#its still a WIP but GOD that shading is too good to not share

[of-change-and-carnage]

The guy she tells you not to worry about VS you

#god oc #monster oc #horror oc #godsona #oc #your god creates #its still a WIP but GOD that shading is too good to not share

[abookishdreamer]

WIP Excerpt: Of Flowers & Darkness (Kingdom of Ichor #1)

Here's another completed chapter of my modern Greek myth retelling series!

                A Thousand Years

Hades rolls his neck around, trying to relax his strained muscles as he exits the main building of The Underworld Enterprise. His skull feels like it’s been caved in by a Celestial Bronze hatchet. There was so much paperwork to shift through, so many complaints he had to lend his ears to. Shades of various backgrounds arguing their placement. Didn’t matter one of them was a maniacal murderous sociopath who unleashed their reign of terror on Shimmering Tail Island for a summer or two. 

Hades was genuinely surprised at that particular shade’s reaction on him being sentenced to minimum-wage labor in Tartarus. He thought he was being fair when he gave out the final sentence. The shade became belligerent, actually cursing the King- it was almost amusing. Just almost. 

After that whole debacle, he had to decompress. He found Megaera in the supply closet, smoking a joint, the musky scent of pot and pure black opium instantaneously calming him. He joined in. To say that now, he was on cloud nine, is an understatement.

Taking a long deep breath of the cold still air, Hades finally opens his eyes, seemingly taking in his surroundings. Hypnos is walking across the street, holding hands with Pasithea, looking vomit-inducingly adorable. Megaera is having a relaxed conversation with Charon by his large black SUV. 

Loosening a few buttons of his pressed collared shirt, Hades looks over to his car, and notices a woman standing, with her back to him. He takes in how well the dark blue jeans fit the wearer’s long legs. She turns around- it’s Minthe. With a real actual smile on her face. Her long black hair is pulled away from her face in a high ponytail. He straightens up a bit. Before he can say anything, she pulls him in for a big kiss. Their lips brush against each other for a few seconds before they pull away.

Hades’ cheeks burn hot. “W-what was that for?”

Minthe smiles a bit. “Just wanted to say hi. Or is PDA no longer allowed on company property?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, this is a surprise. You’ve never visited me at work before.”

She kisses him again. “I just thought since we’re both giving this thing of ours a real proper try, I should try to do some things that other girlfriends do- like visit their boyfriends after work and inviting them over for dinner.”

Now, Hades was sure that the joint he shared with Megaera was laced with something a lot more stronger and potent than black opium.

“Is the Winter Solstice already here or did the Mall of Olympius have a storewide sale?”

Minthe punches his arm, still smiling. “No! Asshole!”

Hades chuckles a bit, rubbing his arm. “May I ask, what prompted this?”

“I had a good day! I got over three hundred drachmas in tips then I went to the salon for a silk press afterwards! But, don’t get too excited about dinner. It’s not like I cooked! Gods no! My mom actually brought stuff over!”

“Ah, I see,” he starts to say as he closes the gap between them, “what did she bring?”

Minthe traces the outline of his Adam’s Apple with her fingernail, bringing her lips to his ear. “ Um, fried plantains, oxtail stew, rice and beans… and patitsio.”

Hades’ stomach grumbles at the mention of those mouth watering dishes. It would be a pleasant break from all the fast food he’s been scarfing down. Sure, the gods had more finely tuned digestive systems than the average mortal, but the constant diet of olympian burgers and greasy fries were starting to take its toll. He had his own personal opinions about Minthe’s mother, but she’s a damn good cook!

“That sounds absolutely delicious. I’m ravenous!”

Her hands make their way to his belt buckle as she bites her bottom lip. “I’m ravenous too. I barely ate anything on my lunch break.”

They start kissing again, Hades’ mouth sliding and opening against hers, their tongues hungrily grazing each other.

Who knew the lure of an actual home-cooked meal could be such a turn-on?

Someone clears their throat behind them, and they stop. Hecate is standing there, her arched eyebrows raised.

Minthe rolls her eyes, her signature fake smile returning to her face. “Hey, Katie! How are you?”

Hecate flashes them her glittering pearly whites. “Hey… you! I hate to be the wet blanket, but this is important. Work-related. I need to talk with Hades for a sec.”

“Just wait for me, ok?”

Minthe nods her head, folding her arms across her chest, turning her attention to her phone.

Hades joins Hecate by the company’s entrance doors. “Could you at least make an effort to be a bit more cordial?”

She scoffs, adjusting her dagger shaped earrings. “She knows how much I hate that nickname! Looks like things between you two are thawing out.”

“We’re both trying,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders. “So, what’s up?”

“I found her.”

If that make-out session wasn’t enough to shake him out of his high stupor, then those three simple words did. It takes more than a heartbeat for the realization to set into his bones. 

Hecate. Actually. Found. Her.

“Are you certain?,” Hades asks, lowering his voice.

She nods her head. “In Samos of all places! That’s the last place I would’ve expected personally, but yes. She’s there, flesh and all.”

“What next?”

“If you’re free, she says she’ll meet you at the townside restaurant in twenty minutes.”

Hades’ heart rattles against his ribcage. This was actually happening. After nearly a thousand years, he was finally going to stare in the eyes he looked into during the first four years of his existence.

Blowing out a tight breath, he clenches his jaw. “Tell her I’ll be there in five.”

“Ok. But before you go, you might need this,” Hecate says, handing him a silk hankerchief from her blood red crocodile leather satchel. She points towards his mouth and he wipes it, the residue of Minthe’s deep violet lipstick on his fingertips.

Hot color creeps up Hades’ ears as he makes his way back to Minthe.

“Are you ready to go?”

He sighs, running his fingers through his ponytail. “I wish, but something came up, something very important and I-”

Minthe chuckles bitterly. “Wow! We can’t even have dinner like a normal couple.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hades tries steadying himself. “Minthe, be fair. If I didn’t have to leave now, you know we’d be well on our way, but there’s somewhere I have to be. You have no idea how imperative it is.”

“How is it that everytime she says jump, you jump? But me? I can’t get one night? What about all those changes we said we’re making? What about what you said to me that night?”

Hades reaches to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, well aware of what she’s alluding to. “I meant what I said that night, ok? Please don’t start this shit with Hecate again. We’re employees and friends, that’s it. After I’m done, I could still stop by your place? A late night dinner?”

He could see Minthe’s lower lip tremble slightly as he silently pleads-

Please don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.

She shrugs his hands off and looks up at him, placing her oversized black aviator sunglasses on her face. “The food might be cold, so just forget it. I’m gonna go over to Alecto’s instead. We’ll have dinner whenever.”

And just like that, she walks away, not looking back.

                                              ~

Hades is pacing back and forth in front of the small townside restaurant. Almost three minutes ago, he had teleported himself to the state of Samos. The golden orange-yellow sun peeks from the lazy cover of stark white clouds. A warm breeze blows by, carrying the scents of honeysuckle, mint, and saffron. To his right, he notices a young couple walking past, feeding each other a cup of frozen yogurt.

Gods, they make Hypnos and Pasithea seem almost tolerable.

He’s had many scenarios play out in his head of what it would be like to see her again. There wasn’t much else to do, being trapped in the stomach of a tyrannical bloodthirsty psychopath. Before Poseidon joined him, all Hades had to visit in his mind were those scant but vivid memories of her. No matter how hard he tried to will his consciousness to forget.

Go in. Just go in.

Turning the brass knob of the restaurant’s door, he walks in. The interior gives off a quaint intimate vibe with paneled windows partly covered by thick orange-gold curtains. A collection of small chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the walls are a light cedarwood.

Hades walks up to the hostess stand, a young mortal woman with warm brown skin, her hair in long twists. Out the corner of his eye, he takes a look at his shapeshifted form through the reflection of the kitchen door window. Olive skin. A roundish face with small features. Dark brown eyes instead of his usual amethyst hued ones. Short neat black hair. 

But the outfit, Sweet Gaia! What was Hecate thinking! A floral print linen shirt, tan slacks, and dark brown oxfords. What. The. Actual. Fuck. Hades makes a quick mental note to burn this outfit to ashes as soon as he returns home.

The hostess clears her throat, jogging him back to the present. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m here to meet someone. Reservations for two.”

The hostess stares down at the reservation book. “Name?”

Swallowing down a huge crater-sized lump, he continues. “Christos Michelakis.”

The hostess eyes’ skims through the pages before she quickly checks off the name with a swift swipe of a pen. “The other party is already here. Right this way sir.”

As the hostess leads Hades through the restaurant, he notices the small round tables being covered with ivory and peach colored linen tablecloths. It’s reasonably filled, with people talking and laughing amongst themselves. Silverware and cutlery quietly clinking and the scent of fresh wine, garlic, and butter fills his nose, making his mouth water. The hostess points to a table near the back and with a polite smile, she walks away. 

An older woman sits at the table, a wide brimmed hat obscuring her face. She slowly raises her head and it takes everything in Hades not to teleport himself back to his realm. She’s in her early forties, with the most flawless satin olive skin. Her thick curly dark brown hair falls elegantly to one side down her shoulders. There’s a pair of pearls in her ears and two large diamond rings decorate her pointer and ring fingers. Her short oval shaped nails are painted in a shade of a pomegranate red. The corners of her cat-like brownish green eyes crinkle as her bow shaped lips spread into a shy smile.

“Hades.”

“Mother.”

                                             ~

He abruptly sits down (ignoring Rhea’s outstretched hand), trying to not react outwardly to sitting right across from his mother, in nearly a thousand years. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that she hadn’t changed physically. That she was still so unnaturally beautiful. That even after all this time, he still remembers the beauty mark by the corner of her left eye that disappeared every time she smiled.

“I’m so happy that you tracked me down. I didn’t know you were looking for me!,” Rhea exclaims, removing her hat and setting it beside her wine glass.

Hades clears his throat. “I didn’t look for you. My assistant did.”

“Right! Of course. I just wish to see the actual you, instead of this disguise. I mean, I’m not wearing one.”

“Ah, yes! Because the King of the Underworld stopping by at a small restaurant surely won’t attract any attention. My mistake,” he replies curtly.

Rhea looks down, squishing her lips to the side.

Just then, a waiter walks to them- a male Centaur with pointy facial features in the restaurant’s uniform, a short sleeved light polo shirt with an orange tie. His hooves sound against the tiled floors. “C-can I-I start you two with drinks? Appetizers?”

Hades sucks in a breath. “I’m not eating. Just a glass of blackberry wine, if it’s available.”

Rhea looks up from the laminated menu. “Could I have the tomatokeftedes and another refill, please?” She points to her nearly empty glass of white wine.

With a quick nod the waiter walks away. He quickly returns, fills up their glasses and sets a small plate of steaming hot tomatokeftedes in front of Rhea. Using a small fork, she picks one up and slowly bites into it, before putting the whole thing into her mouth.

Hades stares at her intently while sipping his wine. It was kind of odd at how unassuming and normal she’s behaving. “How’ve you been…. Dealing with things?,” he asks after finishing his glass.

“Oh, right! Things have been good, no complaints. The terms of the bill expired yesterday, so I’m able to be fully out in the open.”

The bill- The Titan Executive Order. He wasn’t there when Zeus drafted it up and presented it to the council. The gist of it was that the Titans, more or less kept a few of their abilities and their immortality remained intact. In return, a few of them (meaning just Rhea) were sent out to serve their term of banishment. A total joke to Hades, if anyone asked him about it.

“How are things in The Realm of Darkness? I must imagine it's different now to how it was during my time!,” Rhea says, taking another deep fried tomato fritter, dipping it into tzatziki sauce before putting it into her mouth.

“Different? It’s dark and cold. Just like it was all those eons ago.”

“Some things had to have changed? I read an article in Modern Olympus about your company, is it? You’ve changed things! I’m proud of you.”

Hades raises his eyebrows. His heart threatens to jump out of his throat.

Is she actually serious?

“Proud of me?,” he repeats incredulously.

“Of you and your brothers! The three of you managed to take your realms into a new century! Just look at how well Olympius is thriving! Just the other day, I went to a local gift shop and I bought figurines of you boys!”

The anger that Hades managed to put away before he walked in, was now simmering in his veins. “Proud of you” is such a default mother thing to say, but she hadn’t been anything close to a  mother to either of them for a thousand years!  Sure, Zeus was a spoiled prick, but he could at least attest that he was not under her influence.

“Were you proud of me when I was freed from that monster’s stomach?,” he asks bluntly, the word father being way too generous to use.

Rhea sucks in her bottom lip, lowering her eyes.

“Were you proud of yourself when you allowed that beast to devour me and Poseidon?”

Still no answer.

Gods, I should’ve gone with Minthe. I managed to stab myself in the foot, yet again.

“That’s what I thought. You can’t be proud. You barely know me.”

“U-uh, the girl who contacted me? She’s your girlfriend?,” she asks instead, completely ignoring his statement.

“Hecate and I work together. She’s my advisor and a good friend as well. She’s been there for me since the beginning.”

Rhea nervously gulps down the rest of her wine. “Oh! My apologies! I saw something on Fatestagram not too long ago. You’re dating a naiad, what’s her name? Mindy?”

“It’s Minthe. You’ve been stalking my Fatestagram profile?”

“How else was I supposed to keep track of you and your brothers?,” she replies, forcing herself to smile. He could see through the easygoing facade. It was breaking down. Fast.

“You’re really not going to take any responsibility for the role you played in this mess?,” Hades asks, leaning closer. “This wasn’t a social call to facilitate some lovelorn mother/son reunion. I could care less how you’re doing considering the way you showed how much you cared all those years ago. I’ll never forget.”

With her glistening eyes, she reaches over, placing her hand on top of his. “Aideonus-”

He quickly snatches his hand away. “DON’T…. You dare call me that name,” he spits out. 

Pulling his hand away, his wine glass falls to the floor, shattering instantly. The table nearby, which sat a young mother and two toddlers, notices, with the young woman shifting a worried glance to Rhea.

She sniffles. “If you don’t want anything to do with me, then I can’t force you. And I can’t change anything else that has happened. Can I just ask one thing of you? Just one?”

“Let me guess, money? Sure it doesn’t hurt, being that your son also doubles as the god of wealth. Need some new accessories?”

 “Of course not! I don’t need your money,” Rhea starts to say as she presses her lips together. “I live a comfortable life. I take care of myself. All I want is for you to persuade your brother to let me see the grandkids.”

Hades’ face goes blank. “I’m sorry?”

“I want to be a part of, or at least involved with the family. Zeus forbade me from contacting any of them. Seeing how you're the oldest, maybe he’ll take it better hearing it from you.”

To his surprise, Hades starts laughing. Laughing so hard that many of the restaurant's patrons swivel their heads to look.“Why on earth do you think I’d help you? And why do you even think it’s plausible for Zeus of all people to listen to me? You’re more foolish than I gave you credit for.”

A single tear falls down Rhea’s cheek as she audibly gasps, the words hitting her like a slap to the face. For a brief moment, there’s a pang of guilt in Hades’ stomach, but he forces it back down.

“It’s not foolish, t-to want the family back together. Poseidon tried but he c-”

“Whoa! What do you mean by “Poseidon tried?,”’ In fact, how would you know anything about him?”

“We talked about it during dinner last week.”

He draws his lower lip between his teeth. “You two are in touch?”

“For about a year or so. I thought he told you.”

All the color from Hades’ shiftshaped face drains completely, recognition taking over his expression. Poseidon’s attendance to the monthly poker games have also been flighty at best. At the games he did attend, he always smelt of cologne, his breath smelling of seafood. The constant texting, Hades assumed it must’ve been a new conquest. 

A dull sharp ache vibrates against his skull and he can feel his skin become clammy. Hades gets up from his seat, his lips drawn back in a snarl.

“Please, don’t go,” Rhea whispers.

“You’re unbelievable. How do you live with yourself?”

With that, he runs to the restroom, bumping into a man leaving one of the stalls.

“Psoli!,” the guy calls out in an annoyed tone.

Hades rushes to the last stall at the end, locking the door behind him. Kneeling over the toilet, he sticks his face in, loudly gagging and heaving, trying to empty the contents of his stomach, with no result.

He heaves and heaves until his throat begins to burn, but nothing ever comes out. Feeling desperate, he sticks his finger at the back of his throat and a watery dark substance leaves his mouth- the blackberry wine. With his breathing still haggard, Hades collapses on the floor, clutching the toilet.

#current wip #wip excerpt #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing community #writing #young adult fiction #young adult fantasy #modern greek mythology #greek myth retellings #hades and persephone #greek mythology

[olivemac]

1300 miles | chapter one | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, Sarge), smut (f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, slight dom!Bucky, praise kink), angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

A/N | It’s my birthday, so to celebrate I’m sharing chapter one of my new WIP. This started its life as a one-shot but then my enneagram 4 brain took over and now it’s looking like it’ll be a multi-chapter short. Enjoy!

Also, feedback – comments, likes, etc. – is always appreciated, my loves.

AO3 link | 1300 miles playlist

_____

The sun is just starting to sink in the sky as Sam and Bucky finish the latest repairs on the boat. Sam has spent the last hour pestering Bucky about things he’s missed over the last 80 years — things he needs to do, shows and movies he needs to watch, music to listen to, places to go. Bucky is considering the consequences of putting his vibranium fist through the new Captain America’s face.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to New Orleans?” Sam half-shouts at Bucky in amusement.

“Sam, besides the airport, when would I have been to New Orleans?” Bucky sighs.

“We’re going. Tonight.” He stands up. “But none of that Bourbon Street bullshit. I know a place,” he says.

_____

The bar is crowded on a Saturday night, but they manage to find a table near the small stage where a band is setting up.

“I’ll get drinks,” Sam says, heading to the bar.

“Sam said he knows the owners?” Bucky asks Sarah.

“Jo and Danny. Yeah,” Sarah says. “Danny served with Sam on his last tour. Real young kid when he served. Took some shrapnel to the chest and face in an RPG explosion and got out early. He and Sam kept in touch.”

Bucky watches Sam talk to a man with a mop of curly, brown hair and an auburn beard behind the bar. From where he sits, Bucky can see a jagged scar peeking out from the top of the man’s beard over his cheek, stopping just below his right eye.

Sam returns with three beers. "Danny says hi," he tells Sarah. "Says he'll come over when he has a free minute."

"Jo around?" Sarah asks.

Sam nods toward the stage. "She's playing tonight. Danny says she's in the office rewriting the set list."

Bucky sips his beer and looks around. When they entered, there was a wave of enthusiasm as people recognized Sam as Captain America, but it seems to have died down and now no one is paying them much attention. Bucky prefers it that way, though he’s happy that people are excited for Sam.

“Speak of the devil,” Sam says, smiling and nodding toward a woman emerging from a door beside the bar marked ‘Employees Only.’ She’s wearing a loose-fitting white tank tucked into light-wash jeans cuffed just above a pair of black combat boots. Her wavy, dark hair fans out behind her as she rushes towards the stage. She's clutching a piece of paper in one hand, and the smile on her face makes Bucky's heart stutter for a moment.

Sam catches the way Bucky is watching Jo as she jumps onto the stage. He elbows Sarah and nods at the lovestruck look on Bucky's face, and they share a smirk. Bucky doesn't notice the exchange. He's too busy studying Jo. Her arms are covered in tattoos, from shoulders to fingers. When she tucks a strand of hair behind her left ear, Bucky can see the row of piercings adorning the curve of her ear. There's a gold ring between her nostrils. Bucky's seen some of the kids in Brooklyn with that piercing, but he doesn't know what it's called. He's seen plenty of women like her since moving back to New York — with tattoos and piercings and dark hair — but there's something about the combination with her green eyes and soft smile that makes his mouth go dry and his palm sweat.

He takes another sip of his beer to ground himself.

Jo picks up an acoustic-electric guitar from its stand, swings the strap over her shoulder, and plugs the guitar into a small amp at her feet. She raises her right hand in the air and sets a count with her fingers — one, two, three, four. The band starts, and Jo strums the guitar, smiling at the crowd. When she steps up to the microphone and opens her mouth, Bucky is surprised at how sweet her voice sounds. He was expecting it to be rougher, but it's gentle and warm, and he likes the way her mouth looks as it forms the words to the song.

Next to him, Sam taps his foot along to the music. Bucky can't remember the last time he saw a band play live. God, he thinks, it was before the war, before everything. He takes another sip of his beer before Sarah hands him a fresh bottle. He hadn't even noticed that she'd left the table and gone to the bar. He smiles and nods his thanks.

Sarah leans over and whispers to Bucky just loud enough for Sam to hear, as well, "You should ask her out after the show."

Bucky grimaces and shakes his head. As he told Yori once, there's a dance to these things, and he's eighty years out of practice. Plus, his last date didn't exactly go as planned.

But he can't stop staring at Jo's painted black nails and tattooed fingers as they move across the guitar strings. LOVE is written across the top knuckles of her right hand, HATE on the left. A series of lines and dots decorate her lower knuckles. There’s a snake curling around her left wrist, its inked head resting on her hand, and several large peonies cover the back of her right hand and up her forearm. Bucky wonders what her tattooed hands would look like wrapped around his cock. He also wonders where else on her body she has tattoos and what that voice would sound like when he's between her thighs. Fuck.

The band transitions into another song, and Jo's eyes land on Bucky. She's used to people staring at her, especially when she's on stage, but she's caught by the way his eyes never leave her, never wander to look at the band's female bassist or to Sarah sitting next to him. She's certain his stare could burn a hole right through her, and she wouldn't even complain. He’s fucking gorgeous.

She knows who he is, of course. She’s seen the recent footage of him with Sam in New York and read the Times article detailing his move from assassin to almost Avenger. Plus, her twin brother, Danny, was a bit of a history nerd as a kid so she’s definitely seen a Captain America documentary that mentioned the Howling Commandos. And they may or may not have hidden a fugitive Captain America and Falcon following the Accords.

Jo tears her eyes away from the super soldier and focuses on the rest of the audience. She can see Danny behind the bar, flirting with the man he's been trying to sleep with for the past two weeks. She catches his eye and smiles her encouragement between lyrics. Get his number! she tries to say with her eyes. Danny's usually pretty good at reading her mind. She doesn't know if it's a brother thing or a twin thing or just a Danny thing, but when he holds up his phone in surrender and smiles back at her, she knows he got the message.

The first half of their set ends with a crash of drums and a long guitar riff. Jo takes a swig from the mason jar full of water she keeps on stage. Her eyes meet Bucky's again as she swallows, and he licks his bottom lip. Heat curls in the pit of her stomach at the thought of what else that tongue could do.

Willow, the band's bassist, steps over and whispers in Jo's ear, “If you don’t fuck him after the show, I’m going to."

When Jo looks at her, she can see the amusement dancing in Willow's eyes. She rolls her own eyes and avoids looking directly at Bucky for the rest of the set.

_____

After the last song, Jo thanks the crowd and helps the rest of the band tidy up the stage, unplugging amps and turning off the mics. She's still trying not to look at Bucky, even though she can feel his eyes on her.

"You have to stop staring, man," Sam whispers to Bucky.

"I'm not staring," Bucky grumbles.

Sarah laughs, "You're definitely staring."

“Here," Sam says, "I'll introduce you." And before Bucky can protest, Sam is waving Jo over. "Josephine," Sam says, hugging her.

"Samuel," she returns, smiling. "Congrats on the new gig." She punches his shoulder lightly. "Better you than that John Walker douchebag," she says. Bucky snorts, and she catches his eye and smirks before turning to Sarah. "Hey, Sarah." They exchange pleasantries while Bucky tries to get his tongue to turn back from lead.

Sam points at Bucky, "This is—"

Bucky stands. "Bucky. Barnes."

Jo smiles and shakes his gloved hand. "Jo. Landry," she says, matching his cadence.

Sam was right. Bucky can't stop staring at her. This close, he can see there's a bit of gold in the green of her eyes and a slight gap between her two front teeth. She smells like sandalwood and citrus and just a little bit like pot.

Jo returns his stare. His five o’clock shadow doesn’t hide the dimple in his chin, and she briefly imagines pressing her lips against it. She’s trying to name the exact shade of blue of his eyes when Sam clears his throat.

She’s not usually so easily flustered by attractive people, but Bucky's blue eyes and chiseled jaw have done a number on her self-control. “Let me grab a drink,” Jo says, turning quickly.

“No need,” Danny says, appearing in front of her and handing her a glass. He leans in and whispers in her ear, “He’s cute.”

“Please fuck off,” Jo hisses in return, widening her eyes at him. She’s only half-serious, and Danny knows it. It’s a twin thing.

When she looks at Bucky again, he’s smirking, and she wonders if enhanced hearing is a super soldier trait. Bucky pulls out the fourth chair at the small table for her to sit, and Jo can't remember the last time someone did that for her.

"The show was great," Sarah says, grabbing Jo's attention.

"Thanks," Jo replies. "Took a while to get back to it after…” she snaps her fingers but doesn’t finish her sentence.

"You were snapped?" Bucky asks.

Jo nods. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"Cheers," she says sarcastically, raising her glass in a toast. She shakes her head again and pushes her hair behind her ear. "Five years just," she holds her hands open, "gone. Danny was still here, holding all this together by himself."

She tucks one leg under the other, and her knee bumps Bucky’s beneath the table. When she moves to pull her knee away from his, he places a gloved hand on her thigh, holding her leg in place.

Bucky surprises even himself with this move. He hasn’t been this forward with a woman since an auburn-haired nurse in Italy during the war. With her, it was all hands and mouths and skin on skin because he was certain he was going to die any day. Now he supposedly has all the time in the world. He just isn’t sure what he wants to do with it.

But in this moment, he's comfortable here, in this tiny bar, with a beer in his hand and Jo's knee pressed against his. He's confident that Sam would never introduce him to someone he couldn't trust.

Bucky's flirted with Sarah, sure, but that was mostly to irritate to Sam. And as much as he doesn't want to admit it, the thought of something happening between himself and Sarah and then ending badly and ruining his relationship with Sam makes his stomach hurt. Pursuing Jo seems safer in that regard. She and Sam are friends, but if — when, he thinks — he ruins things, he can just go back to New York instead of losing his only friend.

Jo asks Sarah about AJ and Cass to distract herself from the butterflies forming in her stomach at Bucky’s touch, and Sam starts a story about the boys' latest interests. Bucky is content to listen to the three of them talk, his eyes barely leaving Jo. When she flicks her gaze over to him every now and then, she doesn't seem phased by his staring, and she hasn't pulled her knee away from where it's softly touching his. After a while, Danny emerges from behind the bar and joins their table, introducing himself to Bucky with a firm handshake.

While Danny and Sam trade updates about people they know, Jo leans towards Bucky and asks, “You want another drink?”

“Sure,” Bucky replies.

Jo doesn’t say anything else, just nods her head toward the bar, stands, and offers Bucky her hand. He takes it, the leather glove of his right hand warm against her palm. He wishes he could feel her skin without the gloves between them. He doesn’t usually wear them around Sam and Sarah and everyone in Delacroix, but he wasn’t sure how the metal arm would be perceived at this bar he’s never been to. Sam told him not to worry about it, but Bucky doesn’t like to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

Jo leads him through the sea of tables to a barstool, then moves behind the bar and grabs him a fresh bottle of the beer he's been drinking all night. "Unless you want something stronger," she says, pausing before she hands it to him.

"This is good," Bucky replies.

She pops the top and hands him the bottle. He takes a sip as he watches her maneuver around the bartender on duty to fix herself another whiskey sour before taking a seat on the barstool next to him.

"Full disclosure; because it's only fair," she says, taking a sip of her drink. "I know who you are, Sergeant Barnes. Not the whole story, but bits and pieces."

Bucky pauses. He searches her eyes for the fear he's expecting but finds none. "And you're okay with that?" he asks.

Jo quirks the corner of her mouth up in a half-smile and says, “If Sam trusts you, I trust you."

“I’m not great with meeting new people, and I was telling myself the same thing about you," Bucky admits, almost sheepishly.

“You know we can never tell Sam about this, right?" Jo says, conspiratorially. "We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Never,” Bucky agrees, and knocks his beer bottle lightly against her glass in understanding.

They talk for a while, just the two of them alone at the end of the bar. Jo asks him how he likes Louisiana ("Hot, but the people are friendly"); where he's staying ("Sarah's"); when he's heading back to New York ("A week from tomorrow"); what he likes to do for fun ("Still figuring that out"); his favorite place ("Wakanda") and favorite book ("The Hobbit"); and a myriad of other questions — some of which Bucky answers easily and some that make him pause. He makes her give her own answers to each one in turn.

Jo leans close to Bucky so she can hear him over the noise of the room, and he takes the opportunity to study her features more closely. He's practically mapped all of her face when her eyes leave his for a brief second and land on Sam, Sarah, and Danny staring at them from the table across the room.

"Don't look now," she whispers, leaning even closer, "But we seem to have an audience."

Bucky makes a big show of looking over his shoulder at the group.

"I said 'don't look!'" Jo laughs and swats casually at his arm.

Bucky takes the opportunity to pin her hand with his own, holding it tightly and licking his bottom lip before smiling at her. He can see the blush paint her cheeks and creep down her neck and chest.

He likes Jo, likes how easy it feels to be around her. He isn't used to that. He isn't used to feeling comfortable with people. Hell, he thinks, I barely feel comfortable with myself. But there's something about Jo that makes him feel safe and calm. Of course, there's attraction there — plenty of it — but he's sure it's more than that.

For her part, Jo is enamored with Bucky. She likes his hard edges and his snark, but she also likes the small glimpses he's given her of the man beneath all of that. She doesn't usually fall for people so easily, but she's found herself drowning in the sea of blues that make up Bucky's eyes, and she doesn't want to be rescued. How fucking cliche, she tells herself.

"We should probably go back over there," Bucky says, squeezing her hand once before releasing it.

They both stand and make their way back to the table. Bucky pulls Jo's chair out for her again, but this time, he makes sure to pull it a little closer to his chair in the process. This doesn't go unnoticed by Sam who smirks at him. Bucky returns the smirk with a thin-lipped smile of his own before scooting even closer to Jo.

Jo finds it hard to focus on the conversation in front of her with Bucky's warm body so close to her own, and she realizes she misses the pleasant feeling of his gloved hand around hers. She places her own hand on his thigh and hopes he gets the hint.

Bucky’s fascinated by even the slightest movements of Jo's tattooed fingers, and when her hand rests on his denim-clad thigh, he thinks the sight alone might kill him. Before he can second-guess himself, he pulls the glove off his right hand and links his own flesh and bone fingers with hers.

Jo doesn't look at Bucky — she's trying not to draw attention to her hand in his lap — but Bucky watches the corner of her mouth quirk upwards into a smile, and he squeezes her hand in response.

The conversation continues a bit longer before Danny leaves the table to check in with his bartender. Jo excuses herself to get another drink, and Bucky watches her pop behind the bar to fill a glass for herself.

"I need to get home, relieve the babysitter," Sarah says when she finishes her beer.

"We're heading out then," Sam says, then turns to Bucky, "You coming?"

Bucky looks toward Jo and says, "No, I'm gonna stick around. I'll get a cab back or get a hotel room in the city."

Sam smirks. "I don't think you're gonna need a hotel room, man."

Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Just promise me you'll use protection," Sam laughs. "We don't need any little super soldiers running around just yet."

Bucky gives him a sarcastic smile, but realizes Sam's probably right, and he definitely doesn't have any condoms in his wallet. He's not planning on sleeping with Jo tonight — he just met her, and he's not sure he's ready for that yet — but if the army taught him anything, it's to be prepared. As if reading his mind, Sam pulls out his wallet and places a condom in Bucky's palm before pulling him in for a hug and clapping him on the back.

"Have fun, man," Sam says.

Sam and Sarah say their goodbyes to Danny and Jo on their way out, and Bucky joins Jo at the bar, sitting on the barstool next to her where they sat earlier.

"Sticking around, soldier?" she asks. She reaches for his dog tags and tugs them gently. The drinks have been strong, and she's feeling more flirtatious than she would otherwise.

"If you don't mind," Bucky replies.

Jo smiles and reaches for his hand this time. "Not at all."

"Are you gonna finish your interrogation of me?" Bucky asks, amusement apparent in his voice.

Jo laughs in return. “I thought I'd read your palm instead," she says, turning his hand over in her own.

Bucky snorts but doesn't pull his hand away. "Is this a trick you use on all the guys?"

"And girls," Jo says, meeting his eyes. Then she studies his hand carefully, running her index finger across the lines that crisscross his palm.

"Your dominant hand," she continues, "determines your future, while your non-dominant hand is tied to your past."

Bucky snorts again at the truth of it all.

"I'm not making this up!" Jo laughs. "I mean, someone did, but I'm not!" She can see the laughter shining in Bucky's eyes, so she goes on, "Your head line is deep, meaning your thinking is clear and focused, but it's also curved downward which indicates a creative spirit and an appetite for literature and fantasy." She looks up at him, "Explains the love for Tolkien."

"I'm not sure I'm buying this," Bucky says.

"You've literally fought aliens, and you're gonna give me a hard time over palm reading," Jo laughs.

"The aliens were real," Bucky deadpans.

"And in New Orleans, palm reading and psychics and crystal balls and voodoo are real," Jo says, still laughing. "But I promise not to read your palm again or read your aura or get out the tarot cards."

Bucky likes the way her slight accent makes New Orleans sound more like Nawlins. He also likes the sound of her laughter and the way her face lights up when she smiles. She's still holding his hand in her own, so he turns his palm over in hers and brings her tattooed knuckles to his lips.

_____

Meanwhile, the bar closes, and Danny and the bartender clean glasses and close up for the night.

Danny points at Jo as he comes around the bar. "I’m locking up then heading upstairs," he says.

"Thanks, love," Jo replies.

Danny walks the bartender out and locks the front door, then retraces his steps to the back of the bar. On his way past Jo, he stops and kisses her on the cheek, saying, "Be good. And set the alarm."

He turns to Bucky. "And you, Sergeant Barnes," he says, pointing at him now, "I know you're an Avenger or whatever, but if you hurt her, I'll kill you."

"Bye, Danny," Jo says, rolling her eyes as he disappears through the door marked 'Employees Only.' "Don't worry about him," Jo says, turning back to Bucky.

“Older brother, right?” Bucky says. He understands; he was an older brother once.

“Twins, actually,” Jo smiles.

Bucky takes a sip of his beer. "Sarah said Danny served with Sam," he says.

"Yeah. Afghanistan. A lifetime ago," Jo says. “He only had one more mission before he could come home so he switched with someone. An RPG barely missed the helicopter he was in, and he was pretty badly injured in the explosion and the resulting crash. Almost lost an eye. He came home, got out of the Air Force, went to business school. Now we own the bar..." She pauses to take the last sip of her drink. "...and the building. Sam's really helped Danny get past everything."

"He's good at that," Bucky says.

"Another thing we can never tell him," Jo laughs.

"Agreed. So, when do I get to ask about your tattoos?" he questions.

"What do you want to know?" she asks.

Bucky licks his bottom lip. "Anything."

He likes her dagger tattoo the best. It’s inked on the inside of her right forearm, nestled amongst the peonies, the hilt facing the crook of her elbow and the knife’s tip pointed toward her wrist. It’s feminine and dangerous and incredibly sexy. She blushes when he tells her how much he likes it. He doesn't tell her it reminds him of one of his favorite knives, currently tucked at the bottom of his backpack back in Sarah's living room.

"In some ways, they're my armor," she explains. "When I'm on stage, people look at the tattoos, not me, and I kind of like that. It lets me be whoever I want to up there."

Bucky understands the desire to hide better than anyone. But she knows who he is so there's really no point in hiding from her any longer. Plus, he feels like his arm is something she would understand, something she could accept — not just because of her brother's military record but because of her own unique body modifications.

He pulls his left glove off and shrugs out of his leather jacket, revealing the vibranium arm beneath his black t-shirt.

Jo takes in the black metal and gold details. "That," she says, pointing to his arm, "is lovely."

"It's lethal," Bucky warns.

She cocks her head to the side and says, "If you're trying to scare me, it won't work, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky can't stop the corner of his lip from pulling up in the slightest hint of a smile.

"Okay,” she says, placing her palms flat on the bar top. “You want another beer?" she asks.

Jo stands and turns to move behind the bar, but Bucky's vibranium hand on her arm stops her. She looks at him curiously, and he slides his arm behind her back and pulls her flush against his chest. She settles between his open thighs, her palms resting gently on top of his legs. He's staring at her so intensely she's convinced he willburn that hole right through her, but she can't bring herself to look away.

He leans in, his lips only a breath away from hers.

"Can I kiss you?" Bucky finally asks, his flesh hand moving up to cup her cheek.

"Please," Jo whispers, desperately.

Bucky closes the distance between them, and his lips meet hers. He's hesitant at first, but when he feels Jo respond, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing even closer, he runs his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opens them for him. She tastes like bourbon and lemon from the whiskey sours she's been drinking, and Bucky loves it. His tongue sweeps along the roof of her mouth, and Jo moans. Bucky is determined to hear that sound again.

He kisses across the corner of her mouth and over her jaw. The hand that was cupping her cheek moves to her hair to angle her head backwards and give him better access to the bare skin of her neck. He laves his tongue over the corded muscles there, then nips at the skin with his teeth. She moans again, and Bucky is on fire.

Jo's right hand weaves into his short hair and tugs until his mouth comes away from her neck. He catches his breath while Jo nuzzles his nose with her own and places a soft kiss against the Cupid's bow of his upper lip. His eyes meet hers, and her pupils are blown wide with lust.

The need to kiss her again is overwhelming. Bucky’s lips find hers, and Jo somehow leans even closer into his body, her hands tracing down his chest to his waist. Bucky lets his own hands move to Jo’s ribs, resting just beneath her chest, his thumbs teasing the underside of each breast. Jo gasps when Bucky’s right thumb moves across her taut nipple.

Fuck, he thinks, I need to slow down. While he’s shared kisses with the handful of women he’s met on dating apps, he hasn’t done anything this intimate in a lifetime.

Bucky pulls away, panting. He rests his forehead against Jo's and stares into her green eyes.

"I should leave," he says. “I’m getting carried away. I…I want to do this right.”

And he does. Desperately. He wants to buy her flowers and take her out and learn what makes her swoon. But he also wants to map every tattoo on her body with his fingers and tongue and then fuck her until she can’t walk straight.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Jo laughs breathily. “We don’t have to do anything, but it’s almost three o'clock in the morning and your ride already left. You can sleep on my couch if you want to be a gentleman.”

Bucky groans. “I should be a gentleman."

She kisses him again, lightly, then moves away to set the alarm and turn the rest of the lights out. She leads him through the 'Employees Only' door and up a set of stairs to her apartment.

"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" Jo asks, as she unlocks the door.

"No," Bucky says. As far as he knows, he's not allergic to anything thanks to the knock-off serum, but he doesn't say that.

Inside her apartment, Jo kicks off her combat boots at the door, and Bucky does the same, leaving them both in their socked feet. There's a fluffy black cat sitting on the back of the green velvet sofa.

"That's Toulouse," Jo says. "Or Louie. He doesn't answer to either, so it really doesn't matter what I call him."

The cat regards Bucky with indifference before standing up, stretching, and leaving the room.

"Guest bathroom’s just there,” she nods. “Let me get you some blankets and pillows for the couch," Jo continues. "Unless you've changed your mind about being a gentleman." She smirks at him.

Bucky laughs through his nose. “Don’t tempt me.”

Jo leaves the room for a moment, which gives Bucky a chance to look around. He's standing in her living room; one wall features a set of French doors that lead to a balcony overlooking the street, and the opposite wall holds bookcases stuffed from floor to ceiling with books, framed photographs, and various knick-knacks. From where he stands, he can see a small room with an upright piano and guitars hanging on the walls. The exterior walls of Jo's apartment are brick, and everything else is set in jewel tones. He likes it. It's dark and cozy, and from what he knows of Jo so far, her living space matches her well.

When she returns, Jo is holding a stack of blankets and pillows. She sets them on the ottoman and moves across the room to close the curtains.

"There are some sweats and a t-shirt there that should fit you" she says, turning to Bucky.

"Thanks," Bucky says, smiling softly.

Now that they're here, in her apartment, Bucky isn't sure what he's supposed to do or say. He can still feel the heat of Jo's lips on his, and he's painfully aware that the condom Sam gave him is still in his pocket.

Jo must sense the hesitation rolling off him because she crosses the room to stand in front of him and takes his hands in hers.

"Get some sleep, Sarge," she says, squeezing his hands in tandem before dropping them.

"Goodnight, Jo," Bucky returns.

_____

Bucky lays on Jo's couch in the dark beneath blankets that smell like laundry detergent. He wishes they smelled like her. He unlocks his phone and looks up the distance between New Orleans and Brooklyn. Just over thirteen hundred miles. He sighs and drops his phone onto the coffee table before closing his eyes and reliving each kiss as he falls asleep.

On the other side of the wall, Jo falls across her bed, deflated. She likes this guy. She wants him — painfully so. But leave it to her to fall for the one guy in her bar who lives half-way across the country.

_____

next chapter

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes romance #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff

[zmwrites]

tag: 20 first lines

I was tagged by @teasenpaiwrites! Thank you!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag others!

I was tagged in a similar game LITERALLY forever ago by @scmalarky PRE-BLOG MOVE, which makes it the oldest tag game sitting my drafts. It came with the following rules:

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten published stories. note if there are any patterns yourself and see if anyone else notices any! tag ten friends!

I put it off bc to date I’ve only published two stories over on Wattpad. So doing the first lines from the last twenty projects is somehow...easier? I suppose? 

I’ll be putting the opening paragraph or so of each piece, and will only be using WIPs that I actually started at the beginning. Anything that doesn’t start at the actual beginning will be skipped.

Anyways, this is going under a cut bc I know it’s going to be ridiculously long. In order of ‘last modified by me’ as per Google Docs:

Remnants

Radka had been a seamstress in a previous life. Trained from childhood on the most delicate stitches, the most intricate embellishments. She had worked for royalty, sewing crystals and spun gold into skirts for the biggest social events of the year. Her steady hand and attention to detail had earned her a job in the palace by fourteen, and a spot on the queen’s personal seamstress team by fifteen. But that was years in the past. The girl she had been then, demure and innocent, wouldn’t recognize the woman she had grown up to be.

Open Seas

Theresia Bowen sat in the back of one of her family carriages, forehead pressed against the window as she watched the countryside fly past. The sky stretched on forever above her, interrupted only by the occasional wispy white clouds, and the spring sun had melted the snow from the hills to her left. The grass was still struggling to grow but was scattered in patches across the mud. To her right, the sea rolled and waved to the horizon. Ships dotted the deep blue, their sails bright and full with wind. Most were trading ships, a few navy, and the smallest of them all were pleasure ships. It was how she knew they were close to her destination.

Indigo Wars

Violet Colby sat cross-legged on her narrow bed in the room she shared with her two sisters at Osbrick Estate. The name was a holdover from the property’s previous life as a stately home, though not much else had carried over. The walled compound was nestled in the eastern sands of Edristan, less than two kilometres west of the capital city, with sun-bleached buildings that housed several dozen orphans and foundlings.

Pine Hollow

It was a miserable Monday morning, with dark, heavy clouds masking the rising sun and a steady rain pounding the town of Pine Hollow and the surrounding area. The dirt trails through the dense forest were slick with mud, the tire ruts becoming puddles and the puddles becoming proper ponds. It was as far from ideal body hunting conditions as possible without snow, but Virginia Crane had a job to do and she wasn’t about to let some adverse weather stop her.

Rochester WIP

The wedding was supposed to begin in five minutes and the bride was nowhere to be found.

Evelyn Rochester, for her part, was not surprised. Her sister Dorothea had claimed a headache a week earlier to get out of a family outing and had been gone by the time they’d returned. A small chest and a collection of her clothing had been gone as well. Their parents had made inquiries to some family friends but no one had seen Dottie, and at twenty-six she was allowed to do as she pleased, so they’d been left to wait to see if she’d return.

Just Jane

Jane rolled over in the narrow bed, pressing her face into the pillow as though it would make it any easier to sleep. Even as she breathed in the warm, sweet scent of the bed owner’s favourite perfume—myrrh, rose, styrax, and marjoram—a new sound made her ears prick to attention.

UNSS Spectre

The spacecraft glided through the void, following its prey silently. It was using its minimum operating power, leaving the two inside to perform their duties without overhead or emergency lighting. Only the glow of their instruments illuminated the interior of the craft. 

“Cloaking device operating as normal,” Ensign Graecyn Ramsey said. She didn’t need to provide verbal updates since Captain Mezei could see everything that she could see and there was no one else aboard the tiny stealth class craft, but it was habit and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Fissures

Katherine Delacroix was seething. It was hard enough trying to get a gaggle of thirteen to eighteen year old girls to focus under normal circumstances but having the #1 most eligible bachelor of the school just hanging out at the back of the auditorium was making it nearly impossible. To make matters worse, the attention paid to the blond was bruising the egos of the boys in the group and she was painfully aware of how desperately the musical needed them not to quit. They already had a female Cogsworth and Le Fou; they didn't have enough girls with deep voices to play Gaston or Lumiere or, god forbid, Beast.

Snapshots

“Are you still looking for a roommate?” Misha asked, voice muffled slightly by whatever she was doing on the opposite end of the phone.

“You mean since you stole my last one? Yes,” Micah replied. He was stuck in traffic on his commute home from work, something his twin sister Misha knew, which was why she’d called when he had no excuse not to talk to her. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to her, he just wasn’t much of a talker.

“You’re gonna have to get over that,” she said.

The Tournament

The coin spun in lazy circles on the table, defying every law of physics. Izora Graham watched it with one hand held in a claw-like position over it. She didn't need to but it made it easier to cover the coin should anyone watch it too closely. The bar was still fairly empty so early in the evening and she was tucked away in the back booth away from the few early birds sitting at the counter, however any displays of magic would bring unwanted attention. Especially something that could be useful to any of the Upper Houses like her telekinesis.

Noyama Contest

Earthens had spread across dozens of galaxies once they’d perfected faster-than-light travel, and hundreds of solar systems within those galaxies. PT-759 was one of the galaxies they’d colonized only to find that it was already inhabited. It had ended up working out alright though, as the native species had radically different planetary needs and also happened to find Earthens downright adorable.

Naetov was a smaller planet at the edge of Federation-controlled space in PT-759. It had a few key cities where government funding was funneled to keep them perfect for non-Earthen tourists. Those cities were clean and friendly, open spaces and carefully maintained flora making up the downtown cores, streamlined designs and shiny surfaces giving the impression of a planet on the cusp of significance.

Gossamer Girl

It was the first day of winter and things were already looking bad. Even though the cold weather had held off for an extra two weeks, the harvest had been poor. A mold had festered in their southern field during the wet spring and had spread quickly. They’d razed the infected sections as soon as the fungus had been discovered but it had already destroyed a large swath of plants. They’d lost nearly a quarter of their usual yield and the troubles had only spiralled from there.

Knotted Strings

The room was just a bit too cold to be comfortable. The walls were wood panelled with some sort of reddish wood that matched the flooring. Rows of chairs with collapsible desks filled most of the lecture hall, with the front of the room dominated by a whiteboard and a table. The professor, hawkish in appearance, was perched on a bar stool facing the students and overlooking the table.

Tess lounged in her seat at the table at the front of the room, notebook open on the table in front of her and pen moving deftly across the page. She watched her competition critically as he spoke. His argument was solid enough to cast reasonable doubt on her case, or it would have been had he bothered to address a small piece of evidence she found to be damning. He finished his conclusion to a spatter of applause and returned to his seat across from her. 

“Well done, Mr. Wynn. Miss Kinney, would you like a few moments to prepare your rebuttal?” the professor asked.

“No, I’m good,” Tess replied. She sat up, scribbled a note in her book, and then pushed the book across the table.

Oh, Ophelia

Alexis lounged in the shade next to the pool, sipping a daiquiri and considering her next move. She’d been using the same identity for nearly fifteen years and the neighbours were starting to get suspicious. With all the new beauty products and surgeries available to people of her wealth it was easier to convince people she was nearing forty when she was in the body of a twenty-three year old, but now she had to deal with people asking for her skincare routines and her doctors and the identity wasn’t worth all of the research she was having to do. She was getting sick of Malibu anyways, what with the yearly forest fires that got closer each year. She missed the deep-rooted history of Europe, the memories she had in all of the major cities, the people like her who were still living in their castles and manors pretending like the world hadn’t left them behind.

Bloodlines

Ten of Wands. The Tower. Two of Swords.

Morrigan Keeling sat on the floor of her bedroom, chewing the end of a pen and staring intently at the tarot cards spread in front of her. It was a simple three card spread to indicate how her day was going to go: a card to describe herself, one to indicate what was going to greet her, and another to show the outcome of the situation. She’d gotten into the habit of doing it every day while living at home, and even five years after moving out she found it a relaxing routine to start the day.

The day’s cards, however, were not very relaxing.

PerDeA

The backseat of the car was dark, only illuminated for short intervals by the orange glow of the streetlights. Two figures sat across from each other in the shifting light. In the backwards-facing seat on the driver’s side was PerDeA. Her dark hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail, lips slightly parted as she stared unblinking out the back window. Shoulders square, back straight, chin up, hands folded neatly in her lap, her breathing perfectly rhythmic; she would have looked human if not for the faintly glowing cybernetic blue rings superimposed over her black eyes.

Westhaven

Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything. There were mechanical sounds ‒ beeping, whirring ‒ all around her, and voices too far away for her to understand. The sharp smell of antiseptic and the softer detergent scent beneath it.

“Initiate optical system,” a muted female voice instructed. Between one breath and the next she started processing visual information: bright white lights above her, the featureless ceiling beyond, her own nose and eyelashes. She couldn’t move her head to see much else. Walls that matched the ceiling so well it was hard to tell where one became the other, bits of the bed she was on with its bleachable white sheets and side rails.

“Increase tactile responsivity by fifty percent and disengage the motion inhibitors.”

Pro Patria Mori

She sat on the narrow bed with her packed suitcase next to her. Her blonde hair was pinned back, her blue eyes fixed on a spot next to the door, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The winter chill clung like burrs to the house, helped by the heavy spring rain that beat against the window in a staccato rhythm. Outside, trees bowed under the charcoal sky. The old house creaked and groaned around her, the wind whistling and wailing as the storm continued to batter the country estate. She waited.

At any moment there would be a knock on the main door of the house. Godfrey, the aged and shuffling butler, would answer. Standing on the other side would be some men in crisp uniforms, holding up her picture and asking if he knew her. She had seen them in town the evening before, and it wouldn’t take more than a day before someone pointed them in the right direction. They looked like military men but there was something different in their manner, something sharper. Godfrey would lead them up, and up, and up, until they reached her third floor apartment. The butler would introduce them, she would smile politely, and she would leave with them without a fight.

The Clocktower

Astra hated Capperham. The way it sprawled its squalor from border to border, from the sea in the west to the battlements in the other three directions. The harbour reeked of dead fish and unwashed human, the slums of sickness and stale beer. Even the neighbourhoods of rich merchants and factory owners lay under the thick smog of black soot the mines and mills spat out day and night. The grit and dirt was part of everything, so deeply ingrained that even the most rigorous scrubbing couldn’t make something clean.

Stars Incline Us

The Christmas gala was in full swing. The entire ballroom was full of people Pippa didn’t know, all wearing fancy clothes that probably cost more than her rent. Her own dress was aubergine and a simple V-neck, form-fitting enough to be attractive but loose enough to not draw too much attention.

She and another girl who didn’t seem to know anyone at the event were chatting with Antero and Mr. Rabinoff near the edge of the dance floor. Antero was already antsy to leave despite the dinner having just ended, but Mr. Rabinoff had trapped him in a debate he was too proud to back down from. The other girl was from legal and either found them hilarious or had had a little too much to drink because she kept giggling, leaving Pippa no choice but to laugh along while adding the occasional remark to the back and forth between the men.

That brings us all the way back to October 2016. Which tells me that I need to start at the beginning of more stories haha. If anyone has questions about any of these, please feel free to ask. Also, if you read all of that, you are a saint and a hero and have my eternal friendship.

I tag @the-writing-avocado​, @radiowrites​, @pigeon-hold​, @sleepyowlwrites​, @akindofmagictoo​, and anyone else who wants to share their projects!! As always, no pressure (to play or to read this whole post lmao).

#tag games #about me

[kissesandcream]

Im not good with making headcannons 😭 and I dont know if this is a headcannon either but I just think this is cute and funny soo I wanted to share I have a feeling If Kaeya have children or have to babysit kids in the Modern time He would be very good with it ESPECIALLY Kids that love Frozen like I can imagine him blasting the "let it go" song while acting like Elsa and make little snowflakes and also I have a feeling he is good at singing the song too also I can see the kid even will somehow succesfully make him use a Dress that that looks like Elsa's dress or actually an Elsa Cosplay dress (Or maybe even dress up in general LIKE THAT MAN PRETTY-) Like Imagine going home to Kaeya in a Dress while singing let it go "Hey guys Im back!~" You say signaling your presence as you put your shoes back where it belongs. You walked deeper into the house that you are now sharing.. or well more to living with your now beloved Husband, Kaeya. Your household can be labelled as quite a Lively one if it were to be compared with Diluc's. "Guys?" you called out again as you the put groceries that you were once holding to where it belongs. Weirdly Quiet is what one can describe if they were to be the one there. The quietness of the house was not something to celebrate rather is something to be concern, and that is exactly what you are feeling right now. The house was to quiet for your liking, because by now your Lover would probably be running downstairs to greet you while carrying your child so they can greet you too- and that is also what you expect everytime you come home and you know you will get it everytime. But right now there was no sign of it, no signs of your lover radiating his fun self that will always make you smile everytime, also no signs of your Loving and Lively child that will always give you comfort. You tried calling out a couple of times again, but the outcome was all the same... No responds. And you were not kidding when you say you start to panic a little as you explore your House and still havent found both of them yet until... You heard faint music in the distant. More specifically at the backyard. You immediately ran towards the backyard that was not that far at where you are at. The Closer you get the more louder and clearer the music and song so as you ran you make up the words to what the song is saying and you know well that the song is very familiar to your ears. Once you reach the backyard door you pause yourself before reaching the door handle to think on what is the worst scenario you will see and experience once you open the door. But you shake it off and took the door handle, pushing it open. And the moment you laid eyes on whats going on at the backyard your eyes Widen to the sight to see the whole backyard tho not much is covered in snow but what make shocked you even more is not that you have to later clean up the whole backyard BUT you are more shocked on the one Who's MAKING the snow.. Your Husband the Love of your life.. Is standing at the middle of your backyard in a DRESS singing Let it Go and your Child is not even concern about whats going on They were having laughing and singing along with their FATHER (which is Kaeya). "Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know-" "Well, now they know!" You cut him of in his singing and You can see him snap his head towards your direction in Shocked and his face was in Horror it was pale- he looked like he just saw a ghost. You cant help but laugh at his expression "LET IT GOO! LET IT GOO!" Your Child sang not minding the fact that they just got exposed and that their dad is in shades of red out of embarrassment. You took out your phone and Kaeya knew what was going to happen. "Wait- Love NO-" Kaeya shouted but was to late because the camera had done is Job. Your look at the picture smiling widely at it. "This will be one to remember.." you said happily as you pat Kaeya's back. But even with all you're teasing and the embarrassment Kaeya feels he smiles because he knew and agrees that it will be a memory to remember and a happy one to. He let

out a defeated sigh and pat your head "Indeed it will be.." "Also... who's dress is that-"

(I dont know what I just wrote but I hope its somehow can cheer you up- or just accompany you when you need company! Its weird but This is what I can do- Hope you enjoy it tho!)

HELP NOYA U WROTE ME A WHOLE FIC WTF

THANK U ITS GORGEOUS AND I LOVE IT 😭

kaeya def owns a bunch of dresses i take no criticism. him in an elsa dress,,,, i wanna draw that now oh my gods

sorry baal wip you'll have to wait ive gotta make way for loml princess kaeya <3 i would make the pic my wallpaper forever and ever pls

its so funny to think of him interacting with kids considering he canonically traumatized all of mondstadt's into believing lanterns were firefly souls 😭 but he can be wholesome if he wants <33

this made me smile tysm noya!! ur the absolute sweetest ilysm!! 💖

#; nymph chatter #noya ; fairy circle #THIS MADE MY DAY THANK U <333

[dallonm-archive]

Hi! I love ur WIP oh revelations revelations, and I was wondering if you could give ur characters physical descriptions?

hi thank you so much!!! not gonna lie i ~suck~ at character descriptions (really I’m just not confident in them) and the ones I do aren’t overtly detailed and feed a lot more into showing their personality combines with appearance. Plus as a reader I will create my own image in my head if I don’t get something from the author lmao. So this will just be some rambles with some picrews and IRL photos (I don’t do official faceclaims and will get into that, but I do use some to help visualise what’s in my head), and also fashion because I love fashion and I love 80s fashion and I have to stop myself from writing 389424 outfit descriptions <3 feat. some barely edited prose!! 

only doing the “main five” (are they truly the only main characters? I have no self control <3) because I lose track of which characters I’ve talked about so this is far from all the cast! And picrew/photo limitations mean these aren’t how exactly they look but it gives you an idea! Also I wrote this out and then lost it t w i c e :) Here are the two picrews I used: x x

Beau

My KING. It’s kinda funny to me because his description comes from the POV of a man who’s going to fall in love with him so whilst it’s not like “oh my god he’s so hot” I feel like you can DEFINITELY tell there’s something there. Beau and Felix aren’t exactly a slow burn couple lmao

Beau mirrors his mother. Same complexion, same smile, the only difference is his eyes are lighter and his curls are wilder, one absentmindedly coiled around his index. He wears a pistachio coloured button up with palm tree prints, oversized. A necklace with a shell charm, a brown beaded bracelet. He still grins at Felix, charmingly, as he continues to ramble about the music. Beau is effortless. He swims in the San Francisco colours.

This picrew captures him pretty well although I wish they had a facial hair option as he does have a bit of stubble

It’s all about the curls! He has a head full of them and they’re my favourite thing about him. This is a good example of where I don’t have a faceclaim but I do have pictures of a model that help visualise what I see: these pictures of Miles Frank were the first that resembled what I saw in my head, but only these two resemble him lmao. He’s not his faceclaim. Again, it’s all about the curls! (and the leather jacket)

He kinda has an athletic build not not overtly? Like he’s not muscular but he used to do a lot of sport as a teenager and he’s 100% the type of person who wakes with the sunrise to go on runs. Cannot relate but good for him! He’s around 5′10/5′11

Style is definitely important for his self expression but he also values comfort over fashion. It’s all about the oversized printed button ups (I found one in a thrift store that looks EXACTLY like the one in the description and I didn’t buy it I’m so mad!!! I failed both Beau and the queer community in that moment). He will wear All The Colours but he especially likes greens and pinks/reds. Leather jacket is a staple when the weather allows it. 

He also loves jewellery, especially bracelets, especially homemade bracelets. 100% makes friendship bracelets.

Dorothy and Felix

I’ll put these two together because they’re not identical but like, they are twins lmao. Life hack: if you hate description for the POV character give them a twin and make them lowkey hate each other so you can ~compare~

Brother and sister. Born minutes apart on a dreary January night that wheezed rain. Bundled in identical bloodstained blankets, porcelain limbs and faces indistinguishable - but as they grow, the mirror their reflections share starts to crack. Dorothy grows taller, then Felix overtakes at 16. Dorothy’s features soften, but she grows a glare that digs deeper than Felix’s ever could. Dorothy aims for the moon; Felix accepts that he’ll never leave. Dorothy maps out a survival plan for the outside world; Felix maps out how he’ll work for the Church. But they still share the cinnamon hair, the freckles peppering their nose and cheeks, the grey-blue irises and heavy eyelids. They grew into different people with the same face made of different stitching, the same blood infected with different sin.

Dorothy is the only one who kinda has a faceclaim but not really? I struggle with faceclaims beyond inspo/resemblance because like I said, I don’t have the most exact image in my head but I am still very picky so I can look at a pic and immediately be like YES or NO lmao. But also, an issue I have is that a lot of faceclaims come from models/actors; I have no issue with pretty characters (I would call mine pretty lmao but it’s never like. a character trait), but there is that element of conventional attractiveness as well as editing/posing/lighting for professionally shot photos. That’s just me personally though, love them for helping visualise ideas! Since Dorothy was really difficult to get an image of, a “faceclaim” really helped. I made her after Felix so her only descriptor was “brown hair like her brother, similar facial features”, until I saw these pictures of Jane Birkin from the 60s. Again, not an official faceclaim (Dorothy isn’t as skinny as her), but that was where I first got an image of her as an individual character and was definitely the foundation. Her hair looks exactly like that!

She doesn’t really wear makeup, it’s not a statement or anything I just don’t think it suits her haha. 100% wears astronomy themed jewellery though

Her favourite colours to wear are red and violet. I’d describe her fashion as quite casual and flowy? She loves blouses, especially ones with floral prints. 100% rocks double denim (we are pro double denim here). I’d say her style is also more 70s inspired than 80s 

She’s 5′9 which makes me 😳

I first made Felix because of a picture of Luke Powell, and I have to laugh because he is SUCH a common faceclaim on Pinterest but also suddenly I was just like ??? NO???? I held onto him as a FC for way too long when they don’t really look alike  

Fluffy hair! Floppy hair! This isn’t canon in the book yet because I’m not sure how to present it beyond a bunch of hair descriptions, but I can see his hair being much shorter whilst he’s still in the cult and then he slowly grows its out (not much longer, just messier and unkept until its like the picrew) - again I have no idea how to show it in prose but I think in a movie/TV Series that’d be a cool way to show passing of time but also him settling into his identity. If he wasn’t a coward he’d grow it to mullet length

He and Beau are similar heights - 5′10/5′11. I love height differences in couples but I don’t think that suits them? They’re more likely to argue over who’s the taller one because the inch or so difference is so subtle they can’t even tell LMAO 

I know this man just has the ugliest fashion taste but like in good way? Like you know when you see a sweater in the store and you’re like that’s so UGLY I need it? 100% owns both of these:

I think he’d wear a lot of yellows/oranges/browns but also blues. Would love a brown corduroy or bomber jacket, or dark/moss green??

Jolie

The way she was LITERALLY meant to be the main antagonist and then I was like wait but she’s hot lol. Jolie is a very interesting character to me - she won’t be in the next update but she’ll be talked about a lot in the one after 👁️ (Not obvious in the excerpt but the idea is Dorothy’s listing the “colours” of Jolie)

High waisted, baggy jeans distressed at the knee; matching denim jacket rolled up to the elbow. Faded blue. Cheap band print shirt. Blondie. Kitchen scissor-cut fringe. Bleached – originally chestnut. Chipped nails. Cherry lacquer. Round glasses with scotch tape around the bridge. Silver. Triangular face, straight nose. Pale. No makeup besides red lips. Whatever the cheapest red shade at the drugstore was in 1984. Combat boots with heels nobody else would travel in, but Jolie would. Leather black. 5’2. She smiles at Dorothy with her teeth. Lipstick stains her incisors.

Jolie’s been the hardest to nail appearance wise and it honestly this picrew is the only thing that visualises what’s in my head. 

At 5′3 she’s the shortest out of these five. She’s plus sized, which is another thing I find a lot of picrews don’t show very well unfortunately

She bleaches her hair just before we meet her in the book, and later on we see her cut her hair into a messy mullet style, before that it was shoulder-length. Would never pay for a haircut because hairdressers cannot give her what she wants

A lot of her style is a blend between masculine and feminine. She has a very complicated relationship with her gender identity which she navigates through her expression but she does embrace some elements of femininity, although to her it’s redefined to suit her perception of it. Her style is very similar to Jamie’s from Bly Manor. I think she’d also be influenced by punk and rock fashion.

She’s a gardener and it shows, definitely the type to tuck a little flower behind her ear. 

Isaias 

No character description for him because I scrapped and am currently rewriting the whole chapter where he’s introduced so :( but I will make sure to include it in the next writing update! I love him, he has such pleasant vibes

There is one picture that is very similar to how I see him, especially because the person in it is wearing a denim jacket and an oversized denim jacket is an Isaias STAPLE. The only problem is the photo is in black and white, also I’d like to see him smile.

I’ve been struggling to nail his hair but the picrew shows it quite well, albeit in a cartoon style. It’s all about the long side part

Besides the denim jacket he wears a lot of turtlenecks when the weather allows it, otherwise he’s a big fan of dress shirts. Loves to wear deep blues and purples. Depending on the weather, he’d also layer up with two jackets over a dress shirt. On the flip side I can see him wearing a pastel coloured blazer as well, like lavender? LOVE that. 

He’s a pretty average height, not short and not very tall. Around 5′8? 

Pretty much always has some kind of bag/backpack with him because he likes to have his notebook on him at All Times. 

I’ll stop myself there because this is getting long! Like I said, I don’t have exact images in my head but I do have well, an image lmao. I do like the idea that people can develop their own image in their head too based on what I’ve described so I hope that was interesting! I’d also love to do some art of these guys so I can show better what I see, but unfortunately my tablet is at my dorm and I’m at home and we are on strict lockdown for the foreseeable future :( someday! 

#Anonymous #revelations revelations #omg i have to change the tag on all the posts ive made #thank god for xkit

[lveclouds]

summary: the moon was a constant presence in your life, and it came in the form of choi youngjae, a gorgeous guy with an equally gorgeous smile, and while your lives were intertwined for a time, he suddenly vanished, leaving you with questions. you felt incomplete without the moon in your life, so when would he come back?

"there's a person i want to sing a love song for, looking at the stars in the night sky." - star 1117 (ateez)

a/n: my got7 drabble that was actually supposed to be posted before the mark one, but i had a sudden burst of inspiration for it, and thus that drabble was written before this oops- anyways, i'm sorry that this was more of an angsty drabble jdkjfjd i didn't plan for it to be that way but it just happened? i guess it was also because i was listening to sad ass music while writing this lmao and yes i have a summary for this too hehe

genre: non idol! au, college/university au (kinda), heavy angst (oops) , some fluff? (its mostly at the beginning) 

word count: 1.6k 

paring: music major youngjae x reader 

your first encounter with youngjae was quite ordinary, to say the least. he showed up late to your music theory class, brown hair messy and windblown, pale cheeks slightly red from the chilly air outside, a small smile on his face. your professor, a middle aged woman with dark hair and a stern expression, seemed to be in better spirits as soon as youngjae walked into the room, the corners of her lips curving into a rare smile. "i'm sorry i'm late, miss, traffic was terrible on the way to campus, and my mom needed help with something, and-" the professor cut him off with a a shake of her head. "no need to apologize, youngjae. just take a seat next to y/n." he nodded, looking a bit shocked that she hadn't scolded him, for your professor was a stickler for being on time, yet she let him off the hook, almost immediately. youngjae practically scrambled to sit in the empty chair next to you, quickly getting out his notebook and a pen, jotting down notes. you hid a smile at how adorable he was, and tried to focus on the lecture. you had seen youngjae around campus a few times, always smiling and cheerful, and you had always wondered if there was more to him, if there was more behind that gorgeous smile of his.

after that day, you had mustered up the courage to talk to him, despite being quite hesitant at first, since you were pretty anti-social and rarely talked to anyone on campus unless you had to. when you approached him after a particularly confusing lecture on the brain, he looked up at you from the book he was reading, gorgeous brown eyes widening in surprise. "h-hi." you said, fidgeting with the hem of your oversized hoodie. "i'm y/n. i've seen you around campus and i've wanted to talk to you, but uh, i guess i was way too shy to initiate a conversation?"

youngjae's face broke out into that gorgeous smile you were so used to seeing, perfect white teeth on display, and your heart nearly melted at the sight. "oh, well, in that case, hi, i'm youngjae. i've also seen you around campus, and i was also nervous to approach you. you're gorgeous and so i wasn't sure if you would want to be seen talking to someone like me."

a light shade of pink settled across his cheekbones, and you fought the urge to smile. "ah, you flatter me, honestly. i'm very much a wallflower, so me initiating a conversation with someone is quite rare." "should i be honored, then?" he teased, eyes twinkling with mirth. you finally allowed yourself a small smile. "i guess so, youngjae." from there, an unlikely friendship started, and over time, it soon blossomed into a relationship that you thought would last, at least, for a while. and, it did. the first few months were amazing and you felt as if you were in a fairy tale of sorts, for youngjae treated you like royalty, always going out of his way to sweep you off your feet with romantic and sweet gestures that always touched your heart. you were falling for him, hook, line, and sinker, and you felt as if you were in a dream-like state whenever you were with him.

little did you know that he would leave you, out of the blue, without even saying goodbye. you remembered the day vividly. it was a warm, sunny day in june, and the sky was void of clouds, an endless expanse of blue. it was ironic, to say the least, he had ripped your heart out on such a beautiful summer day. you were waiting for him at your usual meeting spot, which was under an oak tree at the local park, which had been a location for many of your dates, dressed in a white, flowy blouse and cut off denim shorts, along with your favorite pair of black converse, your hair loose and wavy. you had been in a good mood that day, as you had found out that your older sister was getting married, and you were eager to share the news with youngjae. you leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, humming softly to yourself. eventually, thirty minutes passed, and you were starting to get a bit worried. what if something had happened to him on the way? you thought, and immediately scolded yourself for thinking of such a scenario. then, just as you were about to go into panic mode, you saw a familiar figure running towards you. it was yugyeom, one of youngjae's closest friends, dressed in a light cream sweater, blond hair slightly messy and unruly, a tense expression on his face. "yugyeom? what are you doing here?" you asked, allowing him to catch his breath.  "it's youngjae hyung." "what about him? has something happened?" yugyeom grimaced. "uh, well, i don't think he's going to be able to come to your date today." "oh, well, is everything ok?" "i-i don't know. i went to his house earlier to pick up coco, because he wanted me to watch her, and he wasn't there. his car wasn't in the driveway, so i figured he had already left to meet you. but, when i went to unlock the door, it wasn't locked at all, which is weird, because youngjae hyung always locks the door before he leaves, and when i went into his house, most of his belongings were gone, including coco. everything was gone. it was like he vanished, out of thin air or something. you felt a surge of anger and sadness wash over you. "what? so he just left? without saying goodbye?" yugyeom laughed nervously. "uhm yes?" you took a deep breath, holding back tears. "yugyeom, is it ok if i stay at your place for a while? i don't think i can go home, not after this." "of course, we can drop by and get your stuff if you want." you nodded, forcing yourself to give him a smile. "yes, thank you. and i'm sorry for practically inviting myself over, i just-" yugyeom shook his head. "it's ok y/n. i would do the same if i were you. i wouldn't want to be by myself." you smiled gratefully at him before following him to his car, heart heavy.

that night, you had cried your eyes out, and yugyeom and his best friend, bambam, had pulled you into a hug, rubbing comforting circles on your back as you sobbed. you couldn't believe that youngjae, the one guy you thought you could trust, had up and left, without saying goodbye, nor an explanation. he didn't even leave a note, for gods sake, you thought. months passed, and despite you trying to resent youngjae, you couldn't bring yourself too. he must've had his reasons, you thought. but, how could he leave me without saying anything? and on the day of our anniversary? you had seethed for a while, but eventually got tired of wasting your anger.

and to try and remember him, in a way, every night, you went out on the balcony of the guest room you were staying in, looking up at the obsidian sky, admiring the sparkling stars and the soft glow of the moon, your heart aching. to you, youngjae's presence in your life was like the moon, ever present, glowing, and peaceful. youngjae's smiles resembled that of the sun, and yet he was like the moon, mysterious and beautiful. while he was open with you, he tended to put up a wall around those he didn't know. you were often entranced by him, and when he had serenaded you on your first date, you had felt tears spring to your eyes, as you had felt the emotion and meaning of the sweet and somewhat melancholy lyrics of the song. you sighed as you stared up at the moon, glowing brightly against the dark night sky, illuminating the world in a soft, silver light. while part of you wanted to resent youngjae for leaving you, another part of you still loved him, with all your heart. and so, you would wait for him, no matter how long it took, even if meant waiting years.

a/n: i didn't mean to make it this angsty dfjdjkjfg anyways i hope you all still liked this despite the angst i'm very excited about my upcoming bts drabbles, as one of them is a atla au and another is based off the drama goblin! keep an eye on my wips page, as i will be updating it! thank you to everyone who has supported me and my writing, yall are the best and i do not deserve all of your sweet words and unconditional support 🥺

tagging: @taeramisu​ @yongcherie​ 

#mine #not bts #got7

[chrysalispen]

a very rough bit of sappiness from a WIP i have on the back burner, just so y’all know i’m not dead LMAO

====

Standing frozen before her bedchamber door all but vibrating with anxiety, trying not to grab handfuls of the Doman dressing robe that had been a nameday gift to herself last year, Aurelia found herself wondering what in all the seven hells she was thinking.

While still a student at the Valetudinarium she had attended a bridal shower for a young woman whose mother had been a friend of her aunt's. The majority of the gifts bestowed upon the bride had been of the practical variety, but she recalled in particular one carefully wrapped box passed amidst the flurry of gifts and foods and the nigh-unending flow of Dalmascan merlot. It had come with a knowing wink and a "to be shared with your husband." 

That message had been as cryptic to her as an Allagan hieroglyphic, until the moment the box’s lid had been removed and a chorus of piercing shrieks had erupted in scandalized delight at its contents: a sheer lacy black corset and a matching scrap of fabric that barely qualified as smallclothes.

A maid of seventeen winters not long in the capitol, she had never seen its like before. Her shocked reaction had prompted a fresh wave of laughter and not a few mutters about "rustic sensibilities" as the giggling bride placed the box on the hearth along with the piles of other gifts. She still recalled her own wide-eyed stare and the embarrassed heat in her cheeks, as she'd caught sight of both in the reflection of the mantelpiece mirror.

Over ten years later, peering into a hallway mirror to view the results of painstaking preparation, she felt the same distressing sense of acute self-consciousness. This set covered far more skin than that remembered bridal gift, but the delicate-looking straps of the garter belt supporting her thigh-high silk stockings somehow seemed every bit as salacious as that bare scrap of cloth. They peeked slyly beneath the hem of her robe like a half-revealed secret, no matter how snugly she wrapped it about herself for some semblance of modesty.

She was, if she were entirely honest, about two seconds away from hiding in her closet for the rest of the night.

Oh, for the gods' swiving sake, Laskaris, you can face a bleeding legatus on the battlefield but you can't be seen in some frivolous Thavnarian frippery? Gird your loins - with that ridiculous robe if it please you - and get on with it.

Unclenching her fists, Aurelia quickly opened the door- and paused, lingering small and shy and hesitant at the threshold. Nero still sat in her chair at the writing desk where she kept her journals, awaiting her return. His normally straight and exacting posture was a relaxed forward slouch, the laces of his fine shirt loose and open, chin braced upon his knuckles and his elbow upon the desk's well-worn surface. 

She could follow that characteristically hawkish gaze of his through the gap in the gauzy curtains of her bedroom window to their idle contemplation of the night sky beyond, if she cared to do so. She might have done in truth, were she not so charmed by the look of him in the moonlight, strangely serene and for once quite untroubled by the workings of the world.

A peasant's face, her aunt would have sniffed: its features were what the aristocratic sensibilities of the capitol would call ‘coarse.’ Broad and strong and quite often haggard- although as he sat lost in whatever thoughts held his attention in that moment, the angles and lines of his face were nearly smooth, and the watery light lent an almost dreamlike cast to high cheekbones and strong nose and square jaw. Even his ever-present shadow of a beard seemed lovely to her eyes. It gleamed in soft shades of aurum and auburn upon alabaster, deliberate suggestions of a painter's sponge upon a canvas. 

No matter the time of day, it was a face she privately loved to look upon, especially when he seemed to be happy- or, at the very least, content. She wasn’t all that certain she had ever seen him genuinely happy, and the thought was both saddening and sobering. 

But, she thought, it was accurate. Nero was possessed of a quick mind, a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue. He was also an intensely private man - as secretive about his true self as he was his personal junkets - and so unguarded instances like this one were so few and far between that she had learned to appreciate them. He’d notice her silent perusal quickly enough, of course; he would let fly some witticism or other and she would respond in kind. This soft window would fall shut before her eyes like all the others and perhaps it might resurface at some later date and perhaps it would not. 

It was all very predictable- and probably, Aurelia thought, also for the best. She feared these moments as much as she cherished them, for she was always afforded the briefest glimpses of a man she knew it would be possible to love were he ever to allow it.

And were you ever possessed of sufficient courage to wish for it.

--but tonight was not the night for such somber considerations. She had made a promise, one she intended to keep.

The sound of the falling latch at her back wrested his attention away from the window, and the moon's spell was broken. 

Even so, he nearly returned to his quiet contemplation for all of a brace of seconds before her sigh caused him to snap sharply upright in his seat, startling at her presence in a double take that might have been comical were the entire situation not so nerve-wracking.

She offered an uncertain smile, arms still folded over her chest. "Did I interrupt?"

"Not at all. You were on that call for quite some time." She didn't have to see his smirk to know it was there; she heard it in the teasing note of his voice. He was humoring her, knew she was dancing around some subject or other, simply wasn't sure what or why. "I was half-minded to send a search party."

She was very aware of the thin silk of her robe's hem whispering against flesh, perhaps an ilm or two higher than the lacy tops of the hosiery. The straps on her thighs and the metal clasps that braced her stockings would be visible the moment she stepped into the golden corona of light cast upon the floor by her lamp.

Anxiety nearly overwhelmed her again and she froze in place, uncertain how to proceed.

"I-..." Her mouth felt as dry as the dunes of the Sagolii. "Yes, I suppose I was. I..."

She made her slow approach on near-silent feet, hands clutching at her silk: staring at the floor, at the window, at the wall, anywhere but his face. Above all, she was afraid to see the sardonic amusement that must surely be writ large in his eyes. She knew she could not possibly be the least bit enticing, stammering and sweating mess that she was. She didn't need the reminder.

She drew up short when her shin struck the lip of the chair.

He'd shifted his knees, spreading them apart to allow her space. One of his hands settled over one of her white-knuckled fists where it grasped a handful of silk and curled so tightly into the weave that her fingernails had distended the fabric (a distant part of her mind fretted over it; she'd probably ruined the godsdamned thing).

"....I had something to give you," she began. With a deft touch his fingers wound into the curl of her grip as if it were a piece of malfunctioning machinery and gently divested it of the silk she'd clutched. "It's... it's a surprise, so..."

"Not the robe, I assume."

There it was again, that smile in his voice, the one that put her in mind of a cat playing with a mouse it had caught. She paused, an idea blossoming to life in the back of her mind.

"No, not the robe. It's- actually, can I borrow your hands for a moment-... oh hells." She'd caught the unintentional innuendo a moment too late to take it back, and as if on cue, she saw the white flash of that toothy grin in the heartbeat before Nero began to cackle. "Damn it, no! I meant-"

He was openly laughing now. His hands had dropped to brace her hips, squeezing affectionately through thin silk.

Aurelia was so annoyed at her own clumsiness that she quite forgot her anxiety, and released a loud and irritable sigh, her posture drooping with disappointment like a wilting flower. "This was not my intention, I shall have you know."

"I am quite aware. Were you attempting to seduce me? Gods know I'm flattered, I'm just trying to figure out why the deuce you're acting like a bride on her wedding night." Playfully he tugged at the now quite rumbled panel over one of her breasts. "Are you naked under there or are you hiding contraband? Is that it? Diamonds? The imperial crown? A very small basket of coeurl kittens?"

Hells below, now she was laughing, hard enough to make her legs wobble. The whole mishap was too bloody ridiculous not to find humor in it.

"I'll keep guessing if you don't tell me," he warned. She swatted at his fingers, tried to scowl, ruined the effect by shrieking with laughter when he began to tickle her sides. "Is this some sort of extremely specific roleplay? Am I meant to be punishing you for a smuggling infraction-"

"Smuggling infraction," she chortled, gasping with laughter, "Scaeva, you pillock-"

"Oh, Tribunus, I've been a very naughty girl," he trilled, "perhaps if you would let me go I might show you the kitten in my pocket-"

She took the opportunity to attack his sides, cackled when he yelped and tried to grab her wrists. They mock-wrestled for a handful of moments, until her legs gave out beneath the force of her own mirth. Nero caught her as she pitched forward and buried her face against his chest, howling with the absurdity of it all.

It felt good, cathartic even, and all her low-level terror vanished.

Mutual accord came about when each abandoned their efforts in turn. Aurelia sat upright to see the other Garlean smiling at her, his hair already tousled, still chuckling.

"Contraband," she scoffed aloud. "Honestly, this robe barely covers my arse let alone aught of substance."

Put at her ease and amused by the night's misadventure despite herself, Aurelia paid little heed to the fact of her modest weight seated astride his long legs- until the friction of warm, rough palms skimming over the tops of her stockings served as a sudden reminder. The lower hem of her robe had slipped out of place during their tussle; the Doman silk sat bunched nearly at her waist, leaving her thighs exposed to his perusal.

Deft fingers continued their lazy exploration, pausing just long enough to catch in the garter belt's suspenders and give each ribbon a cheeky little tug, until their owner was bestowed with two generous handfuls of backside, neatly wrapped in soft lace and satin.

He gave a slow and experimental squeeze, and any retort she might have made died upon her lips before it could form.

"Contraband," the one-word observation was delivered with such a deadpan blandness that it would have been simplicity itself to miss the avaricious gleam in his eyes. His smile had turned from playful to wickedly speculative.

A soft laugh, this one ever so slightly tremulous, spilled forth from her throat - not nervousness, but anticipation.

His hands gave her rear another squeeze before retreating: calloused fingers tracing patterns in the lace and dragging against plush smoothness, coming to rest upon the tops of her thighs. She could hear her heart hammering in her ears. His eyes were the color of a clear Coerthan sky, wintry and bright.

"May I?" He leaned forward until he was close enough to rest his head against hers, the soft heat of his breath whispering against her cheekbone. She could feel the slight indent in her skin: his third eye pressed carefully against the smooth ridge of her brow. It was a gesture as intimate as any kiss. At length, she was able to whisper: “I was rather hoping you would.”

#chrysalispen writes #just some sappy shit with idiots in denial

[embroideried]

ok. here’s an excerpt from what will probably be toward the beginning of the second chapter of my wx kidfic :) modern au. this is at an american city botanical gardens. wwx is a single dad but he has a good relationship w ayuans mom :p

everyone thank @blushingkatya for tagging me in a wip sharing thing! i wont tag anyone but if ur inspired to share some wips bc of this...........pls tag me :)

And even though it was the Chinese festival that introduced his family to Gusulan in the first place, Wei Wuxian still hadn’t realized that they would be performing there. Not until he called Mianmian to make sure she was okay with having A-Yuan on Saturday.

That turned the festival into something to actually look forward to. It forced him to scramble to his boss last minute to make sure he was assigned to the area the performances would be — but it was okay. It all worked out. And he was happy to be there to see his son play with all the other little Lans, but he couldn’t say that was his only motivation. The honorable Hanguang Jun would be there with the rest of the instructors. But this time, he would be performing. He was going to get to see Lan Wangji play the guqin without having to spy at him from the waiting room.

He was stationed there as a human directory, but nothing could stop him from watching the show. Not even his friend asking him what the shortest route to the restrooms was from here. Not while his little boy was tooting along on his flute with all the other beginner-level students.

“I don’t even know why I had them schedule you with me,” Wei Wuxian said as soon as he could tell the visitors had walked off. He kept his eyes on A-Yuan.

Nie Huaisang let out a whine that made Wei Wuxian turn around — just to shoot a glare.

“Look, I don’t either! You know I wanted to be in the gift shop!” His whiny voice got louder as he approached, then dropped to a harsh whisper as he peeped over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “I don’t know anything about this fucking place!”

Wei Wuxian felt a rapid gust of air begin to blow the piece of hair lying on his cheek. He peeked over his shoulder to see Nie Huaisang fanning himself.

“Dude, where did you get that?”

Wei Wuxian reached behind him and plucked it right out of his hands. He started to fan himself just as the kids finished their last song. The crowd on the grass started clapping, their cheers rather quiet. Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang both started whooping and yelling for A-Yuan from the back. A handful of people turned around to see what all the noise was about, most with a smile on their face. Mianmian and her friends were some of them. Once they shut their mouths, Nie Huaisang snatched his fan back. Lan Qiren stepped up to the microphone to make some kind of announcement. The pair decided that was their cue to keep talking like a bunch of troublemakers mumbling in the back of the classroom.

“Which one is your boyfriend again?” Nie Huaisang asked, eyes squinted as he peered toward the stage. The lower half of his face was now obscured by his fan.

“Not my boyfriend,” Wei Wuxian defended. Nie Huaisang gave a sharp look from behind his fan. “He’s the one on the right with the low bun.”

Lan Wangji was standing alone on the edge of the stage, watching as his brother wrangled a group of about twelve children by himself. Wei Wuxian felt a giggle bubbling up in his chest. No wonder he let his brother teach the beginners. He couldn’t help but wonder what Lan Wangji was actually like with kids. There was something awkward about his stare, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself when he was around them, but it wasn’t hateful. But A-Yuan thinks he’s cool. Maybe that’s enough.

“God, I wish people still dressed like that,” Nie Huaisang lamented, eyeing Lan Wangji’s hanfu. This outfit was different from the one he had worn at the recital. It was a similar shade of blue than the last, but it had sheer white detailing that could be seen even from this distance. There was also some gold threading that glinted in the sunlight as he shifted his position. He looked gorgeous.

“They asked us to wear those if we had them for A-Yuan’s last recital. Zixuan thought it was a good idea, so I had to spend like a hundred dollars so I could match everyone.”

Nie Huaisang scoffed.

“Had to?”

“Yes, had to,” Wei Wuxian sneered. His friend giggled behind his fan. “I was gonna look like I was wearing a Mulan costume from Party City if I didn’t.”

“But you’d be a cute Mulan!”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes and focused his attention back to the stage.

Lan Xichen was back. The two brothers were now taking their positions at their instruments. Lan Xichen opted to continue standing with his flute, but his brother had no choice but to sit. Wei Wuxian understood that it was his job to play the guqin and teach those skills to other people, but seeing him onstage was so...formal. In a way, it was even more exciting than spying on him alone in a practice room. Here, Wei Wuxian was meant to be listening. He had permission.

And he was good. Like, as good as Wei Wuxian really understood. He could actually be shit compared to the world’s top guqin player, but he was pretty sure Lan Wangji held that title. He wasn’t interested in hearing what anyone else sounded like.

“You think you can handle a guy that classy?” Nie Huaisang mumbled toward his friend. Wei Wuxian didn’t react. He bumped him with his shoulder, his grin growing behind his fan. “Are you enchanted, sir?”

Wei Wuxian chuckled and bumped Nie Huaisang back with his elbow. He might have been transfixed, but he heard him. And maybe he had a point. What if Lan Wangji was too serious for him? He had to be rich, too — no way his family owned a building like that and didn’t have money. When Wei Wuxian had talked to him before, he seemed fine. Maybe not <i>nice</i> like his brother, but he was polite. He didn’t get mad at him when he made more obviously flirty comments that one time, but A-Yuan and Xichen walked in on them. He was too polite to rebuff him in front of them.

Just as the song reached its climax, one of their walkies crackled to life. Wei Wuxian smacked the shit out of his belt until he realized that Nie Huaisang had picked up his own. He shot a smirk at him before walking off a couple feet to respond to whoever was calling over to their station. He may know next to nothing about the layout of the gardens, but you could rely on Nie Huaisang in a pinch.

And after a few more minutes, the performance was over. The crowd cheered louder and longer for the brothers than anyone else onstage that day. Funny, considering how much of the audience was the friends and family of the students. Wei Wuxian clapped, staring off toward the stage in a bit of a daze. His friend returned without so much as a sound. Then, Nie Huaisang clapped his fan shut with a nice, loud <i>ffffwp</i>! Wei Wuxian jumped halfway out of his skin.

Nie Huaisang pointed the end of his fan right off the slope of the other’s nose.

“I’ll give you like fifteen minutes tops to run backstage and get him before they leave.”

Wei Wuxian blinked

“Huh?”

“Run back there and see what he’s doing tonight, or I’ll tell Cassie you that you were harassing visitors again.”

He wasn’t kidding. Nie Huaisang has used the wrath of their manager against him for some of the pettiest things — and it always worked. Wei Wuxian pursed his lips and started to walk off from his station as calmly as he could manage, but Nie Huaisang saw that half-jog down the hill.

#i know once this actually Gets Posted half of this will change but. tehe #:)(Xc thats nhs holding his fan

[peachyteabuck]

fashión (bucky barnes x reader)

Summary: At one of your best friend’s drag shows, Bucky catches your eye. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the dance pop blaring through the bar’s speakers, but for some reason you’re feeling a little more daring than usual.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 2,536

Trigger Warnings: Blowjobs, shitty flirting, people are drunk and do sex things

Notes/Other: This was done for @propertyofpoeandbucky ‘s mystery writing challenge!! My prompt was “You’re my best friend. How could I put anyone before you?” and has been bolded within the fic! Also, I feel like this is the total opposite of what I’ve written recent but when I got this prompt I knew this wip was perfect for it. 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Dating has always been hard for you. Friends and family have always tried to set you up on dates - as has Tindr - but nothing seemed to stick. No one ever seemed to do the trick.

“C’mon, babe…” your friend coos to you. You’re in a dressing room at some fast-fashion establishment, the wide and tall mirror forcing you to stare back at yourself. The too-bright lights burn your eyes, the top radio hits from last year only depress you, and the smell of weed and regret radiating from your skin is making you want a sandwich. “Listen, I know you don’t want to do this-”

Your sigh cuts her off. “Then why are you making me?”

She steps over to you, readjusting the floral jacket before speaking. As you look in the mirror you realize actually kind of…like it. Which is weird. “Because I know better than you, you’re a shut-in, and every moment you’re not being ravished by a muscular hot dude physically kills me.”

God, her brazen personality always catches you off guard. That’s probably why she’s the performer and you just sit alone in the basement of your shared home - sewing and eating and writing all day.

In the end, you don’t buy the jacket. Lucy ends up taking you to her favorite thrift shop and you pick up a deep blue faux-fur coat and some velvet heels in the same shade. Boujie? Maybe. But it’s something you feel confident in, so you don’t grumble too much when you see the total.

You both get to the club early so she can get ready, focus on turning her face into the inside of an elementary schooler’s pencil case – one young enough to understand that there’s never such thing as too much stationary (or too much color) but young enough to constantly be losing caps. As she steps into the threshold of the famous bar, Lucy’s met with jeers from janitors and bartenders and sound techs alike – all people ecstatic to see their favorite person like a dog left alone during a long work day. As she greets them with the same overjoyed smiles, you slip past the jolly merriment to the dressing room in the back of the building – her outfit bag and make up suitcase in your hands, her shoes and wig in your hefty backpack. Despite the outfit you’d picked out earlier you’re donning the same outfit you’d been wearing since the techie days of middle school – black jeans, black t-shirt one size too big, and all black sneakers. All the better to blend in.

Three hours later Lucy has officially turned into Boudoir Z, her drag persona and the username for her long-abandoned Neopets account. The club is packed with people, almost as tight as her dress is with her pads, and some old Kesha song thumps the floor to its beat.

“Are you ready?” you ask, double checking her hands for any loose nails.

She grins as wide as she does right before every show, eyes bright and sparkling like a child on Christmas. “Hell yeah.”

As her intro song starts you scurry away to find your way to the bar, hoping to grab something strong before the show really starts. You don’t really like attending your friend’s (or anyone’s) drag shows, they’re loud and crowded and normally that’s your definition of Hell. Sometimes, though, you can muster up the energy. For whatever reason, today seems to be one of those days. Or nights.

Whatever. Time is an illusion.

The first few beats of the song are long, edited for artificial pauses to build excitement in the crowd. You know the version of Lady Gaga’s Applause well, so it throws your entire brain through a loop when someone pumps into you when you try and grab your rum and coke.

“Sorry,” the guy hisses, immediately moving to make sure he didn’t spill any of his wine cooler on you. You’re about to brush him off, thinking he’s just another guy trying to cop a feel while the main attraction distracts from any protective butches within eye shot. But when you notice he’s carefully avoiding your chest – and pulling away when he notices the lack of dampness on your sternum – you allow yourself to give him a half glance at the brick wall of a man in front of you.

God, you’re so ashamed you noticed that. You’re also ashamed to notice his thick thighs, massive arms, silver hand with black lining, his perfectly mused brown-black hair, and beautiful scruff.

“H-hi,” you stutter, deep exhale one close to dramatic women in movies when they think they’ve seen God. Good luck ladies, I’ve already found him – he’s in the shadiest gay bar in NYC. you think as he shyly smiles at you with cheeks you want to shove between your thighs and lips you want attached to your-

“I’m so sorry,” he tells you, checking again to make sure he didn’t turn your shirt into a bar tap. “I got distracted by-“

You sigh. Of course, he was looking at Lucy. “It’s fine, really, I promise.”

In a brief pause between songs, you two lock eyes. Grey-green ones meet your own and fuck, he’s so dreamy.

“I’m,” he seems hesitant to introduce himself. “Bucky. Name’s Bucky.”

You murmur your own name while looking him up and down again. Black combat boots perfectly shined, black jeans tight enough to rival your own, and black hoodie thick enough for winter in Upstate Main.

“Aren’t you hot?” you blurt, alcohol loosening your brain’s tight grip on your thoughts.

The man, Bucky, shrugs. “I run pretty cold.”

Another few moments of silence dialogue between you two - and judging by his set jaw and the hungry look in his eyes he’s thinking the same thing you are.

But, if you’re anything besides an introverted stylist, seamstress, and occasional therapist for the person up on the stage…it’s a tease.

You lean towards Bucky’s ear, music starting up again. “Wanna come join me close to the stage?”

He smiles, picking his drink back up. “Sure thing.”

Lucy, as always, is dressed to impress. Or scare small children.

Either way one perceives her, she’s killing it.

The large, sheer nightgown’s puffed sleeves make the look even more dramatic. The black contrasts extremely nicely with her large platinum blonde hair, and combined with her large, maroon lips and thick, pointed eyeliner - it’s a nice reminder that drag is both an art and something weird as hell. Watching your best friend to what they love and truly one of the best experiences of your life.

The pair of you are off stage left, Lucy on the other side grinding on some speakers. As some Nicki Minaj song plays, you can feel Bucky bounce to the beat behind you. He’s got a surprising amount of rhythm, and as your hips sync his body presses closer and closer to your own. It doesn’t take long, maybe half a chorus for it to turn into full-on grinding, your ass pressed into his crotch so hard you’re worried he’s going to be bruised when he wakes up tomorrow.

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, though, nipping at the outer shell of your ear with his lips pressed into the tender skin.

“You do this kind of thing often?” he asks, already deep voice now at a low growl.

You shake your head, moving to take another sip of your drink before answering. “Not really, but Lucy is my best friend so sometimes I get dragged,” you snort a little at your unintentional pun. “To shows and stuff.”

Bucky snickers a little. “That’s totally not what I was asking about, but you also don’t seem like the person who’d be friends with Boudoir Z.”

Your cheeks immediately heat hotter than the Equator as you attempt to backpedal. After a few seconds of stammering, though, the liquid courage surging through your veins comes to a head. “Can I suck your dick?”

You turn to face the man behind you, who seems just as surprised at your inquiry as you are. Still, with his eyebrows raised to his hairlines and his eyes wide, he agrees. “Fuck yeah, lead the way.”

The bathrooms here are surprisingly clean, even if the lock of the door doesn’t quite work. But, judging by the second Pink song of the night, you’ve got awhile before the masses become unoccupied and their bladders realize how much alcohol they’ve consumed.

He shoves you against the tiled wall, lips plush and a stark contrast to his scratchy beard. You want it between your thighs, you sigh into his mouth and a wave of heat rolls through your center. But that’ll have to wait for another time.

Locating his zipper as you kiss him is hard, but not impossible, and soon you’re able to free his cock from its painful confines. Bucky gasps at the rush of cold air, a sound that turns into a deep moan when you wrap an eager hand around him. Maybe some other time, some other night when you’re not fueled purely by endorphins, caffeine, and several glasses of bottom-shelf alcohol, you’d do some foreplay, maybe some dirty talk.

Now, though, your mouth waters at the sign of his hard length, and before Bucky can even get a good grip on your hair you’re spitting on him before taking him as far as your throat permits. He moans deep and guttural, jaw going slack and head leaning against the wall. One of his hands feels cool on your head and it’s nearly sobering, how the freezing material feels against the fire dancing across your skin. You’d question the (seemingly) nonhuman appendage, but the progressive soaking of your underwear and his cursing brings your focus to a pinpoint.

Every single one of his “oh fuck”s and “oh baby that feels so good”s drive you to take him harder, faster, and all too soon Bucky’s getting the message and fucking into your throat. Spit falls from your jaw to between your knees, some slick reminder of how gross this is. That only pushes you, though, to wrap a hand around his base with the other massaging his balls.

“Fuck I’m gonna come,” he moans, eyes rolling to the back of his head as both hands wrap around him. “Gonna fucking come down your throat, fuck.”

Fuck yes he is, you think, shoving him back down your throat one last time before the grip on your scalp gets impossibly tight and his thrusts suddenly still and his lets out the deepest, most erotic noise you’ve ever heard in your entire fucking life. The salty taste of him rolls down your tongue and down your throat, his whole body tense as he shoots his load into your mouth.

The second he releases your hair you fall back against the sink, air you’re gulping tainted with the taste of Bucky’s cum. He seems stunned, a little out of it, but still offers to reciprocate. It’s then you realize that Patti LaBelle is playing, and if you’re remembering the song correctly, you’ve got thirty seconds to be backstage and ready to help your best friend get de-dragged.

“Fuck, I gotta go,” you hiss, splashing cold water on your face and trying to calm your ragged breaths. Just before you can open the bathroom door, though, Bucky stops you.

“Wait, just,” he huffs, digging in his pockets for something. Quickly he produces a phone, and he hands it you with the “new contact screen” on it. “Please, give me your number.”

It’s obvious he’s the stronger of both of you, so you slam your fingers on the cracked screen to string together your phone number. It seems the man’s satisfied, because he releases the ajar door from your grip and lets you flee backstage. Lucy comes off just in time for you to meet her, ready with make up wipes and chapstick. Instead of taking both from you, though, she brushes past you to grab at a bottle of water – a surefire sign she’s not done.

You begin to protest, knowing she’s too drunk to lip sync to choral music, let alone her traditional encore playlist. But she waves you off.

“I’m just going to meet some people at the bar take some pics,” Lucy downs the entire 32 ounces of water in record time, barely getting any lipstick on the mouth of the thing. “Don’t worry, just…I don’t know,” she rolls her eyes at her own inability to speak. “Go kill a Westboro Baptist Church member or something, alright? Just…” she hiccups and starts to lean to the right, but adjusts herself before you can do anything. You steady her with a hand on her shoulder, and she lowers her face to yours and juts her lower lip out to pout. “Just wait up for me, okay. I don’t think I can find my way home alone.”

Before you can respond she pushes past you and into the screaming crowd, her shouts and shrieks almost as loud. A quick scan of the dimly-lit bar reveals no Bucky, and without his number you’re stuck putting her reveals back together and unused the unused supplies.

At the end of the night you meet Lucy back where you left her – only this time in black leggings and a purple NARAL shirt shirt three-sizes too big. As she wipes away at the thick cosmetic mask with a dirty make up wipe, your eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“I saw you with some guy tonight,” a smirk paints her lips as heat paints your cheeks. “Did anything happen?”

You bite at your bottom lip, hoping she won’t press further. Luckily, she remains covert, just giving you a once over before speaking again.

“Are you gonna run off with him and abandon me to do all my drag shit by myself?” She asks. Lucy’s tone is playful, but you can tell there’s a hint of seriousness to it.

You shake your head, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear and tucking your hands into your jean pockets. “C’mon, you know I’d never do that. You’re my best friend. How could I put anyone before you?”

Lucy turns around and smiles, perfectly white teeth especially pearly surrounded by the smudged deep purple lipstick and thick, black eyeshadow, a misplaced lash, and what looks to be a twenty-dollar bill stuck behind her ear due to excess wig glue. “Good, because there’s no way I could do Boudoir Z without you.”

Silence settles over both of you as she wipes off the rest of her make up (and pulls out the cash stuck in her hair and to her neck). The only sounds are her throwing loose powders and eye shadow into her make up suitcase and, soon, your phone vibrating in your back pocket. On the screen flashes a text from an unknown number, Bucky you think, and then another right after.

wanna see you again

when are you free

You smile at the screen, giddy like a middle schooler being asked out by her crush. “Hey, Luce…” you wait until she’s facing you to continue. “When’s your next show?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #lanis2ndmysteriouswritingchallenge #like idk what came over me but... #im not ashamed and refuse to be #lukis writes stuff #i finished this in less than an afternoon #like i wrote 2k so quick wtf

[talesofpanem]

A New Path

Author: @butrfac14

Rating: T eventually 

No trigger warnings

Summary: This is a sneak peek at a new WIP I’m writing based on prompts I received from @javistg and @567inpanem. This is an in- Panem A/U story and I’m predicting friends to more with a strong chance of a slow-burn!

It’s only mid morning, but the summer sun beats down on the dusty pathway that runs through the Merchant square. We’re in the middle of a drought in the district and the day is getting warmer by the minute. I can feel the sweat gathering at my hairline and pause in my steps, adjusting the game bag across my shoulder before taking a handkerchief out to swipe at the accumulated moisture. 

I got a decent haul from the woods this morning, so my bag is heavy and drags across my hip as I walk. In the summer it’s important to get into the woods at or before sunrise- the animals are less active once the heat of the day sets in. When it’s hot the little ground creatures all take off for the shade that thick patches of grass offer them, and the squirrels tend to stay in the treetops. Even the larger predators know that once midday hits they are better off to conserve their energy and lay low until the cooler evening comes.

I crossed paths with Rory and Vick Hawthorne at the edge of the woods while they were coming in to check the snare line. 

My run-ins with them are nothing out of the ordinary at this point, checking the snares has been their job for the last several years. Once Gale went into the mines there was no time for him to check them during the week, so the two of us trained his brothers on how to work the snares themselves. It was important for them to learn how they should remove the animals in a way that would preserve the meat and hide. We showed them how to reset the snares and make minor repairs when necessary, and in a pinch I let them know that they could track me down and ask for my help. Fortunately Rory and Vick caught on to the task quickly, both seeming to have a natural affinity for trapping animals just like their older brother.  

As for Gale, I see little of my old hunting partner these days. Sundays are his only time away from the mines and he no longer spends them with me. 

Gale asked me to marry him the day after his last reaping, and I told him no. 

No explanations, no apologies. 

Just no.

Being Gale he went on wasting his breath, trying to convince me that we could make it work. He reminded me of what good partners we were. He told me that he loved me, that there was no other girl for him.

Yet the only response I gave him was my one-word refusal, followed by silence. Why should he expect anything different? He knew how I felt. Hadn’t we just talked about it that morning in the woods, our one place of freedom in this god-forsaken district? 

Gale knew I didn’t want children, and he knew as well as I did that marriage in 12 guaranteed just that.  I couldn’t understand why he’d want to bring anyone else into this world when the odds were already stacked against us. There was no life in 12, only survival. 

Say you get married and have a family- even if one of your children aren’t lost to the reaping, there are still going to be too many mouths to feed and not enough of anything to go around. Not only food or shelter but the other necessities like love or attention. Even in a small family there was always the risk of losing one or both parents in the mines, just like Gale and I had lost our own fathers seven years ago. 

I might as well have lost both parents then, because my mother refused to take care of us. She took to her bed and stared at the wall for months on end. I was eleven, and too young to sign up for tesera. I tried to make things last but our meagre possessions dwindled down to nothing until we almost starved to death. 

We would have starved to death if it hadn’t been for one person and his kindness, the likes of which had no business existing in a place like District 12.  

He saved not only my life but Prim’s and my mother’s as well. And I never managed to thank him. The only thanks he ever got was a bruised face from his mother.

But that’s in the past, it’s too late to do anything about it now. I’ve never once spoken with him, not even in casual conversation when we were children. And now he’s grown and I wouldn’t know how to begin to thank him.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Why am I thinking about Peeta Mellark today?

What was I thinking of before?

Oh, right. Gale. 

The day that Gale proposed to me was a true picture of the way we’d always been together, and yet another reason why I couldn’t see myself marrying him. He ranted just like always, while I stayed quiet. But my silence that day wasn’t enough for him, and so we parted ways and have had little to do with each other since. 

This morning Vick told me that Gale is engaged to Hyacinth McGuire. She was a year ahead of me in school, a typical Seam girl: dark, slim with greenish-grey eyes and the same black hair that most of its residents share. Quiet, but I wouldn’t say she’s cold or standoffish. 

Those are the words that Gale used to describe me on our last day together.

The news of my former friend’s approaching marriage leaves me with a strange hollowness in my chest. It’s an ache that I can’t name. I can’t call it jealousy because I never wanted Gale like that. 

All I know is that the news has left me feeling out of sorts as I make my way through the Merchant square.

#tales of panem #talesofpanem #week 4 #voyage #butrfac14 #submission

[zwritestuff]

Collateral Effects [Scyvie WIP]

Brief Summary: Yvie gives Scarlet chemistry tutories after class. Lesbian/High School AU.

Word Count: 4047 (though I’m not posting all of it).

“Can you stop doing that?” Yvie groaned, suddenly snapping. Scarlet cocked a brow in her direction, with the pen still stuck in her mouth.

“What? This?” she inquired with a muffled voice, going back to chew her pen. Yvie rolled her eyes, exasperated, and Scarlet smirked. Her favorite thing to do was make Yvie mad.

“Whatever, not my problem if you can’t get these exercises done on your next test,” she bit back. Scarlet immediately shut up and straightened her pose.

This had been their routine for the past month; meeting at the school library twice a week so Yvie could give Scarlet a hand on chemistry, and Scarlet doing all but pay attention.

If it wasn’t because the chemistry teacher had personally asked Yvie to give Scarlet some classes, she’d have never accepted to do it. Her and Scarlet weren’t in the best terms, and Yvie wasn’t sure why, but there was just this unspoken rivalry between them since ninth grade.

Scarlet, despite being a cheerleader and looking like a walking stereotype, was pretty smart, and always achieved the highest grades among her classmates. Or, that was until ninth grade, when Yvie got transferred from The Boulet Sisters Academy, and had the “fortune” to share every class with Scarlet.

And just like that, Scarlet was no longer the teacher’s pet and the student on top of her class; Yvie was determined to give her competition, it seemed, and Scarlet did not like that at all.

Now they were seniors, and their rivalry was still there, but there was something different this time; Scarlet had sprained her left foot during a cheer practice and missed class for two weeks. Although she was caught up with most of the subjects, chemistry wasn’t her strongest suit. Contrary to what she expected, missing two weeks of chemistry had really left her confused, to the point she failed on a test for the first time. 

The teacher lost no time in asking Yvie to help her out for the next test, and that led to their current situation; staying after school at the library, going over what they saw on class to make sure Scarlet understood. 

“So, basically, these components won’t react unless you set the temperature to 20°F,” Yvie explained, doing scribbles on her notebook.

“Oooh, so that’s why it didn’t turn pink like the teacher said,” Scarlet said, thoughtfully. She glanced at her phone and suddenly shot up from her seat, beginning to pack her things. “Shit, I’m late to cheer practice!”  

“I guess that’s it for today, then,” Yvie concluded, packing her stuff too. “See you on thurs—” 

“Um, actually,” Scarlet cut her off, “Could you keep me company on the changing room? The football team has the gross habit of trying to spy on us when we get changed, and most of the girls are already on the field by this moment, so…” Yvie sighed.

“Fine, lets go. But if this is some kind of joke, bitch, I swear to God—”

“Oh, thanks! And no, it’s not, don’t worry,” Scarlet assured her, “So, shall we get going?” she wondered, taking a step and turning her back on Yvie.

Yvie wasted no time on following her; the sooner they got to the changing room, the sooner she’d go home. Easy peasy.

As soon as they were out of the library, Scarlet began babbling about how much she loved cheerleading and how exciting it was to be back after missing many practices. Yvie let her rant, only answering with hums of short answers. She had to admit, though, Scarlet looked kind of cute with that shiny smile, it suited her better than the resting bitch face — of course, she’d never say that out loud. Yvie didn’t want to boost the already giant ego Scarlet had.

Arriving into the changing room there wasn’t a single soul around. Yvie was about say goodbye and turn on her heels to get out of there, but Scarlet called her name again.

“Hey, Yvie, could you stay a little longer while I get changed? None of the girls are here, but I thought they would and, uh—”

“It’s cool,” Yvie interrupted her this time. “I’ll just, sit here.” Scarlet nodded and headed to her locker some feet away. Yvie sat on the bench and pulled out her phone.

“Like I was telling you,” Scarlet continued. Yvie gave her a glance and her breath got caught in her throat when she saw Scarlet pull her shirt off, quickly putting on her uniform top. “During regionals, Plastique was dating this dude, can’t remember his name, and when we won she was so euphoric she kissed Ariel just because she was standing near by, although the rest of the team never understood why they fully made out for, like, three minutes,” she went on, but Yvie didn’t remember how did they end up talking about that.

“Uh huh,” she mumbled, trying to look away, but failing miserably. Her stare was glued to Scarlet. “Adrenaline, I suppose,” she choked out.

Scarlet laughed. Yvie then noticed she had a nice laugh. “Yeah, probably, but anyway.” She pulled out her skirt from the locker and Yvie blushed a little.

“Do you want, uh, do you want me to look away…?” Yvie wondered, Scarlet shrugged.

“If you want to, I always put my skirt over my jeans anyway; some of these girls are nasty gals,” she joked, giggling a little. She proceeded to do what she said, and Yvie sighed in relief. 

The relief lasted a second, though; Scarlet soon slid the jeans down her legs and Yvie nearly fainted. Her legs were long, tanned and perfect. She could do nothing but stare. 

Yvie finally looked away and tried to focus on her instagram feed, anything to keep her from starring with her mouth wide open. Some moments later, she heard Scarlet close her locker and Yvie looked up to meet her gaze.

It should be illegal to look that good on an uniform with that ugly shade of orange. 

“I think I should join the others,” she informed, with an awkward smile. Yvie immediately rose from her seat, nodding many times. “Thank you, by the way.” She smiled warmly to her, and Yvie felt her face burning again.

“Yeah, sure, uh, you’re welcome.” Yvie forced a smile. “See you, I guess.” She hold on tight to her backpack and turned on her heels, in direction of the door.

“See you on thursday!” she heard Scarlet exclaim before leaving the room, with her cheeks bright red and her heart pounding against her chest.

Only when Yvie was out of the school, she wondered what on earth was that feeling on her chest that wouldn’t vanish. She decided to ignore it, and put on her headphones on her way to the bus stop.

Yvie amused herself with her phone as the bus arrived, when a text came in. It was from Mercedes.

Goat Mama: hey girl, the others wanna go out to Domino’s tonight. You in?

She smiled and quickly typed out a positive answer. It was just Tuesday, but the following day the school was shutting down for a disinfection thing — something about rats on the water cistern, was what the students supposed. It shouldn’t be hard convincing her mom to let her go.

Her bus arrived and she climbed up, paying the driver before taking a seat near the window. She began texting Mercedes again, deciding the time and where would they meet; until a notification from instagram popped up. Scarlet had sent her a follow request. Yvie smiled for a moment, until she realized something.

“How this bitch got my instagram?”

---

During practice, Scarlet couldn’t stop thinking on Yvie’s blushing face while she watched her get changed. Had she made her uncomfortable? If she had, she didn’t mean it, really; after so many years on the cheer team, Scarlet had little to no inhibitions when it came to her body.

She tried to brush it off but it wouldn’t leave her mind. She decided to try and forget it by talking with her fellow teammates. Most of the girls were glad to have her back, and offered her an enthusiastic welcome. Luckily for Scarlet, they had just began rehearsing a new routine, so she hadn’t missed that much except a couple games.

Scarlet got paired up with Blair for their part, and Blair had to give her a step by step guide as requested by their coach, Miss Nina. It wasn’t that difficult, but despite having many years of experience at cheering, Scarlet couldn’t easily pull out the  choreography unless it had splits or cartwheels.

Between their short breaks, Plastique made sure to caught her up with the practice shenanigans and games she’d missed.   

“And you remember Kameron, from the female soccer team?” Plastique went on, while Scarlet did her stretches. She hummed a response. “She crashed practice one day and asked Asia to be her girlfriend! It was really cute, and of course Asia said yes,” she beamed, at the memory of that day replayed in her mind.

Scarlet hummed again, not having heard a word Plastique said. Plastique noticed, cocked a brow and pinched Scarlet’s arm. 

“Hey! What was that for?” she questioned, offended.

“You weren���t paying me attention,” she declared, with a dramatic tone. Scarlet laughed shortly.

“I’m just thinking about something...” she shrugged, trying to dismiss its importance.

Plastique, being the gossip girl she was, smiled widely and came closer. 

“Something or someone?” she inquired, with an excited tone.

Miss Nina blew the whistle, indicating them to go back to their positions. Scarlet smiled apologetically. “I’ll tell you later.” Then, she trotted to meet the others.

Practice went on without any inconvenient, and it looked as if Plastique had forgotten their previous conversation. 

Scarlet was talking to Blair on their last break, trying to come to terms with an hour and a date to get together and practice their part, when Plastique tapped on her shoulder.

“Hey sis~!” Plastique sing-sang, “Some of us are going to Domino’s tonight, you two comin’?” she questioned.

“Sure, why not,” Blair replied, and Scarlet seconded it. Plastique beamed.

“Great! Details will be on the group chat, love y’all!” And just like she arrived, she left, this time going on Ariel’s direction.

“I’m not sure if my mom will let me go out, tho’,” Blair commented, “She knows about the disinfection thing, but she’s not a fan of me going out in the middle of the week. You know how moms are.” Scarlet chuckled an amen.

“My mom is exactly like that, although my stepmom, Violet, always takes my side for these things. She wants me to like her, I guess.” She shrugged, pulling out her phone and opening Instagram. Blair kept talking, something about her girlfriend and how bad being on the closet was, when Yvie popped up on Scarlet’s mind again — and also on her feed.

The photo was from Mercedes’ Iman account, and it was a selfie taken that day, she noticed, judging for Yvie’s clothes. Yvie’s account was tagged, and Scarlet didn’t doubt it twice when she tapped on it and sent a follow request.

Before she could process what she had done, Miss Nina blew her whistle again and Blair tugged on her arm to go back to the field. She took a sip from one of the glasses of water and trotted to meet the others along with Blair.

Rehearsal was over before she could even complain of being exhausted. Soon, the so common chit chat in the changing room filled her ears, and just like she wanted to hear everything that was said, everyone had something to tell her. It filled Scarlet’s heart with joy knowing she was missed, she truly saw most of the girls as her soul sisters, and had greatly missed rehearsals.

Over the noise, Plastique called for everyone’s attention by standing on a bench.

“Ladies! Ladies, I have told most of y’all already, but in case you forgot; we’re going out for pizza at Domino’s, the one that’s in front of McQueen. Please confirm your presence on the group chat — if y’all confirm you can’t step back, bitches, or else I’ll kick y’all of the group. Thanks for your attention.” Plastique hopped off the bench with an overdramatic jump, causing the others to laugh.

Scarlet was about to make a witty comment about Plastique and her dictatorship over the group chat, when her stepmom sent her a message to let her know she was at the door to pick her up. With a sigh she said a general goodbye and made her way out of the changing room.

Her relationship with Violet wasn’t bad, it was just… Normal. At seventeen, she was supposed to be independent and not to rely that much on her parents anymore, but Violet, having never experienced parenthood before, sometimes thought Scarlet was still a twelve year old taking her first steps into high school, and not a senior that had been there and done that twice already.

It was cute, though; her mom had always been the laid back type, not really talkative unless she had a few glasses of wine. Or that had been her while she was married to her father; getting a divorce and coming out as a lesbian after meeting Violet at work, had done wonders for her and coming her out of her shell. 

Scarlet stepped into the school’s parking lot and robotically headed to Violet’s car — it was the only car, anyway. She was greeted by a smiley, clearly happy Violet.

“Hi honey, how was cheer practice?” she wondered, turning on the engine and beginning to maneuver her way out. 

“It was great, I missed the girls,” she replied with a smile. “How was the doctor’s appointment? How’s my little brother?” It seemed as if she hit Violet’s sensitive spot, because she smiled even more and Scarlet noticed sneaky tears on the corner of her eyes.

“Little sister, actually,” Violet informed, and Scarlet beamed.

“No way! I’ve always wanted a sister.” She clapped in excitement. “So, do you think with how happy mom is, she’ll let me go out to Domino’s with the girls?” Scarlet wondered, leaning on her side a bit.

Violet sighed, barely holding back a laugh. “You’re in luck, she’s tired so she slept since we came back. And, y’know, while she’s asleep, I'm the second one in charge.”

“So… That’s a yes?” 

Violet rolled her eyes with a playful smile.

“It’s a come back before nine and send a pizza over at house for me.” 

“Deal.”

---

“But mom, tomorrow we don’t have classes!” Yvie whined, following her mom around the kitchen. 

Naomi sighed and slammed a hand down the table, staring at her daughter seriously. She had a strict policy of not going out during the week with her daughter, and she hadn’t broken it until now. If Yvie wanted to go out, she had to pull out all her best excuses.

“Yvette Marie Bridges, it’s just tuesday! If I let you go out at night during the week, God knows what can happen! You’ll maybe start doing drugs, sneaking behind my back to see a boyfriend or something — next thing I know, I’ll be a grandma at forty,” she ranted, as she kept doing her chores. Yvie snorted.

“Mom, firstly you know I’m a lesbian,” she pointed out, sitting on the counter. “And second, you know Mercedes and Vixen are always with me. Mercedes isn’t capable of witnessing something like that and not telling her mom, who would tell you, and you’d go crazy and start talking about rehab.” Yvie’s mother chuckled. That was true. “And Vixen, well, you know her, she likes to fight about everything and will probably slap me before I can put anything in my body.”

Naomi cocked a brow, tapping her nails on the marble sink. Yvie could see her go think about it over and over again. With her dad out of town due to work, Naomi would end up having dinner alone and would have to drive her daughter too. 

After a moment of thoughtful silence, with the only noise being her nails tapping on the marble, Naomi sighed.

“Fine, but I’ll pick you up before nine, perhaps I’ll phone the girls and see if any of them wanna go out…” she took a pile of clean plates and stacked them on the drawer.

Yvie beamed, thanking her mother profusely, running back to her room to get changed and tell her friends her mom was taking her, so they wouldn’t expect her to take the bus that left them near McQueen. 

Her friends literally lived all around the block; Vixen’s house was on her left side, then it was Mercedes, then Monet and Brianna’s, Monique’s and so on and so forth. They all met when they were kids, always playing on the streets or hanging out at someone’s house. When they entered their teenage years, they had all decided they’d go to Davenport High School — well, everyone but Yvie, who decided to pursue a more artistic side of herself on The Boulet Sisters Academy.

Her artistic side lasted less than expected, and it soon reflected on her report card. Naomi didn’t hesitate when she decided to put Yvie on Davenport High School, along with her friends.

Yvie shoot a message on the group chat and at the same time as Vixen. 

Angry Ma’am: Blair told me her and the cheer team will also be going to Domino’s.

» Y’all have no problem if I stay with her, right? Cool.

Yvie was about to reply, when she saw Monique was tipping. 

Mo #2: bitch you’re glued to Blair 24/7 on school! Can’t you keep your hands to yourself for this time?

Angry Ma’am: do you keep your hands to yourself around Monet? I thought so.

#rpdr fanfiction #scyvie #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #collateral effects au #my fanfiction

[startofamoment]

to all the WIPs i’ve loved before

rules: post your favorite parts of 3-5 fics that have been sitting abandoned in your drafts for ages. (for extra shame, throw in when you last worked on each thing.) tag 5 other writers to reflect on their life choices. 

a pen pals au of sorts in which jake and amy share a desk and communicate via post-it notes (last edited: december 2017)

Amy is going to murder her deskmate.

The literal trash heap that greeted her last Monday was one thing, the sticky orange soda stain from last month was another thing, but this – this blatant disregard of property and boundaries and the sanctity of office supplies – is the Last Straw.

Spread out across her entire desk is a good fourth of the Post-it notes from the brand new assorted set she got from her brother Tony. They’re all arranged to look like various Star Wars icons, and a few of them are filled in with marker for apparent color correction. It’s horrifying.

Grumbling, she begins taking apart Post-It Yoda, keeping the salvageable pieces in a stack and throwing out the rest. When she’s cleared her entire table, she grabs her favorite pen and a fresh sheet then writes:

Hi, Please refrain from wasting my Post-its in the future. Thank you. - Det. Amy Santiago

She stares at it for a moment and decides, since this is probably the only passive aggressive note she’s going to write her deskmate, she might as well add:

PS: I would appreciate it if you would leave our desk clean at the end of your weekend shifts.

After checking it over once more, she places it in the center of her desk, ready to be read the following Saturday.

a dianetti cake shop au in which rosa owns and runs a store called arlo’s (last edited: june 2017)

Gina takes a moment to look over some of the cakes on display before clearing her throat and leaning over the counter. “’Scuse me, can you help me get a custom cake order started?”

“Sure.” The baker wipes her hands on a dish towel before grabbing a small notebook and pen from one of her pockets. “What’s the occasion?”

“Some old geezer’s leaving our precinct to enjoy retired life, or something like that.”

“Retirement party? Cool. Tell me about this guy.”

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t know or care about him. I’m just here cause my boss told me to order a cake.”

A smirk forms on the baker’s lips. “Ha. Do you wanna just do a standard cake order then? I usually do the custom cakes for more personalized, special events.”

“That’s probably smart. Which one of your standard cakes say: ‘Congrats on being old and rich enough to never work another day in your life, but sorry you’re almost dead’?”

She snickers. “I don’t know about that first part, but how ‘bout an angel food cake as a ‘hope you go to heaven when you die’ sort of thing?”

Gina grins and fishes through her purse for her wallet. “Oh, you should know my expectations on this cake are out of this world high. I’m only here because Yelp told me you’re the Beyonce of baking.” (Actually, she’s here because at least three reviews claimed the baker-slash-owner was “terrifying” and “gorgeous.” – They were right, on both accounts.)

a sequel to i could listen to you all day // the “after ever after” story in which jake and amy navigate their first year together as soulmates (last edited: march 2017)

Jake’s phone buzzed on his desk, breaking him out of his happy daydream. He picked it up and opened a new message from Gina.

“god, quit making heart eyes at the new girl!! your conscience would be v disappointed, kiddo.”

Gina, who had been watching him like a hawk from her desk, expected him to get all flustered and to text or yell back something overly defensive. She raised a single eyebrow when his face instead broke into a goofy grin and he straight up giggled.

Across from him, Amy looked up from her case files. “What’s so funny?”

He shook his head and mumbled something about memes and the internet.

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips curled up into a smile. After he redirected his attention to his computer screen, her expression morphed into the same openly adoring look he had on his face the entire morning.

And then it all clicked.

If Gina had stopped to think about it, she would have recognized the new disappointment she felt in both herself (for taking this long to put two and two together) and her childhood best friend (for not keeping her in the loop). As she had not stopped to process anything, she instead yelled across the bullpen: “OH MY GOD. JAKE AND AMY ARE SOULMATES!”

All work stopped, and everyone fell silent. For a good minute, all that could be heard was the faint snoring from Captain McGintley’s office.

“Gina,” Rosa half-snarled, half-whispered. “You can’t just say that.”

“Oops, my b. Y’all know I have no conscience now so…” She giggled, winked at the leather-clad detective, and went back to her game of Kwazy Cupcakes.

Jake let out an awkward laugh. “Well, uh, that was -”

Out of nowhere, Charles appeared right in front of their desks. “Is it true, Jakey? Was Amy the voice in your head all this time?”

“I -” He glanced at Amy for help.

She bit her lip and shrugged.

This wasn’t at all how he envisioned making the announcement, but there was no use denying it. Still looking straight at her, his face softened into a smile. “Yeah… We’re soulmates.”

Charles squealed loudly. “You said the S word! Does that mean it’s official?” He gasped. “Have you said ‘I love you’? Have you met each other’s parents? When’s the wedding? What are you naming your first child?”

pretty much a crack fic inspired by the media’s post-olympics obsession with tessa and scott // my spin on a vm au bc i still refuse to write jake and amy as ice dancers (last edited: may 2018)

Like many of the other bizarre situations he’s found himself in, this all started with Gina. Over the last year or so, she’d been posting random photos and videos of all of them at the precinct. (“I’m devoting my energy to my new project, Ginazon,” she’d declared to the entire bullpen. “It’s a one-stop online portal for my legions of followers. I’m just giving the people what they want!”) Given that this was Gina of all people, Jake wasn’t at all surprised to find out that each post garnered hundreds of likes, but he’d never bothered to venture into the comments section. He’d never known about the apparent niche following that had formed, the group of fans – for lack of a better word – waiting with bated breath for him and Amy to get together.

Charles had only spurred them on, what with all the various Easter eggs on his culinary blog. (“This place has everything,” he’d written once. “My co-workers Jake and Amy even gave it their stamp of approval after they’d shared a quick lunch there before a long stakeout. Make sure to ask for the winter salsa; it’s wonderful!”) He’d sworn that none of it was intentional and that he would never do anything to sell them out, but everything he’d written had still been catalogued and analyzed by the pseudo-experts of the fandom. At this point, Jake’s main regret is not reading Charles’ weekly email blasts.

Their downfall – or rise to viral glory – came when someone from the so-called G-Hive happened to be in just the right place at just the right time, catching their (second) completely-platonic, spur-of-the-moment, done-in-the-name-of-justice kiss on camera. By the next morning, “Undercover Cops Lock Lips Before Locking Up Wanted Criminal” had been viewed on YouTube over a million times.

With everything about the entire situation already being so weird, they’d decided to just ignore their newfound fame in the same way they’d pretended the kisses never happened. (“We’re a great team. We work great together. Nothing should mess that up,” he’d said, repeating nearly his exact words from the night before.)

Evidently, there was no escaping this though. A formal press conference was set up, which wasn’t too out of the ordinary for cases that caught the general public’s attention, except they’d ended up having to say more about their dating lives than the investigation or arrest. He can still feel his heart lurching in his chest at the first relationship-related question, still hear Amy loudly stammering out some vague answer about being “very professional.”

a smutty soulmate au in which jake and amy unknowingly share dreams every now and then (last edited: november 2017)

At this moment in time, Amy Santiago is undeniably, incomparably, drop dead gorgeous.

More specifically: she’s in the hot red dress Kylie convinced her to buy on their last post-trivia night celebratory shopping spree; she’s wearing a matching killer shade of lipstick picked out by her fashion-forward, shockingly sexual 13-year-old niece; and she’s got her hair swept into that one elegant yet fun side ponytail that caught her eye in a magazine a few weeks back.

Normally, she’d be proud of herself for managing to pull off such a look, except–

It’s been a good several hours since she tossed her dress into the hamper, wiped the makeup off her face, and tugged the elastic tie from her hair. She’d buried her head into her pillow and wheeze-cried herself to sleep shortly after changing into her pajamas, so overwhelmed with shame and disappointment over the night’s party-gone-wrong.

The thick haze shrouding her current surroundings tells her she’s in another one of her soulmate’s dreams, which helps a tiny bit in explaining her current appearance but really opens up more questions than answers.

tagging: @santiagoswagger​ @three-drink-amy​ @do-me-decimalsystem​ @arnie-santiago​ @sergeant-santiago

for the record, this was inspired by @disruptedvice​ and @elsaclack​’s responses [x,x] to the writing meme!! i thought it was super clever of them to feature little snippets from various works and felt this would be a good way to give unfinished/abandoned fics some love! 

#writing meme #wip meme #tag game #b99 au #i'm honestly shookt at the last edit dates on these #why am i like this #ngl i just wanted an excuse to post some of these bc i'm fairly certain they won't ever be finished RIP #if anyone else wants to do this pls feel free!!! #my stuff

[mmtions]

wedding: impossible (pt.2)

(pt.1)

michelle jones/peter parker - college/future fic (wip)

Against his better judgement, Peter has agreed to be MJ’s fake date to a wedding so she can usurp the bride, or something. Considering how much he’d like to be her not-fake date, he’s not really looking forward to it.

Despite all her apparent indifference to them both - and, really, most of her peers - MJ had become a close friend to Ned and himself. So much so that he freely told her his big, spider-themed secret. (She’s actually the only person he’s deliberately told, which is a milestone he’s not keen on analyzing too deeply.) 

She’d reacted pretty calmly, actually, only hitting him with a medium-sized Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche novel, rather than the special edition hardcover that was also in reaching distance.

So, they survived high school together, becoming an unexpectedly tight-knit trio (with absolute no parallels to Harry Potter, shut up Ned). They even survived the entry and violent departure of Harry Osborne from the group, which caused all kinds of angst for Peter, definitely revolving around the supervillainy rather than the whole dating-MJ thing, thank you very much.

And they’d even survived college applications together. Ned and Peter had been talking about MIT since they realised it wasn’t a fictional place on spy TV shows, and Harvard should consider itself lucky to get MJ as one of its alumni. It was a happy coincidence that they all lived within a twenty-minute car ride of each other, really.

None of this, however, explains why exactly Peter is currently on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, trying to make conversation with MJ that isn’t horrifically awkward.

He’d picked her up from her college dorm in the car guilt-gifted to him by Mr. Stark after the whole Infinity War mess, and most of the words exchanged during the whole hour-and-a-half trip had been about which radio station to play. They’re currently sitting inside the main ferry, a booth to themselves, looking out onto the passing waves. Peter’s already wearing his suit, the plain black one he last wore to graduation, but MJ told him that she’d change on the journey. (As long as she’s not expecting him to keep driving while she strips off in the front seat next to him, he’s perfectly happy with the plan).

“Hey,” she suddenly says, apropos of nothing. “Does this remind you of that time with the Vulture and the ferry splitting in half?” Because of course she’d gone into scary-research-mode with she’d first found out his double life.

“Um,” he looks around. The smell of seawater is stronger when it’s not filtered through a fear-sweaty mask, and the view isn’t quite the same, but, “Yeah, kind of, now you mention it. Thanks for that.”

She snickers. “No problem.”

And, well, he finds himself smiling, because he can’t help himself, and because this is their status quo, her making fun of pretty much every aspect of his character, and he didn’t realise how much he missed it even in the past week.

He readjusts his tie - although maybe he could just have taken it off for the journey - and of course MJ’s eyes narrow in on the movement. “I like your suit,” she says.

“Thanks,” he says. “May said I should match the tie to your dress, but you won’t tell me anything about it, so…”

Laughing easily, she replies, “Gold medal to Aunt May for remembering prom etiquette. Anyway, I’ve brought two dresses with me, and they’re different colours.”

“I’m sure I could have packed two ties,” he counters with a perfect poker face.

“Shut it, Parker.” She leans to teasingly shove at his shoulder. “Seriously, thanks for coming. I was considering Ned, but I’ve seen him on Dance Dance Revolution, and I can’t afford to lose an eye during the macarena, you know?”

He snorts. “Sure, happy to save you from that. But who turned you down before you considered me?”

He meant it as just a joke, ready for her to roll her eyes and say a cheerleader or her current debating rival, but as soon as he says it, he realises how desperate it probably sounded. He swallows, and prepares his commentary on the weather, when she frowns, a crease between her brows like every-time he says something stupid.

“I didn’t consider anyone else,” she says, and she actually seems sincere, which, honestly, has happened maybe five times during their entire friendship.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m joking, MJ, don’t worry.”

“Peter,” she says, and she puts her hand over his where it rests between them on the bench. “Seriously. You were my first choice.”

He casts his gaze anywhere but her face. “It’s okay, I’m here, you don’t need to-”

“Peter, I needed someone charismatic, and hot, and nice, and who I trust. Your waltz skills were a big bonus, I’ll admit,” and here, she grins, disarmingly casual, as if his whole world hasn’t stuttered a little bit at so many compliments coming from her mouth. “But I wanted you to come with me.”

“Uh,” he says, eloquently.

“I’m gonna go change into my outfit,” she says, abruptly, standing and edging out of the booth.  “Stay here. And try not to sink the boat this time, yeah?”

He shakes himself. “Not funny!” He yells after her retreating figure. She flips him off in response, and a mother shields her daughter’s eyes from the gesture as MJ stalks past them, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Great.

While he waits for her to return, he nervously fixes his hair - and probably messes it up more - and considers texting Ned. Although what would he send?

(hey, has MJ been complimenting you recently? unrelated q: how’s that alien mind control detector coming along?)

He could maybe text May, but she’d get the wrong idea. Well, probably the right idea, but she’s always liked MJ, even more after the whole first semester mess that was his month-long relationship with Carlie Cooper. Even thinking her name makes the smell of burning strong in Peter’s nostrils, and he shivers. Bad mental path to go down, Parker.

He decides to just refresh Twitter, liking Pepper Potts’ (@CEOStarkPotts) tweet about fracking, and Mr. Stark’s subsequent reply about where he’d like to drill for oil, which he only likes out of courtesy because the actual mental image is bleach-drinking worthy.

He quickly finds himself then in a internet spiral, and he’s watching a Youtube restoration of a dug-up axe when there’s a cough from somewhere near. He startles, and looks up, and then thinks that maybe the ship did sink and he’s dead. Completely and utterly dead.

“It’s red,” he chokes out. At this point, it might be easier to just tattoo ‘giant dweeb’ across his forehead.

She rolls his eyes. “Cheers, Parker, consider your next opticians’ appointment postponed. Seriously, is it okay, or should I try on the other one?”

He shakes his head so fast he’s in danger of dislocating his jaw. He’s staring, definitely, but he doubts anyone would blame him. Because MJ - Michelle freakin’ “fashion is capitalism’s worst industry” Jones - is wearing this long red slinky dress that looks soft and shiny and amazing. “Nope, no,” he says. (Smooth.) “No, I think that one works. It’s, ah, you’re really - it looks good. Yeah,”

God, it’s almost the exact shade as the red on his suit. Don’t worry, Dr. Octopus, MJ is going to murder Peter Parker by just wearing spaghetti straps, you’re welcome.

She slides back into the booth, and tucks her hair - which is out of its usual ponytail and falling all around her face in all its wild glory - behind her ears. “Thanks.” Then the soft smile is quickly hidden behind a meaner grimace. “This’ll show Anna.”

“You still haven’t told me what your big problem with this girl is,” Peter points out, thankful for the distraction of conversation.

She sniffs. “It’s a long story. And I can only tell it when the sun’s down.”

He rolls his eyes. He has no idea why he likes her so much, honestly.

-

They follow the GPS’s directions and arrive at the hotel, a charming place with white stone and a long gravel driveway accented with pretty, flowering trees. Naturally, MJ pulls a face at it.

“This is so typical of her,” she says.

“It looks nice,” he rebukes.

They follow the signs to the car park, and Peter only takes three tries, amidst MJ’s laughter, to get it into the parking bay. They traipse to the main entrance, other guests mingling and following their path.

"Wait," Peter asks as they reach the lobby and join the queue of people for the reception desk. "We're staying here tonight?"

"Yeah," MJ replies casually. "The ceremony and reception are here, so."

"You booked the rooms?"

At this, MJ suddenly seems distracted by her fingernails. "Room. Singular. And, yeah. Least I could do for dragging you out here."

He's too afraid to ask the other question he has, which is promptly answered when they get up to their designated Room 342. It has exactly one double bed, right in the middle of the room, like it's taunting him.

"I-" he swallows. "I'll call reception, get them to send some more pillows so I can sleep on the floor."

"Don't be stupid," she dismisses, already chucking her bag onto the right side and popping the complimentary pillow mint into her mouth. "You can't help little old ladies cross the street if your back's as bad as theirs. We can share."

Right. They can share a bed. Sure.

"When does the ceremony start?" Peter asks, a little desperately as MJ sits on the bed and bobs a little, testing the springiness, which is not a turn-on, shut up.

"In half an hour, probably." She shrugs. "I'm not bothered if we turn up late though."

He narrows his eyes. "You want to turn up fashionably late to a wedding ceremony."

"I'm not saying I want to, I'm just saying I wouldn't be bothered," she counters, with a straight face, until she breaks and stands back up. "Kidding, kidding. Let's go. I think one of my cool cousins is here."

He frowns, following her out into the hallway and only just remembering to grab the keycard from the small table by the door. "How come your cousin is here? I thought you knew this girl from middle school?"

"Yeah, we went to middle school together," MJ agrees, and perhaps Peter should know not to be fooled by her casual tone by now. "But she's my aunt's daughter."

Peter stops. Like, he actually stops walking, right there on the patterned carpeting. "So, your cousin.”

She mockingly shudders. "Gross. I try to pretend we're not related."

“This is your cousin’s wedding,” he says slowly, the horrible truth dawning on him.

She stops at the elevators just in time to give him a side profile of her rolling her eyes. “Yes, if you want to be pedantic, I guess.”

He swallows. "Exactly how many of your family members are going to be down there?"

She finally halts as well, and turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow like he's the one being ridiculous. Then she twists her lips, thinking. "Hm," she says, and he waits with held breath. "Only the ones on my mom's side."

Yep. He's going to die.  

He throws his arms in the air. Possibly he's being very dramatic, but come on! "MJ! Are you kidding? This would have been vital information before we got here!"

Something weird and undefinable flickers across her face. "Would you have not come if you knew?" she counters, which is really beside the point.

"Of course I would've come," he says, immediately, because it's the truth. If MJ asked him to come as his date to a wedding between a disapproving Steve Rogers and Electro, he would've turned up with his shoes shined. Regardless, he thinks he has the right to be a little thrown. "You're seriously going to introduce me to your whole family as your boyfriend? To get revenge on your cousin?”

He at least expects a little contrition from her. But instead, the elevator doors slide open with a small chime, and the corner of her lips are curling, like she’s daring him to do something. “You up for the challenge, Spider-Man?”

God help him. His head rolls back in defeat, and she slips into the elevator. He has a split-second to decide: and then he’s darting forward to slide in before the doors shut. 

She looks up at his entrance, as if maybe she hadn’t been all that sure, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Fine, I’m in,” he says, and his smile is met by one of her own. “But you have to tell me the story behind your hatred of Anna, and I get to tell everyone you cried at the ceremony.”

She bites down on her bottom lip in that way she does whenever she wants to laugh at one of his dumb jokes but is too proud to. “Deal.”

“And,” he adds as she presses the button for the lobby, because something feels different, and he’s still sparking from the sight of her in that dress. “You have to strongly imply I’m the best you’ve had in bed.”

He’s expecting her to laugh straight in his face. But suddenly her expression is… different. Before he can work out exactly what’s going on, the elevator doors are opening again, and she’s striding away.

He takes a deep breath, and readjusts his tie one last time. Come on, Spider-Man, he thinks, and follows her. 

thanks for the amazing response so far!! I think this is going to be my last update on tumblr - I’m going to finish the rest, and then probably post the full thing as a one-shot on ao3. hope you enjoyed this next part! 

#spideychelle #peter x mj #peter x michelle #spiderman: homecoming #peter parker #michelle jones #spideychelle fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #i

[the-cryptographer]

Ettushipping for the ask!!!!

Ah~ Thank you for asking about the OTP. I kind of figured I’d have nothing to say about it except repeating what I answered about polar and JouKai for the meme, but I shouldn’t have underestimated myself x_x  I also apologise, because it feels impossible for me to talk about them without talking about my fic project talking about writing fic instead of writing it so this might not be all that exciting mea culpa, but imma post - no obligation to pay attention to me - thankies~

when I started shipping it if I did:

In 2015, I was watching a lot ofygotas, feeling kind of bummed out, and looking through fanfiction. And I kindof had an ongoing interest in fmm and ffm polyships at this point, so I waslike, ‘okay, let’s smash my two favourite ships together and read all theMaiJouKai’.

A few minutes and some searchesaround the net later, I came to the tragic realisation that there /was/ noMaiJouKai. And then I was like, ‘fuck that. What has fandom spent the lastfifteen years doing then?’ and decided to write my own.

So I wrote a fic called On Public Relations and IndefiniteDefinitions which, instead of being the humorous longform fic I wanted toread, was some oneshot filled with Kaiba angsting about how he not only endedup with this moron, but he ended up with this moron that he’s kind of afraidwill leave him for Mai. It was also about the paparazzi, and the fact that Jouis Kaiba’s kind-of employee, and trying to understand where exactly we draw theline on somebody being a golddigger, and how to reconcile vastly differentlevels of income in a relationship. And, tbh, the fic is kind of shitty imo,but it still has some interesting ideas in it that are more or less ignored orunexplored so far as I’ve been able to see (and also it’s my humble fanficroots so I appreciate it for that).

I kind of dropped the fic and ran,and was going to just leave it at that. But then about a year later, due tomore ygotas and a sudden desire to revisit manga canon and watch the rest ofthe dub, I dropped back into the fandom and started revisting the ideas I’ddropped in my fic. I came to realise I really wanted to reuse the ship andbasic premise and try to write a fic where (1) Kaiba and Jou’s relationshipgoes from its approximate canon form with all the animosity to a romanceonscreen, (2) you’re given a lot of the factors commonly used to cause Mai& Jou to break-up except considered and explored in their own right in thecontext of Mai and Jou actually being invested in and feeling strongly for eachother, (3) Jou is working for Kaiba and the issues involved inemployee/employer relationships are laid out without an attempt to villainiseeither character, (4) wealth and poverty are not just having or not-havingmoney (something that could then easily be solved by Mai or Kaiba handing Jou acheck) but an entire relationship with money and employment and society andself-expectation and the cause of pretty severe cultural misunderstandings, (5)etc. etc. Yeah, this fic has way too many themes in it.  I mean, more than anything I wanted a ficabout Jounouchi’s entire existence postcanon – every single one of hisrelationships – and this ended up being a good way to do it. And, jeez, if thiswasn’t my OTP before I started planning LottoTicket, it definitely was after.

my thoughts:

idk, part of me is like, ‘you’rejust being really self-indulgent and forcing your two favourite ships into one,aren’t you?’ and then the other part of me is like, ‘but I don’t feel at alllike I’m forcing the characters to behave in any way that’s unnatural for them.I mean, I certainly commandeer the situational factors to make them moresusceptible to certain behaviour, but it doesn’t even feel very outlandish. Infact, the more I think about it, the more I think the ship as a whole couldease a lot of the individual tensions of its components.’

idk, I think the true answer is…both. It’s both indulgent and reasonable.

But I feel like I should say,insofar as my WIP is going, I’m not attempting to justify it as a ship thatwill last until everyone is dead, as much as I’m attempting to justify it assomething that helps brings stability to the characters during this ratherspecific period in their lives. I might eventually write something thatattempts to do more with the ship in the future, but I think those willdefinitely be more on the silly and fun and wholly indulgent side of things.

What makes me happy about them:

That Mai gets to travel and duel,Seto gets to have his company and its projects, and Jou doesn’t have to feel unsupportedand completely attention-starved in the meantime.

Also I’ve talked before about howSeto and Jou can pretty easily create a positive feedback loop for terriblebehaviour. I think having another person involved is one of the easiest ways tointercept that. It doesn’t have to be Mai, and it doesn’t have to be somebodyone or both of them are romantically involved with, but it does have to besomeone close enough to them, that they can witness the cause and effect oftheir behaviour on the emotional aspects of their relationship, and that Jouand Kaiba can’t just turn to and say, ‘buzz off, our relationship is our ownprivate business’. I think Mai and Jou, in different ways, both end upmediating quite a bit between Jou & Kaiba and Mai & Kaiba respectively.Kaiba less so for Jou & Mai, but I think, even in his presence, he canencourage Mai and Jou to consider when they’re being inattentive andunreasonable with each other respectively.

What makes me sad about them:

The amount of trickery I have to useto get them together, lol. I’ve tricked Seto into thinking Joey is gay andsingle. If he knew Joey was bi and had a girlfriend, I don’t think he’d beentertaining this idea for even a second. That’sright, Seto, let’s get you nice and overly invested ahead of time so you can’tdismiss the idea out of hand~

idk, everyone’s an insecure mess,but… even if I was writing for a more proper triad/threesome like miranova’settushipping, or battleshipping, or how I think most people talk aboutflareshipping, I imagine Seto at some point pitching a fit about how the othertwo like each other more than they like him. It is inevitable. It’s only amatter of how terrible the explosion is, and how well they manage to reassureeach other in the aftermath. So isn’t MaiJouKai as a V even worse because, ontop of all the personal insecurity, you’ve got a lot of societal messagingabout how you probably shouldn’t let yourself feel secure in letting your boyfriendsleep with someone else? idk, I see why Vs aren’t that popular in fandom.Before this I’d mostly shipped polyships where all the people were sexuallyinvolved. But I feel like, if you read a lot of OT3s, you realise how that mostof them are Vs on one level or another – it’s pretty naïve to think you’regoing to find two other people you feel equally strongly about in all theimportant™ ways, who are also going to feel equally strongly about you and eachother in those same important™ ways. Maybe it’s also naïve to think that aninequality in a sexual fashion is more profound than an inequality in anemotional one? I mean, /I/ think sexuality in relationships is one of thehigher ranked things in terms of profundity, but I don’t think everyone thinksso. Jou and Mai and Kaiba probably don’t agree with me or each other on thattopic – everyone has a different set of values, right? …I guess it makes me sadthat I don’t know whether or not they can make a poly relationship work incorrespondence with their expectations for a relationship – whether thoseexpectations are based on their own needs or on kind of a societalunderstanding of what a relationship should be – but maybe I shouldn’t say thatmakes me sad like that’s the end of the story either? When you are curious anddon’t know the answer – that’s a time when your mind is still open to newinformation and possibilities, right? You can let the characters bounce offeach other without an investment in the answer. That’s a fun place to writefrom.

things done in fanfic that annoy me & things I look for in fanfic:

lol, what fic? I liked Love Boat, although it’s more arrogantshipping than ettu.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

I think it’s pretty clear I ship allthe people with all the people at this point. Anyone can end up with anyone andI’d be comfortable with it if it was considered with care.

My happily ever after for them:

I feel like it came up in a memeonce, or as a response to a fic comment, or something of that nature. Jou andMai and Seto are at some sporting event for their kid. Jou and Mai are theembarrassingly loud and enthusiastic parents who are ready to fight anyone thatsays their kid isn’t the greatest. It’s a hot summer day and Seto is wearing aheavy jacket and shades and being incredibly unemotive. He’ll save hiscongratulations until the end, thanks.

That’s a happily ever after of sorts, right?

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

idk, about spoons, but sleepposition headcanon is that Seto and Mai both like sleeping in the middle whenall three of them share a bed. It is the warmest and most comforting spot. AndI’ve already said that Seto is always cold, and Mai likes feeling safelyenclosed.

(Oh, god, Seto probably starts a riotthe first time Mai wakes him up and teasingly tells him to move because he’spopping wood into her stomach/thigh. For a while he refuses to sleep near herat all. And then for a while he refuses to sleep near her except with his back facingher.)

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:

For all three of them together? Sleeping. That’s aboring one though, lol. I think they like going to tournaments together, eitherwhen somebody’s competing or none of them are.

I think more they like doing things just the two ofthem though. I answered for Jou and each of the others, but for Seto and Mai –they probably go to gallery openings or something, or get lunch and talk shopabout work and talk smack about everyone. Mai’s an easy guest for Seto to taketo business party type things too. She’s all the charm and he can just sit nextto her and lean into her shoulder and zone out while she’s socialising.

:’)  Thank you again~

#ettuship #save me from this card game hell #ask