#snippet sunday. as i like to call it. (<- literally first time calling it that)

[astramachina]

Seven Sentence Sunday ✨

because I haven't participated in any tag games in a WHILE i'm so sorry @the-golden-comet (x; congrats AGAIN on wrapping up YWIMC's first draft!!!) just hit me with a tag and i'm feeling it today. here's a couple of sentences (def more than seven) from Anomalous Behavior, a short fic i recently picked up again and have no idea as to when i'll finish it.

Workplace rumors are often untrue, except for when they aren’t, a line that becomes obvious once evidence is presented in the form of either verbal confirmation or photographic evidence. This is one such case however, where neither form has much credibility.

The grapevine was as quick as it was rich, but each new nugget of information was as insane as the last.

What do you mean someone got trapped in the headset?

What do you mean Jeremy sliced his face off with a guillotine paper cutter?

What do you mean that one girl went fucking postal and threw her desk chair through the office window and chased Marnie down with a piece of glass?

But one by one, all those people fell off. Restrictions multiplied. New NDAs rolled out. There was something in the office, in the testing rooms, in the servers. There was something in the VR headset, and it was somehow worse than the alleged coverup his dev team was hired to bury.

+ open tag for anyone who'd like to share!

[virtie333]

Oscar and skirts

Y'all know I love him in them! So much so I wrote Poe wearing them in one of my fics. I briefly thought about writing something for Oscar's birthday, but since the majority of my Tumblr followers don't read my stuff anyway, I didn't make the effort. However, I will share this snippet from Kinetic (my greatest hit and the story that literally kept me alive in 2022) detailing 'skirt smut'. Call this my Sinful Sunday contribution.

Rey put her hands on his chest, then slid them up to his bare shoulders, running them down his biceps. She could feel him tense up and he stood straight, dropping his arms to grab her elbows. “Rey,” he started. 

“Do you remember when you caught Willow and I laughing yesterday?” she asked, not letting him continue. She let her hands drift down to his abdomen. “Do you know why we were laughing?”

Still frowning, he shook his head. 

“She was telling me why she liked the native clothing,” Rey continued. Reaching for the edge of his skirt, she said softly, “Easy access.” She brought her hands underneath the kilt, easily finding his penis, which was already stiffening rather impressively. She remembered Poe telling her how quickly he became aroused around her. 

He closed his eyes and hissed. “Rey, we shouldn’t.” His grip on her elbows tightened, but he didn’t try and move her away. 

“Why shouldn’t we?” she asked, her voice breathy as she stroked him. “Willow will make sure they give us time.”

He shook his head, opening his eyes to look at her, his expression almost sad. 

Rey brought her face up to his, still stroking his erection; after last night, she knew exactly what he liked. “Who knows when we’ll get a chance to be alone again?” she whispered. “Please?” She kissed him, and he responded instantly. Gently, their lips and tongues danced, soft moans sounding first from one, then the other. Rey felt the now familiar surge of moisture as her body prepared to accept his. 

Poe tightened his grip on her elbows even more and turned her around so that she was up against the desk. She felt it dig against the small of her back and knew that it was too high for what she had in mind. Poe seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same time. “Turn around,” he whispered against her lips. 

She smiled. “Commander, you are obsessed with my backside!” she teased as she did as he asked. 

“I am obsessed with all of your sides,” he responded, whispering into her hair as he pulled up her long skirt. She felt his fingers delve into her wet folds and he groaned, nosing her hair aside so he could kiss her neck. He moved his hips into her and she felt the tip of his cock as he teased her with it. “Such a good girl getting ready for me so fast,” he muttered, and Rey felt a chill slink up her spine at his praise; she would never get tired of hearing it. 

Slowly, inch by inch, he pushed himself into her. Rey moaned, reminded once more how large he was. But he felt so perfect, so right. Once his hips were flush up against her buttocks, he held still for a moment, his hands tight on her waist, his face still buried against her neck, his nose tickling the back of her ear. Then he began to move. 

Rey felt herself leaning over the desk as Poe plunged deep over and over again, his pace getting faster and faster. Her soft cries matched his thrusts, and she reached forward to grip the other side of the desk, bracing herself as their bodies slammed against each other. One of his hands left her hip and reached around her front, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves right above where he was sliding in and out of her. She tensed immediately, feeling her body start to fly. 

“I’m not gonna last, Sunshine,” he growled. “I’m taking you with me!” 

Rey nodded, her vision going white as his fingers strummed her to completion. For a moment she panicked; she hoped she didn’t break anything! But then the pleasure overrode her fear and she cried out. 

Poe was hammering into her, his own release imminent, and finally she felt him reach it. The hand that had been toying with her clit came up, and his arm encircled her waist, holding her tightly against him. Breathing hard, they stood still for a moment, but then Poe pulled out of her and gently turned her around, releasing her just enough for their skirts to fall back into place. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he pulled her close, and without question she wrapped her own arms around him, burying her face against his neck. She shuddered, suddenly feeling emotional, and tried to hold back the tears she could feel forming in her eyes; why did this feel like goodbye?

[sleepberries]

spideyhood first official date fic drops tomorrow, it's going to be lowkey crack but definitely highlighting the disaster part of this disaster pair (snippet below)

Jason Todd had faced supervillains, criminal masterminds, and the literal Joker with less anxiety than he felt right now, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, adjusting his leather jacket for the fourth time. It was just dinner. With Peter. Who he'd already been seeing for weeks now, who had already seen him at his worst—bloody, furious, even that one time with food poisoning that they'd both agreed never to mention again.

So why did the prospect of their first actual, planned date make his stomach twist like he'd swallowed razor wire?

His phone buzzed on the counter. Dick, because of course it was.

Don't overthink it. Just be yourself. But maybe the version of yourself that says please and thank you.

Jason scowled at the screen. He hadn't asked for advice, but somehow his entire family had gotten wind of tonight's plans. Tim had sent him a list of conversation starters. Alfred had called with restaurant recommendations. Even Bruce had managed a gruff "Have a good time" during their last reluctant interaction. Jason’s just lucky they have no clue it’s Peter he’s meeting.

None of it helped the nervous energy humming beneath his skin.

It wasn't that they hadn't spent time together before. They had—lots of it. Takeout on rooftops after patrol. Movie nights on Jason's couch where they both fell asleep before the credits. Even that weird Sunday afternoon when Peter had dragged him to a science museum, babbling excitedly about exhibits while Jason pretended not to be charmed by his enthusiasm.

But those had all just... happened. Casual, unplanned moments that had the safety net of low expectations. This was different. This was Jason making a reservation at a nice restaurant, wearing a button-down shirt under his jacket, actually combing his hair. This was trying.

And trying meant the possibility of failure.

His phone buzzed again.

On my way! Fair warning: I tried to iron my shirt and may have made it worse. -P

Just like that, some of the tension eased from Jason's shoulders. Trust Peter to defuse a situation without even realizing it needed defusing.

Jason tucked his phone into his pocket and headed for the door. Whatever happened tonight, at least they'd be disasters together.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

WIP Wednesday

Happy 9-1-1 eve!

Thanks to @disasterbuckdiaz @tizniz @fionaswhvre and @exhuastedpigeon for tagging me in either Tuesday or Wednesday!

I've recently posted three chapters of all my WIPs currently live on AO3, and am out of snippets of those, so here's a snippet of something upcoming. I've spoken briefly about it before, but this is called Steal My Sunshine.

The vibe in a few words: Wandavisiony, uncanny valley, suburban hetero hellscape, mystery dream man, intentionally goofy playlist, disaster Eddie.

---

Just like his father, Eddie is a petroleum engineer. He works for a company operating outside of Las Cruces, New Mexico. He thinks this, like reciting an encyclopedic fact, as he climbs into his black Lincoln Nautilus, and drives down his cul de sac and out of the cozy, quiet suburb where he’s lived for… Well, how long has it been? A long time. 

Eddie tries to turn on the vehicle Bluetooth and play music from his phone. He encounters two problems. The first is that he apparently has a completely empty music library. No saved songs, playlists, or anything. The second, is that the stereo seems set on sticking to one particular radio station. Nothing Eddie presses seems to have any effect. It won’t be swayed. 

Fine. Whatever. It’s too early to finagle an SUV stereo. He’ll listen to the radio. 

It’s 7:18 as he’s pulling onto the freeway that will take him to the office. 

“Next up for your morning commute, we’ve got this 1999 track from Canadian one-hit-wonder, Len.” The radio show host is saying. “To put a little pep in your step, here’s Steal My Sunshine.”

A shiver runs over Eddie’s body as the familiar, electronic start of a song he’s sure he’s never heard of fills his ears. Two men start speaking before the actual singing starts. Where does Eddie know this from? Where has he heard it before?

The beat drops and the singing starts. 

I was lying on the grass on Sunday morning of last week, indulging in my self-defeat…

Eddie nearly misses a sedan about to merge into his lane, earning him an angry honk. 

This is the song from his dream. This is literally the song the person in his dream was singing. It’s not even good. Why would Eddie dream about it?

---

Tagging @pantsaretherealheroes @jeeyuns @aroeddiediaz @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @steadfastsaturnsrings @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @mangacat201 @daughterofscotland @athenagranted @evanbegins @wildlife4life @devonwritesstuff @adarkermiserablecrow @epicbuddieficrecs @fortheloveofbuddie @your-catfish-friend

---

If you're curious:

[laura1633]

Omegaverse short snippets - prompts and rules below

I am currently in the middle of writing some multi chapter stories so I am not posting as many one shots as normal. I thought whilst I am working on those longer stories I would like to write some short omegaverse snippets. These probably aren't going to be full stories, more in the 1000 word ballpark.

Rules:

Send me an ask with the prompt number and the name of two drivers (or three drivers if the prompt calls for three characters)

If you have a preference for who is the Omega and who is the Alpha please also specify this in the ask.

I won't be able to write them all so please don't think I am ignoring you if I can't get around to your request (I love you all, I just have limited capacity). I will be writing these and posting them Friday, Saturday and Sunday this week.

My favourite ship is Lestappen but I am open to people prompting other pairings for this game if people want. The majority of the ones I complete will likely be Max/Charles though (or at least have Max or Charles involved) but you never know, a certain pairing might spark my interest.

Prompts

An Omega asks another omega to teach them how to build a nest.

An Alpha discovers their clothing in an Omega’s nest and confronts them about it.

An Alpha gives another Alpha a courting gift. 

An Alpha goes into rut in public and possessively picks up their omega and carries them off to the nest. 

A possessive Omega makes sure their scent is all over their Alpha before they go out for the day.

An Alpha accidentally uses their Alpha voice and makes an Omega cry.

An Alpha somehow gets impregnated by another Alpha. 

An Omega can’t stop producing slick whenever they are around a particular alpha and it’s actually starting to become a problem. 

An alpha’s scent suppressants fail and they suddenly find themselves surrounded by omegas much to their actual Omega’s annoyance. 

An Alpha discovers an Omega is faking their heat.

An Omega steals an Alpha’s top because the Alpha’s scent makes them feel safe.

An Omega gets sick and is cared for by their alpha

An Omega is knotted for the first time and panics and their alpha has to pin them down to stop them hurting themselves.

An Alpha is so turned on that their knot does not deflate and they are stuck inside their Omega.

An Omega finds an unknown alpha’s top and instantly falling in love with the mysterious alpha's scent. 

An Omega goes into heat in a public space and panics until an Alpha helps them get somewhere safe. 

A young Alpha is nervous about their first attempt at trying to court an omega. 

An Omega suffers from separation anxiety after their alpha breaks up with them. They are comforted by another alpha. 

An Omega is insecure about the way they look and tries to make themselves look pretty just like the other omegas. Their alpha reassures them they are perfect as they are. 

An Omega  wets themselves when they get a little too excited around an Alpha they like.

An Omega seeks out and clings hold of a familiar alpha when they get scared.

Rather than get aggressive or aroused during his rut an alpha get clingy and wants lots of cuddles.

A pregnant Omega suddenly starts getting pregnancy cravings but its not for food, they are craving the scent of an alpha who doesn’t belong to them.

An Omega has been successfully hiding their secondary gender for years but accidentally lets it slip during a moment of weakness.

A young Omega gets teased when they present as an Omega for the first time.

An Alpha loves being dominated in the bedroom by his pretty little Omega.

An Omega is so happy when they kiss an Alpha they have had a crush on for the longest time that they literally can not stop purring for days. It’s actually rather exhausting.

An Omega who gets pregnant in a poly relationship finds out which alpha the pup belongs to and is nervous about breaking the news to the other Alpha.

An Omega tries to protect their Omega mate when they are attacked by an Alpha but ends up getting hurt themselves. 

Other - feel free to request something different but keep in mind these are going to be short little drabble style stories so nothing plot intensive. 

If this works well then I might try the same thing with non-omegaverse and alternative universe at some point. ❤️

Alongside this I will also be finishing off the second chapter of "Pretty Little Monaco Race Winner" which will be posted soon!

[lumiy-a]

Sunday snippet

Thank you for the tag @amberlide <3

(Original post of this game: here)

I didn't know what snippet to choose so I took the instructions literally and will share what I just wrote. Well, it's been a while because I'm on a writing break/block/pit of darkness/whatever we want to call it, but this is literally the last thing I wrote.

It comes from the longfic I'm working on and it's when Elyon is trying to sort out the origin of a threat she has to deal with in her world, and has to ask for help to the last person anyone in their right mind would go to...

---

Phobos was tending his roses, as usual, when she entered the garden. He turned to look at her and smiled first, as he nearly always did when she visited now, but the smile was immediately replaced by a frown. 

“You suspect me,” he addressed her immediately. It had to be painted on her face. “And you tortured Cedric because of this.”

The clouds in the sky moved, expanding and eating up the blue, and they gradually darkened, until there was no sign of a clear sky anymore - only the same gray as in Phobos’s eyes. 

Elyon let out a snort. “It seems I’m spending a bit too much time in here.���

Phobos did not seem too amused by her joke. “How can you even suspect me, after all this time, and after I-” He waved his hands in the air in frustration, starting to pace around the garden. “I wouldn’t even know where to start, if I wanted to attack you in the real world! And it’s bloody humiliating to even admit that.”

Elyon took a few steps into the garden, coming closer to him. “I know you’re not responsible for this… at least, not now. But if you know anything about this… you need to tell me.”

Phobos kept pacing back and forth like a beast in his cage, trying to calm down. Elyon waited patiently. He had made significant progress in the past few years, but he still had occasional moments of frustration, when he was reminded of his situation and of the fact that he would never see the real world again. 

He spoke again only after a while and after he’d slowed down his pacing and taken a few deep breaths. “As a matter of fact, I do know something. I had time to think, you know - that’s what I’m here for after all, isn’t it?”

Compassion flushed through Elyon for a brief moment. And yet this time it was not the usual pity that bloomed in her chest every time she thought about how her brother must have felt in his prison, alone for the rest of his days. This time, there was some excitement prickling somewhere in the back of her mind - if Phobos confirmed what she already suspected, perhaps, things could change…

[fragilecapric0rnn]

snippet sunday ✨

thanks for the tag dotipher 🩷 @fastcardotmp3

i'm techinically working on like four things at once (one is an anonymous fic ive been working on and the other is [REDACTED] so. here is a bit from the second part of the boxing/basketball caitvi fic (it'll probably look so so different once it's posted but its fine its fiiine) (i'm literally the only person in the world that cares about this fic so i can do whatever i want which is kinda fun)

“The federation will have your ass if they knew about this.” Caitlyn’s voice all but appears behind Vi. She doesn't turn to look at her.

“Who fucking asked you?” Vi says keeping her pace.

“Someone who wants to sponsor you.” 

Vi scoffs. “I don’t need your money.” 

They walk in the same direction, Caitlyn stopping behind her when she finally gets to her car parked six blocks away from the warehouse.

“I didn’t know you were in town.” Vi says, still not turning around. 

“I called Vander’s house, your sister told me you were here.”  Caitlyn says, her voice closer now. If she did turn around, their bodies would almost be flushed against one another.

Instead of turning around, Vi clenches her fists. 

“I’m gonna kill her.” 

“I asked her if you were here, she just didn’t say no.” Cait says, Vi can hear the gravel on the road crunching on her feet, as she steps way.

“What do you want, really?" Vi asks, finally turning around. Her chest tightens.

“I want to see you.” Caitlyn says, and even in the dark, mostly shapes and shadows, Vi can feel a piece of her heart soften.

“Just couldn’t wait until London or what?”

“So you are going?” Cait asks, looking relieved.

“You’re looking at Team USA’s first women’s Middleweight boxer.” 

“I saw you at the qualifier, on TV.” Cait says, and Vi raises her eyebrows, to which Cait clumsily says, “You still go limp when you’re tired.” 

“Yeah, well, how many flagrant fouls are you allowed on the US team?” Vi says, turnign back around and tossing her dufflebag in the backseat.

“You’ve been watching my games.” Caitlyn states, sounding surprised.

“We’re the only bar in town that puts them on.” 

“Charming.” Cait teases, and Vi slams the car door shut.

“Seriously though Cait, why are you here?” 

“I wanted to see you.” She says again, with every ounce of sincerity as she did the first time she said it.

“You’re not just here to make sure I stay out of trouble?” Vi leans on her car, and as if she was beckoned, Cait steps closer into her space,

“Can’t it be both?”

tagging with ZERO pressure:

@kkpwnall @butchhorse @judasofsuburbia @snowangeldotmp3 @figthefruitfaeth @cheatghost

[writerwhowritesao3]

Disclaimer: I am not Catholic. Everything I know about Catholicism is from friends and internet searches. Let me know if I got anything egregiously wrong!

Every few weeks or so, Neil would decide that the family would be going to church on Sunday. 

Billy hates it. It isn’t even just the fact that mass is boring as shit and Billy doesn’t even believe in god. It’s the fact that his dad makes the decision for all of them—him, Susan, and Max—that they would be going. 

Susan was raised Catholic, but she doesn’t personally identify that way anymore. She hadn’t in a long time. And Billy knows, from snippets of conversations between Susan and her sister Deirdre that he overheard, that Susan fucking hates the Catholic Church. Even so, Susan had taken Max to church a few times before marrying Neil. Pretty much just for holidays though, and only for the community aspect of it all. To her credit, Susan always made sure that Max knew that the Bible was not to be taken literally and that most of the religion was bullshit. 

Neil was raised Catholic. His father had been Catholic. His mother, on the other hand, had been part of the Eastern Orthodox minority in Hungary. Neil’s father had forced her to convert to Catholicism when they got married even though he wasn’t a particularly religious man. He had also all but forced her to speak only English in their home. So. Neil had been raised in the Catholic faith and only learning bits and scraps of Hungarian. 

Anyway. 

The Hargrove-Mayfield family rolls into St. Vitus one Sunday. The night before, Billy had missed curfew and Neil hadn’t believed him when he said that he had been studying with Nancy and lost track of time. To be fair, that story had been a total, blatant lie. The truth was that Billy had been at Steve’s house getting railed on top of his pool table, but obviously Billy couldn’t tell his dad that.

The logical thing to do when you know your teenage son is lying to your face is to make your family go to church and make your son go to confession. At least according to the Neil Hargrove Guide to Parenthood.

Neil walks Billy to the little alcove where the confessional is to make sure he gets in line. 

“We’re sitting three rows from the back,” Neil says. “If you and Max behave yourselves, we can go to Waffle House after.”

The night before, Neil slammed Billy against a wall while he was demanding to know why he had missed his curfew. He probably would have beaten him, but he got distracted enough to snap out of his rage when Susan “accidentally” knocked a glass off of the counter. 

Billy knows that sometimes, rarely but still sometimes, his dad feels guilty about getting physical with him. Guilty enough that his dad tries to make up for it with things like buying a pint of Billy’s favorite flavor of ice cream at the supermarket or taking the family out to get breakfast after church. 

(Sometimes when his dad hurts him badly enough, he “makes up for it” by doing things like helping Billy pay for his car or taking the family to the animal shelter to adopt a dog)

Before Billy walks into the confessional, he watches Neil walk over to where Susan and Max are sitting. There have been times where his dad would stay in line with him, waiting for his own turn or just making sure that Billy actually went in.

He walks in the booth. It’s one of those that’s divided by a screen. When Billy had his first Communion, the confessions were done face-to-face. It had been awful having to tell a grown-up man—that he had to call “Father”—how he had pushed Lance Shepherd off the jungle gym at recess because he had put a wad of gum in his friend Amy’s hair. 

Billy kneels and makes the sign of the cross. 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Billy says rolling his eyes. “It’s been, like, three months since my last confession. I think.”

“Unburden yourself.”

Billy blinks—he’s never heard a priest say “unburden yourself.” He’s only ever heard the standard “tell me your sins.” Billy recognizes the voice from the other side of the screen as Father Peter. There are two priests who preside over St. Vitus: Father Thomas, who’s old as fuck and rarely cracks a smile, and Father Peter, who is in his 40s and always greets people by their names.

“I let my friend cheat off my quiz in History class,” Billy begins. in his defense, it was a pop quiz and Jonathan’s grade in that class needed all the help it could get.

“I picked a fight with my sister,” he continues. That little spat with Max had been so fucking stupid; it was over whose turn it was to clean the bathroom. The fight had only lasted about seven minutes and they had both gotten over it quickly. 

“I talked back to my parents...um...a fair amount,” he says. He stops speaking for a moment, wondering if he should just end his confession there to save everyone a whole bunch of time.

“Anything else?” Father Peter asks. 

This was stupid. Church was stupid. Confession was fucking stupid. Catholicism was a nasty, fucking system invented to make people feel bad about shit like having sex and being gay.

“Yeah actually,” Billy snarks. “I missed curfew last night and lied to my dad about where I was. I told him I was studying with my friend, but I was really having sex with my boyfriend. Pre-marital, gay sex. ‘Cause I’m gay.”

Billy has no idea what Father Peter’s response to that is going to be. In a million years, he never would have predicted that Father Peter would say: 

“Do you think that’s a sin?”

“I mean, isn’t it?” he asks, thrown off. “Like from a Catholic perspective?”

“Some people interpret Scripture that way,” Father Peter says. “But when you read the Bible, it’s important to consider the historical context. And important to remember that it’s been translated and revised many times over the centuries.”

“Do you think it’s a sin?” Billy asks. Even though he really couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what a priest thinks.

“No, I do not,” Father Peter says. “As long as it’s done with love and respect and not with malice, I don’t believe that any expression of sexuality is a sin.”

“Oh,” Billy says. “Um, cool.”

“God does not hate gay people, Billy,” Father Peter says softly. 

Billy digs his fingernails into his palm. He didn’t think that Father Peter would recognize his voice.

“For your penance—”

“Wait, you just said it wasn’t a sin.”

“The sex is not a sin,” Father Peter clarifies. “But helping your friend cheat on their test is. And so is disrespecting your family.”

“I guess.”

Billy swears he hears Father Peter chuckle at that.

“For your penance, say three Hail Marys,” Father Peter continues. “Help your parents out around the house. Do an activity with your sister that she chooses. And help your friend study so that they’re prepared for the next test.”

“Okay,” Billy nods. 

He listens as Father Peter intones a prayer of absolution and leaves the confessional to join his family in the pews. 

Nothing’s really changed. Billy still doesn’t believe in any sort of god. He still thinks religion is bogus. He’s only going to say those Hail Marys because his dad is there and the promised trade-off of Waffle House for good behavior is too good to pass up.

But he does make a mental note to share his class notes with Jonathan and study with him. And also to take Max to the arcade and maybe let her win a game or two.

[whatevertheweather]

Sunday! Thank you to @run-for-chamo-miles @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @forabeatofadrum @cutestkilla and @nightimedreamersworld for the tags!

Predictably, what I'm sharing is a snippet from the first chapter of my CORB collab Bait and Switch, which went up today!

Also, “Baz” and “fun” don’t go together. It’s not that I think he’s never enjoyed himself, I just think that’s the wrong word for it. Fun is like games and fireworks and, I don’t know, bouncy castles. Baz doesn’t have fun. He has sadistic amusements. He likes playing violin and football and being top of the class, and some people would call those fun (maybe just Penny, for that last one), but not him. He likes those because he can rub everyone’s faces in how good he is. Literally. I’ve literally seen him rub a footballer’s face in the mud after a slide tackle (it was a wicked slide tackle), because he’s only having a good time when he’s making other people feel bad. I’m not letting it go. Magic knows he wouldn’t.

Speaking of fun, we're having so much fun with this fic, and y'all need to go look at Dre's art for it.

Tags under the cut!

@fatalfangirl @moodandmist @artsyunderstudy @whogaveyoupermission @youarenevertooold @martsonmars @iamamythologicalcreature @facewithoutheart @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ionlydrinkhotwater @ileadacharmedlife @rimeswithpurple @aristocratic-otter @bookish-bogwitch

[indestructibleheart]

Happy Wednesday! Thank you to @kiwiana-writes and @wordsofhoneydew for the tags. ❤️

I have not done as much writing as I would've liked to this week because I work in Marketing and my company's Black Friday plans have been a goddamn shit-show, BUT I'm happy to share a little snippet from the AU I talked about on Sunday:

“Nora,” Alex says slowly. “Odds that I’m dreaming right now?” She chews thoughtfully for a moment. “Ninety percent probability that you’re unconscious somewhere.” Alex feels the sharp end of a corn chip drag all the way down his throat when he swallows. “And the other ten percent?” “You’re already dead.” June lets out an entirely undignified and entirely un-June-like squawk. “Nora!” “What? He asked.” She tilts her head before reaching across the counter to dip a chip into the guacamole. “On the bright side, if he is dead and we’re here, there’s a pretty good likelihood that we’re dead too.” Alex blinks at her. “That’s the bright side?” She pops the chip into her mouth, then licks some roaming guac from her thumb. “I mean, would you rather be here alone?” Nora asks, which earns a thoughtful shrug. “Besides, odds are still real good that you’re just unconscious or in a coma or something.” “You’re definitely just sleeping,” June insists. “There’s no way we wouldn’t know we were dead, first of all, and… If there is an afterlife, there’s also no way we’re just… in the lake house for all of eternity.” Nora points to her with the business end of a chip. “That’s a solid point,” she says, “but… I’ll take that and raise you: If we aren’t dead, and Alex is just lucid dreaming, how are we also lucid dreaming within his dream? Feels kinda more like a group experience here.” “I mean, do dream figments usually know they’re dream figments?” June volleys. “Like, if we’re just in Alex’s dream, technically, Alex is making us up, and we can be as lucid or as useless as he wants — we’re just, like, extensions of his subconscious.” Alex huffs. “Yo — Socrates, Plato — can we stop turning my potential death into a philosophical debate?” “Hey, it’s our potential death, too!” Nora says, at the same time June says, “You’re not dead.”

Tuesday is almost over, oop, so I think most people have already been tagged, but I am still specifically calling out @stereopticons and literally whoever wants to jump in!

[ponder-the-orb]

Snippet Sunday!

I actually got tagged last week by @alpydk but had literally nothing to share (plus I was DYING after Comic Con) so I'm starting off today with a snippet from the next chapter of Broken Things:

“I know thy request. And you, my answer.” Withers speaks with the same moth-soft drawl she remembers, like echoes in some infinitely large library, ancient and interminable. And annoying.

Ciri crosses the room until those unsettlingly bloody eyes are just inches away.

“Bring him back.”

“No.”

“That’s it. Just, no?”

“Yes.”

Her fists clench against her cloak. Deep in her gut she’d known this would be his response, it’s the exact reason she hadn’t sought him out herself, even if she had known where to start. It does nothing to stop a fresh anger roiling like hot oil through her. 

“You resurrected us countless times. We perished for so many ridiculous, and frankly, unavoidable reasons and you still did it– easily. You puppeted the corpses of dead absolutists for us, watched as hundreds died at our hands, died for us or alongside us and yet only we were deemed special enough to be brought back. What’s changed?”

“The path of fate required thine allies to live and thwart the plan of the Dead Three. This task is now complete. So too is mine,” he answers flatly. 

“I have gold.”

“The matter of coin is irrelevant. My charge now is to simply remain until once again I am called to rest. This cannot be changed.”

She turns away from him with shaking lips and an acid tongue.

“You once asked me what the value of a single mortal life was. I told you what I truly believed at the time: that none is worth more than any other.” Her voice is quietly even, almost as flat as his. “It seemed like such an obvious answer at the time. With every job I had taken before, I had always tried to avoid killing– so sure there was always another way. And yet barely a day later I was killing without a shred of guilt, burning through people as easily as parchment in my hearth. I was skilled at it. And I told myself it was for the greater good, to save the world and then later, to save the people I cared about. But does that really change what I did? Change the judgement I’ll receive when I finally leave this plane?”

When she turns back, her hands are wreathed in flame, itching to lash out. “So I don’t care what I have to do now to claw back the one life that matters most.” She imagines the withered bark of his skin burning and crumbling, catching faster than summer’s driest wood. It’s always the stench that lingers the longest, that pungent scent of charred skin and bone– then again, she has no idea if there’s even any flesh left to smell.

Withers doesn’t move. “Rend me to ash if thou please. It shall change nothing. No matter the power of the magic or the divine, everything shall become dust and bone eventually. All of Iraxys’ fire in thy blood cannot rewrite the laws of this world.”

Her hand trembles but she closes her fist before the flames can leap.

“Fine,” she whispers, extinguishing the fire in her palm. “If the path of fate is truly set then… then tell me that I can do this. Tell me that I will succeed.”

“That which is yet to come is not one straight road. It branches and splinters each time a new day dawns.” Withers holds out his arms, gesturing around as if painting that road himself. “There is no certainty that I can give for how thou shalt live.”

She slaps her hands to her sides at his non-answer, one step away from pulling him close and shaking him until all those bones rattle and fall apart before her. “But is there a way? Please, tell me.”

Withers stays silent for a long moment. Ciri waits, almost sure he’s simply given up on the conversation before she catches something in his face. She wants to call it a trick of the light or her own eyes adjusting from the brightness of her flame, but she is almost certain that his eyes flash, drawing focus to her for the first time ever.

 “Yes,” he answers. “It would be long and marked with sacrifices perhaps unimaginable to thee now, but yes.”

***

Tagging @alpydk and @mellybaggins!

[kingsofeverything]

Sunday Snippet

😱 I have a snippet! It’s from my @wankersday fic which I really hope to finish asap. It’s called Ahead in the Count ⚾️

Things wouldn’t be so bad if Harry Styles wasn’t always drawing attention to his dick.

Louis’s been a catcher in the minor leagues for more than a decade, minus the two weeks he spent in the majors before being sent back down, and he’s never known a pitcher to touch his junk more often than he touches the baseball.

Styles, however, threw 117 pitches tonight, and adjusted himself 128 times. Louis counted. It’s not the sort of thing he typically keeps track of, and he’d started almost accidentally, as a sort of joke for himself, but then Styles threw strike after strike after strike that first inning, and Louis is a baseball player. And baseball players are superstitious.

“Feel like I’m on fire out there tonight,” Styles said with a shake of his head like he couldn’t believe his own pitches. Tossing a stray practice ball to Louis, and reaching down to cup his own balls at the same time, his expression turned serious. The ever-present line between Styles’ eyebrows deepened as he looked around the dugout and warned the team, “Nobody change anything! Keep everything the same.”

“You’re not supposed to mention it,” Louis said. Styles isn’t always a typical ball player, but superstitions run deep.

“I won't mention it again, just keep doing whatever you’ve been doing,” Styles said with a firm nod.

After that, Louis couldn’t stop. It’d be bad luck.

At the top of the next inning, Louis squatted down behind home plate, Harry adjusted his dick inside his uniform pants, and Louis upped the count.

Tagging literally anyone and everyone who sees this. Please @ me if you post a snippet. And just in case @louandhazaf @crinkle-eyed-boo @disgruntledkittenface @reminiscingintherain @bananaheathen @allwaswell16 @absoloutenonsense @homosociallyyours @londonfoginacup @becomeawendybird @jaerie @jacaranda-bloom @sadaveniren @evilovesyou @greenfeelings @kingonafiftymetreroad @lululawrence

[theharrowing]

revisited the first 3 carnival of terror chapters because 🎸 it’s been a whiiile 🎸 and wow, what a delightfully creepy little tale.

there are some bits and bobs that foreshadow the upcoming chapter that i feel like most of you have also forgotten about, as i have. so i might post little snippets of chapter 3 tomorrow before posting chapter 4 (soon? soon. draft one is done, but after reading chapters 1-3, there are a lot of small things i want to include/call back to. i am also a stickler for proofreading several times before my beta reader gets to it and once after she is finished. also, my bestest bestie is coming to town in two ✌️ days so i have been attempting to clean my house while fighting off the dredges of my yearly june-to-july-fuck-me-the-weather-varies-drastically-moment-by-moment-and-it-makes-me-(literally)-sick head cold. so! hopefully before thursday evening, pacific time. at the very latest, sunday morning/early afternoon. 💜💜💜)

also…remember…character asks are open. 😉

[bylightofdawn]

WIP Sunday

I managed to rally myself enough to write SOME and this is the most non-spoilery snippet I can manage from this chapter.

My TENS unit is an actual hero that did more for my shoulder/ribs than literally anything I've tried all day long. I'm risking it for the biscuit right now and laying on a heating pad when I should PROLLY be lying on an ice pack but the heating pad feels really, really good. And enabled me to actually manage to write like 1K today.

So we actually get a WIP Sunday which is awesome. Uhhh...context, you really don't need a lot. This is a pretty short snippet dealing with Jaster and his men trying to interrogate people and Walon Vau just goes all creepy Walon Vau on them. Honestly, a little light psychological torture isn't the same as physical torture, right? Eh heh heh... As always, it's super rough first draft and subject to be edited blah blah blah.

“I got it.” Jango’s mouth twisted in a stubborn line, and Jaster fought back a frustrated sigh.

“Comm me if you need anything.” Jaster mussed his hair affectionately, much to Jango’s consternation, and gestured for Mij to follow him. “Stay close in case things go south? I’m going to go check in on the others.”

“Of course,” Mij reassured him with a smile.

“Good man.” Jaster shot him a smile and squeezed Mij by the shoulder before heading deeper into the warehouse in search of Myles.

He found him overseeing the interrogation of one of the Death Watch survivors in one of the small side offices. The man was unarmored and bound in chains much like [Spoiler character] had been to a chair seated at the table across from a blank-faced Walon Vau.

Much like Jaster, he’d opted to remove his helmet. Still, instead of humanizing him, the sight of those flat, golden eyes and that merciless patrician face somehow made him even more intimidating. In another life, he suspected Walon Vau would have made an effective interrogator though they rarely had called for those skills just by the nature of what they did. By the time they got face to face with their enemies, it was in the heat of battle.

Occasionally they did need to interrogate a scout or a hostile enemy agent for intel purposes. Still, it was a necessary evil of the job and one Jaster tried to avoid if at all possible.

“How’s it going?”

“Well, he was ranting and raving at Vau for a hot minute but I think he’s run out of steam.”

“So, are you willing to listen to what I have to offer now, or do you prefer to continue to waste your breath and my time with needless theatrics?” Walon asked his voice wintry cold.

“I will never betray the Death Watch. You can torture me all you want.” Came the predictably defiant response.

“I’m not going to torture you. Instead, I will surrender you to the authorities who will treat you like the violent terrorist you are and they will throw you into an isolation cell for the rest of your natural-born life.” Vau assured him dispassionately as he stared across the table at the Death Watch soldier with flat, hunter’s eyes.

“You will be an animal locked in a cage, they will throw away the key, and you will spend the rest of your life in a hole somewhere where you won’t see the sky again. And will never breathe another breath of fresh air as a free man." He continued to weave that horrific picture with that same flat, dispassionate tone of voice that bordered on a creepy monotone.

"Your only meaningful interactions will be with a hole in the door where they will deliver nutrient paste every...single...day without fail. You’ll never taste your favorite food again or enjoy another glass of ale for however many decades you live. And I hope you enjoy the company of your right hand because you won’t have a bedmate or enjoy the warmth of another person’s company in your bed anymore.”

The picture he painted was enough to make even Jaster feel claustrophobic. Could there be a worse fate for a proud Mandalorian? To be caged like an animal? Utterly controlled and restricted with minimal interactions and isolated like that? It sounded like hell to him and had unease crawling up his spine.

And judging by the way the man had gone pale and bloodless, Vau’s potent promises were hitting their mark.

“Kark me,” Myles muttered under his breath, and Jaster bumped his shoulder lightly before angling his head towards the door to indicate he wanted him to follow.

The younger man followed him without a word of protest and waited until they were out of earshot of the prisoner.

“You know? I thought your plan to take prisoners and interrogate without torture was a fool’s errand. But now, I think if you lock those poor bastards in a room with Walon Vau for an extended amount of time, he might actually get them to crack.”

“So it would seem. I’m glad he’s on our side.”

“I feel like maybe we should give him a raise and the promise to match anyone else’s offer if they try and poach him from our side because I don’t want to be on the other end of a battle with that man,” Myles said jokingly but there was a note of genuine truth in his tone all the same.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jaster murmured drolly.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Sunday, 15:48

Song: Glass Animals - Heat Waves

Sander starts as fingers snap in front of his face.

His focus returns slowly to settle on Emilie’s hand, where her dark skin is patchy with even darker pencil stains. His eyes skip up her arm and over her shoulder to her face, where she’s watching him with amusement. She’s sat with her back to the low stone wall across from where he’s slouched on the grass, legs stretched out in front of her and kicking against Gilles’s ass. They’re at the park, clustered together on a free patch of grass in the sun.

“You still with us, rocketman?” she asks.

“It’s Starman,” Thomas corrects, without once breaking his gaze away from his book, hazel eyes intensely focused behind his glasses. His long form is tucked so tightly from back to toe between two trees that Sander winced at the sight of him, but Thomas seems completely content.

Emilie pulls a face at Sander, as if he should also be annoyed that Thomas remembers this Bowie fact, and Sander huffs as he smiles.

Gilles rolls over onto their back and effectively dislodges Emilie’s feet from their perch atop their backside. “Either way, we can all agree you’re up in space.” They gesture at Sander, then leave their hand hovering in midair. Sander smacks it in a high-five just to watch Gilles shoot him a dark, unimpressed look.

“You didn’t hear any of the conversation we just had,” Emilie says, gentler than usual. “What were you thinking about?”

What a question. He doesn’t remember the last thing he’d been thinking about, or the first, but there are a few lingering snippets from in between. He remembers thinking about his project, worrying over the details he summoned in his head and telling himself he’d gotten it done and it was fine. He was thinking about the dream he’d had last night, where he’d been chasing a wolf through a forest and fell right down deep into a puddle, and how he’d woken up in the late morning damp not from drowning but from sweat. Then he’d gone back, at some point, to where his mind always goes.

“Just, where Robbe and I can go for dinner when he’s back.”

Gilles groans dramatically and Emilie sighs dramatically and Thomas smiles slightly, at them or at Sander or at whatever he’s reading, Sander isn’t sure.

“Dude, you are with your friends, you need to learn to daydream about your boyfriend on your own damn time,” Gilles complains, rolling over this time until they’re lying atop Sander’s feet, gazing up at him plaintively. Sander’s boots are bound to be a literal pain in their side, but Gilles gives no indication of it as they wrap their arms around Sander’s raised knee. “Love us.”

Sander snorts, wiggling the leg his friend is holding just to hear a whine of protest. “Sure.”

Emilie flips her cornrow braids over her shoulder and pops a crisp in her mouth. “So where are you taking him for dinner?”

Gilles snaps their head around to glare at her. “Don’t encourage him,” they complain.

“But it annoys you,” she says, “which amuses me.”

Sander bites down a smirk as Gilles’s expression flips into one of betrayal and they pull away from Sander to curse at her in rapid French. Emilie listens calmly, although her lips are also curved in amusement as Gilles’s tan cheeks darken further and puff out in frustration. Somewhere amidst the rant Emilie’s brows raise, and then she responds to Gilles smugly in the same language, with what Sander knows is only slightly less fluency. He could understand most of the interaction if he wanted to, but instead he just absorbs words here and there and meets Thomas’s eyes before pulling a face.

Thomas’s lips quirk in response, and he gives a tiny shake of his head. He gestures subtly between their arguing friends and then makes a heart shape with his hands, mouthing ‘sickening’ for Sander’s eyes only.

Or so they think, until Gilles raises their voice and returns to Flemish to warn, “I saw that, Aarden.”

Thomas just blinks his eyes innocently, and Gilles scoffs as Sander snorts again.

“Can we come with you to the station?” Emilie asks suddenly, and Sander looks to her to find that she’s already staring back with her damn puppy eyes.

Nice try, he thinks. He’s immune to those by now. There’s only one set of doe eyes that still gets to him, and they know it. Well, maybe two, but Lucas is basically a Dutch Robbe and doesn’t count, really.

Emilie tries anyway, expression completely innocent as she pushes, “You are going to the station to meet him, right?”

Sander narrows his eyes. They know he is; of course he is. There’s no point in being apart from Robbe for longer than necessary. But he’s not going to say this out loud for them all to start up again.

“Come on,” Gilles whines again. “You can’t let him encroach on all our friend time and then not let us encroach on your Robbe time. And you never let us meet his friends! Who are also your friends!”

“We basically know them already from how much he talks about them,” Thomas points out, rather neutrally.

“Exactly! He talks about them all the time and I don’t even know what they look like. That’s a crime, Sander, a crime! Especially if they’re hot!”

“Shouldn’t matter, considering they’re all taken.” Sander raises a brow.

Gilles makes a ‘pshaw’ sound. “I don’t mind just joining in.” They wiggle their brows pointedly at Sander, then wink, and Sander finally lets out a full laugh. Thomas makes a disappointed noise and Emilie mock gags, but Gilles simply butt-scooches across the grass and tosses an arm around Sander’s shoulders, pinching Sander’s cheek with the same hand. “There it is,” they say, triumphantly.

Sander rolls his eyes. Warmth filters into his cheeks, and he blames it on the pinch. “I’m always laughing at you, you need to stop thinking of it as a reward.”

Emilie slides down enough that when she stretches her leg, her toes tap against Sander’s. “We just like seeing you happy. Accept it.”

“Your happiness is my favourite,” Thomas agrees. “Emilie’s is too smug and Gilles gets even more annoying.”

Gilles protests indignantly and Thomas finally blows them a kiss to settle them. Emilie accepts it with a small shrug while adjusting to trap Sander’s foot between her own. Sander simultaneously zones it all out and sinks into the warmth creeping around him that has nothing to do with Gilles pressed against his side. (Well, it’s maybe a little to do with it, but because of the easy affection, not the body heat.) Gilles is like Sander in the tactile sense, giving touch freely and yearning for it just as much. But whereas Gilles uses it to joke around and often gets shoved away for their efforts, Emilie is frequently offering Sander the comfort of some casual contact and Thomas always allows Sander to lean against his side or overlap their legs where he shies away from the others. It’s a small thing on the long list of reasons that he loves these three people, but it warms him every time.

He knows it’s likely influenced by the fact that he’s the younger one in the group. That even though Gilles and Emilie are barely a year older than him and Thomas almost a year older than that, he’s the baby of the group. It’s a sharp contrast to spending time with Robbe’s friends, and Sander has found he likes being able to bounce between the two dynamics.

Even though none of the youngins treat him anything like an adult, he thinks petulantly. Except, possibly, Aaron.

He’s known this group for longer, however, all of them since his first two weeks in the Academy. It just took a while for them all to gel together into the close-knit framework they are now, and Sander has gotten over the fact that it took them all rallying around after one of his episodes to make it so.

He was grateful they were there then, and nothing has changed.

Still. “I have to go if I want to be there in time to meet them,” he sighs.

Cue more dramatic, petulant groaning.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to just walk with you?” Thomas questions, tilting his head up to follow Sander as he gets to his feet.

Sander grins. “Always the gentleman.” Thomas flushes and stammers slightly and Sander huffs, shaking his head. “No, I’ll be fine. Can’t let this one get too close or someone might get infected.” He reaches down to tug Gilles’s hair.

Gilles releases Sander’s leg from where they’d been clinging on like a child to slap his ass, smiling brightly when Sander jolts and curses. “Fuck you too,” they say cheerfully.

Sander allows one last laugh before grabbing the strap of his bag and hoisting it onto his shoulder. He winks at Thomas and pauses by Emilie to lean down and kiss her head, allowing her to kiss his cheek in return before saying his goodbyes. They all call after him, Emilie throwing in a few woots and suggestive teasing while Gilles shouts dramatic terms of endearments until Sander flips them off. He hears their laughter as he gets farther away and doesn’t bother hiding his own smile, shaking his head fondly as he slips his phone out of his pocket to check for messages.

There’s nothing new, Robbe having been silent after telling Sander they’d made the train and what time they would be back, allowing him uninterrupted time with his friends. He wonders if Robbe had been busy with his as well, or if he’d spent most of the journey in his own world. If the couple was anyone but Lucas and Jens, Sander would assume the latter, but it’s more likely the two kept Robbe tied in with their bickering. His smile widens at the thought.

He makes it to the station before the train gets in, and simply takes out an earphone as he leans against the wall so he won’t miss their approach. He still ends up lost in his thoughts to the point that he only sees Robbe when he’s already weaving his way towards him.

Robbe doesn’t barrel into him or squeal or jump into his arms; they aren’t that bad. But he does neatly sidestep everyone without a single glance and sidles right into Sander’s space when he’s close enough, smiling his brilliant smile and leaving Sander’s heart shaking and stuttering.

He pushes away from the wall and they reach for each other at once, his arms engulfing Robbe’s waist as Robbe’s fingers slide into his hair and pull him down into a kiss. Sander hums, smirking slightly against Robbe’s lips when the boy shivers at the vibrations. He doesn’t let himself get entirely lost in it, not in the crowded public space, but he allows himself to indulge a little more than he usually would. He holds Robbe flush against him and sucks Robbe’s bottom lip between his own and swallows the surprised, pleased little noise he gets in return.

“Aww, it’s great to see how much you missed us.” Lucas interrupts them loudly, and Sander drops his head to Robbe’s shoulder with a bit-off groan, ignoring Robbe’s quiet giggle. “You know, all three of us, who I’m sure you’re here to see.”

Sander drags his head up to look over Robbe’s shoulder, immediately catching sight of Lucas’s shit-eating grin where he and Jens have joined them. Sander responds, very simply, with, “Fuck you.”

Lucas’s grin merely widens, and he steps away from Jens’s side long enough for Sander to pull him into a quick hug. Robbe leans back against the wall in his place, shaking his head as Lucas kisses Sander’s cheek with his cheeky smile still in place.

“One of these days, he’s not going to let you get away with that,” Jens warns, though he’s smiling as he tucks Lucas back under his arm. He clasps Sander’s hand in greeting as Lucas scoffs.

“I think he always will,” Lucas decides, tilting his head at Sander. Sander flicks his forehead, amused when Lucas is a few seconds too late in his attempt to bat him away. “And he deserves it. Asshole,” he complains.

Sander blows him a kiss and ignores Jens’s noise of protest. Then his attention is easily diverted once more as Robbe grips his arm and gives a small tug. Sander falls back next to him and immediately looks over, but Robbe just presses a kiss to his shoulder before resting his cheek there. He’s wearing his earring today, and he’s careful not to smush it between them. Sander would rather have it between his teeth.

“I missed you,” Robbe sighs. He wrinkles his nose and gestures at his friends before leaning up close to Sander, to make his stage-whisper that bit more dramatic. “They’re so gross.”

Jens immediately gapes, as they both knew he would, while Lucas simply shakes his head, resigned to what’s to come. “Bullshit,” Jens protests. “And even if it was true, you don’t get to comment, because I have been putting up with this—“ he gestures between the two of them “—for way longer already. And you are the epitome of gross.”

Lucas winces, nodding slightly. “He does have a point.”

“You’re disowned,” Robbe tells him, offended.

Sander huffs. “He’s an asshole, is what he is.”

Lucas places a hand on his chest and, in the most deadpan tone he can manage, says, “I am a fucking delight.”

Jens snorts.

Then Lucas gapes and pointedly steps away from him.

This is exactly what Sander loves about them. The pointless banter, the predictability stemming from familiarity, the easy camaraderie that bounces between them. He hadn’t thought about wriggling his way in with Robbe’s friends when he’d first sought the boy out; he hadn’t cared. But since they got together, he’s been constantly feeling the need to try. He doesn’t want to be a part of Robbe’s life separate to all the rest, and he’d recognised that fairly quickly, but had gotten lucky with Milan.

The others all took to him with their own enthusiasm, which he was relieved about, but like everything else in his life, it took a little more time.

To have this now feels like a blessing. But he marvels, once again, about how Robbe has been his one and only surety from first sight.

It makes him tug the boy closer as Jens goes about placating his own boyfriend; of course, at Sander’s expense. “Chill, we all know he’s actually the asshole.” He waves a hand, giving Sander a lopsided smile.

Sander smirks at him. “Jesus, stop flirting, so obsessed with my ass.”

“Nope, lost your chance, you were hotter as a blond,” Jens immediately snarks back.

Now Sander is the one placing a hand on his chest, jaw dropping, as Robbe makes a sound somewhere between admonishment towards Jens and comfort for Sander. Lucas tilts his head and gazes at Sander critically. Sander zeroes in on this reaction and jabs a finger at him. “You better not agree with him when you clearly have a thing for brunets.”

Lucas purses his lips, then rubs his hand over them to wipe away a smile. “Yeah, but, not everyone can pull off the bleached look like you do.”

“But you still think I’m hot now, right?” Sander presses.

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

Sander makes a triumphant noise as Jens tosses his hands up.

“I’m literally right here,” Jens reminds Lucas.

Lucas shrugs. “You flirted with him first.”

“I did not flirt, you know that is not my flirting.”

“Okay but then, what is your flirting?”

Robbe clears his throat, finally picking his head up off Sander’s shoulder to blink his doe eyes at all of them, lips quirked up adorably after listening silently to their bickering. “Hey, guys? Yeah, as much as I’ve enjoyed listening to this the past couple days, I’m fucking starving. Can we at least continue this somewhere with food?”

Jens immediately abandons his argument to nod, setting a hand on his stomach as if suddenly realising his own hunger. “Something greasy.”

“Then sweet,” Lucas requests, molding himself to Jens’s side again.

Sander tilts his head back to sigh at the ceiling, acknowledging the fact that his idea of a romantic dinner with Robbe has just been thwarted. Then he picks up Robbe’s bag and slings it over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s nose. “Fine, but Robbe chooses.”

Robbe beams at him and takes his hand again, then immediately starts to tow him away.

As always, Sander lets him.

~^~

previous/next

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with tatooedlaura (Laura Sprys)

Laura has 28 fics at Gossamer, but the big treasure trove of her stories is at AO3, where she has 193 fics. Thank goodness for the richness of the X-Files and for talented, creative people like Laura who can find so many interesting ways to tell tales in the show’s universe. Big thanks to Laura for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Maybe reading mine but reading older fic in general is something I still do and something I still find entertaining. I do wish i could get into my old fics and post a warning that some of those were written before the author: ever had a drink, ever had sex, ever had a boyfriend, ever lived on her own, ever had a real job, or ever experienced much of anything in the real world.

Then again, fanfic is a perfect time capsule for the age and it’s always fun to see where the originals started and how they’ve grown.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

Back in the day and up and through today, it has always been a fun experience. From it, I’ve learned to love writing. I’ve learned that fans are crazy, weird, wonderful, generous, talented, committed, passionate, and imaginative. In a fandom, you can think whatever you wish and write about anything you like and because I’ve been around so long, I’ve gotten to watch the storylines shift and the relationships change ...

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Originally, I never had much interaction with people other than ones who sent emails commenting on my fanfic … the internet at my parents house was dial-up and I had to access through the AOL free disks that arrived in the mail so, for the most part, I didn’t have the bandwidth or the connection speed to do more than upload stories and download episode guides.

Good lord, I remember submitting a story and having to wait upwards of two days to two weeks before the new batch of stories was posted ... then ephemeral came around and you could actually have your story up in under a day ... all ya'll who started on tumblr and ao3, you have it great, let me tell you :)

One thing that stands out in my mind still (and I’m still friends with her on Facebook) was a woman from western Canada who I stumbled across somewhere while looking for the blooper reels. She offered to send me her copies on VHS for my collection. I don’t think she asked for payment and one day, a package arrived from a lovely woman near Lethbridge, bloopers playable, tapes labeled in clear printing. I still appreciate that 20 some odd years later :)

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Fandoms are crazy places. Tread lightly at first but enjoy what you want, ignore what you don’t, rewrite what you hate, and write what you love. Don’t be an asshole when you don’t agree with someone … when you do, tell them …

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was on board from the first episode. It was a show about two people who you felt were destined to be together but weren’t, and wouldn’t be for years. It was a cop show about aliens and a monster show with cops. I was in the right place at the right time in the right frame of mind and there was just something that clicked and I never looked back. Friends were not allowed to call me on Friday night and once it switched to Sunday, I made sure that my parents got us on early evening bowling league so we’d be home in time to watch. Even my boyfriend (eventual husband) knew to shut the hell up from 9-10pm, even if he was sitting next to me on the couch (with my parents in their chairs watching as well)

Also, my 56-year-old dad had a crush on Scully from the start so that was entertaining as hell as well

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I have been writing stories in my head for literally as long as I can remember. Watching some episode, I honestly don’t remember which one, I suddenly had an idea for a story about Mulder and Scully. I had never written a story with pre-existing characters before and it was totally foreign to me. How do you write a character with a current storyline. It was weird, it was difficult, it was some of the most fun I’d had writing up to that point.

Suddenly, I didn’t have to explain or describe the characters, think of jobs and mundane things … they already had those … and it was great.

Honest-to-God, my first fic was written, in pencil, on a yellow legal pad by flashlight while lying with my head at the foot of my bed so I could see my parents coming down the hall if they happened to wake up at midnight to go to the bathroom. Later fics were written by the light of an 10” TV/VCR combo with me still lying with my head at the foot of the bed. I still have those old legal pads somewhere and I remember having to type them in secret, having to wait until the house was empty for 20 minutes to an hour at a time. Uploading them was always unnerving because of the slow dial-up and the fact that I didn’t have my own email address, but had to use my dad’s. I’d have to make sure to check it whenever I could, intercept the feedback I’d get off gossamer.

I was such a damn rebel.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Well, I now know how to interact with people given tumblr and AO3 but it hasn’t changed much. I contribute a little more now that I understand posting on social media but mostly, I still just write like a fiend and post, read voraciously and give kudos and likes often, comment some and reblog.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

And nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever caught me like the X-Files did in regards to the fandom experience.

I have shows I watch and re-watch and re-watch but no two characters have ever had me writing and thinking and planning like Mulder and Scully. No other combo has ever made me write upwards of 300,000 or more total and still have plenty of stories to tell.

I’m okay with this.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Aside from Mulder and Scully and the gentlemen three of Frohike, Langley, and Byers … I love all Scully’s nieces and nephews in my ‘Life’ series … I also love Corduroy (picture books), Harold (purple crayon fame), Neville Longbottom, the characters from my own novels, Katniss (book not movie), Anne Shirley, Elnora (from the Limberlost), Will Stanton/Merriman/Barney/Jane from ‘Dark is Rising’ and 10,459 others …

I’m a children’s librarian so most of my favorite books are those written for the younger and YA crowd. I like my job :)

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I watch this show all the damn time. I will think about Mulder and Scully when I have nothing else to think about, normally writing and editing whatever story I may have in the hopper at the time about them.

My husband laughs when I have the show on. He knows all the episodes with me and it’s one of my comfort shows that I don’t have to pay attention to when it’s on. During it, I have edited books, decorated cookies, been sick, been recovering, simply wasted a perfectly good day because I could.

My 17-year-old daughter keeps it on while she does homework and works out.

It’s a staple at our house and no one is allowed to make fun of it, even though we all know that parts are completely ‘make fun-able’

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I read fic all the time … I have worked my way through AO3 starting from the beginning and if it was more easily readable on a phone, I’d work my way, once again, through gossamer.

Restated from above: I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I have all kinds of favorites on tumblr but right now, I honestly don’t remember most of the names … I pretty much read everything that comes through my dashboard and every few days, i read through the newest posts on AO3 … I love you all!!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Of X-Files fics, I love my newer stuff … I read “Life” and its sequels every few months … ‘Your Place or Mine’ is another one I will read … actually, I’ll just say it .... I read all my own fic over and over again …

With fic, you get to write the characters as you want to see them and write situations that you want to see … I write for myself most of all and I love to read what I wrote :)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I write them all the damn time. I have tons of snippets and half-finished that I occasionally glean things from but while sometimes, old stuff morphs into new, sometimes, it just needs to gather that dust and live a quiet little forgotten life in some backhand folder on my dropbox account ...

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

First question is answered above.

As for other creative work, I have published two YA novels, have the third in that series in editing … I have five other novels in the hopper in various stages of ‘good lord this needs an edit or twelve’ …

I am writing things constantly in my head or on my laptop … most is crap … stome sticks … some turns into fic and some turns into books …

But the point is, I am writing, in some form, at all time :)

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Some two sentence conversation will spark an idea … the line of a song will inspire an idea … a word will start a sentence which will turn into a paragraph which will tumble straight into a story … and sometimes, stuff just pops in my head for no damn reason at all ...

What's the story behind your pen name?

On gossamer, I am L. Sprys because that was my name at the time :)

On tumblr and AO3, I’m tatooedlaura because my name is Laura and I have, now, six tattoos (yes, I spelled it wrong in my handle but that’s life) … when I decided on the name, I think I only had two

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

They do now … it took me years to crack and tell them … my husband has never read them, nor have any of the people I have told (as far as I know)

Now, I don’t really care who knows … I’ll tell them I write smutty X-Files fanfiction and family-friendly X-Files fanfiction …

I am too old at this point to be embarrassed by what I like to do. If they laugh at me, I tell them they only get to laugh when they’ve published a book and I pull up my books on Amazon … I’ve only had to do that once and it shut them right the hell up …

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Gossamer: L. Sprys

Tumblr and AO3: tatooedlaura

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I love you! I see you! I appreciate you! I hope you enjoy! Don’t judge me for my grammar issues! I will never be able to spell the word ‘excersize’!

(Posted by Lilydale on April 27, 2021)