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#barely beta read
vxnillite · 9 months
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OC OT3 drabble
"Hundreds of years ago, they fell in love, like we did"
a little action x reincarnation au (with a twist) brought to you by Timeless by Taylor Swift because i assigned that song to my partner's OC pair from Avatar (idk if Coda has a tumblr but i will update this with his username if he does)
anywho, meant to be just PragerSpence but my poly heart yearned for just a tiny bit of ot3 (JaPragerSpence) in some form :) i love them dearly and i regret not writing them until now
Phoebe Spence ©️ Coda (@/so.oty on ig)
Prager and Ja ©️ Avatar (not claiming them, tho Coda assigned first names for them and i used them here)
Disclaimer: The Na'vi is called "hostiles" by Prager here. No, I do not believe that they should literally be described with such prejudiced language. I only used it in the parts where it appears because those parts are written from the perspective of an RDA soldier who would, more likely than not, hold such beliefs against the Na'vi. I don't condone using derogatory words such as 'hostiles' to call the Na'vi like the RDA does in the movie. Personally, I don't see them that way either, and I wrote those parts simply to fit Prager's perspective.
Mercs and soldiers ran down the hall towards the hangar, all geared up and ready to head out to battle at a moment's notice. Their heavy footsteps were like thunder to Prager, who was marching off in the opposite direction. 
Ever since Quaritch declared all-out war with the natives, something was boiling deep inside Prager's stomach. It made him queasy, almost lightheaded if he really focused on it. Only something very specific would alleviate the feeling. Prager was walking—running now—to where he knew this something would be.
His gut had been telling him something bad was going to happen. That something was going to happen to her.
More soldiers were piling out of the armoury when he arrived, but he pushed through the crowd, invigorated more so when he sighted the familiar, bright red ponytail he'd been looking for for the past 20 minutes. Prager grabbed the person's arm and whipped her around to face him.
"Oh, geez, Prager, it's just you. What are you doin' here," Spence asked, rightfully confused, "You're supposed to be gearin' up in your AMP!"
Unable to ignore that twisted feeling in his stomach, Prager let the urgency in her voice fly over his head. He answered, "I need to tell you something, Spence."
His grip on her arm was tight. Spence had noticed that much. Normally, she wouldn't take so lightly of Prager acting out of protocol, but the storm brewing in his eyes gave him away. Spence put a reassuring hand on Prager's, and she mustered up a smile, one warm enough despite the circumstances.
"You can tell me after we come back, alright?"
"Please, it's important," he asserted, "I don't think—"
"We'll have time for it over cold beer and dinner." She gave him three pats on the hand. "Now, come on. They need all hands on deck for this one."
There was no getting through with her, he figured. With a sigh, Prager let go of her arm and nodded.
"Alright," he said.
He turned back towards the exit, but Spence grabbed his arm, just like he did, and gave it a squeeze. When he looked back at her, Prager saw her smiling up at him, bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks blurring out everything else in sight.
"I'm curious still, y'know," she said tautly, as if her tongue was itching to say something else. It was—unbeknownst to him. But she never pressed on, just added, "So, don't die on me, 'kay?"
Prager managed a smile even though his stomach just did a flip. "Copy that."
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Prager waited alongside the ground troops, anticipating the natives to come in droves while still tuning in intently to their squad's radio. He communicated almost religiously to his corporal up until the enemy arrived.
The ground troops rained bullets on the few waves of hostiles that charged in on horseback. Prager had to pretend like he wasn't at all fazed as people at either side of him were getting shot down with those pesky arrows. But for every RDA merc that went down, three or four natives fell to the ground. Prager was not about to become complacent though. He kept the trigger, rearing his guns wherever he saw blue coming in from the foliage, from behind the trees.
The natives weren't getting anywhere near them, it seemed. A technologically-powered barrage against their medieval, solo target weapons? It was just common sense.
Against the muted thunder of raining bullets, his comms suddenly crackled. A single, desperate voice came through.
"James—!"
Then Spence's line went dead.
Prager's hand flew to his neck. He pressed down hard on the tiny, metal button, and called out in a single, ragged breath.
"Phoebe!"
But he could not wait for a response. Beside him, Lyle ordered a charge. The ground troops charged.
Prager was a seasoned soldier. He's fought in war zones, and kept his focus sharp as a needle while he did. But the scene before him now was suddenly a blur. A bloody, chaotic blur bombarded by choppers dropping bombs on the battlefield. Meanwhile, his aim was just running wild. He was still hitting the enemy, but those were just blind shots.
Spence called out to him. Her voice screamed his name. Prager wanted nothing more than to turn back, look for where she was. People can survive helicopter crashes, right?
But if she didn't survive…
Prager grounded himself as best as he could, and the battlefield came into crisp focus. In front of him, the enemy was retreating, fleeing deeper into the forest in swathes of blue. These people… Hostiles… They killed Spence and everyone in that chopper with her, along with many of his brothers and sisters at arms.
Prager flexed his fingers, then tightened them. The mechanical arms that mirrored his own were now tightly holding the machine gun in its hands.
Make them pay.
A new wave of shots was fired, one fuelled by white hot rage unparalleled in Prager's entire life. Not when his father hit his mom, not when his brother bailed out on them, not when his mom so flimsily excused the bruises that never afforded young James a good night's rest.
The fight was no longer about the war between the RDA and some alien race. Not for Prager, at least.
When the last of the natives had either fled or dropped dead, finally, Prager stopped. His entire body trembled with aftershocks of his anger that was yet to die down—it was only just simmering for now.
Behind him, the rest of the ground troops had stopped, too. Lyle said something about keeping an eye out for a second wave. The ground started shaking, then more and more so with every passing second.
Prager looked up. All he saw was a swirl of greens, blues, and purples. It was coming right at him.
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A spike of pain covering his entire chest woke James up into a state of shock and panic. He sat up and looked at his hands. Gone were the bizarre, metal things that ran up to his fingers, and all he found was a thin coat of cold sweat. The rest of his body was covered in it, too.
A shrill ringing startled James even more. He whipped to his bedside table and frantically grabbed the phone. The lit up screen read an unusual date.
8:30 AM — August 1, 2052
James opted to turn the alarm off. He only had two seconds to get his wits about him when a groan came from beside him. The sheets that laid and bunched up on the base of his stomach and carried onto an unidentified lump next to him rustled slowly. Then, James saw the red hair.
"Phoebe?"
James watched as an arm stretched out from under the sheets, then pushed it off to reveal his stunning c—fiancée.
"Babe, what's gotten you so startled," she yawned adorably, "Had a nightmare?"
A good 5 seconds after that was spent by Prager just staring at Phoebe. It was just enough time for her to gather her wits about her.
"Is there som—"
James cut her off with a hug, which was more like a squeeze, to be specific. The sick feeling in his stomach, the tight knot in his chest, the constant pulsing in his head… it all faded within seconds as he sank into her embrace and Phoebe pulled him in deeper.
"God, Jamie, you're so shaken up…"
James found his voice soon enough. "Just a nightmare, ma chérie," he answered as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. A huge breath of relief escapes him.
"Well, it sounds like it was awful," she said while rubbing his back. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Instead of answering, James threw at her his own question. "Phoebe, what do you think dreams are?"
Phoebe's hands stopped moving, and they just laid still on the broad of his back. Without pulling away, James knew she had the most adorable pout on her lips. She always did that when she was thinking, no matter how deep in thought she was.
"Well, I read the other day that dreams are, like, snippets of another life. Past or future." Hints of interest lightly laced her tone. She continued, "It's a pretty cool idea. Cooler than dreams just being recycled shit of our everyday life because I've had some weird ass dreams."
James hummed. Then he pulled away. His hands slid down to Phoebe's, and he held them gently.
"Indulge me, then, chérie," he said, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles. He looked into her eyes. "If any of our past and future lives were to intertwine, would we still be together?"
Phoebe's lips cracked into the brightest, warmest smile. She cradled his cheek in one hand, and James leaned in.
With the voice of a gentle spring breeze, she answered, "As long as we keep meeting, I'd pick you in every lifetime, Jamie."
Then she kissed him softly, smiling into his lips. James kissed her back, smiling just the same.
"And I wouldn't waste a second to tell you how much I love you."
Just as James was about to say something to that, the door flew wide open.
"Enough sappy shit, you two," Alexander boomed as he stood in the doorway with nothing but an apron and a proud smirk on his face, "Breakfast is served!"
Phoebe bloomed anew. She pecked James on the lips and raced out the door, but not before sparing her other fiancé an identical kiss.
Both men look on to where Phoebe had run off to. Alexander laughed to himself, then turned to James.
"C'mon, handsome," he grinned, "I made your favourite this time."
James felt like a big warm blanket was just tossed over him. His heart was bathing in that tenderness, and it showed in his smile. He got out of bed, unbothered that he was only in his boxers, and came over to give his fiancé a soft forehead kiss.
"You were twitching a lot in your sleep," Alexander said. "Everything okay?"
James nodded. "Just a little nightmare. I've already forgotten about it."
That was true. For a moment, James truly tried to rack his brain to retrieve any sliver of memory. Yet, there was nothing. Dreams were fleeting, the memory of them even more so. If this one was meant to be forgotten, then James would let it be.
But for just a fraction of a second, he thought to ask his fiancé if the word 'Pandora' meant anything to him.
"Alright, then." Alexander squeezed James' arm reassuringly. "And I've forgotten something, too."
James pushed his initial question to the back of his mind. "Ah, and what might that be," he asked, "Mon chouchou?"
"Extra flour. So if Phoebe finishes your parfaits, we're having boring, buttered toast for breakfast."
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captcassette · 3 months
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davesprite my good friend davesprite
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kkpwnall · 2 years
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wine & dine
or: the quickest way to a man’s heart (and parts beyond)
((edit: now on ao3))
[ @corrodedcoughin laid down a reverse uno card, and i am extremely susceptible to gentle persuasion. i know you asked for headcanons, but apparently i have lots of thoughts about eddie taking a cooking class to wine and dine steve so this one got a bit away from me. anyway, hope you like it, and hope your day got better. ]
“Shit!”
Steve’s steps up the trailer stairs falter when he hears Eddie’s shout. He balances a tray of cupcakes and a bouquet of red daisies in one hand and knocks on the door.
“Fuck!” Eddie shouts again, followed by a loud banging and clanging.
“Eddie?” Steve knocks again. He’s been here often enough since they started dating that he knows he doesn’t have to knock, that he’s welcome to just walk right in. But it’s their date night, and he wants to do this right.
More banging, more clanging, more cursing. Then the alarm starts. That’s enough for Steve.
“Eddie!” He bursts through the door and skids to a stop halfway to the kitchenette. The trailer is full of smoke and Eddie is right in the middle of it, waving a dish towel in front of the screaming smoke detector. Steve drops the cupcakes and the flowers on the small kitchen table and grabs a flaming pan of… something off the burner, moving it to one of the empty burners further back on the range and cutting the gas.
Eddie gives up trying to fan the smoke away, and climbs up on the counter to rip the alarm out of the ceiling instead. Steve grabs his abandoned towel and flings open the kitchen window, fanning the smoke out as Eddie manages to get the thing off the ceiling without bringing the tiles crashing down on their heads.
He rips the batteries out of the back of it and turns to look at Steve, panting like he’s run a marathon. Eddie’s thighs are eye level with Steve, who has to drag his eyes up and away from his favorite gray sweatpants, the ones that always make him a little crazy, past the old sleeveless band shirt cropped above Eddie’s waist, to finally look up at him. Eddie’s curls are spilling loose from the bun he’d tied them up in, framing his flushed face and wild eyes.
“You’re early,” is all he says, looking Steve up and down. He suddenly feels over-dressed, standing there in the middle of the tiny kitchen with his maroon button down securely tucked into his best pressed khakis. He even wore the leather shoes with the little tassels on them.
Steve tugs self-consciously at his shirt and looks around the kitchen. “It’s date night,” he says simply. “Thought I'd see if you needed any help with dinner.”
It looks like Eddie’s used every dish in the house. Twice. He’s crouched on the kitchen counter now, looking like a wild animal that might bolt at any sudden movements. Steve slowly reaches out a hand and tucks some of those stray curls behind Eddie’s ear. “Seems like you’ve got it handled though.”
Eddie sighs and flops down so he’s sitting on the counter. He puts his head in his hands and mumbles, “this isn’t how this was supposed to go.”
“What are you talking about? I’m here, you’re here, you made us…” he looks over at the softly smoldering pan, trying to figure out what exactly Eddie’s been making, “dinner? Sounds like the perfect date night to me.”
Eddie just groans and shakes his head, hiding behind his hands and his hair.
“C’mon, it’s not that bad, it’s only a little burnt. We can still salvage it.” He throws the towel on his shoulder, and unbuttons his cuffs, starts to roll up his sleeves. “What are we having?”
“Beef stroganoff,” Eddie mumbles through his hands.
“If you’re going for medium well, I think it’s done.”
Eddie just groans. “Steve…”
“Hey, hey,” Steve puts his hands on Eddie’s wrists, gently pulling them away from his face.
Eddie looks close to tears. Steve brushes Eddie’s bangs out of his eyes with one hand and cups his cheek with the other. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me, I didn’t know you could cook like this. I thought we were gonna have Macaroni a la Eddie tonight.”
Eddie makes a face, and looks away, mumbling something so quietly, Steve wouldn’t have known he’d said anything if he didn’t see his lips move. Steve dodges down and around, trying to catch Eddie’s gaze again as he plays keep-away with his eyes.
“Didn’t catch that, Eds.”
Eddie sighs dramatically and half shouts, “I’ve been taking a cooking class down at the learning annex!”
“Oh…” that pulls Steve up short. That’s time, that’s effort, that’s… serious.
“The head chef at Enzo’s has a class every Thursday night, and it went fine when I made it there! I don’t know what happened tonight!”
“Well there’s your problem, you’ve got an Italian chef teaching you a German recipe.”
“Pretty sure it’s Russian, dude,” Eddie says with a roll of his eyes. “And it’s not just Italian, she teaches a different recipe every week.”
“Ok so, let’s figure this out. Where’s the recipe?”
Eddie looks around and fishes out a slightly singed, very crumpled piece of paper from under the corner of the cutting board with a half-chopped onion on it. It’s less a recipe and more doodles and half-written thoughts in Eddie’s chicken-scratch. Some of the ingredients don’t even have a measurement next to them, just ‘brandy,’ ‘Worcestershire,’ ‘beef’. Nothing like how Steve bakes, with everything carefully measured out and plotted before he even starts mixing.
It also becomes rapidly apparent that Eddie doesn’t have half the ingredients the recipe calls for, as Eddie directs Steve from his perch on the counter, translating his hieroglyphic scrawl and making substitutions on the fly. But together they manage to cobble together something that might resemble a technical definition of beef stroganoff. It’s got beef at least, all the burnt parts scraped off, and noodles. Steve figures it’s close enough.
Eddie rinses out an old coffee grounds can to put the flowers in while Steve plates their dinner. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve catches Eddie holding the bouquet to his nose, a soft smile on his face.
When they sit down at the scratched and dented and much-loved table, Eddie quickly scarfs down several bites. He chews thoughtfully and makes a face. Steve’s barely got the fork halfway to his mouth when Eddie whisks his plate away and throws the whole thing in the garbage can.
“Hey, I was eating that!”
“No, you’re not,” Eddie says fiercely. “You’re not getting poisoned tonight.”
Steve takes the bite on his fork defiantly and stares Eddie down as he chews. It’s somehow both over-cooked and underdone. He chews and chews and eventually swallows, and does not make a face.
Eddie stares back, hands on his hips, working his jaw back and forth. Steve twirls his fork in the air. “I came hungry tonight. I’ll eat it out of the trash can, don’t tempt me.”
He holds Eddie’s gaze for a beat longer, then he’s up and out of his chair, pivoting around Eddie like he’s on the basketball court. He just manages to stick his fork in the trash can before Eddie jumps on his back.
“At least let me get the plates out of there!”
“No!”
They wrestle for a few minutes, knocking things off the counter, and making a bigger mess than the one Steve walked in on tonight. Eddie grapples for his hands, but Steve’s arms are longer so he gives up and puts his hands over Steve’s eyes, making him stumble backwards into the refrigerator. The cereal boxes on top fall off as Eddie gives a small “ooft” and slides off his back.
Steve whirls around and pins Eddie to the fridge with his hands on his hips. His lips find Eddie’s and he kisses him fiercely, already breathless. Eddie holds out for a moment, just for a beat, then he winds his arms around Steve’s shoulders and sinks his hands into Steve’s hair with a deep sigh. His mouth parts and Steve deepens the kiss, titling his head just so, tongues brushing, hot, desperate, feverish. He drags his hands slowly up Eddie’s waist, toying with the raw edge of his cropped shirt, thumbing over his ribs. Just as slowly, he drags his hands back down, plucking at the waistband of those stupid sweatpants. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips along Eddie’s jaw, down his neck. He drags his tongue over Eddie’s collarbone and scrapes his teeth over the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.
“Why have you been taking cooking classes?” Steve breathes into his neck, trailing his nose back up under his ear.
“Don’t make me say it…” Eddie says with a groan.
“Eddie…” He sinks his teeth into Eddie’s pulse point, and soothes the bite with his tongue.
Eddie growls, he actually growls. Steve feels it rumble from Eddie’s throat under his lips as Eddie gently tugs on his hair in frustration. It sends a thrill of electricity straight down Steve’s spine, making him press closer. “Because I wanted to learn how to make fancy recipes for you! You deserve better than box mac and cheese!”
Steve pulls back, just slightly, just enough to see Eddie’s eyes, just enough so Eddie knows he’s serious.
“I love box mac and cheese. Especially when you cut up the little hotdogs to put in it? With the hot sauce? That’s what makes it Macaroni a la Eddie.”
“You’re Steve Harrington,” Eddie says desperately, “you deserve to be wined and dined. And I—”
“Hey,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s hips in his hands, shaking them gently. “You’re Eddie Munson, if anyone deserves to be wined and dined it’s you. I’ll get dressed up and take you out every night. Candlelight, roses, you name it.” He can’t resist, doesn’t even try to resist, diving back in for another kiss, gently dancing his fingers from Eddie’s hips to his waist, then smoothing them back down. “I’ll hold your hand and shout about it from the rooftops. ‘I’m dating Eddie Munson and we’re more in love than you’ll ever be!’”
“Always a competition with you jocks,” Eddie rolls his eyes and grouches, but his tone is fond.
“It is, and I’m winning.” Steve pecks a kiss on Eddie’s nose.
Eddie catches his lips, draws him back down for another kiss. It’s less frantic but just as heated. Until Steve’s stomach growls and Eddie breaks away laughing.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I came hungry,” Steve laughs, pressing his forehand against Eddie’s.
“Yeah, well… sorry I messed up dinner. I think my cheffing days are over. Glad you like box macaroni, ‘cause that’s all we’re having from here on out.”
“No way,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I just got used to fancy home cooking, I need to taste your other recipes. And you need a sous chef.”
Eddie looks at him skeptically. “Steve, I almost burnt down the trailer tonight, you really want to try that again?”
“Absolutely,” Steve says immediately, kissing him lightly again.
Eddie still doesn’t look convinced though, so Steve says, “let’s make a deal, ok? You can experiment as much as you want in the kitchen, try anything at any time, as long as you let me help. And, if it’s truly inedible, which I do not for a single second believe is possible, I’ll buy us a pizza. Deal?”
Eddie’s eyes flick between both of Steve’s as he thinks it over. He bites his lip and nods. “Deal.”
“Good,” Steve kisses him again, sealing the deal. He pulls Eddie away from the fridge and nudges him towards his bedroom with a wink. “Go get changed, we’ve got a date tonight.”
Eddie laughs, “what, you don’t like the sweatpants?”
“I love the sweatpants,” Steve says with feeling. “Which is why you need to get changed right now. Otherwise I won’t be able to keep my hands off you for the rest of our date.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a cheeky wink of his own.
Steve playfully slaps at his ass and starts looking for the phone book. “The Works?”
“No olives,” Eddie reminds him.
“Extra olives, got it,” Steve says, picking up the phone.
Eddie sticks his tongue out at him, backing away towards his room.
Steve quickly dials the number and fumbles through the order. They’ve got at least thirty minutes before the delivery shows up. If he hurries, maybe he can take those sweatpants off with his teeth.
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guidingthulite · 6 months
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"Akiyama, what is this?"
"Why, I might be a beginner, but to say to my face that you can't even tell what I've drawn...!"
"I do know what this is, what I meant to ask is WHY."
"Ena lent me her tablet, so I wanted to make the most of it by drawing something truly great!"
"Why is Tsukasa wearing a dress?"
"I really wanted to draw one, so I asked him if I could draw him in a wedding dress, and he said yes!"
"Naturally, Akito! A star should look good in anything they wear, and this is no exception! I am quite pleased with the result!"
"Of course you'd say that..."
(CHAPTER 6 OF THIS IS LIKE MY SISTER'S SHOUJO MANGAS BUT WORSE OUT NOW! READ HERE!)
a better look at mizuki's drawing under the cut!
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huskies709 · 24 days
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Been looking at a whole lot of That’s Not My Neighbor lately, and I’ve gotta say: as a horror game, the game is not scary at all.
What is scary, though? The fridge horror of it all.
Just imagine how society must function in this world. You have to match your ID near EXACTLY if you don’t want to get at best held for questioning and at worst ‘cleaned’ by the DDD, and some of these IDs expire 10, 20 years out into the future! Do you even look like your ID within one year of having it?
No dyeing your hair or cutting it, not without warning the DDD or your apartment or your workplace or anywhere else that people might need to be screened for doppelgängers. No nicking yourself while shaving- and if you took your ID photo when clean shaven, you have to do that till god knows how long- and if you do, how do you explain that cut to people? Do you need to have a DNA test done? Have a family member vouch for you? Even if the evidence is accepted by those in power and you are allowed to continue, what of the social stigma? Do people avoid each other when they look differently?
Getting sick, too. Sneezing and coughing can give you a red, irritated nose and a raspy voice- and if the doorman doesn’t trust you then, what do you do? No one would want to be near you, both because they don’t want to feel ill and also because that could mean having no place to sleep or worse.
Speaking of worse. Do you know how many doppelgängers there are? Some nights there are more doppelgängers trying to get into the apartment than there are real people! How does society function at all? Do the doppelgängers have jobs and go to work? Do they know instinctively who other doppelgängers are, or once the area is saturated with them, can they no longer tell? Is this why they don’t attack humans until they are in the safety of their own homes?
Are the apartment buildings the only private, human rich spaces left? How many people are left?
How many humans are left?
And despite all this, people are still having children and going to school and pursuing their passions. Nacha is a teacher- has she seen child doppelgängers get stopped at the front gates of the school before? We know they exist, there are plenty of her child trying to get into their apartment. What does she think about it? Godddd I need a story more to this game so badly. I have so many questions you have no idea
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fragrantpines · 11 months
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Pei Long's kisses are short and sweet. They are sprinkled throughout the day but on days where he cannot give you your daily doses of kisses, he'll give them all back to you on a later date.
He'll hold your face with one hand, stroking your cheek tenderly with his thumb while his other hand rests on your back, pulling you closer and closer until there isn't any distance left between your bodies. If you try to move, his hand will gently push you back towards him until you are practically leaning on his chest. 
"I love you," he whispers softly, as if he were still in a dream. 
When you stand on tiptoes to press a kiss onto his lips, reminding him that this isn't a dream, he looks awestruck for a moment before proceeding to shower a bunch of kisses over your face, devoting a small piece of love into each and every single one in hopes that it would calm down his heartbeat that was beating dangerously fast.
Nothing in this world was enough to prove how much he loved you. So, he can only hope that these small kisses filled with his love will someday fill your heart and remind you that you are always loved no matter where you are. 
Pei Feng's kisses are like a storm, erratic and appear too fast for you to be able to stop. You'll never know where they will appear from until you're suddenly trapped between him and something, whether it be the door, bed, table… it happens so often to the point that you can say with confidence that you've been pushed onto every single surface that can possibly be leaned on in this world.
… At least, that's what you thought until you were suddenly pulled into a nearby closet without notice. 
"Where have you been?" He asks sharply, eyes glaring into yours as if they wished to pin you down at this very place. The closet was so small that it could barely fit the two of your bodies but that didn't seem to stop the man from thinking otherwise as proven from his arms that were placed on both sides of your head, making the already small space become much more cramped than it was before. 
Any excuses fall onto deaf ears. He cuts through all of them mercilessly until he's had enough and shuts you up with a kiss, taking advantage of your surprise to pry open your lips and slip his tongue into your mouth without a moment's notice.
His kisses are long and passionate, never half hearted as though he wishes to devour your entire being, capture your heart and mind until the only thing that you will ever think of is him, him, him. 
There's nothing that you can do to stop his rampage so just let him kiss you as much as he pleases, allow him to clear up the unease in his heart and feel that his love for you is mutual, not just a fantasy that he has created in his head to fill the empty hole in his heart.
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pacinglikeghosts · 2 years
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baby it's halloween (and we can be anything)
ronance | ronancetober challenge | day 1
“What’s it like?” Robin asked as she, Nancy, and Steve walked in a perfectly timed stride towards their doom. Robin wanted to say she was being hyperbolic, or at the very least incredibly over dramatic, but with every step towards the old, dilapidated Creel house, the pit of anxiety that had settled in her stomach since Eddie told the group about what happened to Chrissy grew bigger and more nauseating.
“Monster hunting?” Nancy questioned as her lips quirked up, though her gaze remained steely and focused on the path ahead. “You should know, you’ve done it before.”
Robin shook her head, adjusting the grip on her flashlight. “Shooting a gun,” she clarified. “And I would hardly call what I did at Starcourt ‘monster hunting…’ I barely even remember it, first of all, since between the Russian drugs and the concussions Steve and I got from him smashing the car into Billy Hargrove–”
day one: upside down (or, my take on that scene in the woods from 'the piggyback.')
as always, layout credits to bunivys! and credits to @lionydoorin for creating the challenge!
read it here!
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Chapters: 1/6 Fandom: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Noir, Spider-Man (Comicverse) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jean DeWolfe & Peter Parker Characters: Jean DeWolfe, Peter Benjamin Parker | Spider-Man Noir, Peter Parker
Summary: Jean DeWolfe has seen lots of things within his job. Many mysteries, many disgusting things (Octavius comes to mind), many fights, and certainly rarely anything nice. Somehow, the weirdest thing turns out to be a random Bugle reporter.
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voidartisan · 1 year
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i've gotten just enough notes on some of my posts going "op please write this" (not very many) and just enough unpublished personal fics sitting in my gdocs that i googled how to set up an ao3 account this morning. i haven't done anything yet. but like. i'm considering it.
have i gone insane
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andreafmn · 10 months
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okay, so I'm not planning on posting Bound until I have at least two or three more chapters done. But I just finished the prologue tonight. And I usually share my favorite works with my sister before posting so she can give me feedback and fangirl, but she decided to go to sleep early. But I need someone to read it or I might burst 😅😅
So, idk if there's anyone awake but if you are and want to read the prologue, send me a message and I'll send the link for early access. I fear I truly might burst if I can't talk to someone about it 😬😬
[@fandom-simp-aleksandra @isybella2408 @cinffy23 @second-daughter-of-clexa : tagging y'all cause you commented on my first post]
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orcelito · 1 year
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hmmm
maybe i need to not do this tonight after all
#speculation nation#discacc shit#i am. just stressing myself out with this pressure lol#+ with minimal encouragement atm im just running myself in circles#trying desperately to finish writing. and i am soooo close#but i can just imagine how this will turn out#i push myself too hard to finish this chapter tonight. which it WOULD take a real push to finish it tonight.#bc im officially at 16k words for this chapter. and i am not even done writing.#i stay up far too late to edit. bc that is a Lot of words to edit.#i end up sleep deprived. it's a long chapter so people wont even be able to read it quickly#i can barely sleep anyways bc im too busy waking up every hour to check to see if there are any comments (which there likely wont be.#or at least will be minimal comments. bc as i said it is a long chapter. people cant make it through it quickly)#then i crash tomorrow bc i didnt get the engagement i worked so hard for as quickly as i wanted it#im still without a beta reader bc andi is recovering which means i dont have the safety net / reassurance that beta reading provided me#and ultimately i end up in a shit state tomorrow. unable to even jump into my next bit of writing as ive pressured myself to do.#i can see it fully laid out before me bc this is EXACTLY what has happened the last few chapters. last chapter especially.#i did end up getting pretty good engagement on the last chapter. but it took time. & by then i'd already had an entire crash over it#as much as i want to finish this b4 the 21st i really need to be mindful with myself#i am doing no one any favors by rushing it. least of all myself.#really if youve read this far + youre a discacc reader. i would rly appreciate if u could send me some kind of encouragement#even as little as liking this post would help. tho a reply/ask would b more effective lol#im currently stuck in the sink hole of 'no one cares' so. it'd help to have that proven wrong.#is it annoying that i have no fucking object permanence w/ knowing ppl care about my writing? Absolutely!#but idk im just trying to do my best with a shit brain. any bit of help/reassurance would be appreciated
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cuethe-laughtrack · 2 years
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I know the ‘no beta we die like men’ and variations of that are pretty popular on ao3 but I feel like the real question is where are the people who have beta’s getting them??? Like???? Y’all have friends who like you or something?? Who are into the same fandom stuff as you? Bonkers. Couldn’t be me.
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hiyaluronic · 1 year
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Snippet from PRDT:AU I'm working my way through.
Tommy had known, in some darkened recess of his mind, that Mesogog would return eventually. Hell, he'd been knowingly planning for it since he'd held an unconscious Trent tight in his arms all those years ago in the middle of the ocean while his life's work crumbled into the murky depths around them.
He'd known, and yet...
He couldn't deny that some small part of him had hoped - dreamed - that maybe some higher power would be on his side in all this and Mesogog had perished along with the island.
A quiet cough had him glancing up at Trent to see the kid worrying at the hem of his undershirt, deft fingers picking at a small ruddy colored patch of fabric. Tommy sighed, watching the tiny flakes of darkened red shed in Trent's worrying.
He picked up the small tube of antiseptic from the first aid kit and quickly broke the seal. Trying to and failing to rid the image of Trent bruised and bleeding, pinned under Zeltrax's boot from his mind. His chest still ached from the absolutely terror at the sight.
There'd been a time in his life he would have gone in all bravado and guns blazing to deal with Mesogog and his croonies, his own life an afterthought to the safety of the innocent people depending on him; but, now. He gently brushed Trent's bangs out of the way a soft sorry the only warning before he swiped at the torn and bloodied skin at Trent's hairline.
How the years had changed him.
"So, Mesogog is back?" Trent ground out, hissing against the burn of the antiseptic.
Tommy grabbed a few butterfly bandages and made a soft hum of acknowledgement while applying said bandages. Tommy watched Trent flinch, the teens hands clenching the hem of his shirt tight.
"Mesogog, he... He's the reason Anton's dead, the reason I lost my dad." Tommy swallowed hard at the way Trent's voice cracked, the way the younger man's eyes shone bright in the softly lit interior of the lair. "And, I always thought-always figured, I guess-when the time came I would be able to avenge him."
"Trent," He started, unsure, "I know that-."
"But, the gems bonded with Kira, Ethan, and Conner." Trent continued on, clearing his throat. "So, what do we do now?"
Tommy sighed deeply, "We'll work with them. It's not the first time rangers have been teenagers and I highly doubt it'll be the last."
"They're not trained though! They-!"
"Trent, stop." Tommy said sternly, " I know you had the expectation that when the time came that you would hold one of the gems but I'm not going to lie to you. I'm glad you aren't going to be directly in the middle of this."
"But!"
Tommy held up a hand to stop the argument he knew Trent was gearing up to have. "You're my kid, Trent. And I'm just so damned glad-."
"Tommy? Trent?"
The two turned in time to see Hayley descend the stairs with a silver briefcase held tightly in her hands. "I brought them like you asked, but are you sure?"
Tommy squeezes Trent's shoulder a promise to finish their conversation later before he took the briefcase from Hayley. "Positive the gems wouldn't have bonded with them if they weren't worthy."
With a few clicks, Tommy popped open the briefcase to see three morphers resting innocently within. "Tomorrow starts a new chapter in the Ranger Legacy. Let's hope they're ready."
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caseuoiseau · 1 year
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I've never done NaNoWriMo before, but I'm going to try this year. I have most of an outline for a fic I've been working on since before AO3 existed, I haven't been writing much for the past freaking decade and I'm sick of talking a big game and doing jack squat.
My major hurdles:
1) Did I mention it's been about a decade since I regularly wrote? So I am not exactly in fighting shape. Used to be I could bang out a 5000+ word short story (well, the first draft,, anyway) on a Saturday night with the barest outline. I don't know that I'll be able to consistently pull 2000 words a day.
2) I have never followed ANYTHING NaNo before, I've always been familiar with it in passing. I don't know what the rules are, if any, aside from "finish a 50k word story by the end of November." This is probably only important to me. I like rules.
3) I have never been a particularly active fan in anything, so I sure as hell don't have any kind of community on here for anything, let alone a fandom for a show that ended nearly 10 years ago.
4) Probably the toughest to overcome: I don't technically have anything I can actually type on. I have my work laptop, but I don't think saving fic-in-progress on that is the best idea. I do have a tablet with a bluetooth keyboard, so I suppose I could start this as a Google doc. (I could arguably also use my work laptop to create a Google Doc...but again, I thibk acknowledging anything non-work on work property is not the best idea.)
Anyway. I want a challenge. I want to prove to myself I can still do this. I want to nudge myself into doing this more often. (Well, maybe not 50k words in a month. But writing in general.) So. I'm gonna go for it.
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wizardpigeon · 2 years
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The flight back to The Sunflare felt like a funeral procession;
Paradise has never minded quiet before, they find it peaceful, comforting, familiar, 
There was no needles or tests in the quiet, 
But this is something so completely unlike any other kind of quiet, this quiet feels like staring into a black hole, it is a sucking, gasping, horrible weight on you that leaves you lungs struggling to draw air
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mossy-rot · 2 years
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you ever read a fic so rough that it makes you want to become a beta reader
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