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dannys-phantoms · 2 minutes ago
DannyMay 2021 Day 7: Illusion
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While Danny is off being a hero, he leaves a copy behind to do the mundane things in his place.
Jazz assumed he would tell her eventually. She wasn’t going to rush him. It had been more than two weeks now though, since she’d worked it out, and she needed some answers.
She knew at least that he hadn’t always been like this – even with how oblivious his parents were, they’d surely have noticed an intangible baby. So when did it start? How did it start?
She’d never be able to figure it out on her own, and there’s no way she would involve anyone else. Waiting was the best, and only, option. It was hard, though. Danny’s clone was just so creepy.
It walked like him, talked like him and ate like him, but there was just something so distinctly wrong that it ate away at her insides. It did the same things over and over like a recording. It would go through the routine of putting on pyjamas and brushing it’s teeth, only to get out of bed again in half an hour’s time to try on another set. At meal times, it ate the same mouthful again and again, the mountain of food on the plate never depleting. It’s eyes were cold and dead. It stared right through her.
Every time she saw it, she’d go to the living room and turn on the TV. The local news was on ghost watch 24/7, so sure enough, she’d see her brother, her real brother, soaring through the skies with ectoblasts charged, quipping with the monster of the week.
The illusion must have been purely for her benefit. Their parents would have never noticed if he skipped out of a meal or two, or escaped from his bedroom window at night. There’s no way they’d have made the connection. The knowledge was like a double edged sword – he thought highly enough of her to play the ruse, but not highly enough to trust her. And she’d thought they shared everything.
She and Danny had set off to school together that morning as though it were a completely normal day. It had been, at the time, as normal as any other. Sam and Tucker met them at the corner. She was glad to have met them, not just for Danny’s sake but for her own too. There was no one else in a ten mile radius to walk with.
There was an explosion up ahead and she shrieked, eyes widening. Sam and Tucker exchanged a glance, silently communicating something that Jazz wasn't privy to. Danny sighed.
“You guy’s get to class,” he said, resigned. “I’ve left my German homework in my room. I’ll meet you there.”
“We could wait?” Jazz offered, mostly just to see what he’d say.
“Nah, it’s okay.”
He turned the other way and began to run.
Sam shouted after him. “I’ll save you a seat!”
The weird thing was, though, that Danny was already waiting for them when they got to school. He was leaning on his locker, staring straight ahead through a crowd of people, straight past Dash who was trying to taunt him. It was as though he couldn’t hear them, wouldn’t see them. Like he was asleep with his eyes open.
The first class today was English. Being in the year above, Jazz wasn’t in the habit of sharing a class with her brother. She was doing a poetry reading today though. It was something she’d written herself, that she had actually been quite proud of, but right then she wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave.
She couldn’t bear to look at that impostor.
Tucker guided it toward the classroom with a hand at the crook of it’s elbow. She followed behind them, trying to think instead about what she had to do today. She’d ignored the imposter for weeks, and she could do it again now.
When they got into Lancer’s classroom, she watched as it sat down and got it’s books out of it’s bag. Everyone else was looking to the front of the room, eyes half lidded as though they’d rather be in bed, but Tucker and Sam kept glancing out of the window. As she shuffled the papers in her hand, she knew their minds were turning over the same question she was; would Danny be okay?
The clone was writing something. Pages and pages of notes. It looked up every few minutes, as though listening to her intently, then nodded and began writing again. Danny had told her yesterday how much he’d enjoyed his last English lesson, when they’d analysed his favourite book, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. When she looked closer, it was analysing it all over again. It was playing back Danny’s last English lesson shot for shot, angle by angle.
Mr Lancer cleared his throat. He expected her to start. She closed her eyes, cleared her mind, and began. Her voice shook like an old man's marionette.
“These things I know:
How the living go on living
And how the dead go on living with them
So that in a forest
Even a dead tree casts a shadow
And the leaves fall one by one
And the branches break in the wind
And the bark peels off slowly
And the trunk cracks –”
She stopped, the words caught in her throat like a spider tangled in it’s own web.
The illusion was gone. Danny’s seat was empty. There were no books, no stray papers. Not a hint of disturbance. It was as though it'd never been there at all.
Sam was on her feet in an instant, standing by the window with her hands over her mouth.
Nobody needed to say it. The look on her face was more than enough.
Something had happened to Danny.
Danny was dead.
(Poem is Life After Death by Laura Gilpin)
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albuspottrss · 9 minutes ago
Last line tag!
Thank you @roonilbwazlib for the tag :)
This is from my farmers market fest fic!
Draco took a moment to look at his little family, knowing exactly what his own father would have said if he’d dared to eat so messily- that he was ruining the Malfoy name and felt a sense of pride wash over him at the family they’d created, where the Malfoy name was something they felt like tarnishing with candyfloss flavoured icing.
I tag @yannfredericks and @trolleybitch and @accioscorp and whoever else wants to take part :)
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akilah12902 · 16 minutes ago
But Hold Me Fast, and Fear Me Not
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A fill for “Strength Kink” on my bingo card for the @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo. This one’s something of a stretch, but hey if I was going to frantically type up 2.5k of Roveth Tam Lin AU, by god I was going to use it for something.
Warning for description of eye trauma (just specifically Iorveth’s missing eye and scar). Probably this is T rated, mentions of violence, vomit, dead bodies, and immense physical pain and mental distress.
Vernon returned to Cáelmewedd again and again throughout the summer. As stupid as it was, he enjoyed the company of the Hunt’s rider, liked his quick wit and his wry sense of humor and his flashing green eyes. He didn’t need to pick any more roses after the first one, either—it seemed as though he barely arrived before the man in the black armor manifested, often behind him.
One day in fall, however, the rider was nowhere to be found. Vernon dithered for a while, but eventually plucked a rose again.
“How dare,” came a snarl from behind him.
Vernon whirled to see the rider, face contorted with rage—and a red bandana wrapped around his head, obscuring nearly half of his face. It was quite a difference from the helm he usually wore.
"How dare you pluck a rose—" the rider continued.
"I feel like we're retreading our first conversation," Vernon said, trying to sound bored despite the way his heart was pounding.
The rider blinked and shook his head, then squinted at Vernon. "Roche?"
"The one and same," Vernon said. "I didn't know I'd changed that much, just since we've seen each other last."
"You haven't," the knight said shortly, and turned his head to the side.
"If the bandana is obstructing your vision that much, perhaps it's not worth the fashion statement," Vernon said, trying to draw the other man out a little.
To Vernon's startlement, the man snarled and grabbed for the bandana. "It's not this accursed thing that's the problem."
He ripped the cloth from his head and turned to stare at Vernon. Vernon felt his jaw drop. He'd never seen the rider without some kind of head covering, but he knew for certain the last time he'd seen him that he'd had two eyes in his head. Now there was only one.
The wounds looked horrendous, discolored and raw, a massive slice down the man's cheek and slicing up into his now-empty right eye socket.
"This is my punishment for tarrying too long with a dh'oine," the man said, laughing bitterly. "If I continue, Eredin will take my left as well, and then my heart— he has corpses preserved in his palace, set with eyes carved of wood and hearts of stone. It amuses him to punish his kidnapped riders so—when their eyes and hearts fall upon another, he takes them from them."
"You—" Vernon said, hand coming up uselessly. 
"It's been pleasant, Roche. But no more."
Vernon let his eyes take in the rider's face, bared to him for the first time. He'd noted that the man was attractive before, but even now, with the wound on his face looking like it might start bleeding again at any moment, Vernon still found him beautiful. His heart gave a bit of a jump as he noticed a feature he'd been half-fearing to see.
“Were you ever a mortal man?” Vernon whispered, looking at the undeniably pointed ears.
“Never,” the elf said with an acrimonious smile. “Never have I been a man. No more though have I been a frost-rimed wraith my whole long life.”
“Tell me how to help you,” Vernon said.
“What makes you think you can?” the elf said.
“Fuck you,” Vernon snapped. “If you won’t tell me I‘ll try to do it alone, and probably botch the job. But I’m not leaving you there.”
The elf's face twisted in rage and pain.
"Do you truly think none have tried to rescue a rider before? Do you think you could hold me through what the Hunt will transform me into? You, holding fast to a wild horse, a squirming fox, a rotting corpse?"
Vernon opened his mouth to speak, but the elf cut him off.
"Could you hold fast to a block of iron so cold it burns? A shard of the very void between worlds, long enough to quench it in the water, to hide my naked form long enough for the Hunt to give up?"
Vernon wasn't imagining the desperation in the elf’s voice. "How will I know you among the host?" he asked.
The elf choked.
"Did you not hear me—" he said, but Vernon interrupted.
"If I must, I would trade myself for you. They've taken your eye because of the time I've taken with you— I refuse to let them tear out any more of you."
The elf stared at Vernon for a very long moment.
"If they take you, they will have even more of me," he said finally. "They know your name, Roche. They know it though me. You won't be protected from them."
Vernon grinned. "What makes you think I gave you my name?"
The elf's remaining eye narrowed, then widened in shock.
"I know a little more than that," Vernon said, still grinning. "You only have part of me, by the rules of the Seidhe."
The elf stared at him, emotions visibly warring on his face. The one that won was terrible, raw and hungry. It made Vernon want to kiss the elven knight.
"I will ride a grey," he said, slowly. "On Saovine eve, along the Ismena, the Hunt will ride. The King at their head, and his knights in ranks behind. I'll be astride a grey, with a cardinal's feather in my helm. Pull me from my steed and hold me tight. Without your full name, they won't be able to make me truly hurt you—and if you have mine, I won't want to either."
"And I must quench the shard of Void in water, and hide you until they leave?" Vernon asked.
"A large enough cloak will do," the elf said. "It's sympathetic magic, more than anything."
"I'll bring one," Vernon said, looking into his face.
"Don't make me regret this, as-yet-ungiven Roche," the elf said, and leaned in to whisper in his ear.
Vernon turned his head as the elf—he was shy of even thinking his name, for fear that careless use would keep him from being able to save him—pulled back, and caught his mouth in a kiss. The elf kissed him back viciously, but broke it after only a moment.
"If you fail, you and I will be theirs in mind and body."
"You'll still find a way to make the rest of my life a misery," Vernon said, trying for a laugh.
The elf did laugh, long and deep. "Roche, I'll do that even if you save me."
In the next moment he was gone, and Vernon was left standing alone by the well, his heart racing.
On Saovine eve, Vernon collected a large woolen blanket and pinned it around himself as a cloak, then slipped out while the others were celebrating. The road along the Ismena was dark and desolate, and Vernon couldn’t help thinking of the many dangers that waited for a traveler in the night. Serve him well if his attempted rescue was cut short by a pack of drowners or a foglet.
Vernon picked a spot along the road near a large pond, where he could only hear the usual night noises, and crouched in the weeds to wait. He was well acquainted with the boredom of waiting for something to happen, and he slipped into the near-meditiative mental state that made the experience less crushingly boring with the ease of long practice.
The hours dragged on, and Vernon became more and more worried. What if he’d missed the Hunt, somehow? What if Eredin did take his knight’s other eye for seeing Vernon again?
Suddenly, as though the name had summoned him, Vernon heard the unearthly calls of what must surely be the Wild Hunt. A sickly white light became visible in the distance, and Vernon squinted at it, trying to make out individuals.
A grey horse, and a cardinal feather, Vernon repeated to himself, looking into the ranks as they approached. He was more than a little afraid he wouldn’t see his rider among them, but in the third rank he saw a slash of red on a helm—and the knight was seated on a grey horse.
Vernon dashed into the company, moving as quickly as he ever had in his life. He seized the bridle of the grey with one hand and half-mounted the horse to grab a protruding piece of metal on the armor. He threw his whole weight to the side, letting go of the bridle, and he and the rider crashed to the ground, the horse shying away from them.
The rider thrashed, and Vernon was half afraid he’d grabbed the wrong one—but then he remembered what the elf had said, about how his name would keep him from harming Vernon.
"Iorveth," Vernon whispered in the struggling knight's ear. At first he was afraid he'd said it too quietly, but in the eerie light he saw one green eye focus on him behind the slitted helmet.
The Hunt was fully upon them next within the next moment. As Iorveth had threatened, his form twisted under Vernon's hands, until Vernon was astride a screaming, bucking horse. Vernon fisted his hands in the horse's mane and clenched his legs tight and hung on for everything he could. Sparks of pain flashed behind his eyes as his crotch slammed into the horse's spine, but the Hunt didn't pull him off or cut him down, and Iorveth didn't turn his head to bite, and that was all Vernon needed. He was starting to go numb when the twisting began under his hands again, and he sucked in a breath and prepared to get a new grip.
The next form was indeed a fox, though if Vernon were pressed he would say Iorveth squirmed more like a snake. He managed to get hold of the fox's neck, and tried to pin him to the ground. Even with that, there were a few moments where Vernon was terrified Iorveth would escape his grasp.
The Hunt turned Iorveth into several other animals—boar, bear, wolf, squirrel, and dove all made appearances. The forms became more monstrous after that. Vernon recognized a bloedzuiger out of his nightmares of Temeria’s swamps, and a massive fiend. The antlers on the fiend at least offered a useful grip, and Vernon clung to them grimly. Hold him tight, and fear no harm—
Vernon was almost relieved when the next form looked humanoid, but as Iorveth's mutilated, bloated corpse took shape in his arms, he promptly regretted it. He couldn't help but fear it was real— it certainly smelled real. His stomach lurched; Iorveth (not his body, it was still Iorveth) smelled like the worst summer battlefield Vernon had ever been on, and the Hunt jeered as Vernon struggled not to vomit. He nearly started crying when the twisting started again—Iorveth wasn’t dead. Not yet.
Vernon hissed in agony as the chill radiating off the block of iron sank into his bones. If Iorveth had been right, he was close. He wrapped his arms tighter around the metal, feeling his skin go numb. He couldn’t relax now.
When the shard of the Void solidified in his clasped hands, Vernon screamed. The cold was beyond anything he’d been capable of imagining, and he felt like he was being ripped apart and set aflame. His vision had gone white, and he could barely even hear his anguished noises. He forced himself to his feet, not knowing how, and took one… two… three staggering steps, to collapse into the shallow water of the pond. The screeching void in his hands froze, solidifying into a solid block. Vernon had just enough time to panic when it cracked before a warm, naked body came into existence beneath him, displacing pondwater and splashing Vernon in the face. 
Vernon got a look at Iorveth, mad as a soaked cat, as he one-handedly fumbled loose the cloak around his neck. His muscles were screaming at him and he was shivering so violently he was afraid he was going to bite through his tongue, but he was alive. Iorveth was alive. And it would be fucking idiotic to lose him now. Wrapping the cloak around the elf one-handed was hard, made even more so by Vernon’s shivers, but he refused to let go of Iorveth’s wrist. He wasn’t about to take any chances.
Iorveth surfaced from the pond gasping, and Vernon wrapped himself even further around him, making sure none of his skin was showing.
“Mortal!” cried the King of the Wild Hunt. “Do you know what you’ve taken from me? If he told you he was a mortal man, he lied to you!”
Vernon tightened his grip on Iorveth’s wrist and the cloak and said nothing.
“He’s as elven as I,” the King called. “Never has he cared for dh’oine, and none of their blood runs in his veins—he’s spilled gallons of mortal blood on battlefields, eaten the hearts of dh’oine so foolish as to fall for him—his garden at Cáelmewedd is fed with human blood! Is that truly who you want to keep?”
Vernon thought of the blood soaking his own hands, without even the excuse of having centuries to hate, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 
The King bellowed in rage. “Iorveth! Would that I had taken your other eye, and your heart as well! If ever again our paths cross, my hounds will devour you whole!”
“You’ve lost,” Vernon said, through his gasps for breath. “Get you gone.”
The riders wheeled, and Vernon had a moment of wondering if he and Iorveth were going to be ridden down like prey before the Hunt split around them like a rock in a stream, crusts of rime forming on the pond where their mounts’ hooves struck. He knelt there in the mud, breathing heavily.
Vernon might have stayed there until the frost had completely melted away, but Iorveth had other ideas. The brown hand Vernon was still clinging to came out from under the cloak and pulled the cloth away from Iorveth’s face, and Iorveth’s other hand came up to grab at Vernon’s hair. Iorveth’s eye was wild, and he crushed his mouth to Vernon’s heedless of the strand of water weed clinging to his cheek. Vernon kissed back with equal fervor, we’re alive we’re alive we’re alive repeating in a loop in his head.
“You are the most ridiculous—” Iorveth pulled back long enough to say, then dove back in, their teeth clicking together.
“I can’t believe we’re not dead,” Iorveth said several frantic minutes later, trying to wring out the cloak so he wouldn’t be dripping wet all the way back. Vernon had given up on getting dry and was just staring at Iorveth, trying to memorize all the differences between the pale wraith he’d known and the living, breathing being before him. Iorveth had had to pry his hand loose in a moment of distraction to get him to let go.
“Do you have anything resembling a plan for what we’re doing next?” Iorveth asked, giving up on getting the cloak any drier.
“Nothing like,” Vernon said, taking several steps forward and taking Iorveth’s hands in his again. “I figured I’d bring you home with me. You might actually like my friends.”
“Dh’oine,” Iorveth grumbled.
“Vernon,” Vernon said.
“Vernon,” Iorveth repeated, looking lost for a second. Vernon saw when the name clicked; Iorveth’s eye widened, then fell half-closed.
“Vernon Roche,” he purred, and Vernon shivered. “You’re an idiot. But I suppose you’re my idiot.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Vernon said, and leaned in for another kiss.
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ponds-puddle · 16 minutes ago
Closer ~{7/??}~
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word count: 1.1k 
“I don’t understand him. I understand most people. The way they move, the way they speak. I’ve always been so good at figuring people out but him? He’s impossible. He has some freaky shield over him that just eats away at me. The not knowing makes me want it so much more. Makes me want to understand and ask so much more. I think I like that about us, about our friendship. Learning new things about him is intoxicating. Every new little story and fact shared between the two of us become these sweet little secrets in my mind. I don’t understand these feelings he brings up in me but the desire to figure it out cannot be described just as simply as a “rush”. It’s a greater than a thrill. It’s like a roller coaster creeping up to the very peak of its mountain. I think when I finally piece together this puzzle that is Shinsou, we will dive towards the ground. Is that weird to say? I think it is. But it doesn’t matter. 
It’s exciting.”
With an exhausted sigh, you lifted your bags off of the seat beside you. It was a bummer that Shinsou hadn’t been having a late night, you would’ve liked to see him. You were beginning to forget how boring train rides were now that you were alone. You stood patiently in front of the doors, awaiting them to open so that you could begin your long trek home. 
You had forgotten your earphones so, with another sigh, you stepped out of the train and began your silent walk. Thoughts ran wild through your mind, wondering what you would eat once you got home, wondering if Nakoma was alright, where Shinsou might be. Then it became an endless stream of chores you had to look forward to on your day off. You had to do your clothes. It would be nice if you could go grab more sodas because you were nearly out. You had been drinking waters for the past few days and, while you enjoyed a good cold water bottle, you missed the fizz. You had to admit it. If it wasn’t for the coffee you had been drinking this morning you were sure you would’ve had a caffeine headache. 
You stopped briefly to grab your phone from your bag, wanting to write down this list, but when you noticed a pair of feet halting in time with you, you froze. Another plus side to your quirk is that you’re hyperaware of movement around you. Downside was its not exactly a fighting quirk. It could’ve been if you trained it that way, but you never thought too much into it. You liked the little things you could do, you weren’t interested in being a hero. But right now you were kicking yourself for not accepting those defense classes your father had offered. 
You began to walk again at a slightly quicker pace, your phone now firmly grasped in your hand. With shaky hands you dialed the number of the only person you could think of at this moment. You didn’t put it against your ear, so as not to alarm your pursuer that you were calling for help. You dropped your phone to your side, subtly sending your live location while also praying that he would pick up.
“Hello?” you heard the faint questioning tone of Shinsou as he answered the phone. You walked faster, thankful that you were wearing heels so that he could at least hear the fast pace of your steps. A soft ‘ding’ sounded from his side, showing that your location had sent.
“Are you okay?” Shinsou asked in a panic, “I’m assuming you can’t speak right now, but press a number once if you are okay and twice if not.”
Shakily you tapped two numbers, trying to not alert the eyes behind you. 
“Don’t hang up!” he yelled, you heard loud shuffling from his end, “I’m coming!” 
Faint tears burned your eyes at his words, relief flooding your system. 
The footsteps behind you quickened to an almost running pace and, without a single moment of hesitation, you took off in a full sprint away from him. Your phone flung to your ear, repeating words of panic to Shinsou.
“He’s running at me!” you cried out, swerving your body down a separate street in hopes you could put more distance between the two of you. It was useless though, as his hands reached out towards you and gripped onto your elbow. 
Panicked yells ripped out of your throat, you flung your arm carelessly with as much force as you could muster. A solid punch landed, but it seemingly had no effect on the man. His grip was tight around your arm, rough fingertips and nails tearing into your skin. When punching proved useless, you pulled your hand back, lighting your quirk through your fingertips. Pained cries erupted from your body as you forced a large thorn to grow in place of your middle nail before clawing at your attacker. You could feel it as your thorn tore through his skin, and for a moment you felt relief through your pain. You could hurt him. You found a way. 
You began clawing desperately at the man’s face. He swore loudly in pain, attempting to gain control of your hands but with no avail. When his hand would come close, you would gash it open in defense. 
Loud footsteps were heard from above as a figure raced across the building above you. When it noticed the commotion it jumped to the ground, grabbing hold of the man and ripping him apart from you. You could feel the rage surrounding the hero who fell from the sky. His fists laid repeated blows on your assailant, even as he went seemingly limp in his grasp. 
You focused on the figure and felt pain ripple in your chest, “Shinsou,” you cried out, “Shinsou that’s enough!” 
He dropped the man without care before turning immediately towards you. Crazed eyes met yours, instantly changing to concern as he reached for you, cupping your face in his hands. 
“Be mad at me later please,” his voice cracked, looking you in the eyes, “But please tell me if you’re okay first.” His hands dropped to your arms, inspecting them in a panic. You watched the man in front of you with soft eyes, anger not even present on the list of emotions you were feeling at that moment. 
“Oh,” you whispered with teary eyes as you reached for his face just as he had done to you, “Oh my sweet hero boy.” 
Shinsou froze momentarily at your words, staring down at you with an array of emotions bursting from his chest. He watched you as your hands relaxed and fell to his chest, gripping onto his shirt and pulling yourself against him. He reacted instantly, holding you impossibly closer to him.
“Let’s get you home, little one.” 
taglist! (just ask! some of yall are added bc I remember you reading lol)
@just-a-girl-with-alot-of-issues @tiny-is-sad-100 @delicatefleur @pansexualproblemchild​
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lambourngb · 18 minutes ago
Chapters: 1/25 Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Michael Guerin/Maria Deluca (the canon 1x13 scene) Characters: Alex Manes, Michael Guerin, Isobel Evans, Kyle Valenti, Maria DeLuca, Liz Ortecho, Rosa Ortecho Additional Tags: Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Podfic, Podfic Length: Over 20 Hours Summary:
Lambourn's summary: Alex thinks he knows what he’s getting into when he bars law enforcement from searching the Airstream while he waits for Michael. What’s worse than pretending to be in love with someone that you’re actually in love with- only trapping yourself together with your ex, all while your ex is talking about moving on-- with your best friend. Cool, cool, cool.
This is probably the coolest thing to ever happen to me as a writer. If you have ever wanted to read my insanely long story but felt challenged by the length- podfic is an amazing gateway…. plus you get to hear some great music and @jocarthage  ! 
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slow-burn-sally · 21 minutes ago
I wanted to make some funny memes, so I went looking for screenshots of different Terror characters and ended up rewatching the scene where Crozier tends to Jopson on his deathbed and now I’m a mess and whyyyyyyyyyyy
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valenhell · 21 minutes ago
I can’t find any good byler fic in the ao3 tag. Can someone please, I beg you, link me to some nice fics?
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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 27 minutes ago
am having a day of regretting all my life choices. will try and channel it into smut writing.
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mansikkaomenabanaani · 35 minutes ago
Chapters: 8/? Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Original Male Character(s), Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Original Male Character(s), Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Firehouse 118 Crew (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: POV Evan "Buck" Buckley, Drunk Evan "Buck" Buckley, Sad Evan "Buck" Buckley, Flirting, Unrequited Love, Jealous Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Dating, Pining, Explicit Sexual Content, Insecure Evan "Buck" Buckley, Angst Summary: Eddie is dating again, and honestly, if he had cut Buck's heart out it would have hurt far less. He's losing everything; the best friend he's ever had, the kid who is the closest thing to a son he'll ever get, and any hope that Eddie might one day see him like he wants him to. Drowning his sorrows in a bar, Buck is taken pity on by a friendly bartender with a flirty smile and a good heart. Would it be so hard for Buck to learn to love again—or maybe even for the first time?
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railmeddy · 41 minutes ago
Just admit you’re petty and go🤧 if you don’t like rivetra then why bother reading a fic? Why waste time and energy on being negative? Just stay in your lane. Rivetra has their own community to communicate.
Just admit you’re dumb as hell and go. What rivetra fic did I read? I don’t read them bc I don’t like the ship, something y’all need to learn to do. If you don’t like a fic don’t fucking read it so then you can’t bitch in the comments to the author when you get your feelings hurt.
How are you gonna say ‘don’t waste time and energy being negative’ when that’s literally exactly what you’re doing?? How dumb are you?
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inklingofadream · 45 minutes ago
The last time I joined my family for the spring break trip, we were eating dinner and spotted a couple sitting next to each other on a big rock formation, and someone pointed it out, leading to the following exchange
Brother 1: What are they doing?
Me (just learned the word canoodle): They’re canoodling
Brother 2 (age 7 or 8): What’s canoodling?
My dad (suddenly very concerned about preserving his son’s innocence for a man who taught me all the lyrics to “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” when I was the same age): It’s a kind of Italian pastry
Anyway since it’s never come up since I’m 99% sure my brother still thinks canoodle and cannoli are the same thing.
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sage-eclipse · 45 minutes ago
small lil drabble on c!dream
word count: 235 ( ik short but bear w me )
note: this is my first legitimate attempt at serious fic writing so feedback is very appreciated !!! also this takes place before the resurrection
tw// trauma, torture, the prison, abuse, threats of violence, mentions of death ( if i need to add some pls lmk )
dream wasn't quite sure how long it had been, how many times he had died and respawned or how many times quackity had looked at him with that smug smile on his face. all he knew was the pain that he had slowly gotten used to.
he was taken from his thoughts at the sound of the bridge moving, as he looked up from where he was on the bed he saw quackity, standing there with a smirk holding the axe. dream wonders how he would look if the roles were reversed.
quackity stepped off the bridge and walked over to the bed, "you know this can end if you just give me the book", he said the smirk still present on his face.
dream stayed silent and just stared at the dark obsidian walls. the walls that were a perfect representation of his head.
"well then," quackity rose up the axe, "guess i'll have to continue beating you" he said far too gently as the axe struck dream's arm.
after what had seemed like years, quackity had finally left and dream layed on the floor. his mind hazy, his body fucked up.
but through the gleams of it he knew one thing. he was gonna break out, maybe not today, hell maybe not within the next few months but it would happen and when it did sam and quackity would have hell to pay.
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pocketramblr · 47 minutes ago
In which Katydid commissioned me on my own work, the mtby au, and the first chapter is here:
As a man runs from his brother and holds his family close and tries to hope the world will be better in a hundred years, he can't stop the pain that his son will still not see it.
The man is wrong.
<pst this is the one with Fujiko:>
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moonlightdistractions · 50 minutes ago
I am bummed that I can't find my Folsom Prison Blues fic rec on my blog - it's like it disappeared which sucks cause it took effort to put together.
I think maybe it was an answered ask, somebody saw my tag from a Folsom post regarding reading all of the Folsom wincest fics - so maybe that's why I can't search for it?
sigh. I wanted to reread them all just as a morning treat for putting out the garbage (hey some folks like cookies as a treat but I like wincest fics).
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mego42 · 52 minutes ago
last line tag
tagged by @percyjacksonfan3 (ty babe! 💖) to share the last line i wrote and then tag however many people there are words in it. alas, i am neck deep in edits for your monster looks like mine so i’m not drafting rn BUT here’s one of the last bits i edited that i’m rather fond of AND made @nickmillerscaulk yell at me which is always a bonus:
A seething, roiling anger's rising, threading through and twining together with the want, twisting it into something made of fangs and talons. It's familiar in a way that's horrible and comforting in equal measure, some kind of barely domesticated wild thing that comes when he calls, butting its head up against his hand, stretchin’ and snarlin’ and sharpenin’ its claws. 
He's no stranger to thinkin' 'bout Elizabeth with rage and desire tied up together in a knot. He'd fantasized about fuckin' her and killin' her so many times in those months holed up in that hotel room, at some point, they'd started to feel like the same urge. Hell, ever since the first time he met her, she's been pissin' him off and turnin' him on in the same breath, a pattern that's only exponentially intensified since then. Like some kind of fractal pattern spiraling out and out, repeating itself over and over again as it grows and consumes more and more of him and fuck, he hasn't been this high in a longer than he can remember. 
i’m not counting all of that so tagging: @pynkhues @foxmagpie @missmaxime @daydreamstew @septiembrre @bethsuglywigs  @00gangfriend00 @joeyjoeylee @carry-the-sky
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inevitably-johnlocked · 53 minutes ago
Five Fics Friday: May 7/21
Happy Friday everyone!! Check out these brand-new-to-me fics I’ve been recced this week to keep you going until Sunday!!! <3 <3
Ignite by malacophilous (E, 3,526 w., 1 Ch. || Trans John, Gender Issues, Kinks, Sex Toys, Banter, Masturbation) – John is trans; Sherlock doesn't mind. John minds, until he realises precisely why Sherlock doesn't. Written pre-S2.
To a Friend Who Sent Me Roses by AlgySwinburne (E, 16,152 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4 / Ignores TFP, Five and One, Friends to Lovers, Insecure Sherlock, Parenthood, Declarations of Love, First Kiss, Bisexual John, Gay Sherlock Oblivious Sherlock, Morning Sex, Anal Sex, Press and Tabloids) – Five times Sherlock is mistaken for John’s partner and Rosie’s father, and one time it isn’t a mistake.
Breaking Christmas by MissDavis (M, 18,606 w., 18 Ch. || Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Nipple Piercing, Ficlets, No Angst) – Join me in some established relationship Johnlock as I attempt to make Sherlock and John participate in some Seasonal Fucking Cheer.
Rupert Street by WritingOutLoud (M, 27,262 w., 9 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Case Fic, Sexuality, Demisexual Sherlock, Drug References, Smart John, Biphobia, Fluff, Angst with Happy Ending, Gay Bar) – Discharged from the war with nothing but the clothes on his back and a realisation of his bisexuality, John Watson has to learn who he’s become. He can’t afford London on an army pension, but the city is the only friend he has. In an effort to understand his newfound queer identity, he heads to a bar one night, where he stumbles across a mysterious stranger who turns his life upside down. ‘I dug around inside myself, and I'm not quite sure what I found, but it was beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.’
The Adventures of a Single Girl in London (Plus a Consulting Detective) by earlgreytea68 (M, 32,913 w., 8 Ch. || Fix It, Miscarriage) – Sherlock Holmes keeps choosing flatmates who fancy themselves to be bloggers.
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arethainparis · 54 minutes ago
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II) Characters: Éowyn (Tolkien), Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Elboron (Tolkien), Théodwyn (Daughter of Faramir) Additional Tags: Kid Fic, Théo the know-it-all, Bron just wants to be a kid Summary:
A family legend suffers some editing.
“But,” said Elboron breathlessly, “I have only one page and do not know the end of the story!”
“Do you not?” asked Théo from the window, brow furrowed in a manner that made her look unnervingly like Ada. “Are you quite sure?”
Mother shot Théo one of her characteristic looks that usually meant that Théo was being too much of what Ada called precocious.
“He’ll have to learn to think eventually,” Théo muttered, and Elboron scowled at her.
But he had a mission and would not be deterred, so he turned away from his sister and back towards his parents.
“Ada, as a prince surely you must know of the princess,” he pleaded.
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melodyofmbaku · 54 minutes ago
In Between the Lines Chapter 2 (Erik Stevens x OC)
Teaser [1]
Prompt: “C'mon, I wanna hear you say it.”
Word Count: 2.5k
Warnings: Angst... I can’t help it.
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That was her problem.
Elloise couldn't see. So she liked to touch.
It was how she was able to experience the world. It was also the bane of Erik’s existence.
She was always fiddling & touching and it drove him right up the wall.
Didn't she know that some people would misinterpret her actions?
That’s exactly why he hung around her so much, she was entirely too trusting. And he didn't want someone with ill intentions to take advantage of her.
That’s what it was.
Not because he wanted her hands to be on him and him only.
Or because he wanted to see exactly what that mouth could do.
It was because she had a bleeding heart for every seemingly suffering individual and it would be her downfall.
That’s what it was.
As such he made it his mission to weave his way into her days because Elloise was one of the few people he actually liked around here.
He remembers the first time he met the woman who had ownership of his heart.
It was 2 years ago when hehad just arrived at the palace. The place that was supposed to be his home. After he decided to work alongside T’Challa to better improve relations between Wakanda and the rest of the world it was decided.
He could learn more about his father, his birth place, and detach from his old hobby.
Killing people.
So when the young man approached him with a smile on his face and gesturing towards his gear he put a stop to it quick.
He still had some of his pieces on him and he didn’t want that getting messed with.
He rolled his eyes and mumbled an “nah I’m good boss” under his breath before walking around him.
The man began to follow him, looking intently at him with a confused look on his face.
“Do you need some help with your bags?” He gestured to his belongings once more.
“I’m good man.” He responded back again lowly. What was this dude’s problem?
Then he heard it. Her.
"Would you quit mumbling under your breath? If you have something to say, speak up, if not, you'd be better off shutting up".
He looked to the side and took in the woman who emerged from one of the many entrances that lead to the front hall.
She looked lithe and soft. She had dark skin and plump lips, wild coily hair, and a dress that accentuated her waist dangerously. Her cleavage was artfully on display and he was definitely taking a look.
This was the exact kind of woman he enjoyed whining, dining and bending over at the end of the night.
He would also probably do something wicked to that mouth…
He cocked his head and the corner of his lip lifted up in amusement.
“What you say ma?”
He watched as she walked towards him with intent and an odd aura of grace.
She stopped much too close to him.
"Erik... when you entered these grounds — the palace — my house — because that's what this is... my house — you consented to abiding to the rules of this household”.
"Some of which include forgoing your "I used to kill people for a living" vibe so that the differently abled individuals in the residence can comfortably get their jobs done".
What was she going on about? Differently abled?
She gestured to the young man who came to take his bags.
"James is hard of hearing. It helps that you speak clearly, and preferably facing him, so he can better assist you".
Erik turned to take him in. Then he saw it.
James smiled politely and gestured to the tiny hearing aid that was discreetly placed behind his ear.
Erik swallowed. He felt like a dick. He palmed the back of his neck.
"Nah uh... I'll carry my own weight." he responded after clearing his throat.
James nodded and looked back at the woman as if waiting for a command.
She turned to him "Thanks James, it seems like Mr. Stevens has it covered. You can go now."
The young man nodded and went on his was and Erik could’ve sworn he heard a snicker from him as he retreated. He glared at his retreating back.
"Can I touch you"? she asked tilting her head.
"What"? he asked confused.
She gestured toward his face. “Can I touch you? Your face specifically”. She repeated.
Erik squinted still trying to understand what exactly her problem was.
"Why the fu —". She never let him finish.
"We'll be spending a lot of time together now that you’re officially part of the royal family”.
“What’s that gotta do with you touching me?”.
"To save you further embarrassment, and a repeat scenario… in case you missed it Mr. Stevens... I'm blind". She pointed to her eyes to convey her point.
There was a moment of silence before Erik realized.
He wasn't sure how he missed it. He was getting comfortable and terribly out of practice.
She had done a very good job of presenting as normal as possible.
He ducked lower to her level to meet her eyes. True enough her deep brown eyes were unfocused and there seemed to be a gray film over them but they were brown nonetheless.
She repeated her question.
"Can I touch your face, so I know what you look like?” she gestured to him leaning forward invasively close.
“What if I say no”? He responded back defiantly. She wouldn’t catch him slipping twice.
“Then you say no”. she shrugged leaning back.
“I wouldn’t touch you without your consent, another one of our house rules that I hope you’ll remember”. She replied in a patronizing fashion.
He took offence.
“I’m a killer, not a rapist.” he spat out.
“That’s good to hear”. she commented before walking up the stairs encouraging him to follow.
“I’ll show you to your room, and it’s a pleasure to meet you Erik.”
And that was the beginning of their relationship.
He idled about and nursed a drink in his hands and tried to look the least bit engaged at this donor dinner. He hated these dinners.
He’d have to watch Elloise on his cousins arm the entire night. Not to forget the attendees who were there for selfish political gain alone.
He watched closely as she made the rounds with T’challa around the room. She had chosen a deep green dress with a dangerous V that held his attention throughout the night.
T’challa paraded her around the room like the gift she was and he knew this was the part of him she fell in love with.
That’s why he was surprised to find her alone and still dressed to the nines in the palace kitchen in the middle of the night.
He had changed into his comfortable sweats and made his way over to decide on which concoction of alcohol would knock him out for the night.
She had a plate of lamb and potatoes untouched in front of her.
She didn’t startle when he spoke. She probably knew he was here based on his cologne or possibly just heard him when he came in.
“Midnight snack?” He paused and sat in the seat across from her.
“I got the chef to make me something then sent him away.” She spoke clearly. He heard the hardness in her voice.
She was upset.
He saw that the lamb sat on the play uncut and her hands lay in her lap.
“Let me get some of that.”He reached over for the plate and she stopped him.
“Erik. I like lamb.” She held onto the plate refusing to let up.
He sighed.
“Here, I got it.” He stretched his hands for the cutlery.
“I can do it myself.” She protested eyebrows furrowing.
“I know that.”
She still held onto the fork with hostility. She was upset.
“I like doing this so relax okay? You know it’s not like that.” he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and awaited her answer.
With that she reluctantly released the cutlery to him and folded her hands in her lap carefully.
She heard the fork and knife scrape against the plate as Erik cut it into pieces. She couldn't help but inhale a little bit deeper.
She liked the way he smelled. Erik always smelled like warmth..
She didn't know what to do with her hands. They were always doing something. Touching, feeling, studying, working.
She tried so hard to not be caught lacking, to be looked at as unable.
She would always have an excuse, because of her condition, but she pushed herself to insane lengths to never have to use it.
With Erik she was able to relax without being scrutinized, when it was just the two of them it was different.
This was... nice. She liked it.
"Potatoes too?" he asked wondering if he should slice up the baby potatoes that accompanied the lamb on her plate.
She shook her head — negative, she liked them whole.
"Thank you". she replied back softly.
"Don't mention it". He responded before carefully handing the fork back to her.
Her fingers lingered on his hand a moment before she pulled them away seemingly unaware.
Erik lived for moments like these.
He watched attentively as she speared the tender meat and placed it in her mouth and began to chew.
“Where’s T? Why isn’t he here with you right now?” He was sure he’d be tearing it up tonight. She looked that damn good.
She paused and looked down. “He… got called away for an emergency.”
They both knew what that meant. Erik wanted blood.
“You can’t let him get away with disrespecting you like this El. Tell somebody. The elders. Anybody.” He urged with subdued rage.
“Would they blame him? Or would his actions be chalked up to something else?” She shifted in her seat.
“Maybe how in more than one way I’m not enough.” She placed another piece of meat into her mouth and chewed slowly.
Despite the hot anger that flowed through his veins, he knew it was the truth.
He hated that it was the truth.
He despised his cousin for taking that vulnerable woman and turning her into this.
He was going to end him.
They weren’t that close anyways.
He could see it now.
He’d start from his left hip bone and do a clean cut — probably with something classic. Like a black pearl switchblade. Then he’d —
“You can’t say anything Erik.” she commanded. It was if she heard him plotting.
He scoffed.
“It’s not your right.” She said.
Her mouth was sharp as ever.
He hated that mouth.
He dreamed of that mouth.
He was the forgotten cousin. An honorary royal. Offered a position for blood ties and even then, it was decorative.
An outcast.
Maybe that’s why they got along so well.
She placed another potato between her lips.
He rose from his seat and stood behind her.
He began to remove the large decorated pins from her pressed hair. His fingers reached the nape of her neck and she finally released the tension that her body held.
“I didn’t say I was going to do anything.” He spoke lowly above her, focused on the task at hand.
She leaned into his hand and he snuck his fingers into her hair and found her scalp.
He rubbed at it gently, product would cling to his fingers later but he didn’t mind it.
“We’re the same you and I.” She hummed.
He cocked his head and continued his task.
He never understood her when she said that. But in fear of being scolded he kept quiet.
She was good. So good. He was bad bad bad.
He felt her shuffle to rise and he stopped his actions unwillingly.
She sat up and he reluctantly removed his fingers from her head.
She ran her palms down her dress to straighten it out before she looked in his direction.
“You’re harmless. ” She joked lightly before lifting her hand awaiting his arm to lead her back to her room.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Girl, you should be scared of me.” He murmured slyly.
She rolled her eyes.
He offered her his arm and she grasped it in a familiar fashion and let him lead her.
They walked leisurely through the hallways. When he didn’t get a response to his last statement he assumed his previous joke fell flat.
“Erik, when are you gonna go?” She asked softly. Her fingers added more pressure into his arms, concern lacing her tone.
She’s been pestering him for months to go to therapy — deal with his murderous thoughts.
He didn’t like the idea.
So he wasn’t going to do it.
“I’ll go when you go.” He shot back.
She sniffed and turned her face away from him.
He grinned cheekily, dimples shining through.
“You know why I can’t go. It’d be taboo for me. Plus, they treat me like an invalid.” he watched her mouth twist into a scowl.
He scoffed, and continued to lead them to her destination.
Their route was coming to an end and he knew she felt it.
As they got closer and closer to her quarters her grip tightened on his bicep. And he paused.
“Erik I’m scared.” she whispered.
“If he can do this. Openly. In our room. In our bed, then...”
“What’s next? What’s next for me?“ she looked in his direction — lost.
“If he don’t got you, I got you.” He crowded her space and bent down so he could be level with her.
She needed to understand that she could rely on him for anything. He wasn’t sure he knew just how deep his feelings went for her.
She lifted her hands to hold his face. It was how she saw. Her hands immediately found his beard. He saw the tears pool in the corner of her eyes.
“Anytime you get scared you call me. You hear me?”
Her gaze was downcast. This wouldn’t do.
“I’ll gut em. Like fishes. The whole lotta them.” He pushed out huskily.
“Erik...” she murmured disapprovingly.
“You believe me?” He asked.
“I —“
“C'mon, I wanna hear you say it.” He pushed lowly committed to making her see that she wasn’t alone, he was there.
“Yes Erik, I believe you.” She whispered lowly. She quickly wiped the tears that had slid down her face disobediently.
“Goodnight E.” She stepped back and turned to her door. He watched as she steadied herself.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets to stop himself from grabbing her and crushing her in his embrace.
He wanted to grab her and kiss away her fears.
Instead he subdued his wants and watched her walk through her door.
The door to the room she shared with T’Challa.
He spun around and began the familiar path back to the kitchen.
After knocking back the drink of the night he steadied himself.
Erik walked to his chambers in the same manner he did every night — longing for his cousin's wife.
@fd-writes @amorestevens @raysunshine78 @adreamsublime
Idek what I’m even doing with this story but lmk what you think 💜
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