#one of those I'm working towards in one of my WIPs right now but going romantic instead of platonic

[anundyingfidelity]

AFFECTION — Soldier Boy

Summary: During a mission, Soldier Boy receives a hug from you unexpectedly. He likes it.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female supe!reader.

Word count: 0.9k

Warnings: canon violence and language, reader is kinda hurted, descriptions of blood and stuff, AU where Ben is working with the team on missions (which is what should've happened on the show btw), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy lmao, Ben and reader are totally opposites and I live for that. Based on this post.

Note: soooo I'm still making some arrangements to my Soldier Boy long fic and instead I have this short drabble in the meantime. Hope you enjoy it hehe.

the boys/jackles tags: @k-slla

(if anyone would like to be added to my tags just tell me^^)

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

You groanned, feeling the hard wall hit against your back. It was hard to believe but you thought probably you wouldn't go out of this alive. Your body ached and not even your strenght could stop this guy.

Fucking Butcher, why did you have to follow him to suicide again? Just a couple of cunts, he said. But he forgot to mention they had a weird improved dosis of V injected.

You fell to the ground as the man walked towards you. He was extremely tall and well-buff. No sense the Compound V on his system made him better, or at least that's what he thought. He was tossed to the ground by your side, and you crawled to the corner of the small room.

The distance was not enough to let you run away. You stayed there, watching Soldier Boy's big frame over the man. He used his shield, beting him to death and destroying his face and neck during the process. You were so damn sure his loud groans of pain would remain on your mind at least for a couple of days.

"Fucking pussy," the old man said, wipping some blood off his face. He got on his feet ungracefully and grabbed his shield back. He turned to look at you, still sitting on the floor. "You okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

He held you a bloody hand, which you took to stand up. There was an akward silence as you and Ben left the small room, you followed him around the dirty basement, filled with lifeless bodies and fluids on the ground, to meet with Butcher and Hughie.

"Guess those were all," Butcher announced.

"I have the remaining dosis," you took the tube from the pocket of your pants and showed them with a smile on your face. "Was the last one."

"Excellent," Butcher grabbed it and tossed it to Hughie, who saved the tube on a bag.

"We made it out, huh," you mumbled.

"Well, we're still down here, so," Hughie shrugged and three pairs of eyes narrowed at him. "What?"

"Just think positively, for once," you pleaded with a fake sharp tone. "Isn't that hard, y'know."

Ben rolled his eyes.

"We're on a fucking shithole, the kid's right. Let's go now before any of you fuck this up," he ordered and passed by between Butcher and Hughie, hitting his shoulder intentionally in the process.

You quickly followed behind his long soldier strides. "Wait!"

Soldier Boy scoffed and closed his eyes slowly only to open them again. You stood on his way with a big smile and wide eyes. Bruises and blood adorned your face and neck, your clothes were also splattered with dry blood and dirt after killing those clandestine stupid supes on an undercover mission at night, and still you acted like nothing had happened. He stood in place, with Hughie and Butcher standing behind expecting what the fuck you'd be doing this time. Sometimes he thought you were so fucking annoying.

"The fuck you want?"

You opened your lips to say something but nothing came out. Once you closed them, you beamed again and closed the distance between him and you. You wrapped your arms around his strong waist and rested your grubby check against his chest. He tensed visibly under your hug and after a moment you pulled away, your hands behind your back with a shy smile. Hughie and Butcher were clearly holding back a good laugh. They knew better not to mock Soldier Boy, not yet though.

Ben blinked a couple of times, trying to process what happened.

"What the fuck was that?"

You giggled. "Affection."

He wrinkled his nose. "Disgusting."

You gasped and faked sadness on your voice. "Why? I was just saying 'thank you for saving my ass'."

"It's fucking nothing," he rolled his eyes and started to walk again to guide the team outside, with the other two men with playful smirks on their faces following behind.

"Ben!" you quickly caught his pace to stand by his side. "Thank you, okay? Probably you don't like physical contact but I do. And this is how I show others that I care about them and that I'm thankful. I also give hugs because I like them and–"

"Shh!" Ben raised his hand, suddenly stopping his tracks by the end of the stairs that'd lead you outside. He turned and looked at you with that grumpy face of his. "I said you're welcome, sweetheart. Now we need to go, you can talk to me about your hugs shit later."

He pointed to Hughie and Butcher. "Now, you, cocksuckers, go up."

Butcher grinned, going first. "Sure, cap."

"You shut up," Soldier Boy warned, Hughie gulped and nodded, and made his way up on the stairs.

You stood there, with a smile on your lips. Always that fucking, idiotic, stupid smile, even after hard missions like the one you just had. It was like if you were the only one who didn't seem scared of him or anything else. Sure, you were a supe and a smart asset on the team. But still, a very peculiar lady through his eyes.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Once Butcher and Hughie were out of sight he finally talked.

"Do it again."

"Excuse me?"

"The stupid hug, do it again."

You raised your eyebrows, eyes bright as you realized his request. "Really?!"

"God, woman. Do I need to fucking repeat my—?"

His words were cut by your strong hug. You crashed against his frame so hard he lost balance for a bit. He was certainly surprised by how warm your hug it actually felt. You angled your eyes to see his face.

"Thanks!"

You let him go and got up the stairs. He barely curved his lips at how happy you climbed them. Yeah, well he actually liked your stupid hugs.

soldier boy / reader

[ddejavvu]

pairing: james potter x reader

summary: your yule ball date goes south. James picks up the pieces

a/n: this is relatively close to a scene that's gonna be in a large marauders fic i've had as a WIP for forever so if you read that in a year and think hm that sounds vaguely familiar no it literally doesn't

You've never felt any strong kinship towards James Potter before, but now, shoulder to shoulder, equally stunned looks on your faces, you know you share an experience most don't.

"Well," James hums, dazedly, free from anger even if it should be present, "Alright then."

Neither of your should-be ball dates look up from where they're snogging each other in one of the utility closets covered up by paper streamers and an appetizer table, and you feel irritation begin blooming in your chest the way that they won't even look at you. Perhaps they can't hear you, perhaps there's fireworks in their heads and they're sharing one of those everything-else-melts-away moments.

Good for them.

You turn on your stiletto heel and head pointedly but casually towards the door to the balcony. You're eager for the cool night air on your skin- the crowd seems suffocating now. You snag a bottle of something you're sure was meant for the professors on the way out, keeping it tucked to your side to ensure no one sees you leave with it. It's amber in color and you'll figure out what it is later; right now your only concern is getting out.

You examine your feelings staring out over the grounds, moonlight bathing your skin and making the gems on your dress glimmer. You should be sad. Devastated, even, what with your date shacking up with some other girl when he should have been dancing with you. But you're not.

It's an unpleasant feeling, but it's betrayal more than heartbreak. You suppose you were never really head over heels for the boy you'd agreed to go with, it was just nice to be asked. To be wanted.

A wistful love song leaks out from the open doors to the ballroom, and you chew on its lyrics as you fit your mouth around the spout of your bottle. It warms you, your tongue suddenly heavy and tingling as you swallow a fair mouthful of the stuff.

"That was a sloppy grab," Someone calls from behind you, and you're surprisingly not tense when you recognize it as Potter's, "Someone could have seen you."

"We're not all mischief makers, Potter," You let the ghost of a smile cross your face as you stare out over the grounds, liquor residue leaving them sticky, "You should teach a class on smuggling things in and out of the school."

"I have thought about being a professor here," He admits, taking the place beside you and leaning out over the railing, "DADA if I could get it. Don't think Minnie's goin' anywhere or I'd go for Transfiguration."

"She'll be teaching our grandkids," You laugh, "And god save this school if you're ever hired."

"I'd be great." He assures you, a laugh in his eyes rather than his mouth, "So. Are you- ehm, okay?"

"Yeah." You shrug, your bare shoulders catching the slight breeze where your dress cuts them out, "It's- I'm fine. He wasn't the love of my life. Just sucks he lead me on is all."

"Right. Me too." James nods, "I- I wanted things to work with her. But I suppose in ten years I saw myself with someone else."

You attempt another sip of liquor after a bout of heavy silence, but James's hand holds the bottle away from your mouth, "Hey, slow down, killer! Liver failure is not a good method of revenge."

"Two sips won't kill me," You scoff, but you don't fight him when his large, warm hand takes the bottle from you, "You just want some for yourself."

"Yes and no." He grins, taking a swig of his own, "For courage, I s'pose. And dance moves."

You raise a brow at him, listening as the song changes from a ballad to a swinging one, something that makes you want to let loose and experiment with moves you've seen only middle-aged men showcase at weddings.

"Come on." He offers you a hand, setting the bottle aside and straightening off of the railing, "Come on, you've gotten dressed up to dance tonight, and there's no one else out on this balcony. Just you and me, let's do it."

"I got dressed up tonight to fuck," You clarify, but you're not sure if you really mean it- anything to ward away any good luck that comes to you before it sours like most things seem to be tonight.

"Well that can come after. I'm not fond of exhibitionism," James explains, hand still outstretched as you straighten your dress instead of taking it, "Come on. I'm about to lay out some truly heinous dance moves and I'll be making a fool out of myself if you don't join me."

The beat of the song really is tempting, an oldie but goodie that you'd danced to in your bedroom a thousand times before.

With a decisive huff you surge forwards, taking his hand and letting yourself relax into the rhythm the song sets for the pair of you. James is not wrong- he's a sight to behold while he's dancing, but you let him be your example and soon you're both choking on laughter as you swing each other across the balcony and dance circles around each other. The song dies down into another ballad and you let James press you politely against him, his hands never straying further than your waist as you hold his shoulders.

"I'm almost glad he ditched me," You muse, chest heaving slightly from exertion, "I don't think he would have danced with me like that."

"Mine was- uhm, she wasn't fantastic conversation." James admits, "I feel bad, but-"

"No, she's an airhead." You nod, knowing all too well that the girl James had escorted into the ballroom tonight did perhaps everything in her power to never have an intelligent thought, "It's harsh but it's true."

He nods, and your head comes to rest comfortably against his chest, cheek pressed into his dress robes.

"Thanks, James." You murmur, squeezing his shoulders gently. You feel more than hear his response, but the soft, suddenly tender, 'My pleasure, Y/N.' warms you more than the liquor had, the perfect antidote to the cool air out on the balcony as you sway in time with James.

[magniloquent-raven]

I'm getting distracted from my current projects by someone else's post again someone tell me to stop going on tumblr while I have WIPs lmfao

@rosetterer this isn't EXACTLY what you posted about but it does get there in the end

**

Twenty-four hours has never seemed like such an insurmountably long time.

Buck's had long shifts before, the boring ones when he'd stare at the alarms on the wall, willing them to go off—he can picture Maddie's disappointed scowl if she ever found out about that, but he swears he was only hoping for something small and harmless to break up the monotony—and the busy ones. Ones that leave his ears ringing with phantom sirens by the end. Those days only ever seem long in retrospect, when he's bone-tired and trying to remember all the names he asked for.

But now every shift seems to find new and shittier ways to be gruelling. Eddie's miserable and trying to act like he isn't. There's this weird, uncomfortable tension brewing between Hen and Chim. Ravi got himself transferred to B shift—probably to get away from Gerrard, and Buck can't exactly blame him, but he sort of does anyway and their new probie is terrible, and... then there's Gerrard.

Like, Buck already knew he was a piece of work, but. Knowing and experiencing are two very different things. He could barely stand keeping his mouth shut at the medal ceremony when he met the man for five seconds, and now he has to put up with him making smug, belittling comments towards all his friends, all the time. Constantly needing to remind himself he doesn't want to get fired is actually killing him.

It doesn't help that every so often he'll remember Tommy's offhand Captain Gerrard was like having the dad I already had, with a pang as he wonders what exactly Tommy grew up with. What parts of Gerrard's condescending tyranny were familiar to him. Phillip Buckley may not have been father of the year, but maybe never being looked directly at was better than being raised neck deep in toxic waste.

Every time he remembers he gets the urge to pull out his phone and call Tommy up just to... he doesn't even know. Just to hear his voice, maybe. Know if he's doing okay.

Another reason work days seem so long now, if he's being honest. He's always counting down the hours until he can see Tommy again. Like a kid on the last day of school, watching the clock tick closer and closer to summer vacation.

So, of course, right near the end of a particularly busy shift, Gerrard gets them all lined up for a lecture about how sloppy that last save was. Everyone did something wrong, and everyone needs to hear about all the ways they could have gotten someone killed, like they don't all know how risky the job is already.

By the time he's finished telling Chim it's a miracle he managed to convince anyone to let him out on calls, Buck is clenching his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache.

"I'm sure Captain Soft-Touch loved telling you all it was okay to be mediocre, and that you were trying your best," Gerrard sneers at them all, waving a dismissive hand at very idea of Bobby's captaincy. "But the coddling ended when he retired. Sparing your feelings is going to get people killed. Diaz!" He shouts, abrupt, turning on his heel towards Eddie. Eddie doesn't flinch, but Buck does.

"Yes, sir?" He's coolly polite, and his face is carefully blank, but his posture is tense.

"If I ever catch you checking your phone at a scene again, I'll make sure you're mopping floors for the rest of your life."

Eddie's expression hardens. It was a fender-bender and Eddie didn't even touch his phone until everyone was accounted for and packed into the ambulance. "It was a text from my son. Sir." His tone veers a little to the left of polite.

"I don't care if it was from the goddamn Pope, when you're in the field your focus stays on scene. Next time your brat needs something tell him to go cry to his mother about it."

This time when Buck flinches, everyone else in line does too. Hen bites down on a grimace. Chim hisses quietly through his teeth.

"I can't do that," Eddie says flatly. "What with her being dead and all."

The firehouse is silent for a long, horrible moment. That might've taken the wind out of any decent person's sails, Buck thinks. At the very least most people would've retreated into awkwardness and ended the lecture entirely.

Gerrard's brow pinches angrily. "Don't get smart with me, Diaz."

Buck's not sure it's possible to hate someone more than he hates their new captain right now.

"I don't care about your little sob story excuses, I care that you're sloppy and distracted. If you can't handle the job and the kid, drop one of them."

Oh, he was wrong.

He hates this man so much he's choking on it, it's clogging his throat like bile and he's running out of strength to care that he shouldn't spit it out, spew it everywhere and ruin everything just for the chance of hurting this man in the process. He feels like his skin is bursting at the seams.

Eddie's biting the inside of his cheek, rage and sorrow warring silently on his face.

And Buck breaks. Bursts. "Hey, Captain, that's—"

"Can it, Buckley," Gerrard cuts him off before he can even start. It's not angry, it's not anything, he brushes Buck off like he's an annoying fly buzzing in his ear, barely worth glancing at for the two seconds it takes to tell him he doesn't care. "You're all dismissed. Get out of my sight."

Some of them flee, scurrying to their lockers, the kitchen, anywhere but here. A couple of people throw backwards glances before they walk away. Hen and Chim exchange grim looks. Eddie disappears out the back door in an angry haze. And Buck...

Buck feels. Empty. Small. Like he cut himself open trying to relieve the pressure and now there's just nothing left. No one to patch up the wound, and no reason for any of it, he didn't make an impact, he didn't help anyone, he stood there listening to his friends get degraded, and now—now he's feeling sorry for himself?

It's stupid. He's stupid. He feels like shit because, what, because he didn't get yelled at? Because his piece of shit captain took a break from implying he's a disgusting pervert?

He thinks himself in circles about it his whole way home, the pit in his stomach getting a little deeper every time he tries to will it away.

He's wallowed himself halfway through a six-pack, staring sightlessly at his TV, by the time his front door opens.

"Evan?"

One of the knots in his chest loosens. "Yeah," he calls out, not bothering to sound less pathetic than he is. "In here."

"Hey." Tommy's stopped next to the stairs, eyeing him. His gaze is assessing, but his tone is soft. He's always so careful with Buck. "Bad day?"

Buck takes another sip of his beer. Shrugs.

"Ah, one of those."

The couch cushions dip as Tommy takes a seat next to him. He's close enough that Buck doesn't have to look at him to know he's there. There's warmth radiating off him. The woodsy scent of his aftershave. Buck presses their knees together, and exhales properly for the first time in hours.

He knows he could talk about whatever he wants and Tommy would let him. He's waiting for Buck to take the lead here. Buck could avoid the issue entirely and decide to talk about anything. The fact that he can't really tell the difference between the fancy beer Tommy insists is better than the crap Buck's drinking right now. The documentary about bees he's pretending to watch. The goddamn weather.

What comes out of his mouth is a quiet, "I feel like an idiot."

Tommy pulls the beer bottle out of Buck's loose grip, puts it down next to the couch, and then takes Buck's hand in both of his. "Why?"

Buck scrubs at his eyes. "I..." He catalogues the tiny scars on Tommy's knuckles. Two, three, little dots on his index finger. A lopsided vee on his thumb. "Something happened at work."

"Did Gerrard say something to you?" There's an edge to Tommy's question, something sharp and flinty. It makes Buck's heart do dumb little somersaults.

"No." He stops, shame burning his cheeks. "Not. Not to me. That's... He was lecturing everybody, and I..."

"Evan." Tommy grips his chin, firmly, gently, guiding Buck's face until he looks him in the eye. There's a sympathetic twist to his mouth. "Tell me."

He does. As best he can when it feels like what's didn't happen is more important, and he can barely put into words why that is. But trying helps, a little. Trying to whittle it down into an explanation forces him to look at the whole of it, and realize it's not looming over him anymore.

Maybe it's just Tommy's hands on him, soothing the hurt away.

"I dunno. Feels like I could have done something differently, maybe"

Tommy hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "You could've."

Buck winces.

"But it wouldn't have turned out any better."

Oh.

A flower blooms on the TV, purple and white petals reaching for the sun. Buck toys with Tommy's fingers, and shifts his leg closer, hooking their ankles together.

"It felt so shitty," he mutters.

"I know."

He would, wouldn't he. Buck gets that pang in his chest again, and he pushes the rest of the way into Tommy's space. Tommy wraps his arms around him, and drops a kiss into his curls, seemingly content to let Buck situate himself however he wants.

He kind of wishes Tommy wasn't still wearing jeans, but asking him to take his pants off might send the wrong message.

"You don't think I'm, like...a bad friend, right?" He cringes his way through the question.

"No." Tommy responds matter-of-factly and without hesitation. Then the corner of his mouth twitches. "I think you're a very good boy."

Buck's entire head feels like it's on fire. A grin starts to creep across his face. It might be the first time he's smiled all day. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

Maybe he should ask Tommy to take his jeans off after all.

[nhasablogg]

The end (again)

First of all I want to thank you all for following and engaging with me ever since I returned to this space. It's been, mostly, great. I've written some things I'm really proud of, and for that reason I'm reluctant to delete this blog like I did the last.

I think it's been obvious I've not been enjoying myself in a long time, except for the occasional few days when it's been fun to write and interact with people. Throughout this whole year I've been trying to convince myself that I can use this blog only when I want to and feel inspired to, and while it sometimes works it very often just leaves me frustrated as I try to make this space fun for myself again. I'm gonna try not to be too longwinded about this as I have the habit of being, so long story short, I'm going to leave this blog.

I won't be deleting anything, but I'll also not be using this blog anymore. I was debating just disappearing without saying anything, but I think that's rude when some of you have been so very kind. The one and only exception will be if I feel really inspired and write something I love and would like to share specifically on here (or maybe I'll just post them on AO3 if I feel like it). Since I won't feel pressured to use this blog I'm sure that experience will be authentic and beautiful and rare. I want to focus on writing outside of this space, as I keep putting my energy here and not where I'd like it to be. There are lots of things going on in my life right now and I'd like to try to regain some control by using my free time intentionally in order to become the version of myself I'm striving toward. This blog is, unfortunately, not part of that version.

I still have a few prompts I want to fill, and a few WIPs I want to finish/post anyway, so I'm not disappearing just yet. When I say disappear, I'm not sure if I mean that I won't ever be logged in. I'm not entirely sure yet how I'm going to go about it, if I'm going to answer messages or turn asks off or what. I think, in the long run, asks will be turned off just so that I won't feel the urge to log in for the off chance someone has given me some attention. That's why I deleted the old blog, to keep myself from having one foot in there still.

I want to thank you for the lovely lovely time being back here. It's not been perfect, but that's not what I'm deciding to take with me this time. I want to remember writing Criminal Minds fics and Stranger Things fics and Red White and Royal Blue fics and Heartstopper fics, and how lovely you were about those fics. Revisiting fandoms and finding new ones and completing tickletober and having plans and ambitions for projects (even though I didn't always follow through, it's always nice having ambitions). I don't regret deleting the old blog and I don't regret creating this one. I think I probably needed to return, on my own terms, just like I'm now leaving on my own terms. I don't think I did that last time.

I keep rewriting this and looking at it and wondering if I will regret posting it. If posting it will somehow flip the switch and I will find so much joy here again and look like a fool. And if that happens, so be it. But I need to post this. I can't keep procrastinating. I have, in a way, been working up the nerve to say goodbye for the past year.

If you've ever commissioned a fic, I urge you to save it somewhere because I can't promise I won't randomly delete one day in the future either, if I realize it will be for the better (I guess the same goes for if you enjoy a fic and would like to be able to revisit it - but please don't share it anywhere else).

N over and out (well, once I finish those fics I still want to finish)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All the Good Girls Go To Hell 18

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: this week has been a week!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You steer along to Naomi's directions, hesitant as she has you turn towards the mall. You're pretty sure this isn't the right way but you have no idea. You just assumed they all lived in the same suburbs.

"Um, Nay?" You roll slowly between the rows of cars, "is this a shortcut or something?"

"Pfft, nope! We're going shopping. We need something cute to wear to the party."

"Shopping?" You frown, "I don't... have money."

"I do," she wiggles her phone, "the miracle of technology. I still have all the cards on my cell."

"Oh, do you think that's a good idea?"

"Look, we can't show up looking like this," she whines, "besides, it'll be fun. Girls' day!"

"Mmm, well, I'm fine in what I'm wearing," you shrug as you look for a spot.

Her phone lights up and she quickly reads the screen, blacking it out and rolling her eyes. She flips down the visor and checks herself in the mirror as you strain to see around her. You turn into an empty spot and roll up the windows.

"You have to get something extra cute. It's not about the boys, alright? It's about us."

"Sure," you say, letting your seat belt repel as you stare across the lot.

You still can't believe it. You're effectively homeless and Naomi doesn't seem to care. Well, she's used to the uncertainty by now, you can understand now how it made her so erratic.

You exhale. What else can you do? Wallow in reality. The distraction might do you well. No wonder she's always up to something. Anything. It's not pointless when the important things are so scary.

"Come on," she nudges you, "I wanna dress you up!"

You peek at her and give in with a nod. You grab your purse and fix your glasses. Anything to waste time, not that you're looking forward to anything.

She leads the way down the aisle of cars, almost skipping. You can't decide if she's compartmentalizing well or hopelessly optimistic. You drag your soles up the tarmac as she rushes ahead to the mall doors.

Inside, the crowd makes you want to turn around. Something about seeing the families clustered together and the teenagers hanging off each other makes you feel even more out of place. They all have somewhere to go after this. Ugh, how quickly it all dimmed to gray.

"Alright," Naomi hooks her arm through yours, "let's find the shortest dresses in this damn place."

"Nay," you huff.

"You're gonna rock it. Trust," she giggles, "you always look so sexy." She leans into you, "and tonight, we're gonna get lit."

☀️

Hours spent traversing the mall and your feet thrum. The day is far from over. As you drive down the cul de sac you dread the finish to the long day. A party. You're not a party person and the last one you went to…

Yikes.

Naomi has her seat belt off before you even stop. You shift into park as she reaches over to hit the horn, honking up at the large house. She trills and gets out, grabbing the bags out of the back as she watches the door expectantly. 

You climb out on your side, lingering nervously as she heads towards the winding little walkway to the steps. The door opens as she gets to the bottom. Harry greets her with a smirk and a wink, opening his arms.

"Kitty cat," he purrs, "funny seeing you here."

"Whatever, Harry," she chirps, "don't act like you weren't waiting for me."

"Mm," his eyes flit towards you, "didn't tell me you were bringing a friend."

"Two for the price of one," she lets him kiss her lips, "you know how… he is. Fucking nightmare. We need to let loose."

"Bring any goodies?" He looks at the bags in her hand curiously.

"No drinks," she pouts, "sorry, baby."

You slowly make your way up the walkway and hide behind her. You feel like an intruder. You wouldn't have let her bring you if you knew you weren't invited.

"It's fine," Harry says as he backs up, "Peter'll be here. Him and Gwen are on the outs again."

“Boo. So… can we come in or what? We gotta get all thotty for the party.”

He scoffs and waves her inside. You trail a few paces back and give a sheepish smile. He hardly seems concerned with you as he watches Naomi’s ass. Right, you’re not expecting much tonight. Really, you don’t know what to expect.

“Come on, sweetie,” Naomi looks over her shoulder as she struts on, “let’s get you dolled up.”

☀️

The lilac sheath overlaid in indigo and silver sequins is much to scant to your liking. When you tried it on in the store, you swore you'd put it back. Naomi insisted and put it in the basket before you could argue.

The dress is even skimpier than you remember, or maybe it’s Naomi’s insistence that you skip the bra. She didn’t like how the straps peeked out under the narrow purple ones. You’ll be spending most of this occasion with your arms crossed.

You hear voices as you follow her down the hall. You feel ridiculous. She spent too much time prettying you up and it doesn’t feel like long enough. The one thing she couldn’t convince you of is to leave your glasses behind. The last thing you need is to be stumbling into strangers.

“Harry,” she squeals as she takes you through the open sliding door into the backyard. There’s a folding table lined with colourful shot glasses and a cooler underneath. There are several guests already milling about and gabbing noisily. “There you are.”

She saunters forward and you stay stuck to the ground as you watch her sling her arms around Harry. He lets her and puts his hand on her lower back. They kiss, long and sloppy. You knew it wouldn’t be pretty with Naomi sipping vodka while she got dressed.

“Hey, didn’t know you were coming,” a voice shakes you from your worry.

You look over as Peter steps up. A reddish curl hangs down his forehead as he grins at you. He wears a striped short-sleeve button up and teal shorts. His muscled chest peeks out the top as he holds a red solo cup.

“How about a drink?” He offers.

“I don’t know–”

“Sort of the whole deal here, to have some fun,” he says, “she sure will be.”

He glances across the yard as Naomi hangs off of Harry, his hand now firmly on her ass. Oh, yeah, you don’t know why you’re disappointed. You cross your arms and turn back to Peter. You catch his eyes flick up from your chest. Great.

“Uh, sure, why not, I’ll have a soda.”

“Soda and…” he tilts his head coyly.

Your furrow your brows, “come on, specs, live a little,” he grabs your hand and you teeter as he tugs on you. You give in if only to keep from tripping over your own toes. He takes you to the long table and grabs two of the shot glasses, presenting the neon jello shots with a devilish grin.

“Let’s start with the appetizer.”

You accept the orange one. You examine it. You’ve never had one before. It jiggles as you move the glass.

“Go on,” he clacks his glass against yours and raises it, swiftly dumping it in his mouth.

You sigh and do the same. One shot won’t hurt. It’s sweet enough and mostly cool. You can taste the alcohol for sure but it’s not awful. You put down the empty cup and gulp down the melting gelatin.

“Mmm,” you hum through your full mouth.

“Alright, so what’s next? You want a cooler? You a beer girl?” He bends and flips open the cooler.

“Really, that’s good for me–”

“Raspberry lemon twist,” he pulls out a bright pink can, “that seems like a you drink.”

He holds it out. You stare at it. He still has his red cup in his other hand. You reluctantly take the can. He looks at you until you crack the tab open.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He winks and takes a drink from his cup, “better catch up,” he pulls the brim back, “oh, and before I get obnoxious, I should tell you how good you look.”

“Uh, thank you,” you take a tentative sip. It’s not bad, stringent but palatable.

“You seem… grim,” his smile falls, “what’s up?”

“Nothing,” you lie.

“Look, I’m not looking for a therapy session but there’s obviously something going on–”

“Really, it’s nothing,” you crane and look for Naomi as you hear her giggle.

“Ah, yeah, trouble follows her around,” he says, “she can take care of herself. It’s a party. You need to let loose. You’re wound so tight, I’m sure you could use it.”

You turn back to him, “not to be rude but what do you care?”

“Well, I’m going through a break up. Again,” he looks into his cup and swishes around the contents, “and I need to get a little bit loose myself. So, you and me, we’re sticking together. Think you’re the only one here who doesn’t know Gwen so, yeah.”

“Ah, got it,” you say dryly.

“No, get it,” he insists as he pokes the bottom of your can, “let’s go, sunshine. Get messy.”

You let your eyes fall back to the top of the can. What is the point in staying sober in a sea of drunk idiots? You’re done being the wallflower and you’re done tiptoeing around. It’s one night and you’re not going to spend it thinking about Steve or your mom.

You lift the can and gulp from the top, stopping before you can choke. You cover your mouth and swallow painfully, holding back a bubbly belch. Peter chuckles and empties his cup.

“There we go,” he encourages you, “I knew you had it in you.”

☀️

The world is slanted. You feel light and heavy at the same time. Your vision is hazy at the corners and each step is uneven. You have your arms slightly out as you make your way across the room.

You fall onto the sofa next to Naomi as Harry talks loudly beside her. As usual, she’s in the middle of the crowd, enjoying the limelight. She looks over as you jostle her and she slumps towards you.

“Heyyyyyyy, you’re here,” she says as if she forgot.

“Mmm,” you withhold a hiccup, “yeah…”

She smiles and reaches up to pet your cheek, “are you drunk?”

“Little,” you admit as she caresses your face.

“She’s blitzed,” Peter perches on the armrest on your other side, “told her not to keep pace with me.”

“Whatever,” you blather, your tongue clumsy as his chirping piques your irritation. “You’re the one… giving me drinks.”

“Aw, babe, you’re silly,” Naomi preens as her hand tickles down your neck, “Pete, Pete,” she hisses as she waves in his direction, leaning over you, “doesn’t she look fucking hot?”

You grab the hem of your dress, remembering how short it is. She flutters her fingers down the strap and gropes your chest. You swat her away and squeal.

“You should see what’s underneath,” Naomi slurs.

“Nay,” you catch her hand as she tries to grab you again.

“What? Why are you being like this?” She snips, “she sleeps in my bed and now she’s acting like a little prude.”

“Naomi,” you exclaim.

“I made her cum, you know? She was whining and whimpering–”

“Naomi, stop,” you beg as her other hand crawls back up along your cheek, “shut up.”

“Why, baby? I’m being nice,” she looks at you with her glassy eyes. She’s so drunk her head wobbles. “You like it when I’m nice, don’t you?”

She leans in as you hear Peter snicker. Before you can stop her, her lips are on yours. You wriggle helplessly and push on her shoulder. She slips her hand behind your head, keeping you pinned between her and the couch as her other hand creeps along your thigh. You hear others oohing and awing at her scene.

You whine and shove her as hard as you can. She recoils with a gasp as she wipes the slobber from her lips. You can’t believe what she just did. You know she’s drunk, and you are too, but you don’t understand why she’d do that. 

“Ah, come on, that was fucking hot,” Peter growls.

“Yeah, that was sexy,” Harry agrees, “go on, girls, let’s get the full show–”

You grunt as you shove yourself up to your feet. It’s difficult to get them under you as your head swims dizzily. You feel Naomi try to latch on but you swipe her away. Peter pinches your ass and you yipe as you stumble and hurry away. What’s going on?

You stagger across the room without looking back. Are they following you? Where’s your phone? You have to call your mom. You’re scared.

You find your cell outside and find your mother’s number. You stop from pressing down on the screen. You can’t call her, she hates you.

You clasp your cell tight and wade through the shadows around the house. You sidle through the tight space between the fence and the siding and come out to the front lawn. Your car is blocked in by a bunch of others. It doesn’t even matter, you can’t see straight, let alone drive.

Your phone flashes suddenly and you answer without checking the screen. 

“Hello?” You garble as you walk aimlessly along the driveway.

“Hey, sweetie, you okay?”

“Dad?” You utter as the deep voice surprises you.

“No, honey, it’s me. Bucky. I’ve been calling you–”

“Bucky…” you mope, “no. I want… I want my mom. I want my dad, please.”

“Doll, where are you?”

“I don’t want to talk to you. I know what you did,” you close your eyes and push your lip out.

“Sweetheart, where’s Naomi?”

“Naomi?” You repeat, “she– please help me.”

Your legs fold and you sit in the gravel. You can’t move. You don’t want to. Moving means you need to think and you’re all out of thoughts. You don’t know where to go or what to do. You’re trapped here in this suburban hellscape. Drunk and dumb and desperate.

“Are you with Naomi?” He asks as you hear a jingle on his end.

“She’s here,” you admit as you hang your head.

“Alright, sweetie, stay on the phone,” he says calmly. The even keel of his timbre comforts you, despite everything, despite his lies, his certainty eases the swell of nerves, “how are you feeling? Why don’t you look around and tell me something. Find something red for me.”

“Red?” You sniffle.

“Yeah, like I Spy,” he says, “find something red. Make me guess.”

“Um, uh,” you stutter and look around, “alright…” you hear rustling, a soft click, and footsteps. He’s moving but you don’t know what he’s doing, “I see… something red,” you focus on the lawn gnome’s cap, the round-bellied figurine standing in the garden.

“Alright, is it something… big?” He asks.

You squint and focus on his question. Hm, it’s not very big but compared to the flowers, it is. Ugh, you don’t know. You’re too drunk.

“Doll,” Bucky urges, “stay with me. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

[massivedrickhead]

Could you do something for “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”? Maybe as a follow-up or prequel or something to the prompt you did for “I’m not going to yell at you”? Thanks in advance! 🩵

First off, I'm so sorry this took so long! Usually when I go this long without posting any new fics it's because I'm working on something but I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've written anything in the last month.

I've had probably the worst writers' block I can ever remember having and I've just not felt any desire to write anything or work on any of my wips.

I don't even know if this is any good, but I'm hoping it'll pull me out of the slump.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Prompt taken from here

Trigger warning: physical domestic abuse

This is a prequel to this fic

Read on AO3

-

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Chloe didn’t believe him.

She swallowed, the pain radiating from her mouth as she forced a steadying breath through her nose. 

She knew her lip was bust. She could taste the blood in her mouth, could feel the sting when she swept her tongue across it.

“Chloe.”

Chicago knelt in front of her. His eyes were full of tears, one of his hands cradling the other as if he’d hurt it when it collided with her face. As if he was the one in pain right now.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off. “Are you okay?”

Chloe wanted to laugh, but instead tears stung her eyes. 

“Please don’t cry,” he said. “Please… Please just say something.”

“Can you get me some ice please?” Chloe asked, no longer recognising the sound of her own voice.

He seemed to deflate with relief, and Chloe felt her hatred for him grow. 

“Of course,” he said. “Let me help you up.”

Chloe couldn’t help but flinch away from him as he extended his hand towards her, and she saw the briefest flash of anger cross his eyes. 

She took his hand and he helped her up and onto her feet before he disappeared into the kitchen. 

Now alone, she gingerly touched the split in her lip and winced. It hurt more than she’d expected it to.

He’d never hit her before, and even though he was full of apologies and remorse now, Chloe already knew he would do it again. 

He came back with a bag of frozen peas. “We’re out of ice,” he said. 

Chloe nodded and took it from him, holding it against her rapidly swelling lip.

“I’m-”

“I know,” Chloe said, cutting him off. “I know you are.” She couldn’t bear to hear him say it again. “Let’s just… Let’s forget it.”

“Sure,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

The rest of the evening passed in a tense silence until Chloe finally crawled into bed.

She feigned sleep long enough to hear the sound of Chicago’s snores fill the room, and then she eased herself out of bed.

Shoved in the back of her closet was a bag she’d begun prepping months ago. When the rose-tinted glasses had come off, she started to really see those red flags that she’d so often dismissed.

The bag contained some clothes, toiletries, a small amount of cash, and her important documents.

She grabbed it out of the closet and, still in her pyjamas, climbed into her car and drove. 

-

Beca had been fast asleep when the sound of her apartment buzzer cut through her dreams.

She groaned and fumbled for her phone, one eye closed as the bright screen lit up the room.

It was close to 2 am, and her stomach lurched as the noise continued.

She stumbled out of bed and hurried to the front door, her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest as she did so. 

No one ever knocks at your door at 2 am with good news…

“Hello?” Beca asked into the intercom.

“Beca?”

If Beca’s heart had been beating hard before, it was doing something else entirely now.

“Chloe?”

“Please can I come up?”

Beca hit the button to unlock the door without a second of hesitation, and she waited anxiously for Chloe to reach her apartment.

Even though she’d been expecting it, Beca still jumped at the sound of the tentative knock at the door and she hurried to open it.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “I’m so sorry for just turning up like this.” Chloe’s hands were shaking as she adjusted the weight of the bag on her shoulder, and her eyes shining with tears. “Please can I stay? Chicago, he’s…”

Chloe trailed off, but she didn’t need to tell Beca what Chicago had done, because Beca could see it for herself.

Beca felt like she couldn’t speak, so she just stepped aside so Chloe could enter her apartment. She shut the door behind them and slid the chain lock across for good measure.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Chloe said. “I’m sorry.”

Beca shook her head and forced herself to find her voice. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Of course you can stay here.”

Chloe seemed to deflate with relief in front of her, and Beca hated that in Chloe’s mind, there might have been a chance she’d have turned her away.

“Stupid question, but are you okay?” Beca asked.

Chloe shrugged. “I don’t think so,” she said, tears filling her eyes faster than she could wipe them away. 

Beca wasted no time in closing the gap between them and wrapping Chloe up in a hug. “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” she said. “How can I help? What can I do?”

“Can I go lay down?” Chloe asked, the adrenaline that had been keeping her going was now quickly fading away. “I’m really tired.”

“Of course,” Beca said, reluctantly ending their hug. “Take my bed until I can get the spare room set up. I can sleep on the couch.”

Chloe took hold of her hand. “Please come with me,” she said. “I don’t want to be by myself.”

Beca nodded and squeezed Chloe’s hand. Her throat felt tight. “Go ahead,” she said, the strain evident in her voice. “I’ll be right in.”

With Chloe out of the room, Beca’s hands closed into fists, and she clenched her jaw shut in order to hold back the scream that threatened to erupt. 

She’d never felt an anger quite like this before, and she needed it to go before she joined Chloe in the bedroom.

She closed her eyes and imagined herself pummeling every square inch of Chicago. Her jaw was clenched so tight she was amazed her teeth hadn’t shattered. 

She counted to ten in her head, and then forced a slow breath out through her mouth.

Her anger was no good to Chloe right now. Chloe needed her to be strong and stable, but not angry.

She could be angry later, but not now. Not tonight.

She filled a glass with water and returned to the bedroom. Chloe was curled up on her side, her face lit up by her phone screen.

“Here,” Beca said, placing the water on the nightstand.

“Thanks,” Chloe said, locking her phone and placing it on her nightstand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Beca asked, climbing into the bed beside her.

“Not really,” Chloe said. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” Beca said. “That’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“I, um, I don’t really know what to do Bec,” Chloe said, her voice beginning to waver again. She let out a small sob, that was quickly followed by another. “I’m sorry,” she said, quickly wiping her eyes.

“Don’t,” Beca said. “Don’t be sorry, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” She lifted her arm so Chloe could cuddle into her side, which she eagerly did. 

“What’s going to happen when he figures out where I am?”

Beca felt that anger pulse in her again, but she pushed it away. “I don’t know,” Beca answered honestly. “But we’ll figure it out. I do know one thing though, and that’s that he won’t put his hands on you again.”

Chloe knew it wasn’t as simple as that but she allowed herself, for that moment, to feel safe. To feel protected. She decided to believe her. 

“All you need to worry about now is getting some rest,” Beca said. “We can deal with everything else tomorrow.”

[angelasscribbles]

Changes: A ONiC One-Shot

Series: One Night in Cordonia, a @choicesprompts Round Robin Event.

Fandom: TRR mostly

CRACKSHIP ALERT: Drake x Bertrand

Word Count: 1,593

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Lemons 🍋🍋🍋

A/N: This pairing was initiated by @harleybeaumont during the round robin event titled One Night in Cordonia. I cannot remember who requested it or if it's something @harleybeaumont and I thought up during one of our epic late night discussions. Either way, it somehow got brought up today and I went to send her the little bit of it that has been sitting in my WiP folder forever, but once I opened the Word doc, I decided to add a few quick details and then just kept going until it was finished. 🙃

This was not the writing project I had intended to work on today, but I don't get to choose where the inspiration strikes.

It's pure smut. Just so you know.

The rest of my stuff can be found here.

Bertrand stood in the Beaumont study, surveying the damage and contemplating the last several weeks.

The terrorist group responsible for the attack had been rounded up, and the authorities had finally left. He was happy to reclaim his study from Bastien. They had left the room in disarray, and he set about tidying it up.

He was kneeling on the floor, examining a discolored spot on the carpet and muttering about the King's Guard's complete lack of decorum with the door to the study opened. Whoever it was hadn't even bothered to knock.

Bertrand leapt to his feet with indignation, "This is a private room! Have you no manners?"

An amused voice answered him. "No need to get up on my account."

Bertrand paled and took a step back as Drake ambled into the room like he owned the place. Shutting the door behind him, he ignored Bertrand's outburst about manners and smirked at him. "I like the way you look on your knees."

"I…don't know what you're trying to imply—"

"What?" Amusement danced across his face as he took in the other man's discomfort. "Have you forgotten the last time you were on your knees in front of me?"

The lord of Ramsford flushed from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. Burning with shame and, distressingly, desire, he stuttered out an answer. "I…. Of course not! I mean…. That's not what I—"

Drake took a step toward him with a smirk. "You were really good at it."

"I…that…." Bertrand took another step back, bumping into a bookshelf and sending a miniature statue of a horse crashing to the ground.

Drake continued his advance until he stood directly in front of the duke, blocking any chance of a dignified retreat. "Why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not!" Bertrand gulped loudly, belying his statement.

"No?" The bigger man shifted his weight slightly as he rested a hand on either side of his intended target.

Bertrand's eyes widened as shock, fear, and undeniable excitement flooded through him. He didn't trust his voice, so he simply shook his head.

A soft scoff issued from Drake as his eyes traced his face, settling on the set of lips that had brought him so much pleasure just a few weeks before.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

It was true that they had both been under the influence of some type of chemical that removed sexual inhibitions, but the fact remained that those impulses had to exist in the first place in order to be inhibited.

His disdain for Max's older brother had always masked a deeper emotion. Sexual attraction to other men wasn't new to him, but the realization that he had always been drawn to this particular man was.

"Tell me you don't want this." Drake's hand caressed Bertrand's cheek. "If you don't want me to kiss you right now, tell me to stop." He paused, giving the other man plenty of time to protest.

For a heartbeat, they stood frozen in time, face to face, staring into each other's eyes. Then Bertrand went weak in the knees as his eyes fluttered shut and his head tipped slightly up, lips parted, inviting the kiss.  

Drake's lips crashed into his and he was falling, tumbling into a vast unknown, terror and exhilaration colliding inside him.

Bertrand Beaumont had never been good with women. He didn't understand what they wanted, he didn't understand how to attract them. He had never felt much of a pull to them at all. But this. This was different.

He had kissed a handful of women in his time. Their lips had been soft and yielding and the entire experience had been somehow wrong and off putting. His previous experiences with kissing had been nothing like this. This kiss was rough and demanding, the stubble that scratched his face sent red hot flames licking through him. His hands reached out to grasp not soft flesh, but hard muscles. He whimpered helplessly as his body reacted. His rock hard erection was evident as Drake's body pushed into his.

He wanted to die of shame until he realized that Drake was having the exact same reaction. Their cocks pressed against each other through the fabric of their pants as their hips ground against each other.

Bertrand had never felt another man's cock pressed against his own before, much less while it was hard. The thought that Drake was hard because of him was almost more than he could bear. Desire burned all the embarrassment out of him as he begged for more. "Please… I need—"

Before he could finish the thought, strong hands spun him around and jerked him sidewise away from the bookshelf, and pressed him against the wall. His pants were yanked down his body, leaving his ass bare and his dick throbbing. A foot forced his legs apart as a finger found his puckered hole. His mind was so clouded with lust that he barely registered some sort of lube being applied before a finger probed inside him. Warm breath tickled his ear as a voice rough with desire whispered in his ear. "How does that feel?"

"So good…" he gasped out as an ecstasy he had never imagined washed over him.

A soft kiss landed on the back of his neck. "I'm going to fuck you now. Hold still."

Bertrand's eyes squeezed shut as his body vibrated with pleasure and anticipation. "Yes…. Please…."

A feral growl broke free from Drake's throat at the pleading tone of the man trembling under his touch. It was all he could do to keep himself from slamming into him. Instead, he inserted himself slowly and gently, sliding in an inch at a time, giving the other man a chance to adjust.

A cry of ecstasy was torn from him as Drake hit the prostate.

His name falling from Bertrand's lips was the end of his restraint. No longer gentle, he moved his body at a more desperate pace, pulling himself out and shoving back into the man who was now writhing frantically beneath him.

Bertrand's feet tried to come out from under him as all the strength left his body. Blackness clouded the edges of his vision as the pleasure became all encompassing. A hand closed around his cock and stars exploded across his field of vision as the orgasm overtook him.

Drake slammed into him one last time with a roar, pinning his body to the wall as he emptied himself into him. He kept his body pressed into him until his cock finished pulsing.

When he finally stepped away, Bertrand was left with his pants in an undignified tangle around his ankles, a pleasurable soreness and the proof of what had just transpired leaking out of him. He turned to face the man who had just taken his innocence and awakened desires in him that he had not known he possessed, tripping over his tangled pants as he did so.

"Whoa there!" Drake caught him and then stepped back with a satisfied smirk as he fastened his own pants.

Hyperaware of Drake's eyes on him, he scrambled to redress himself, ignoring the sticky mess on his backside. Not knowing what to say, his eyes dropped to the floor as both mortification and gratification pinged through him at what had just transpired.

"Hey." Drake's finger found his chin and lifted his head. With a smile more tender than he had ever seen on his face, he told him, "You did great."

The mortification drained out of him, pride and happiness taking its place. "Really?"

"Really." He looked closer at Bertrand's expression. "Wait. Was that your first time with a man?"

Bertrand's eyes fell once again to the floor. "My first time….with anyone." Kissing women had been bad enough, he had never been able to push himself further with any of them.

Drake's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

"What?" Bertrand's head snapped up in alarm at the regret in Drake's voice. "Don't be sorry! That was…. It was… you were…. I mean…"

The smile returned to Drake's face as understanding dawned on him. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything else. I'm glad you liked it."

The alarm on Bertrand's phone went off, bringing him back to reality. "Apologies. I'm needed at a budgetary meeting soon."

"No problem. I have shit to do, too. See you around."

Panic sliced through him as he watched Drake make it to the door. "Wait!"

Drake paused and turned around. "Yeah?"

Bertrand fought against the tidal wave of insecurity and anxiety that threatened to silence him. For once in his life, he was going to ask for what he wanted. "Is there any chance we could… um…. " He faltered as embarrassment threatened to pull him under.

A grin pulled Drake's lips up as he watched Bertrand stumble over his words. He decided to put him out of his misery. "Are you asking if we can do this again?"

"Yeah." If he said no, Bertrand was going to drop right through the floor.

"You can count on it." Drake thumped the edge of the door frame on his way out, humming happily as he strolled down the hall.

Bertrand slumped against the wall as relief and disbelief surged through him.

He had no idea what this all meant. No idea what tomorrow would bring. There was only one thing that he knew for certain.

Everything was going to be different now.

[kirathehyrulian]

♥Help Milana Auction Winner for Art Offer #1♥ (placeholder): 🐟Ocean Fishing🐟

*Do not Repost, Alter, or Use without permission of @wetsammywinchester.*

This work was inspired from @wetsammywinchester 's J2 fic Enthrall (For better viewing on desktop, click the image, then right click the enlarged image, and then click "open image in new tab".)

For more stuff from me please check out my “myart” tag here on Tumblr or my AO3.

👇( wip screenshots and notes below the cut) 👇

For more detailed notes: [AO3 link]

Art Notes:

In early Oct 2019, a section of the creator community held/organized a fandom charity auction to help out a fellow creator who had fallen on hard times (for more info on the past auction click here). I offered three commissions towards the auction. Paula was gracious enough to bid for and win my 1st offer for $30.

The details of that offer was: One title card and one illustration for a fic.

Because life events and burnout got in the way we didn't finish talking out all the particulars, but I just decided to go ahead and make two illustrations for now, and if the particulars ever get fleshed out in the future, I'll do the official title card and illustration that more closely fits the story of the scene and overall feel that Paula would like to be depicted from the fic.

So these works are more a placeholder. I made these because it's always been in the back of my mind for 5 years now to complete the offer because that was 30 dollars donated with nothing given from my side to show for it. So at least now it has something to show for it even if it's not the official work that was supposed to be done.

WIP Screenshots:

This was the first sketch idea that I abandoned because I felt like I didn't know how to actually make it and Jared's face would be mostly hidden, which was not a good thing in my book. I succeed more with Jared's face than I do with Jensen. So I had no confidence going in for this idea:

I ended up settling for a sketch of mer!Jared in the water and then I later thought that just doing Jared wasn't fair so I made another canvas for a Jensen fisherman companion piece to the mer!Jared one. Also, I tried to make Jared look 14-ish because I was told Jensen was around 18 in the fic, but up to the view if the attempt translated well. And this is the wip of both of those:

The mer!Jared illustration obviously was more intricate so that process took longer and had more wip screenshots than the Jensen one. I admittedly was getting burnout when working on Jensen's so I took some shortcuts with the t-shirt decal and the bags and containers surrounding Jensen. I just found some images on google and traced them instead of eyeballing it which saved me time and effort that would have made the burnout worse to the point that I might have finishing this work a lot later than now. So I'm not upset or ashamed about doing it for that reason.

I started this project around Feb 8th this year and finished it all March 14th (today). And that's it for now. Thank you for getting this far and-

Enjoy, if you can!♥♥♥

[a-sunset-outside-my-window]

hullo friend, do you have any wolfstar fanfic recommendations for remus going through the lunar cycle? something like hurt/comfort but not only, just him dealing with all the things that come from being a wolfy

oh boy do I ever! I'm wiggeling in my seat because of this question

(disclaimer, I've been kinda busy the last few weeks so I might come back to this ask later with some more recs lol)

The 39 Steps by gilbertsdoor

Remus hated having to lie, but he could see no other way around it. Closing in on Sirius, he gripped him by the fabric of his t-shirt, pushing it up towards his throat. ‘Alright then. You’re alone in the muggle countryside, wandless, in the dark. You’re manacled to an evil, murderous werewolf, a known killer who doesn’t hold an ounce of pity for your pathetic human life. If that’s what you would rather believe, then by all means,’ he hissed, ‘be my guest.’

One minute Remus is between jobs, isolated, and thoroughly disenfranchised with life, the next he is on the run for murder, being a werewolf-at-large, and for knowing far, far too much.

One minute Sirius Black is a bored auror in training, the next he is caught up with Remus in a mess of secrets and dark magic.

Their lives intertwine, but how long can they keep running from the Death Eaters, and how long can they keep running from themselves?

Harry Potter and the Dog and the Wolf by thewholeofthemoon I live and breathe for this series!) it's very much focused on lycanthropy especially the latest work wich is still a wip but so so so good!

Scent of the Moon by Quietlemonhush this is a little different but very much lycanthropy focused even if it's not always the source of the hurt

Not content to only disown the wayward heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Walburga calls in back up. Bellatrix has all those new friends with their good ideals and their sharp, sharp teeth.

Sirius Black returns to Hogwarts with a bite in his side and a fever he can't shake.

they also have some more smutty wolfstar fics wich feature the lunar cycle if that's more what you are looking for

Dunes and Waters by MarigoldWritesThings ( @marigold-hills ) this is probably the fic most focused on lunar cycles and just the magic theory behind lycanthropy and I also just can't reccomend it enough

Remus is sensitive to changing tides, a part of the moon always with him, and Black is like the sea. He can smell it on him, the way his magic builds up and crackles about the fingertips.

***

A werewolf, a convict, and a riddle.

The W in Weasley stands for Werewolf by gonzoclock this one is mostly here for fun werewolf lore I'm not gonna lie

When a werewolf comes out of nowhere and attacks nineteen-year old Arthur Weasley, he thinks his life is over before it's even really begun. He's wrong, of course, and now all of forty years later the Weasley family is thriving, happy, and healthy- and every one of them is a werewolf.

Things are going really well for eleven-year old Ron... except for the part where he has to get through school without anyone finding out his family's secret while simultaneously keeping his new brother alive. Easy-peasy. Right?

(Pay no mind to the one-eyed beast that seems to be lurking in the shadows- it's almost certainly nothing to worry about.)

Features the entire Weasley family adopting Harry Potter practically the second they lay eyes on him (or before that, even); Ron Weasley finding himself being altogether far too nice too slimy gits who don't deserve it; Percy Weasley doing his best; Harry deciding that being enemies with this Malfoy kid is too much work actually; Hermione Granger being as smart and ruthless as ever; Severus Snape who did not, and I repeat, did NOT sign up for ANY of this; and much, much more

By Moonlight by Eiiri this one, as well is mostly here for the werewolf angst, not nessecarily between wolfstar

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus recognizes something familiar in Draco Malfoy and offers him sanctuary. With nowhere else to turn--his parents in prison, his home a crime scene--Draco reluctantly accepts and becomes a tolerated, if not welcome, member of his schoolyard rivals' and wartime adversaries' family of choice. As pages of the lunar calendar turn and the summer wears on, Draco and the others begin to see each other in a different light.

but definitely check out these authors! <3

sorry for bad grammar it's late

[onthewaytosomewhere]

💚thanks ever so much for the tags my dears @sophie1973 @theprinceandagcd @henryspearl @myheartalivewrites @sheepywritesfics

@suseagull04 & @taste-thewaste 😘

so after posting that lil fic on Sunday I've moved right back to what I need to be working on ... my fic for the @ficwip dark & cozy event

so i played with a lil art for it and wrote some words last night so it's moving along (even if it has a fair bit to go yet lolz) (even if i really wanna work on the new liam/pez i started last night as well)

putting this all beneath the cut cuz a bit of art (still also WIP) and words shared today 💚

i'm really torn on these i really kinda like the coffee shop sign and not sure if need to work it into the title card or keep it so they just share similar elements and post both with the fic... or if i even really like the title card - i suppose that's why its a wip lolz

and now here's (wonderwall) words from the same fic 💚

“Thanks, Nora swears that I’ve become more of a klutz since the change, and I don’t need any more reasons for her to threaten to spend all my money on new cups for this place.” The smile Henry gives him as he hands the cup and saucer to Alex almost seems shy, and it should appear out of place on someone who’s lived as many lives as he has, but Alex can’t help but think how it makes him want to kiss him. It’s as if some force he can’t explain is pulling him toward Henry. He’s been able to resist the pull for the sake of not wanting to come on too strong, but really, it’s getting harder not to make a fool of himself over Henry. There’s a moment when time seems to freeze between them, and then Alex is brought out of it when Henry speaks, “Well, we can’t have that; you need that money to take me out once you finally work up the courage to ask.” Alex drops the cup in his hand, and once again, Henry catches it before it can hit the floor, this time setting it back on the table. “I’m sorry … what?! … how …” Alex takes a deep breath, begging his mind to stop acting like a computer that has blue-screened, and continues, “So, you’d be up for that?” Henry smiles at him, and Alex’s already fast-beating heart stutters, “Well, as good as your tea is, it’s not the only reason I frequent your shop.” “But, you’ve never said anything. Hell, you barely talk past your order most nights unless I talk to you first.” “To be fair, you never said anything either, but I’m not as brave as this moment would have you believe. I may have spent too much time around Pez lately, and well, if I have to hear him tell me one more time that I should ‘suck it up and say something so I could suck what I really wanted,’ well, it will be one more time too many, truly.” “Huh, so ‘ya vaaant to suck my bluuudd’ do ya?” Alex replies with his worst stereotypical vampire accent. He rakes his eyes over Henry’s body and waits until Henry takes a drink of his tea to continue, “There’s definitely a few things I wouldn’t mind getting my mouth on.” Henry nearly chokes on the tea, and Alex never actually realized that vampires could choke, but apparently, that’s a thing that can happen. Henry looks at him, blue eyes full of mirth, and smirks, “Noted.” Alex nearly falls over when the bell above the door chimes; so much for his Were instincts being strong when he’s lost in flirting with pretty men or … well, vamps. Before turning to the customer entering, he whispers, “We will be coming back to this later.” Henry gives him one of those damn enigmatic smiles of his, and Alex nearly tells the customer to leave so he can stay there flirting with him. However, once he turns and sees who it is, he knows that won’t be happening.

i'm just gonna slap some tags down here so if i miss ya and ya wanna do this consider this ur big ole open tag!!

no-pressure tag ur it! to @adreamareads @anincompletelist @blueeyedgrlwrites @caterpills @duchessdepolignaca03

@england-would-fall @firenati0n @firstsprinces @forever-fixating @getmehighonmagic

@heysweetheart-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @inell @inexplicablymine @itsmaybitheway

@jmagnabo92 @littlemisskittentoes @mikibwrites @nocoastposts @priincebutt

@softboynick @sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow @tailsbeth-writes @thesleepyskipper

@thinkof-england @tinyarmedtrex @typicalopposite @everwitch-magiks @cricketnationrise

@myheartalivewrites @porcelainmortal @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead @captainjunglegym

@cha-melodius @kiwiana-writes @judasofsuburbia @doublecheekedkinard @cricketnationrise

(i realize it's no longer wednesday for some of ya and some of ya may have already done this but - my fingers typed ur name so 'hi' if that's the case lolz)

[fallinginvictus]

do you have any wips at all for the time loop au? 🙏🙏

WIP Wednesday Andrew & Aaron Time Loop AU

I haven't had time to write lately so I only have a tiny little bit of the first part of chapter 3 and I'm not actually sure that's how it's going to stay when I actually post the whole chapter but I'll post anyways.

part one

part two

tw: character death, suicide, mention of drug abuse, Tilda, suicidal thoughts

“You're a parasite,” his mother had told him once when he was five, her head resting on the couch, her black eyes staring at the ceiling, her clouded mind lost in the high. “You suck everything out of me and then still expect me to give you more of my love.”

Aaron stood there for a second, his puffy little hands holding tightly onto the drawing he had been trying to show her, the mother he had drawn staring lovingly at him, the mother in real life taking a puff of her cigarette, her eyes never leaving the ceiling, never looking at her son.

“I just wanted to give you the gift that I made you,” he tried to defend himself with a pout on his lips, hoping his mother would want to look at it, look at him. Hoping she would smile and thank him for his thoughtfulness, for his kindness. Hoping she would acknowledge his existence.

“I just wanted,” his mother repeated mockingly, grey smoke slithering out of her lips. “That's all you do, Aaron. You want and you want and you want and you never once think about how much you take from people. As long as you get what you want you are willing to suck me dry.”

“I-I wasn't asking to take anything,” he said softly, tears pooling in his eyes. “I just wanted to give you a gift to make you happy.”

At those words his mother's gaze finally turned towards Aaron, her black eyes looking straight through him.

“To make me happy?” she scoffed before extending her long, pale fingers towards him. “Show me then.”

Aaron hesitated for a second, his hold on his precious drawing getting tighter, the paper wrinkling in his hands.

“Come on now,” his mother tilted her head, a grin painted on her thin lips, her coral-red lipstick a little smudged. “You wanted to show me my gift, so show me my gift.”

Aaron stepped forward, a spark of hope lighting inside of his chest, the drumming of his own heart echoing in his ears, a little smile forming on his lips as he carefully handed the drawing to his mum. He had worked on it for hours that morning while she was busy getting high, he had picked his best colours and tried his hardest to stay inside the lines. It was a drawing of his mum and Aaron holding hands, big and happy smiles drawn on their faces, colourful butterflies were dancing all around them and a big yellow sun was shining on the top-right corner of the page.

“This is me and you,” he said as he shily pointed towards the two stick figures on the paper and then he placed a kiss on her cheek, his soft lips meeting the hardness of her cheekbone, his warm hands gently holding onto her cold shoulder. “Do you like it?”

“You made this just for me,” she said, arching a perfectly trimmed brow.

“For my mummy,” he nodded while smiling at her. “A gift to make you happy.”

“Oh, to make me happy you say?” she chuckled. Her tone made Aaron take two steps back and he stumbled a little when his naked feet got tangled in the black carpet. His mother's eyes were cold, the black of her pupils drowning the light brown of her eyes, none of the softness that he sometimes saw in them was visible.

“Yes I-”

“So you didn't give it to me so that I could thank you and tell you how good you are?”

Aaron didn't reply. He hadn't made her the drawing to get compliments but a part of him had still hoped for them, had hoped to hear nice words and receive warm smiles. Had hoped for warmth and love, for attention.

“See Aaron?” she said, her eyes burning holes into his skin. “You pretend to be such a lovely boy who only wants to please others but you can't fool me, I'm your mother. I know you like nobody else does. I put up with it because I love you, but no one else other than me will ever be able to put up with your selfish behaviour, with your endless needs, with your wanting and taking. I can see right through you.”

☆☆

As he lays on his unmade bed, the darkness of his room engulfing his body and his mind, Aaron finally feels light and free, the weight of the sky no longer resting on his shoulders, the cloud of darkness that had for so long engulfed his lungs finally dissipating.

He stays there for a while, staring at the darkness, searching for a crack in his heart, an ounce of doubt in his blood, regret in his mind. He searches thoroughly and critically, every thought gets analysed and pulled apart, every emotion gets dissected and categorised, and only when he's sure that nothing at all has been overlooked he finally gets out of bed, ready to face the final day of his life.

He takes longer than usual in the shower, letting the hot streams of water untangle his muscles, warm his bones. He uses all of his shampoo and conditioner, until there is not one drop left inside the bottles. He lets the water wash over him until it starts to turn cold, until there is no hot water left at all. When he finally steps out of the shower, condensation has filled the air and all of the glass surfaces and mirrors are fogged over. Aaron prefers it that way, he doesn't want to look at his face, doesn't want the reminder of what he's leaving behind. Of who he's leaving behind.

When he looks at his phone it's thirty-two minutes past seven in the morning and Aaron's heart stops beating for a few seconds: Andrew had called him five times.

A few seconds later it rings again, the phone vibrating in his hand as the ringtone fills the air, covering the sound of his now racing heart.

“What? Is something wrong?” Aaron asks as soon as he picks up the phone, worry crawling under his skin and spreading throughout his body, rooting him to the ground. Andrew would never call him of his own free will, he would never contact him unless something had gone terribly wrong.

“Are you still clean?” is what Andrew says from the other side of the line, his voice sounding strange, strained.

“What?” Aaron's blood turns into ice, freezing his veins. His thoughts drift towards the hospital's supply room, towards what he knows will take place that afternoon. For a second, for a naive and stupid second, Aaron feels touched and warmth tries to melt his frozen veins: maybe Andrew still cares for him, he thinks, maybe he still wants for Aaron to be safe.

“Just answer. Are you still clean?”

“Yes, I am. Almost 10 years.”

“Do you feel like using again?” The question feels like a trick, a trap.

“No,” he says and smiles a little: he doesn't feel like using again but it doesn't mean he won't.

“Good. Don't,” Andrew says before hanging up the phone.

Once Andrew's voice is gone and only silence can be heard in his empty house, Aaron feels hollow again. He wants to call his brother back, to hear him talk about his day, his week, his life; he wants to tell him about his annoying neighbour and his stupid little dog that barks all day and night and won't let Aaron rest; he wants to go to a café and eat three different types of cakes and discuss with him which one is better; he wants Andrew to trust him and confide in him; he wants to confess his pain and tell Andrew that there is a tiredness in him that won't ever leave him, that drags him down. He wants Andrew to burst through his door and save him. He wants and wants and wants and he hates his mother for being right: he's a parasite that will never be satisfied. Aaron won't suck Andrew and Nicky dry like he did with his mother.

☆☆

When he was thirteen, Aaron discovered that he had a brother, a twin, and something that he thought had long been lost sparked in chest again after years of laying dormant between his ribs: hope.

The whole night he paced around his bedroom, up and down and down and up, his whole body buzzing with that long forgotten feeling, thoughts getting tangled in his brain as he tried to organise them, to make sense of them.

He had a twin brother.

He stood in front of the broken and dirty floor-length mirror at the side of his room and stared at himself for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than a few minutes: in front of him stood his reflection, dark circles under his eyes, hollowed-out cheeks and sharp cheekbones, rosey lips and messy blond hair. Soon enough there wouldn't just be a mindless reflection standing in front of him, but a real-life human with feelings and thoughts, a brother that looked just like him, a twin that had once been part of him, with whom he had shared the first nine months of his life.

He walked towards his desk and ripped a page from his chemistry notebook. He stared at it for a while, thinking about what he should write. He knew he was an unlovable child, he knew his personality was unlikeable and his mere presence exhausting; he wasn't friendly and he wasn't funny, he was neither sweet nor cute and he had never once been good at making friends, but he was desperate, the need to make a good first impression was burnings in his veins.

He picked up a black-ink pen. He had stolen it from one of his classmates, it was new and expensive, the gel ink rich and deep.

Five different times he began to write his letter and five different times he ripped out the page, his hands shaking, his breaths getting erratic. Aaron had never been a writer, had never liked reading, had never cared about literature, often falling asleep during Mr. Jackson lessons and now he could do nothing but curse at himself for such oversight: he didn't want his brother to think of him as an illiterate idiot who couldn't string two sentences together.

Aaron had never felt more dumb than he did on that Thursday evening as he tried his best to present himself as someone that Andrew could love, someone that was worthy of love.

☆☆

“You look happy today Doctor Minyard,” is the first thing he hears when he walks in front of the nurses station. “Did something good happen?”

Aaron smiles at Nurse Mary, “Just a good day,” he shrugs. Maybe it is a lie or maybe it isn't, Aaron isn't sure anymore.

The day passes slowly and then all at once, a strange feeling buzzing under his skin, electricity licking up his veins. He wonders if it's anticipation or dread, joy or sadness. He wonders if maybe it's a mixture of every emotion that he has ever felt throughout his life. It had been so long since he had felt so much and so strongly; it had been so long since he had felt something other than emptiness and loneliness for a prolonged period of time. He can't decide whether he enjoys the feeling or if he despises it.

He feels guilty as he walks towards the supply room: all around him are those afflicted by unimaginable sicknesses and pains and every day and every night they fight as hard they can to keep their lives: they hold on tightly onto a thin rope that is on the brink of snapping, their knuckles white, their hands bloody, their muscles aching from the strain. And here Aaron is, forfeiting his life as if it means nothing.

The keypad beeps four times, short and loud, and then a third time as the door opens. Aaron takes a deep breath as he steps inside and closes the door behind himself, the dim light inside the small room casting shadows on his face, the stale air making him feel as if he's going to suffocate at any moment. There's a thin layer of sweat on his forehead and a slight shake overtakes his hands as he tightly grips the glass vial. He stops for a second as the syringe sinks into the grey rubber stopper, his laboured breaths the only sound inside the quiet room.

There is a second after Aaron sinks the syringe in his body where flashes of Nicky's warm smile and Andrew's concerned face dance behind his eyelids, a moment where he could change his mind, put the syringe away and walk out of that room alive. But the faces disappear as quickly as they had appeared, smothered by the knowledge that he would only suck them dry, that his wants and needs would only ever hurt them. No matter how hard he tries to keep his wants sealed inside of his chest, beneath his ribs, Aaron knows that they would always find a way to escape. He's a parasite, his existence would only ever bring pain to those around him.

He pushes the morphine in his veins.

That morning he had told Andrew that he didn't feel like using again and while it had been true it hadn't been the full truth. Aaron had long since learnt that a drug addict could never stop being a drug addict. He could get clean and he could stay clean, but the addiction would never fully leave him, a part of him would always crave the drugs, the high, like a broken bone that had never healed quite right and would ache when it rained and when it snowed.

When the morphine finally makes its home in his veins, Aaron welcomes her like an old friend. He lets himself feel the euphoria as it rushes through his body and down his veins, as it reaches his every cell. His body goes limp and he slumps against the wall, the syringe slipping from his fingers. Aaron had forgotten what happiness felt like but as he lays on the snow-white hospital tiles, he thinks he has finally found it again. Maybe drugs, he ponders, had been his only real friends.

His brain goes numb after a while, a dense fog making its way inside of his mind, clouding his thoughts, blurring his vision. His body feels heavy and he lets it fall to the ground, the sound of his head forcefully hitting the ground echoing inside of the silent room. Aaron doesn't even notice. Nothing hurts anymore, the constant and unbearable ache that is his loneliness now hidden inside of the dense fog that is clouding his brain.

Why couldn't you make me just a little lovable, Aaron asks God as he falls into darkness. Why do I always have to be alone?

[carlos-in-glasses]

Fic Pride Friday - on a Saturday!

Thank you for the tag @freneticfloetry @lemonlyman-dotcom @bonheur-cafe

@literateowl @ladytessa74 @liminalmemories21 🧡 And for giving me a reason to create a banner for non-WIP tag games.

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

I've opted to share from three fics- Suddenly in the Silence, Where All This Love Comes From, and Wrestling Angels:

Suddenly, in the Silence:

"I think the closet is haunted," TK says, fumbling the buttons of his lapelled pajama shirt. Carlos faces the opposite side of the room. "But it's from Ikea." "Not that one." TK throws an arm towards the white pre-fab nothingy unit that had housed their pajamas. "I mean the old Reyes relic." "My dad's tatarabuelo built that," Carlos says defensively. And occupies it now, TK thinks but does not say. Instead, he opts for, "It might be fun to sleep in your old bedroom like we did that time before. Snuggled up in that creaky twin with your adorable horse comforter over us." "My old room," Carlos breathes a laugh, "Is the most haunted in this house." "With memories, though, not ghosts."

Where All This Love Comes From

A single tear slips from Carlos' eye. Years ago, there was a young man in New York City called TK Strand and he had no idea that in Austin, Texas, a stranger called Carlos Reyes was aching, yearning, pining for exactly him. He had no idea how loved he was going to be by someone he had yet to meet. He had no idea how wonderful he was as a person with or without a partner – but he was about to find out. That's why you have to keep living, Carlos thinks, so you can find out.

Wrestling Angels

But love is going to come into his life, and it won’t be what he’ll expect, because it’s going to be TK Strand, a firefighter who shows up in Austin from Manhattan following a relapse. He’s a little fierce and rough and moody and funny. He’ll bring disorder to the orderly life he’s about to work so hard to create for himself and himself alone. TK will cause him pain, and he’ll push TK’s buttons, and then it’s going to work out, and he’s going to marry him. And TK is going to be the one to ask. Love is going to be powerful, runaway, gutting, enormous – yet weirdly and utterly defined by the small moments as much as the major events. It’s going to feel physical and invisible, like storm winds that take his breath and knock him off his feet. He’s going to have sex. He’ll have it with a few guys before TK, and every time with each of those guys, it will be somewhere on a sliding scale of outright bad, awkward, embarrassing, mediocre, good, better, great, fantastic. With TK it will be different. Supercharged, mind-blowing, right from the start, and it will also be gentle, romantic, connective in a new way. It will always be a deeper experience than with anyone else. It’s going to mean something real every time, even from the beginning when TK insists that it’s not going to, and Carlos will pretend as much as he can that he doesn’t mind.

I know I'm late so might have missed things but open tag and tags below:

@reyesstrand @paperstorm @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @heartstringsduet

@vineofroses @theghostofashton @lightningboltreader @chaotictarlos

@goodways @welcometololaland @orchidscript @rmd-writes

@strandnreyes @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @chicgeekgirl89

@sznofthesticks @nancygillianmvp @safeaswrites @my-little-tilly

@sugdenlovesdingle @carlos-tk @honeybee-taskforce @sanjuwrites

@alrightbuckaroo @never-blooms

@fallout-mars - If you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[xzerosparrowx]

Here is another little excerpt from the current Steddie WIP that I've been writing. In this fic Eddie still lives with his parents. It's still in its draft stage, but I like the dialogue and the vibe.

In this excerpt, Eddie is getting Alan out of jail.

-

They walk down the familiar hallway, the familiar anti-drug posters, that one flickering ceiling light that needs to be replaced until they reach a set of cells. Alan is standing, swaying slightly with sweat beading on his upper lip, his right shoe missing and his threadbare shirt ripped at the collar. 

“Eddie, my boy! You know how awful it is to sleep in here? They don't give you a fucking pillow, gotta be against the Geneva Convention or some shit,” Alan rambles, his words slurring as if he was still drunk. Alan is sober, it's just how he sounds now. 

“Did you get into a fight, again?” Eddie asks, leaning against the wall opposite, crossing his arms over his chest as Hopper unlocks the cell door.

“Some fuckin’ yuppies thought they were better than me. Fuckin’ assholes,” Alan mumbles as he stumbles out of the cell, Eddie and Hopper following behind him back out the hallway.

“College kids, Alan tried to steal one of their wallets,” Hopper amends to Eddie.

“Allegedly, I allegedly tried to steal their wallet.”

It is completely dark when they step outside, the street lights casting its golden glow on the pavement beneath “where’s the fucking car?” Alan drawls, staring dumbly towards the parking lot, no van in sight.

“You and Beth crashed my car, remember?” Eddie sighs, too tired to snap at Alan, too tired to care about Hopper staring at him.

“You should probably get it fixed then,” Alan answers unhelpfully, staggering his way towards the nearest bus stop, leaving Hopper and Eddie to themselves. 

“You know, if he was my Dad, I wouldn’t be paying for his bail,” Hopper says quietly and Eddie feels a familiar flash of anger, the burning embers of shame at the pit of his stomach.

“Good thing he ain’t your Dad then,” Eddie snaps, pulling out a cigarette from the crumpled box in his pocket and shoving it between his lips. He clicks the lighter, swearing under his breath when he struggles to light his fucking cigarette, he just needs a fucking light. Just needs something to fucking work for him. 

 “Just don’t let your parents drag you down with them,” Hopper says, taking out his own lighter and handing it to Eddie. 

“Look,” Eddie lights his cigarette, hands it back to Hopper and puts his own lighter back in his pocket, “I appreciate the whole good cop routine, but don't condescend to me about my fucking life, ok?”

“Ok.” 

“Thanks for the light,” Eddie mumbles in lieu of saying goodbye, turning on his heel and walking to the bus stop where Alan is sitting.

Eddie stands near Alan and all he can think about is the cut of money that he was supposed to give to Rick, the groceries, the bus fare, the water bill, the repairs for his van, the repairs for the plumbing. He will have to use the money from his actual job to give Rick his cut, and will have to spend the week eating slices of bread and canned soup-.

“I fucked up, didn't I?” Alan asks, staring out across the street at nothing.

“I was supposed to give Rick his cut, but I paid for your bail instead. So yeah, you did fuck up,” Eddie drops his cigarette, squishing it underneath his foot just as the bus rounds the corner to the street.

“I don't know why I'm like this,” Alan chokes out, his voice thickening and face crumpling before Eddie.

Alan Munson had a job once, was normal for a brief period of time where he was able to afford a house and go on a family trip to another state at least once a year. Eddie has vague memories of those years, too young to remember the details of the Grand Canyon or the beaches in California, now immortalised in photographs. Eddie hates looking at those pictures now. Hates seeing Alan almost losing it just as much.

“It's ok Dad, I'll figure it out.”

[blakbonnet]

AUTHOR OF THE WEEK: @saltpepperbeard

The second featured author of this week is the lovely, loquacious, and truly the best bestie anyone could have: Jodi ♥️ I don't know how she does it but Jodi's fics are fast becoming my most comfortable corner of ao3 to be in because she just has such a way with words, and I do think we should all let her write s3 😌 I also annoyed her into answering some questions for me and sharing her writing process:

What's your writing process like? Do you start with the beginning or the end? Do you write in order or as the scenes come to you?

So I *used* to write sequentially, ie from beginning to end, but the process has gotten more and more chaotic over the years—unhinged, one might say lol! Now, I typically start things off by drafting sections of a story, which ends up being a lot of dialogue more often than not. Like, there are *definitely* some wips in my drafts right now that are almost 100% Stede and Ed talking and nothing else lol (which I mean...staying true to their characters there if you ask me)! Then, if a bit of good description comes to me, I'll pencil that somewhere into the draft, too. And only *then* lol, if things are feeling right and the motivation is feeling high, will I actually attempt to write in sequential order—essentially just playing "fill in the blanks" and writing towards things I've drafted to mix everything all together!

...But sometimes my brain does still fast-forward and write future sections if the good ol' "shower/going to bed daydreams" strike. So it really just depends lol!

My 2014 writing brain, in Ed's voice: You are improving though! Kinda.

Favourite trope or headcanon you like to explore while writing?

...Squints at my tags on AO3 lol. If you see that almost *all* of my stories are hurt/comfort, no you don't <3. I just absolutely adore taking all the hurt Ed and Stede have gone through and soothing it with cuddles, kisses, and soft reassurances. Because man, *man,* have they both been through a lot. It's like Pandora's Box lol; once you start digging into the true depths of their hurt, you just end up with more and more and MORE. There's just so much that they both need and *deserve* to talk through as a crew—or talk through as a "two," as some have said lol, so I adore exploring that. I adore allowing them to have that space and that safety. *Particularly* with Ed getting to unpack things he faced in the earlier parts of Season 2, and with Stede getting to unpack...*anything.*

Also, because I write entirely in-universe, I'm a big fan of implementing some of the common, lovely headcanons. Ie, the crew coming to visit, the two of them maintaining a garden, the British never finding them, etc etc. I know not all of my published works reflect those, but a lot of my drafts do, promise lol!

Whose voice is easier to write - Ed or Stede? Why?

I *still* feel like I'm trying to nail down that ✨ kiwi cadence,✨ not going to lie lol! But, in sitting with this question and sort of going back and forth on it for a while, I think I'm ultimately going to have to land on Stede in most instances. Maybe because I'm one of the ✨ Stede-coded Girlies (gn)✨ , or maybe because I adore Ed so much and subsequently find it easier to gush over him narratively lol! But yeah.

Strangely enough though, I will say I find it easier to write Ed's voice when he's dealing with hurt, vs writing Stede's voice when he's dealing with hurt. I think that's because Ed is more open with his pain, and deals with it in more candid ways, whereas Stede likes to bottle things up and hide. So, it's subsequently harder to crack him open and let out everything that has backed up.

Your personal favourite thing you've written that you'd like more people to read

-Ed voice- Oooowaaaagggh.

Is coming to the table with two stories cheating? Because, I have two lol! I'm very proud of Scrumptious, and also Lovers of Beauty. The former because it was an idea that had been sitting in my head *forever* and I'm so happy it finally got realized, and the latter because it was my first go at writing other characters as well as an exploration of a very particular vein of Ed's hurt. Can't go wrong with Horny Stede and Ed in a dress either, I'd say lol!

What is the one word that you think you use a lot?

Lmao: INTERTWINED. I feel like it's shown up in almost every single story I've written post-season 2, if not *every* single story. I'm just a big fan of throwing their canon quotes in my narration, with the "breathing the same air" and "love letter" speeches getting the most mileage. OH and also Stede's mermaid speech, too; "I'm here. I'm here. You're safe" assuredly gets thrown into the mix as well lol.

Also uhhhh, on a sillier note, I'd definitely say that the good' ol "fuck" gets a lot of usage lol! Ed and I 🤝 enhancing many a sentence with it.

Do you have a beta reader? Have they made you a better writer?

I do not! We die like the Badmintons.

I instead rely on myself for the long and tedious part of my process I call "combing." Ie, going over my last draft with a fine tooth comb to catch typos or any other silliness to the best of my ability.

Would I benefit from a beta reader? Probably, yes. Would I spook from having a beta reader? Probably, yes PFFF. So, combing it is!

Why OFMD 🥹

God, this show. GOD, this show. I just take such a deep and personal comfort in it for so many reasons. I think the two things that snagged me initially were: getting to see queer people just *being,* and getting to see *older* people finding love. The way that this show portrays us in such a natural, lovely light is so, so refreshing. It's like how Taika has often talked about it; there's no triumphant "coming out" type moment, there's no sensationalizing anything, and there's no spotlight on the queerness. It just...*is.* Everyone just loves whoever the hell they want, and there's no questioning or even discussing the implications of that. And I adore that. I adore the *freedom* of that. It just makes the show feel all the more personable and cozier, too.

Also, man, to see older queer people finding love...I'm going to be vulnerable on main here; I don't have a lot of relationship experience, and I'm nearing my 30's. Western Society/Culture puts this *huge* pressure on people to find the love of their life and have it all figured out by their low/mid 20's, so not fitting that norm has been quite the gut stab for me. And yes yes, I know, it's all entirely fabricated and no one has the same timeline, but it still aches to see, particularly when a lot of media portrays love within that age group, if not *younger.*

So, to see these two men nearing *50* finally finding each other after a life of emptiness and pain? To see them finally finding the person who understands them better than anyone else? And to subsequently get the comfort that somewhere, sometime, you'll cross paths with someone who just *gets* you? Ooooagh.

I think that plays into another part of the show that I adore, too. Ie, the theme that "things are going to be okay." That, no matter how dark and dreary things may seem in the moment, you could still have your mermaid moment, and subsequently end up in a cozy little inn with the love of your life. That there's so much kindness and hope and *love* awaiting you.

It's just so comforting on so many levels and I adore it with all my heart. It's a shame that CERTAIN execs and people equivalent will never be able to understand the depth and the importance; they're entirely, truly missing out.

Please head over to @ofmdlovelyletters (who also made the header) and send your love to all your favourite authors (and authors of the week 😈 watch that blog for some special letters coming your way)

[mariejordans]

can u recommend some good aus and fics about jordan and marie I'm begging you plsssssss

*gasp* oh my goodness i love this questionnnnn!

okay, i’ll give you my current top five limoreau fics uploaded to ao3, but honestly there’s so many good ones for you to pick from, you really can’t go wrong with anything. also, these aren’t ranked in any particular order just my top five in general!

(warning: a lot of these are smutty bc it’s the most common rating in the marie/jordan tag at the moment, so if smut’s not ur thing, let me know and i can do a top 5 of non-smutty limoreau fics!)

1. you can take my flesh if you want, girl by stormbxrnbitch

rating: E

this author has only two limoreau fics out right now and both are SO GOOD (seriously, i can’t recommend this author enough) but i’m obsessed with this au which is why i put it on the list!

this specific fic is a vampire au in which marie herself is a vampire (a cool take on her canonic bloodbending powers) and jordan’s kinda (super) into it. it’s a three-shot, kinda marie-centric, and just all around super interesting and compelling to read. it’s still a wip and it hasn’t gotten smutty YET, but the author has promised lots of it for the final chapter!

2. Want Want? by Cherrydrama and Levie101

rating: M

i’ve recommended it on here before but seriously, IT’S SO GOOD!

it was written before episode five came out, so it’s a jordan pov, canon divergence fic on what happens after limoreau wakes up in the bed together, and i don’t want to spoil it too much, but i will say one thing: SPARRING/TRAINING AU.

this one isn’t super smutty iirc, it’s rated M, so it’s good if you like spice but not a lot of smut in your fics.

3. The Weight Of You by Georgiathewholedaythrough

rating: M

another canon divergence fic! written before episode five, it’s also a take on what happens after they wake up in bed together, only this time things get…smutty. it’s marie pov, very sweet, very romantic, and funny too.

4. two timing by diaphanouspages

rating: E

this is a slight au (described by the author as “has a weird relationship to the show’s actual canon, but just accept the violent canon divergence and move on”) in which jordan attempts to make marie jealous, which works and then they end up in bed together. starts off angsty and kinda smutty, but also turns sweet towards the end.

also slight praise kink for jordan, so if you’re into that…

5. Reluctant Study Buddies by MercutioTheVelaryon

rating: M

another canon divergence fic taking place after episode 4 ending, but they all go in different directions i swear!

this is a study partners/study buddies au (as stated in the title) in which marie and jordan are assigned to be partners on a project for one of their classes. it gets a bit steamy, but it fades to black so if you aren’t comfortable with explicit smut, this might be for you! also, very funny and the banter between jordan and marie in it is *chef’s kiss*

(also this author has a bunch of other limoreau fics uploaded, which i also really loved, so i recommend you check those out as well!)

THATS IT THATS THE LIST! i genuinely hope it helped even a little bit, and that it gives you the mariejordan fix we’ve all been craving since thursday 😭 also, let me know your thoughts after you’ve read if you want, i’m always down to ramble on about gen v/limoreau nonsense!

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym AU wips

(Part 4)

After finishing his shift Sanji stayed at the bar a little longer, trying to spot a girl that matched the earlier description. But he couldn’t, there was no one that would fit. Sighing he made his way over to the staff room. Hearing giggles coming from inside, he smiled at the thought of seeing Nami and Vivi after a particular hard day at work. He open the door and stepped inside.

The room was a break room and changing room at the same time. So he walked in on them changing quiet often - it didn’t seem to bother neither Nami, nor Vivi and Sanji wouldn’t complain. He liked looking at beauty even if it was out of reach for him - looking at them was admiration for their absolutely magnificent beauty for the most part, really!

But this time the picture was completely different and he was truly shocked because of it.

Zoro was in there with the girls, his back turned toward the door. They all were shirtless and while Vivi seemed to be really interested in Zoro‘s chest, Nami looked down at her‘s and shook her head.

„I don’t know if I would want that…“ she, again, looked down. „No I definitely don’t want that.“

„And that’s the good thing - no one can force you to do it. So, if you two have enough of staring and comparing, I‘d like to put my shirt back on,“ Zoro chuckled while sending both of them an amused look.

„Am I interrupting something?“ Sanji made himself known, looking everywhere but Zoro‘s wide back and the girls chests.

„Na, we just compared sizes so to say,“ Vivi laughed, smacking Zoro for making an inappropriate sound.

Sanji raised an eyebrow and looked at Zoro. Why wasn’t he turning around? Usually he didn’t miss a chance to give him one of his challenging and at the same time unreadable looks. Sanji could even see how he tensed up a bit and it was obvious, that Vivi and Nami made the biggest effort to draw attention away from Zoro. Sanji had to admit that it worked. One moment he stared holes in Zoro’s back and the next he looked at Nami stretching - which made her boobs press together slightly and jiggle as she released the tension in her body.

Vivi already got dressed and walked over now.

„I wanted to ask you something about one of your recipes you gave me the other day.“

It was a question clearly made up on the spot, but Sanji gave her a detailed answer on how to prepare and season the avocado for the salad he recommended to her the other day. He did glance over to Zoro while he spoke, seeing him put his shirt on and relaxing as the fabric covered him. Now he turned around and threw one of those looks at Sanji, but this time, Sanji didn't look away; he held his gaze. Zoro seemed at bit irritated but took it as a challenge, and it quickly went from simply looking at each other to a starring contest.

“You guys are unbelievable,” Nami sighed, and Sanji could see, out of the corner of his eye, that she’d put on her shirt as well.

“Just like children,” Vivi giggled, latching herself to Nami and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“We’re going home. Have fun staring at each other and don't forget to lock the door when you're finished!” Nami yelled as she and Vivi were already out of the room.

Zoro smirked as he saw Sanji’s eye twitch. He could do this all-day long, but was the cook able to?

“I can see you wanting to give up already. Why don't you look away? You want to run after Nami and Vivi to take them home, right?”

“I'm not gonna loose against a muscle head like you, Marimo!”

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