#super secret fic

[navybrat817]

navy!!! imagine this with possessive soft!dark!mafia!bucky or soft!dark!king!bucky 😭🤌🏻✨

him refusing to let go of her, even when the doctor came to treat her. he can't let go of her, not when she took a bullet/arrow for him. though he already curated 101 ways torture the culprit but for now, his sweet girl needs him.

(or rather he needs her. he needs to feel her heartbeat against his own because he can't afford to lose the love of his life.)

like please--

anyway! i hope you have a good day ahead 🩵🤍

My lovely, I ADORE this. The hurt/comfort, yes. Give it to me.

@targaryenvampireslayer and I are working on something and this fits PERFECTLY with this atmosphere. Stay tuned!!!

Love and thanks! ❤️

[dukeofthomas]

Here's my controversial opinion; if you're trying to write Bruce as a non-abusive, good parent, you should also write him respecting his kids' privacy, boundaries, and not stalking&surveying them.

[blorger]

“So?” Ron says, after five long minutes of Draco flipping through and studying each page. “Right,” Draco replies, handing the documents back to Ron and taking a deep, steeling breath. “You need to promise not to punch me.” “What?” “It’s just—” Draco swallows and tries again. “I’m going to sound like I’m making a rude comment. I know that I’ve a long history of this kind of thing, so I wanted to clarify ahead of time. I’m not trying to insult you.” “Okay,” Ron says, and Harry can’t decide who looks more uncomfortable. “This Lavender character—” and Harry misses the next few words, because it finally clicks. Ron is here to discuss his divorce, which Harry thinks is almost as unlikely as sabotaging his assignment. “You went to school with her for seven years!” Ron is saying. “Yes, yes. I was a dick.” Draco waves one hand in the air, looking a bit like the queen. “Ground well-trodden, Weasel. I’m a prick. I only cared about myself. Everyone else was beneath my notice.” Ron’s mouth is hanging open. It’s all Harry can do not to laugh. “So, this Lavender—” “Do you seriously not remember her—” Malfoy continues as if Ron hasn’t spoken. “From what I can gather from these documents, Ms Brown is a bit of a—” Draco pauses. “A what?” “You promise not to hit me?” Draco asks. “Just spit it out Malfoy!” “She’s a bit of a raging bitch.” “Wha—” “In my professional opinion.” “Of course,” Ron says, stunned.

from The Truth About Love by waterwings

[sincerely-sofie]

Ohhhh, Anon's perfect apple ask is now giving me blessed imagery of Dusknoir cutting apple slices into bunny shapes. Maybe for Opal, maybe for him to show off, either way.

The soft, the dexterity, the GENTLENESS after such a prolonged period of violence he had undergone. Opal called him her gramps for a reason, after all.

(Referencing this post)

Hey how does it feel to have given me a prompt that had me tearing up all throughout the process of drawing it because of how unbearably heartfelt and endearing it is?

[zukosdualdao]

to leave the sun behind

summary: the gaang is about to leave the sun warrior civilization after aang spends a few weeks learning there. katara has a goodbye to make. she really doesn't want it to be goodbye.

other notes: didn't come up in the fic itself but this is an au in which ozai never gave the stipulation that zuko could be un-banished if he captured the avatar, which is why he did not do All That. instead, iroh took him to the sun warriors. also, yes there is a work study joke in here. if atla can make jokes about not qualifying for vacation time then i can do this also! (i think i am much funnier than i am.)

It's their final night staying at the ruins of the Sun Warriors—not so ruined, as it turns out. They had planned to stay for longer, and Katara still thinks maybe they should—Aang has been training every day, with the warriors and with the dragons, but there's still so much more he could learn. With the comet still months away, though, Sokka had finally pointed out that there were people searching for them, and if they didn't want this secret, ancient civilization to be destroyed for real as Azula and company pursue the Avatar, then it’s time for them to leave.

There's a banquet being held in honor of their departure tonight. They pull out a large table of stone and set with golden and orange gems, and the rice and kimodo chicken is piled high atop it.

It's genuinely a lovely evening—she smiles as she watches Sokka and Aang try their best to pretend the spices aren't getting to them, and as Toph answers questions about badgermoles from Iroh—but Katara can't help but notice someone missing and ducks out a little early, making an excuse out of an imaginary headache.

Really, though, Katara is making her way to a familiar room of stone, preparing to say a final goodbye to the Sun Warriors' apprentice.

When she and the others first arrived, it was him that found them stranded after Aang first set off a floor of spikes and looked back at the rest of their group with alarm.

The apprentice had looked at them with an unimpressed, quirked brow but didn't seem otherwise perturbed, reversing the trap and leading them to the warriors and to his uncle. From there, Aang had been judged worthy to study under the dragons and the warriors themselves.

Zuko trains with them, too, every day, diligent. All these weeks, he'd barely said three words in front of the others, but the second night, unable to sleep, Katara had stumbled across him late in the evening, practicing on his own. When he'd spotted Katara, she had reeled back at first—he seemed like too much of a loner to want company—but he'd raised his brow again, like a challenge. They'd spent the evening sparring with their respective elements, water meeting fire blow for blow, the blood in her veins soaring as they did.

After, they'd spoken until the sun was nearly risen. She'd regaled him with the stories of her travels, and he was mostly quiet, still, but when she asked questions, he answered.

Yes, he and his uncle used to be royalty, and his father was the Fire Lord as the Warriors said. No, he didn't leave home because he wanted to; he was banished. No, he no longer wanted to go back. No, he didn't want to talk about it. Yes, he'd been training with the Warriors for years.

Katara didn't ask about the scar, but her thumb ran gentle circles over it when she first kissed him.

Things have gone on like that for a handful of weeks they've been here, sparring and learning new moves from each other, talking, and kissing, sneaking away moments in the dead of night or when the others are distracted.

And now...

"I'm going to miss you," she sighs against his lips after he lets her in. His eyelashes flutter open.

"Don't say that," Zuko says wryly. "You'll give me the wrong idea." He leans back down.

"Maybe it isn't so wrong," Katara says, a little breathless as he kisses down her neck. "You could come with us, you know." She pauses. Wait. That's brilliant. Then, Aang could keep learning, and it wouldn't feel like half her soul was being torn in half as she left. (How did things happen this quickly? How does it feel like she aches wherever and whenever he's not touching her?) "You should come with us!"

Zuko freezes, looking into her eyes searchingly.

"What? Why?"

"I'm serious," Katara insists, placing her hands against his chest. Maybe he doesn't want that. "Aang's learned a lot while he's been here, training with you and the other sun warriors," she adds, feeling a little pathetic even as she hopes the argument convinces him. Zuko now looks unsure and rigid.

"I'm not a teacher," Zuko insists, his voice sounding sort of hollow. "I'm not even officially a Sun Warrior yet."

"Oh, you are in everything but name; all the elders say it," she points out. "You're just not old enough yet. You'll be of age soon, and then you will be." Katara purses her lips as he takes in her words. "Maybe this will help. You know. Hands-on experience. Like a work-study?"

Zuko laughs, some of the tension bleeding out of his gaze as he does. The sound of it is light and breathy and lovely. Katara likes that she can make him laugh. She's only ever seen his uncle accomplish it, otherwise.

"You can teach Aang," Katara promises. "You're better than you know."

His eyes don't quite meet hers, but they haven't let go of each other's embrace. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"Zuko?" She uses her fingertips to tilt his chin up, though he still avoids her gaze. "I mean it."

His eyes swim with an emotion she can't name. Katara waits for his answer, hopefully seeming more patient and less desperate than she feels.

"I'll come," Zuko says finally, the words wrapping around her like a promise. "I'll teach the Avatar. If that's... if that's what you want."

She sighs. Oh. He thinks that's all she wants. That's easily solved, then.

Katara leans her forehead against his. Time dwindles down. It is just them in here. "I want you with me," she admits as his hands tighten ever so slightly against her waist. "That's what I want."

Zuko captures her mouth in a long, gentle kiss before pressing their foreheads together again.

"I'll go wherever you are."

[this-acuteneurosis]

Anger

There's a plan. It's imperfect, but it's the best they've got.

Now they just have to hope no one ruins it for them.

[shrekgogurt]

Hey y'all! In August I started two jobs and I've been so busy I haven't been bored enough to daydream about fic let alone write it. One of the jobs is a long term substitute position. I do not have a teaching degree. I do not know what I am doing. It is very stressful. These kids are just staring at me every morning and I have to be the one to like...have things for them to do. And so I just "yes and" riff about some worksheets best I can and hope they pass their state tests come April. Like, I'm really just some guy off the street they hired last minute. It's so bad.

However, I have a lil something I wrote before all that sooooooooo...

Simon POV, past (age 15):

Balanced footsteps approach, clicking in even purposeful tones that threaten Baz, Baz, Baz. His shadow appears first. Long and lean. Dark and brooding. Mocking me as it flickers against the walls because even the mere imitation of Baz swarms with condescension. A few steps above me, always looking down.

Thank you to everyone who has been tagging me. I'm sorry I've been so ass at interacting with your posts.

Fuck it I'm just putting down some names dude. @alexalexinii @arthurkko @artsyunderstudy @brilla-brilla-estrellita @bookish-bogwitch @cutestkilla

@emeryhall @excalisbury @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @hagnoart @henreyettah @hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ic3-que3n @ineffable-grimm-pitch @j-nipper-95 @larkral @letraspal @messofthejess @mitranian @mooncello @monbons @nausikaaa @ninemagicks @nightimedreamersworld @noblecorgi @onepintobean @orange-peony @palimpsessed @prettygoododds @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @roomwithanopenfire @theearlgreymage @theimpossibledemon @thewholelemon @urban-sith @umdiasujo @valeffelees @wellbelesbian @whogaveyoupermission @yellobb @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[hwaslayer]

For your consideration: the Professors Choi™️ in college vs now 🥵

(Idk if they actually knew each other in college I'm just assuming they did lmao)

GIRLLLLLLLLL

im fucking sitting here at my desk blushing sooo HAWRDDDD I WANNA WALK INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC DMKDKSKSKwjkwkw!!!!! this is SO PERFECT 😭😭😭

[beautifulhigh]

I was tagged by @welcometololaland and I actually have something to share! Keep the good vibes coming so that I get to keep going with this fic. So I'm celebrating with more than seven sentences.

Happy writer, don't care.

"I turned it down, I don't want to go to this stupid thing, but Gran made this huge announcement about how wonderful it will be to have all of her grandchildren at her grand-nephew's wedding and so now I'm being forced into being on show. Again. Moving here was supposed to stop this." "Is this the wedding next month?" "Yeah." "OK, we can do that. I can get Liv to take notes for me, she's the only one who's as meticulous as I am. I can submit my assignments online for that week." "Alex—" "No argument. If you have to go, if your gran is making a scene about this and forcing your hand?" Alex stood and offered his to Henry. "Well then she gets me too. We're a package deal now." "Alex," Henry said softly as he was helped to his feet. "I mean it, baby. She thinks she gets to control the narrative? Well, I have a long and proud tradition of fucking shit up." Henry laughed and pulled Alex into something that was somewhere between a hug and a slow dance. "We can go stand by the cake, freak everyone out," Alex offered. "You know what would really stick in her craw?" Henry said, pulling back to look at Alex, a glint in his eye. "You and me dancing a waltz with every other couple." "I have no idea how to waltz." "It's pretty easy, darling, just follow my lead." Alex laughed as Henry spun him around the open floor, the spaces that would be filled with furniture and things and made into a home for them.

Lola tagged everything (I think) but my little list...

@capseycartwright @strandnreyes @iboatedhere @kiwiana-writes

@goodways @nontoxic-writes @ YOU for the open tag

[marimeeko]

Pro Hero Katsuki and Midoriya Sensei fics where Katsuki is secretly working on funding Izuku's super suit are gonna be so 👌

[forgetmesunflower]

If It Was Always Going to End Like This

“Who was this Kryptonian?” Damian swallowed, entirely too aware of the nervous tell, but warm saliva continued to fill his mouth regardless. “I suspect–” The mirror provided no buffer. Talia’s gaze bit into his skin like acid. Damian could not bear it. He closed his eyes. “–it was Superman’s son.” From another Earth. A clone. A secret twin. It just couldn't be Jon. Because Jon was dead. ── Damian returned to the League of Assassins when he was fifteen, unable to bear his collapsing life in Gotham. When he is nineteen, he encounters a Kryptonian that looks exactly like his best friend—his best friend who has been missing, presumed dead for six years.

Super Sons Week Day 5: It Was Always You Mistaken identity | Secret identities/identity reveal "Oh, I know you." "How ironic it is that I feel the most alive when my heart skips a beat."

Rating: Teen Words: 8.1k, 1/1 Relationships: Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent & Damian Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & League of Assassins Members

[rocksibblingsau]

I have such a good idea for where the Kpop Gang lives. Trolls World Tour environment concept artists and art directions please hear me out:

Lightstick city.

[static-radio-ao3]

thursday snippy

thank you for tagging me @itsjaywalkers @magswrite & @sugarsnappeases MWAH

“All my dreams are no use, my love,” James says as he puts away his coals and paper. The black smudges on his fingers stain his shirt when he smooths it down. Regulus says nothing in return. Simply regards him, a fondness in his eyes that James feels down to his bones. “I know, I know. The real thing is better anyway. But I miss you at night. I can’t wait to wake up and see you.” Because some mornings, James wakes up aching and hard. Some mornings, James wakes up crying. And some mornings, James wakes up anxious. But every morning, James wakes up alone.

i think most people have done this now so open tag <;33

[ambeauty]

It’s serious because I’m making headcanons about them now…

I’m just a wee bit obsessed with the styling similarities between Sydney and Carmy. I feel like Syd and Carmy would share clothes like Zendaya and Tom. They would do this before they are even “official.” One day she’ll just start looking through his boxes of vintage denim and designer clothing and start picking out things for herself.

Of course he lets her take pieces, because he never tells her no. One day she wears something of his casually. Something vintage that doesn’t look as much as it costs him to get it and it teases at his baser male instinct at seeing her in something of his. He doesn’t want to question it and just tells her she looks good in it as casually as he can manage. (While not managing casually at all.)

[asfodelle]

Hello, hello, here's the first scene of the one-shot I've been writing the last few months. It's about a 'He Tian is involved in the mob and returns occasionally tho feelings never leave' situationship neither can walk out of, Mo is a boxer, there's a touch of religious themes, made myself cry writing it, it's a blast.

1. May 5th 7:12 p.m. - Bell

Before leaving the car, He Tian lets out a long sigh, blowing smoke. He should probably get to praying.

The door snaps shut, echoing in the small street he parked in. Past the intersection he hears kids chatting, going home for dinner maybe. He Tian takes a second to watch himself in the reflection of his tinted windows. He readjusts the collar of his shirt, brushes his pants wrinkled from the long hours of driving, throws his hair backwards and the damp air soon gets him to fold his sleeves up. He doesn’t look so bad, he thinks. Tired. He rubs his face with both hands to bring back some color to his cheeks, then under his eyes as if he could dim the blue tint that’s been settling there, but it doesn’t have very conclusive results. He starts walking.

The entrance of the old warehouse is slightly different from the last time he’s seen it. It looks more welcoming, but it might just be a trick of the light. The peach clouds of the spring evening just paint a nicer ambiance than the grey winter sky did, last January. The gates have been adorned by new tags that have been sprayed on top of the old faded ones and there are flyers encouraging people to join the Sunday mass down the street glued all over, though they don’t reach very high. He Tian imagines a troop of old women roaming the streets, spreading the holy word but his little game of guesswork doesn’t help him relax one bit. 

He gets in front of the door, a smaller entrance within the large sealed gate that used to let trucks in and out of the warehouse. He grips the handle for a second, takes a long inhale and gets in. His eyes slowly adjust to the dimmer lighting but he quickly notes that, contrary to its facade, the inside of the place hasn’t changed much since the last time he saw it. Between high walls of concrete and sheets of metal lie mismatched sets of equipment. Barbells, slick black punching bags, discolored benches of various sorts, a couple old bikes in the back, punch mitts forgotten over a pile of cardboards. A few training boxing rings give shape to the room, the space between them gives the illusion of corridors. The walls are covered in overlapping posters, the grey disrupted by layers on layers of paint and graffitis that even cover the high windows. They let small rays of tinted light in like the stained glass of a church, though the candles are replaced by tens of flickering LEDs lights. There are a few people here and there, busy with dumbbells or talking in their little spot but the room is so wide they can’t be heard. Stairs crawl by the walls leading to more rooms and places He Tian had never been to. Music resonates, low and muffled from a speaker somewhere in a corner.

In the middle of the room stands another ring, a bright red one standing higher than the rest, with white thick cords. When He Tian sees him, he’s sat there, on the side of the wooden platform the red ring rests on. He's listening attentively to a trio of teenagers, leaning backwards on his hands. 

Guan Shan had taken a liking to boxing in high school. A good outlet, he said, one that taught him to measure his emotions. It stuck through the years and he’s been great at it. Then he started giving advice to newcomers, to give some of spare time to help young blood he saw himself in and slowly it transformed into actual lessons and training sessions he holds after work. These kids have been coming here for a couple years now, He Tian remembers them. They are reenacting punches and kicks, arguing and giggling over different combinations and they turn to their coach for approval whenever they get a new idea. He nods along and fixes their posture a couple times, something soft in his eyes. He looks beautiful. Toned and pale as ever, the bare skin of his chest clashes with the black shorts and the tattoos that spangle his body. He Tian stands close to the entrance, leaning cross-armed, his shoulder against a pillar and keeps on watching over him though he struggles to truly appreciate the contrast of colors due to the fifth character in the scene.

A guy he doesn’t know is sitting close to Guan Shan, too close. His hair is an ugly shade of bleached blond and he keeps looking at Guan Shan whenever he speaks with big dumb eyes, mouth agape and enamored. He looks young, but maybe He Tian only feels so much older than his age. He looks stupid.

He Tian hasn’t moved but Guan Shan suddenly lifts his head and catches him right away, as if he’d known all along where he was hiding. The way his eyes widen for a second betray his surprise however but he quickly regains control over his face. It seems like he excuses himself from his little group, the blonde argues something, he wants to follow but he’s brushed away by a dismissing hand.

Guan Shan glances back to He Tian’s shadowy corner and starts moving towards the closed rooms in the back of the building, grabbing a few boxes on the way. He Tian traces behind him with a confident walk and ignores how all of his body stiffens with apprehension, every single muscle a little too tight. Guan Shan enters the room first and He Tian follows a few seconds after. He closes the door behind them. The handle creaks and his hands are sweaty.

It’s not quite messy in here, but the little office room is packed. The desk is covered with stacks of papers, cardboard boxes are neatly piled up in the back of the room; some are already opened and uncover the gloves, the tapes and bandages they hold. The window is open too, letting in the noise of the city. Guan Shan sets the boxes he carried over on top of one of the piles and gets to fumbling in his bag, almost turning his back to the door where He Tian stands.

« Hi. » he tries, and braces himself for what’s coming. 

« You know it’s fucking weird creeping in corners like this? »

He Tian pinches his lips in a thin line.

« Why are you here? » Guan Shan asks then, still busying himself in his bag. He doesn’t sound angry, just a little cold, maybe annoyed at the disturbance.

« I’ve got some business to handle in town. »

« I thought you were abroad until September. » Guan Shan muses, finding the shirt he seemed to be looking after, a large black one. He Tian follows his hands and notices he has splatters of white and red paint over his forearms, his short nails are stained too.

« The schedule is never really steady. » 

Guan Shan scoffs. He Tian know that’s a first warning but he can’t help but focus on the way his muscles jolt, on the way they flex as he flips the shirt over. He tries to not lose his eyes on the curve of his biceps. It’s a struggle. 

« I negotiated a little. » He adds « Took over Cheng’s spot. »

Little negotiations that involved a precarious alliance, three weeks of tailing for intel and a couple of threats. It was worth it.

Carefully, He Tian moves away from the door, closer to Guan Shan. He probably shouldn’t, definitely shouldn’t yet he lifts a hand and reaches out to touch his bare back. Guan Shan freezes.

« I wanted to see you. » he explains, voice low as his knuckles trace the bumps of Guan Shan’s spine. It’s daring. It might earn him a hook but the pull is magnetic.

As their routine dictates, they hadn’t parted in very good terms the last time and for that, coming back to him is always a gamble. A game of Russian roulette even and quite a dangerous version of it; one where he never even knew how many bullets were hidden in the cylinder, each of them taking a different shape. At times He Tian had handled days of scowling looks and a soft kiss that had left him bleeding out, he had received sharp words from petty fights without wincing but just the weight of Guan Shan’s rehearsed indifference could pierce his lungs and leave him breathless. He will take the hits, he does not care. It’s a game they’ve played for years now and as long as the other still accepts to pull the trigger on him, he’d take anything. After all, He Tian is the one who bound the gun to his hand in the first place.

A punch never lands this time. Guan Shan sighs, his shoulders drop then he turns around and throws his arms around He Tian’s neck, knocking the air out of him all the same. He Tian holds back tightly, and finally breathes out, his fingertips digging into hot freckled skin.

« I missed you. » He Tian whispers. What a fucking understatement. 

The arms around his neck tighten in response, only for a brief second before they hear loud noise by the door. Their embrace ends as quick as it started, Guan Shan stepping back and turning to put on the shirt he had discarded a second ago. He glares at the door, expecting it to open at any moment but thankfully, the people outside only pass by. 

« I’m training the kids all evening, and there’s a party at eleven, but I don’t think it’ll stay long. » Guan Shan says when the room has quieted down enough. 

« I’ll pick you up then. »

Guan Shan nods. That should be He Tian’s cue to leave, he has a couple things to settle tonight anyway but the other looks as if he’s pondering over something. He Tian catches how amber eyes roam over his face, for a brief moment they even settle on his mouth, but then return to the door. 

« Get lost. » he tells He Tian, tilting his head towards the door but there’s no bite into it.

When He Tian gets back to the car, his cheeks hurt. In the tinted window, his smile might look shy but it’s wider than it’s been in the last four months.