This sees him out in the boonies, but that doesn’t matter. He gets there eventually.

Somehow, he returns home with a potential boyfriend, and apparently new gossip material for Perona and Mihawk.

Excerpt:

“Listen here, Marimo—!”

“Marimo?”

“Y-yeah. Sea moss.” He gestures around his own hair as an explanation.

“My name is Zoro. Roronoa Zoro.”

“Okay, James Bond. I don’t care what your name is!”

“Fine, call me whatever you want, Curly, but Roronoa is my surname. It’s Japanese.”

Sanji slaps a hand over his exposed eyebrow and gives an affronted gasp. Of all the nerve! “My name is Sanji!”

Zoro — Marimo, whatever — blinks at him. “Sanji? Just Sanji? Who do you think you are? Beyoncé? Rihanna? Zendaya?”

Sanji frowns, then finds himself settling back into his seat beside this aggravating mossball of a man with a huff. He paid good money for this seat. He’s not going to lose it because some asshole sat beside him and refuses to leave.

“No, I’m not an iconic black woman. But, though I don’t really have a last name — not anymore, at least — I do go by Blackleg. It’s.. a tribute to someone important to me.” Sanji doesn’t know why he even bothered to answer, or why he explained that much, but he can feel Zoro’s gaze on him — intense and warm, searching and calculating, scorching yet simultaneously gentle — before he looks away with a huff.

“Whatever,” he says, no doubt going for flippant, and he’s just sassy enough to make it work, but Sanji still catches the sliver of understanding there.

How profound for a sentient piece of grass, to know when to drop a subject.

They continue to watch the movie in silence. Well, at least for all of two minutes.

“What’s going on?”

Sanji groans and rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should have thought about that before coming into the movie 20 minutes late!”

Zoro blinks. “20 minutes?” He checks his phone. “It’s been four and a half hours.”

Sanji balks. What, he was supposed to be here for one of the previous showings?? “Is that supposed to be better?” he whispers back, voice and ire weakened by his shock.

How can someone be so unorganized? It’s almost fascinating.

Zoro shrugs. “I.. got turned around on my way here.”

“Oh,” Sanji says, recalling the nonsensical directions Zoro had been walking in while trying to find his seat. He even left the theatre once or twice, and Sanji had assumed he got the wrong movie, but nope, the guy’s a donut. “So you got lost.”

Sanji must strike a nerve, because Zoro’s sun-kissed cheeks start to turn red as he vehemently protests. “I don’t get lost!”

Again, Sanji is left thinking this man is cute.

“You sure about that, Mosshead? You seemed lost just looking for your seat.”

“Listen here, Dartbrow—“

“DARTBROW!”

“— I got here just in time for this showing, didn’t I?”

“Dartbrow…” Sanji grumbles to himself as he pets at his eyebrows. And the idiot didn’t even get to this showing on time! That’s the whole point! “Suffer. I’m not telling you shit about the movie. Figure it out yourself, you stupid hawksbill turtle.”

How unfortunate that Sanji actually likes the endangered species of turtle, even if Hawskbills are known to get a little lost during migration. Turtles are just so cute; how can he not?

Hope you guys enjoyed this silly little snippet! Let me know what you’re thinking so far.💞💞💞💞 The rest can be found here!

[carry-on-au-fest]

Fest Rules

What is this fest about?

The Carry On AU Fest is a prompt based fest that celebrates any kind of Alternate Universe or canon divergent creation in the CO fandom. We accept any pairings or gen fics and art.

Who can participate?

You must be at least 18 years old at the time of signing up.

We expect you to treat everyone taking part, including the mods, with respect. 

All work must be your own, and we do not allow any kind of fic or art produced with AI.

You may register as both a writer and an artist, and you can claim multiple prompts as long as you have completed the first one you claimed first. 

You can cross post your work to other fests running at the same time.

How does prompting work?

On 5th October we are going to open prompting via Airtable. You can submit as many prompts as you like, and you don't have to claim anything unless you want to. You don’t have to create for the fest to submit a prompt. You can prompt anonymously or write your AO3/Tumblr username (in which case people can gift you their works if they wish to).

How does claiming work?

On 19th October we are going to open claiming via a Google form. You can claim your own prompt or claim someone else's. Alternatively, you can self-prompt by picking the first prompt on the list. 

Prompts are assigned on a first come first serve basis. The prompts will be available to be claimed once for fic and once for art. Collaborations are welcome.

If you decide to gift your work to the person who prompted it, please make sure that you stick to the preferences they have expressed and that you don't include their squicks.

What are the requirements for writers? 

Writers will need to write an original fic with a minimum length of 1k.

The fic needs to be an unpublished fic and it needs to be posted on our fest collection on AO3. Your story doesn't need to be complete by the submission date, but we ask that you post at least 1k by the submission deadline and wait until the end of the fest to post the rest.

You can share small snippets and talk about your story on social media platforms.

Should you need an extension, please let us know as soon as you can.

We will reveal one work per day from 8th February.

What are the requirements for artists?

You can create a variety of original fan work, such as:

- illustrations, both digital and traditional (they don’t need to be in colour) 

- moodboards (at least 6 elements)

- plastic arts (including embroidery and origami)

- playlists (a minimum of 10 songs)

- fic binding

- podfic (please make sure that you have the permission of the author of the fic you're recording a podfic of before starting)

You can post your work either on AO3 or on Tumblr (please get in touch and let us know if you prefer the second option).

What kind of rating is allowed?

Any rating is allowed for both art and fic, but please tag your work appropriately. 

If your work is rated Mature or Explicit, the characters involved must be at least 18 years old.

We recommend that you use a beta reader.

What is the schedule for posting?

You can find the most up to date schedule here.

Please get in touch with the mods if you need an extension.

I still have a lot of questions about this, how can I contact you?

Send us an ask, a DM or contact us at  and we will gladly answer.

The mods for this fest are @orange-peony, @pato-roldnart and @bubble-gumhead.

[artificialchaoscola]

ABOUT ME:

Been meaning to make a one of these for a hot minute, so better now than never! First off, hi! I am Arti (she/her)! This is mostly a Sonic-related blog where I post art, writing + my process, and character analysis! I tend to cover serious topics in all three categories, so please look through the blog at your discretion!

Other accounts:

Twitter

Bluesky

Ko-Fi

Anywhere else you find an account with my name not listed, its NOT me, so please let me know if people are sus

My tags:

#artiyaps : this is mostly for my ramblings!

#ficupdate : self-explanatory, but this is for when I update you guys on my writing!

#TMIDWYTS : specifically for the one ongoing fic I'm working on!

#myart : if you want to see my art specifically!

#notmyart : art from others I really loved and you should look at them too, dangit!

Fic related:

"Arti, where is your fic?"

It's on AO3! I don't feel comfortable just sharing a link since it's a mature story, but you can find it by looking up my name on AO3 (ArtificialChaosCola). PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU START, it's not going to be a story for everyone.

"There are playlists for your fic?"

YES! There is a general vibe, a Sonic , and a Shadow one! Sometimes people send in songs for me to add to the list + analyze, which is awesome!

"Where can I get updates on fic progress?"

For general stuff, such as how much I've written for the next chapter, will typically be updated on here! For in-depth process-related questions, I will likely be making a membership tier on my Ko-Fi for those curious about the BTS + actual snippets of the writing. Not sure yet! Will update this post in the future when I am sure though!