#thirty-first fic

[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

there are many things i think my school district could improve on but i will always be eternally grateful that they left ao3 unblocked. How else could i have created the tender memory of my ap bio teacher letting me into his classroom bc i always got to school stupid early and it was freezing outside so i’d sit at my triangular whiteboard desk at 7:50 in the morning reading a 100k+ highly explicit shuake fic before school even started .

[s-aint-elmo]

throwback to when i first read harrow the ninth and i was convinced that The Body(TM) was not a genuine daily harrow experience but rather a consequence of gideon's erasure. like has harrowhark been having hallucinations of the body locked in the tomb since she was ten or is that just her mind filling in the sounds and sensations of gideon's presence in her life. is harrowhark really in love with the body or is that just her feelings for gideon finding another vessel in her absence. etc. etc. that was fun

[lunarharp]

into the deep end - 29k T orufrey fic.

the sweet oblivion of the victim, the poisoned freedom of the other.

for one moment - it had felt like two parts returned - the needed reunion of two disparate halves. no more secrets, no more pain.

the moment you get to give back what you never wanted to take. that moment, under the night-blooming flowers, when they had both let out the same single broken sigh of relief.

but they were never whole to begin with, were they?

qifrey swore he wouldn't say 'sorry' to this man any more if he could help it - sorry is cheap now. he didn't want to be in a position ever again where you only have 'sorry' left. so he just looks down into the threads of his blanket, strains his eye until it hurts, feeling his insides - his throat, heart and head - burn with pain. he expects more, but olly says nothing.

olly says nothing.

[thebest-medicine]

oops I forgot to make a post the day of (June 23) but it was this blog’s 12th birthday last week!!! omg wtf?!?!?! OLD. ANCIENT. HISTORICAL DOCUMENT. SURVIVING. THRIVING.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Do you write fh (jy) fan fiction? If so is there a way I can read it? Thanks :>

I'll say I am writing fh fanfics! but its currently in my computer and nowhere else. maybe one day I'll get what I'm writing done and somewhere not my computer and I'll let folks know!

[openphrase123]

sometimes i'm just chilling and the anxious teenage version of myself kind of jumps out to react to something mildly annoying in an overblown way and i have to be like. okay. cool. i'm going to be coddling this feeling for a few hours now i guess

[strange-lamp-stranger]

baby's first fic on AO3... and it's about the robits, who else? big thanks to @/kathbunny for letting me use the MR-SN survives AU!

[dandelion-wings]

me plotting out a whump fanfic: I won't write this for a while, I don't even know who's doing the torturing yet

me five minutes later sitting down: if I just write this one scene it's a writing warmup for the rest of my day, right

"We need more light."

All around them, torches and lanterns flare in a surge of Pyro so strong that Jean can feel it rolling over her skin as heat. Kaeya makes a shrill, choked sound and starts to struggle again against Eula's grasp, fighting the sluggishness her Cryo has imposed. In the stronger light, Jean can see that his eye is glassy and glazed and empty of any recognition, that the wound on his neck is even worse than she thought, can see his hand--oh, *Barbatos*--more clearly. And the burns. Diluc makes a sound almost as agonized as Kaeya's.

The way he's moving, though, suggests injury within as well as without. Jean takes a deep breath and touches her Vision, bringing up her elemental sight. Diluc and the torches and lanterns glimmer red, Eula pale, the tub of water off to the side a darker shade. Kaeya's Cryo is dimmer, a sign of how long he's been without a Vision, and so she can focus in on him, look past the glow of his innate element and try to read those that shine within him.

It's a healer's trick, and one she isn't half so good at as Barbara and other dedicated healers, but she can do fairly well on those without a Vision to get in the way. A human body is mostly Hydro, moving in a steady flow. She can see where it's pooled and stilled in Kaeya's body, in his abdomen, his lungs, and his head--there's a crack through the faint Geo lattices of bone, and no doubt more damage if they'd hit him hard enough to both crack his skull and cause a brain bleed.

Anemo swirls in only one lung, far too full of Hydro for that to be merely blood, if he's still conscious; on the other side, most of his ribs are broken. There's a crackle of nerve damage all through him, Electro sparking at each sight. Including at the base of his neck, where the protective lattice of Geo is fractured, a break almost all the way through. If Eula's grip jostles him the wrong way even a little-

"Eula, let go," Jean orders, fear making her voice harsh. She swallows it down. She can't afford it now, in the middle of a mission, when she has to be able to think. She can feel *later*. Right now she has to think.

As soon as Eula lets go, Kaeya staggers backward, eye flicking back and forth between them, still hazy but visibly calculating. He's bracing himself to resist anything else they do. Wrestling him out of here would carry just as much risk of jostling the wrong way and turning that fracture into a full-on break.

Glancing around, Jean sees a bucket sitting beside the tub. She sets aside any thought of what it might be for, here in this ugly little room with its bloodstained table, and picks it up, hurling the water at him with an extra burst of Anemo to Swirl it thoroughly over his battered form. She refuses to flinch when he jerks back, stumbling against the wall. "Freeze him," she tells Eula.

Eula doesn't pause to argue, just makes a sharp gesture, more Cryo spraying through the air to catch in Jean's Swirl and coat Kaeya. Ice forms over him, holding him rigidly in place. Holding his spine rigidly straight, and those ribs, and freezing over the still-bleeding wound in his neck, too. Jean breathes out in relief.

"He has a spinal fracture," she says at Diluc's confused movement, before he can melt the ice away. "This way he can move him safely. Even without his Vision on him, he can resist Cryo long enough to get him out, if we go now."

"There's more coming," one of Eula's knights says from the doorway. "Hansel's signaling at least six."

Diluc steps back from Kaeya and puts his hand to his claymore. "Get him out. I'll handle them."

"Thank you," Jean breathes, and nods to Eula as she sheathes her own claymore and scoops Kaeya up. "I'll guard the fore."

As she turns to the door, Diluc adds, "Go and keep going. Don't expect me to catch up."

"I'll see you later," Jean tells him, both a plea and a warning, and goes.

[displayheartcode]

Favorite Sentence

Thank you for tagging me, @narukoibito!

A little challenge: pick out your favourite sentence that you've written recently. One sentence. No context. Tag some friends.

“You’re the youngest of how many brothers again?”

tagging @gryffindorhealer, @thedistantdusk, @beamwrites, @focusly, @thenicestthingiveseen!

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

WIP guessing game, one or all or some. Whichever you have/choose!!

Hold

Stereo

Sky

Breeze

Wilbur lifts his head. Tommy holds his cup in both hands, staring inside as if it contains the secrets of the universe.

Wilbur feels the chasm inside his chest grow wider.

~~~

Wilbur's eyes widen. The child—a little girl, probably no more than seven years old—is staring at him, in that oddly intense way that little kids often do. Her hair is unbrushed and slightly tangled, falling over her shoulders in messy waves. She has many freckles, and her eyes are very green. She's staring right at him.

Wilbur stares back. He blows out another cloud of smoke.

Finally, the girl takes a breath, rising onto her toes. "Smoking is bad for you."

"Pardon?" Wilbur pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, holding it between his fingers.

"Smoking." She points at his hand. "With a cigarette. It's bad for you."

Wilbur pauses. "I know."

The girl doesn't seem to know what to do with that answer, because she continues staring at him. Wilbur waits a couple seconds before returning the cigarette to his lips.

"My papa died from smoking."

"Oh. I'm... sorry to hear that."

How do you talk to kids? Is this how you talk to kids?

~~~

Nothing for stereo (which is surprising to me)!

~~~

Then, Ghostbur turns towards the ocean, breath catching as a wave crashes into the sand. It’s not quite sunset, but not quite midday either; the sun is up and to the right, plastered against a big blue sky with white and golden clouds. It’s pretty, really.

~~~

The two of them are quiet, and the sound of a breeze fills the air. Wilbur can feel his hair becoming undone and messy, and he hastily attempts to straighten it with his fingers. Niki's shoulder-length hair is blowing around her face and cheeks, but she doesn't try to stop it at all.

[ash-mcj]

hi! for the new prompt list you posted, could you do either 6 or 7 (kisses) with steter? thank youuu <3

A KISS OF RELIEF ♥ (sorry for writing this a over a year later, anon)

"when life gives you a monday, kiss a werewolf (or however the saying goes)" | STETER | A03

Despite half of the pack being reluctantly civil with Peter at best, the entire room seemed to hold a collective breath as Deaton poured the liquid over the deep gashes in his chest and abdomen—where they had literally had to hold his organs in his body as they sped to the clinic in Theo’s truck. Finally, slowly, Peter’s wounds began to stitch themselves back together—and Stiles saw his vision blur with unshed tears before he even registered the urge to cry.

It felt like far too long, but eventually, Peter’s eyes snapped open with strangled gasp—and the pack sagged in relief. If Peter was conscious, he’d be okay. He was a survivor, after all.

“Gods, I hate Mondays,” Peter said hoarsely.

“You bastard,” Stiles chuckled, or maybe sobbed—it was hard to tell.

[or: peter almost dies, stiles is sick of waiting for the right moment, and they share their first kiss in front of the (disgusted) pack]

[potato-on-your-head]

@killianxswan @mccallhero you are so RIGHT

[psychoticwillgraham]

wait. i’ll be 29 in three weeks. FUCK

[reading-writing-dying]

Not me crying over a fanfic

(Again, I do this too often)

[alteredphoenix]

TFW you're writing up your kinktober list but you don't have any specific days in mind for those fics, you're just going to throw them out into the void when it's time.