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what's the
Pirate Zuko AU Idea about?
I don't have a ton of this fic written, tbh. I think it amounts to maybe a half a page altogether, but here's the synopsis and a bit of dialogue I've been noodling around with.
Instead of a wild goose chase for the Avatar for 3 years, Zuko and his crew rebel against Ozai and turn pirate. Their targets are FN war vessels. They become sort of folk heroes to the EK and lower class FN citizens. When he realizes how much support Zuko is getting, Iroh suggests rolling their rebellion into a coup.
It takes a while, but Zuko eventually agrees after seeing how much harm his father is doing, and he and Iroh decided it's time to start building alliances with the other nations. Their first stop is the SWT, as they seem the likeliest to join the cause. As they're entering the southern waters, Zuko and his crew spot a strange beam of light in the distance.
Against all odds, they've stumbled upon the Avatar...
This is the bit of dialogue I've come up with. I think it would happen sometime soon after Zuko meets Katara, Sokka and Aang. I'm not sure why Zuko lied about his identity, but I like the idea of this scene.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were the Fire Lord’s son?” Katara asked. She kept her eyes on the horizon, but she felt Lee…no, Zuko shrug.
“Would you have trusted me if I had?” he countered.
“I guess not.” Katara sighed and turned to Zuko. Prince Zuko. That would take some time to wrap her mind around.
“If it makes you feel better, Ozai hasn’t claimed me as his son in quite some time.”
“Yeah, what happened there?” Now that the shock was beginning to wear off, Katara found herself curious about the pirate captain.
List of WIPS (last reblog)
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I know you are busy right now with your fics and I really admire how brilliant they turn out to be with you working on multiple projects. I really appreciate all your hardwork and dedication and ugh, I just love your work so much.
But can I just say that I saw your comment in one of your fics about a potential forbidden Malfoy OC/Reader x Voldemort and I am really looking forward to that? I'm a huge Harriet x Voldy fan but i really love the Malfoy idea and the whole corruption concept. I have this weird imagery of them like Voldy being the snake from the apple tree in Eden and Malfoy Reader being naive, trusting, and too curious for her own good Eve.
Thank you so much!!! It means the world to hear that! I am thrilled to know so many people enjoy these silly little stories I come up with :D!
I am very much looking forward to writing that story! And I will. First I need to finish some published stories but this one is at the top of the list! I hope I'll get to it some time next year and I will be certain to post about it here too!
I don't know from what perspective I will be writing it yet.
Corruption is a main theme for the fic as I've been planning it right now. The youngest child of Narcissa and Lucius is a very sickly girl who had little influence outside her family and who has never even left her family's estate! Voldemort shamelessly preys on that and revels in the slow but steady destruction of her innocence and purity - something he never got to have.
I have a little snippet/teaser here of that fic for anyone who is interested! I have yet to find a name for the fic - because love coming up with names for stuff!!!! (not.)
Malfoy daughter X Voldemort Snippet
words: 1200
warnings: none that I can think off :D
Astrea Lucretia Malfoy knows there are certain expectations that come with being a member of the ancient and most honourable house of Malfoy. Astrea knew these expectations before she could as much as crawl. They were handed down to her from the very first beat her heart took inside her mother’s womb and Astrea would sooner throw herself off the roof of her family home than do anything that would bring shame to her house and her parents.
Astrea loves her parents.
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are proud people and Astrea would never want to embarrass them. Astrea knows how to behave. She knows how to greet people and how to make pleasant conversation. Astrea can play the piano and dance and yet despite having devoted her life to trying and be the perfect heiress to her proud parents - she is not.
She is a smudge on her family’s proud family tree and there is nothing she can do.
Astrea looks down at the crimson spots on the snowy white handkerchief in her trembling hands. Steps sounding from the hallway have her hastily fold it and stuff it in her dress. The corset her governess put her into for today’s special occasion.
Time has run out. Astrea can’t escape him any longer. She knows it was an endeavour doomed from the beginning but she had to try.
Her governess opens the door, looking like a banshee coming to announce Astrea’s death, dressed in her stern black uniform. Astrea hates the sight of that uniform. Hates the black dress that makes her think of death every time she sees it because death is the last thing Astrea wants to think about it and yet it’s the first thought on her mind when she wakes up and the last when she falls asleep. Death hunts her in her dreams and she knows death is approaching steadily in reality as well. The handkerchief stuffed between her breasts and the corset bears the proof of that.
Astrea has been sick for as long as she can remember. Despite hiring the most renowned healers and researchers and even shamans nobody has been able to give the proud Malfoys and their inexhaustible vaults at Gringotts an answer as to why their only daughter is a sickly, weak child. She just is. Getting infected with the Dragonpox that would later take her severe, powerful and feared grandfather Abraxas Malfoy did little to improve her condition.
Nowadays Astrea can at least leave her bed and walk freely about the Manor but she knows that little and treasured freedom will be snatched from her the second her overprotective father learns of her relapse.
Astrea pushes her governess' hands from her hair and gets up. She ignores the lightheaded dizziness rushing through her at the swift movement. She does not let it show either.
She can wait no longer.
He is expecting to be introduced to her after all.
The Dark Lord. The most powerful wizard of all times, once believed to have vanished and now returned, reborn. Of course, Astrea knows all about him. She has been taught about him alongside her older brother Draco all her life. Taught of his greatness, his might, his goal to save wizardingkind and she has been taught of her duty to serve him.
And yet she stole from him.
The precious dress made of fairy-spun silk slides over the carpeted stairs. Astrea’s chest strains against the corset. Her governess tied it tighter today against Astrea’s protest.
Nobody here listens to her.
Nobody cares.
Oh, they all ‘care’ - they bend over backwards to delay the inevitable, forcing her to go through heinous treatments to expand her life and yet nobody cares.
Expect for her Uncle Sev perhaps. Her godfather, her father’s best friend and also on the few occasions she is allowed to practise magic, her tutor. He always has an open ear for her and a shoulder to cry on when she needs it.
But there are a few secrets she keeps even from him. The handkerchief and her impertinence. Both she carries on her person tonight. Perhaps a mistake though she seriously doubts the greatest Legilimens to ever live would need her to carry her sin with her to detect it. He’ll know the second he sees her, therefore her avoiding him. In the days before the Dark Lord’s arrival to take up residency in her family home she strategically scattered gasps and moments of pause into her demeanour and speech, then on the morning of his arrival Astrea dipped the thermometer her governess forces past her lips every morning in her teacup for a few seconds as the old hag was preparing her bath.
She spent the past week in her bed but she can’t keep this charade up for long without risking her feeble sham-freedom.
Astrea treasures her freedom above all else.
She enters the sitting room. Her parents are sitting on a sofa with Draco in between them. Uncle Sev sits on their opposite, his face as expressionless as always, swirling whiskey in his glass lazily. There, right across from Astrea is he.
The dark one.
The most powerful and dangerous man to ever walk the earth.
And Astrea not only gets to walk on the same earth at the same time, she gets to be in a room with him, to breathe the same air as him, share dinner with him.
Her chest is bursting with pride, her heart flutters in its cage of fragile bones like the many exotic birds in their cages in her room. Her father keeps bringing them home in hopes of making her smile but Astrea finds no joy in dooming others to share her fate and yet what can she do? These birds, much like her, have no chance of surviving outside their cages and yet she can’t help the occasional thought of just letting them all go, letting them try their luck and run after them, with bare feet and no shawl and wouldn’t that be worth the impending death following them? Living and if only for one second?
Astrea has never felt so alive as she does right now. Her trembling fingers grasp the edge of her dress and lift it slightly as she sinks to her knees, bowing her head at the same time. She struggles to keep her back straight and her body stiff, to not fall over and to make it all seem effortless too. Her long pale blond hair falls over her shoulder. She doesn’t even pause to remember she has never curtseyed in a dress cut like this one, doesn’t remember the corset, doesn’t realise her hair is shielding the sight from her parents and Uncles and doesn’t notice how crimson eyes darken as they skim over her, lingering on the neckline of her dress.
Astrea has grown up well-protected and so she does not realise the different ways men look at quickly coming-of-age girls like her. Merely a year away from being presented to society, something Astrea has never had to worry about as her poor health will hardly allow for such a thing her mother has neglected to prepare her, to warn her of the more unsavoury desires of some men. And still - Astrea knows more than her parents think. She is no idiot and has read nearly every book in the Manor, even those her father keeps away from her in his own library and especially his study and what she can’t find in books her friend tells her about. Her only friend.
“Rise.” The high-pitched voice caresses her skin like morning dew, the leaves of her flowers in front of her windows. Like the wings of her feathered companions, her bare arms. Astrea shudders and - against all her formidable education - she stares.
Amusement twinkles in the crimson eyes of her lord and master, dark red like the drops on her handkerchief. They assess her, gliding over her body, her dress and eventually coming to a halt on her eyes. The corner of his lipsless mouth twitches and for a second Astrea has forgotten everything. The blood, the fatigue, the guilt at lying to her parents, the weight of her sin pressed against her naked thigh beneath her dress.
Lord Voldemort looks different than she could have ever been able to picture him. Pale skin that’s scattered here and there with a bundle of scales that shimmer in the flickering light of the gas lamps on the walls, shimmering like the expensive opal jewellery her parents brought back for her from one of their trips to France once. His pupils are long, shaped like those of a snake and where there is supposed to be a nose, only slit nostrils stretch across his skin.
He is tapping his nails on the armrest of his armchair, one with a regal, high back and luxurious tropical wood, stained dark to fit the room’s aesthetic.
“It is an honour to meet you, my lord.” Astrea says, though her voice sounds strange even to her own ears. “I am saddened to have missed your arrival.”
“I am as well.” Voldemort says, his voice silky smooth, sounding so familiar and yet so strange. Though the fluttery feeling it ignites in her belly is very familiar. She has only ever felt it around her only friend…
Voldemort rises from his seat, abandoning his untouched drink on the table beside his armchair. He towers over her, taller even than her father and uncle. Astrea feels minuscule next to him, not only due to the size. She doesn’t even reach his shoulder.
“Join me? I am curious to learn more about the youngest Malfoy offspring.”
“I am an open book for my lord.” She says with a chaste incline of her head, hiding both from the intense gaze of her master and the redness spreading across her cheeks. “My lord merely needs to ask.”
The stolen leatherbound diary pressed against her thigh she accepts Voldemort’s arm and follows him into the dining room where he even pulls out her chair. No man who does not also share blood with her or is made of ink and magic has ever treated her like this. Astrea sits down and is glad for the rest, ignoring the sweat drenching her back beneath her dress and corset. She doesn’t notice the eyes wandering to her décolletage once more.
“I hope my family’s home becomes my lord well?”
“Yes.” He says, red eyes blazing. “Alas I was uncertain for a bit but it could convince me after all.”
“I am relieved.” Astrea looks up and smiles, finding it contains the same amount of joy it has when addressing it to her ink friend and all the joy it lacks when looking at her family.
“So am I.” His upper lip twitched into a crooked grin, revealing a single, sharp, long fang. The grin looks so familiar-
Astrea shakes the thought off.
Perhaps she should not have brought the diary but she can’t leave Tom in her room alone! He is her only friend and she has to keep him safe! Perhaps Voldemort does not know she has stolen it from her father’s study all those years ago in a fit of infantine anger and desire to hurt her father back for all that he is keeping her from. All she wanted was to join Draco’s birthday celebration and he forbade it. Tom said she did no wrong and that she should believe him but Astrea finds it difficult at times.
She has considered putting the diary back many times but Tom has told her how lonely he was before she saved him and one does not abandon friends! At least that’s what Tom says. Astrea has never had a friend but she trusts Tom. He would never want to harm her.
***
What a curious little creature, Voldemort thinks as he slips into the girl’s room unnoticed. She is lying in a huge bed framed by flimsy, delicate curtains, as delicate as the girl they give fleeting shelter to.
She is asleep, her lids closed, hiding the bright blue of her big eyes. Her luscious lips are slightly parted. Beneath her hand, curled into a feeble fist on top of her pillow, beside her head sits it.
The impertinence. The utter impudence to bring the stolen object to her first encounter with its rightful owner. It’s almost charming. Like an ant that believes itself so powerful it can revolt against the boot.
He will take pleasure in crushing her. In ripping her chaste innocence from her to savour it, to claim it for himself. He’ll punish her for her crime and Lucius for being so careless he has not even realised it’s missing. The object Voldemort entrusted to him. A piece of his master’s soul - though that part he is obviously unaware of. Voldemort is not so stupid as to hand over crucial information to a mere henchman like Lucius. Though his daughter will make a lovely addition to Voldemort’s bed.
He reaches out a pale hand with skeletal fingers to take the diary, reclaim his stolen Horcrux-
Voldemort is pulled away, something tugs on his mind and he falls forward, like dragged into a pensieve and he finds himself in the Slytherin common room, standing by the fireplace he once tossed the annoying cat of a classmate into. In front of him on the leather sofa lies the girl, the same girl, in the same flimsy, nearly see-through nightgown and she is asleep in his arms. In his arms.
Within the blink of an eye his younger self, looking the role of the proper Prefect he had been at the time, stands in front of him. Voldemort had never been short but his adolescent self can’t match the height of his new body and yet he doesn’t seem impressed or like he even remotely cares.
“She is mine!” He hisses in angry parseltongue, his eyes flashing red and Voldemort is forcibly expelled from the diary, such force he stumbles a step backwards, staring at the girl sleeping on his diary as peacefully as humanly possible.
Read it here
#ask#upcoming fic#Astrea x Voldemort#Astrea x Voldemort excerpt#wip ask#fanfic wip#voldemort x reader#voldemort x oc#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle x oc#dead dove fic#possibly edible tho#don't know yet#excerpt
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🍍
Two tech bros on a day out
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Ari being such a big bully to the cutest, sweetest reader and totally getting off on her blush and her tears.
literally. squeezing your warm cheeks together to make you pout even more, teasing you bc you can’t seem to say any coherent sentences around him. “Why don’t you take a breath and try again, princess, and I’ll try to understand, yeah?” closely watching those tears stream down your face, “Aw, you crying, baby? Giving me those pretty waterworks and that pout? You know what that does to me.”
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BUDDIE FAN FICTION IDEAS!
These are some of my ideas from my long list. Even though I do have some WIPs already started, it never hurts to start more!
I’ll try to be detailed as possible, but if you would like a deeper detail to one of my ideas, i’ll be happy to share!
• Buck dresses up as Santa, Chris asks Santa for his dad and his buck to finally be together.
• Buddie pretends to be gay for each other to see which one would breaks first.
• Eddie cares for Buck’s leg ache in a borderline non-platonic way.
•Evan Buckley as Clark Kent
• Trauma Trigger Response by Buck when water sprays across his face, soon after the shooting.
• Scared of Thunder, both Buck and Christopher seeks comfort from Eddie during a stormy night.
• A lie from Ana causes Buck to move away, and Eddie to grow angry at his Best Friend.
• 5+1 Buck being a housewife, mostly from Eddie’s POV.
• A autocorrected message from Buck to Eddie causes one steamy night while Chris is away at a sleepover.
• 5+1 Buck and Eddie asks for “Five more minutes.”
• Buck’s stress relief is kissing someone, Eddie ✨volunteers✨ to help his best friend.
• Buck has a choice to make. Past or Future. He must decide when he finds himself standing between Abby and Christopher.
• Eddie is woken by a knock at his door, thinking it’s just his son. He’s surprised to watch his best friend (who was asleep in his own apartment just an hour ago) slip into his bedroom, telling Eddie about his nightmare.
• 5+1 Buck, Eddie, and/or Christopher just needs a hug.
• Buck follows Eddie to his Fight Club which leads to Eddie fighting Buck as his opponent when the security guard mistakes Buck as the other fighter.
• Buddie was struck by the same lightning. After their recovery in the hospital, they learn that they now had a special connection.
• Christopher and his friend lied about where they were, Eddie and Buck panics about the safety of their son.
• mpreg eddie: Buck confides in his best friend about his opportunity to father a child for another couple. Eddie offers himself to help Buck have his own kids.
• Buck has ADHD, Eddie loves him endlessly anyways.
• Buck and Eddie are too focused on each other to realize both their girlfriends just dumped them.
These are not all my ideas, just listed a few! If any of these interests you and you would like to see it happen, please leave a comment, ask, or DM!
#evan buckley#eddie diaz#911 on abc#911 buddie#911 fox#buck and eddie#incorrect 911 quotes#oliver stark#911 season 4#wip ask#writing wip#ao3 911#ao3 buddie#ao3 writer#ao3fic
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Send me motivation!
Edit 4/19/24 - added fic
Hi, I'm at home with a backache meaning I can't do my job today, so I'm going to bang out as much writing I can today! So, here's my 911 WIPS to choose from:
"buddie divorce” - angry Eddie smut (Buddie)
“party drugs” - Buck whump (Buddie)
“O moment” - first time smut (Kinkley)
“Coffee order” - 5+1 (Kinkley)
“endgame” - (Buddie & Kinkley)
"single dad" - single parent Buck (Kinkley)
Send me a ✒️ and a wip title/code name and I’ll write three sentences on that wip and you get the sentences
#wip ask#out of work wip time#ask tag#talk to me#911 wip#buddie#kinkley#evan buckley#tommy kinard#eddie diaz#911
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The art of getting off 😅 hilarious. Can I know more?
HAHA yes you absolutely can.
Think smutty Jegulus longfic. Regulus is a demisexual romance author who has one big hangup: smut. Because he's just not all that interested in sex and the one person he is sort of interested in happens to be his brother's best friend. Cut to an awkward meeting with his publisher and a mountain of bad reviews and well... it's a good thing James is a charitable guy, you know? Alternative title: "The art of fucking your brother's best friend six ways from Sunday and not falling in love in the process" (but it's a bit long isn't it....)
Or, Regulus is bad at writing smut, James agrees to a few helpful hookups for research purposes (obviously), and everything gets absolutely derailed.
I think this is the WIP I'm most excited to post dkfgjhfg bumping it to the top of the list.
@emjayeingray you asked about this one too, so here you go!!
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Bring it on for the wip game pls
Ahahaha I WAS SURE IT WAS THE ONE WHO INTRIGUED YOU!!!! Because I know (I'm sure), you know, what this is about^^
Rio arrived at his new school, headphones around his neck, cassette player in his pocket. He was going to start the day with chemistry, not his favorite subject, but at least they could do some fun experiments.
After a very short presentation, he moved to the only empty seat in the class, and was greeted by the two village fools. Rio switched off his player, ending his rap session, and sat down.
The second idiot reiterated his buffoonery by imitating a fake cough. "Loser."
Rio had two options, ignore them or put them in their place. "Yo, guys, your sketch is outdated. In Detroit they got swag, and guns. But no goofball jokes. This sketch is dead. Sorry."
Unsurprisingly they did it a third time, thinking they were being funny, but they were just pathetic. This time Rio ignored them; he didn't feel like wasting his time on guys like that.
As he removed his headphones and stowed them in his bag, a female voice came from his right. "I think they just didn't understand a word you said."
Rio turned to look at his new neighbor and was immediately charmed by her pretty smile and big blue eyes.
"Or maybe it hasn't reached their brains yet." The girl began to laugh, and Rio found the sound very melodious. He decided to introduce himself. "Rio."
"Beth."
Rio looked at the book on Elizabeth's table; he was sure it was her full name. He wasn't the talkative type, but he was interested in making conversation with her.
"Second year Chemistry."
"Yes. Impressed?"
"Definitely."
"Really?"
"Nah."
Beth let out a laugh and pointed at his T-shirt. "'It's...?"
Rio tugged lightly at his T-shirt. "Tupac? Best rapper of all time, released his first album '2Pacalypse Now' in 1991. He's the most famous rapper in the world, but unfortunately got shot on September 7, 1996, and died as a result of his injuries on September 13, 1996."
"Wow."
Rio grinned up to his ears, but the bell rang at that moment, interrupting them. "I guess we'll be seeing each other again."
Beth stood up and smiled at him. "Chances are."
Yeah, Rio was definitely under the spell. His first day had been a really nice one.
Thank youuuuuuuuuuuu <3
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seren i HAVE to ask about haunted by the narrative 👀👀👀
From this Wip Game! Still taking asks.
Thank you Elvain!! This is one of the rare cases where I do have an outline for a multi-chapter fic! Very fond of it.
The concept is: Maedhros comes back to life, late 4th Age. He grapples with the difficulty of existence, ie : the roof keeps leaking, the world keeps being strange and vibrant and too complicated, and the ghost in the walls keeps insisting there are worse monsters in Aman than him, and they're coming ever-nearer. Featuring a multi-dimentional Valinor, Fingon in his religious rebirth era, and big bloodthirsty horses.
Only he refuses to admit there's a ghost in the walls in the first place.
Maedhros liked to pretend Maglor was with him.
That Maglor had returned - as he had. Dead, and enclausered in that Halls of Mandos, and freed in time; a solid thing, made anew. His own brother, at his shoulder, stepping behind or beside him. It was a small madness, and not the worst he could have indulged in, far from the fraught despair of his last decades.
“I miss your voice,” Maedhros said, musing, in the quiet of his empty garden. “At times it seems to me I hear it still,” and the faint imagining raised up his scorched hand, convincingly exasperated. Maedhros’s false Maglor was made of memory, but Maedhros’s did remember him very well.
“I am here, you daft mule,” said Maglor.
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'you can murder people for liking the RO you chose' Miranda Cosgrove interesting.jpg
Speaking of jealousy... on a scale of 1 to 10, where do the ROs fall in, and how well do they deal with it when other people try to get close to their MC with ulterior motives?
Thanks for the ask!
Hmm, let's see... from lowest to highest, assuming they already have feelings for MC, but are not in a relationship yet (except for Lyudmila & Jan/Jana):
'Little' Semyon/Selena: 0/10. They just want you to be happy. Plus, they think it's weird for people not to love you.
Mikhail/Marina: 1/10. More likely to sulk than to take action.
Semyon/Selena: 2/10. Will tell them to back off and may hold a grudge depending on how them approaching you went down.
Rakhmil/Rakhilya: 5/10. Jealous, but not enough self-confidence to decisively act on it.
Lyudmila: 6/10. They expect people to respect what you two have, and will not hesitate to defend it.
Arseniy/Rozaliya: 7/10. They are not cool with anyone approaching you, but they're trying hard to be mature about it.
Yakov/Liliya: 9/10. Will openly threaten suitors with death and only hesitate to do it because it might be detrimental to your cause.
Leon/Leah: 9.5/10. They are very possessive and will not hesitate to kill people who irritate them.
Nikola: 10/10. Though usually very open-minded, they get addicted to the feeling of romantic attraction; and they've never needed a reason to kill.
Jan/Jana: 10/10. If you decide they're the right person for you, then anything that poses a threat to this is potentially harmful to you and must thus be annihilated.
(...okay, that list turned out to be a bit top-heavy. Might be the BPD speaking. Anyway, I'm happy with it, so I hope you'll be, too.)
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That is an impressive WIP list! I had been tagged earlier today, so here's my post (it's late here, so I hope that link works 🤭)
I would love to know more about Two Sides of the Same Coin, please and thank you.
My WIPs are as numerous as my ideas, plenty but a little dodgy. 😎
My dear...you picked golden goose. 🪿
As such, it's only right I add @for-a-longlongtime and @legendary-pink-dot here as well.
I had a goal for this year of our double P (Pedro Pascal), 2024.
To write an M/M fic. I am working on meeting my goal rather early. It's in bullet point form but it has cargo pants, a cat/mouse chase, reference to knees and zip ties. A curls cameo also takes place.
The Pedro Boy: Dave York (he's taken over last month and this month, I don't know why)
The second gentleman: Santiago "Pope" Garcia
A daunting combo, can I make it work? Will it even flow? No idea. But I'm gonna try and will enjoy the ride.
#Nerdie answers#Maggie picked the jackpot#M/M is coming#pun fully intended#WIP ask#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal#oscar isaac#oscar isaac characters#Dave york#santiago garcia#the golden goose is two men in cargo pants
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8 (What is the last scene you’ve written?) for the WIP asks ❤️
From Oreo Sandwich <3
“How’s it feel so far?” he asks, and Daniel tilts his head. “Being down here, with us.”
“Mm. As good as I expected it to be. Which is…very.”
“You never seemed comfortable when we had our meetings. Was…was that part you, or Morpheus?”
“A bit of both,” Daniel admits. “I have never walked among humans the way my younger siblings do. There was never a need, for my dreamers come to me each night. I know their deepest fantasies, their hopes, and for a very long time I shrouded myself in them. Pretended that my duty was enough to fulfil me. Obviously, that did not work out as we hoped.”
Hob glances back at Morpheus. “But it worked out for the best, I think,” he says softly, and Daniel smiles.
“I believe…it worked out as well as anyone could hope.” Daniel’s hip bumps against his, sending them both tottering against a bookshelf so laden with tomes that it groans when Hob’s weight leans against it. Thankfully, the other side of the bookshelf is a wall, so it isn’t going anywhere. Daniel crowds into him again, and Hob unlinks their arms so he can put one hand on the slender hip, with its white-washed jeans and customary soft sweater, and the other cupped to the side of Daniel’s neck.
“You’re different when it’s just me,” he observes, and Daniel hums.
“As you are different with Morpheus, compared to me. In the way that Morpheus is familiar to you, you are familiar to me. And in the way that I am new and strange to you, so too is Morpheus the subject of my own fascination. But I remember.”
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🫂
Attempted screenshot redraw
#I might try again#but more stylized#cause I love the composition#and the shape of the shadows over his eyes#ask#wip ask#cheese-chase
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Blinded by the fog Halloween Special
Of course!! It stars my favorite group of Losers, pre- movie.
“C’mon! It’ll be fun,” you insist as you stare at the two no-fun-at-all lumps across the table from you. The Losers and their significant others were all piled at a corner table in their usual bar. You wave at your waitress, drawing a circle over the group to ask for another round.
Jake’s hands on your hips tighten as he leans forward, pressing your stomach to the table as he shouts to be heard. “We can always come back here afterwards,” he suggests as a way to placate the two oldest members of the team.
“You two aren’t gonna use this as an opportunity-“
“No!” You and Jake both interrupted Pooch . You felt your cheeks flame as Jake’s dick hardened under you. “For the last time, that was one time!” you counter. “Besides you had told us you weren’t coming. So it’s your own fault you saw that.”
“Trust me the memory of Jensen’s naked ass burned onto my brain is very good insurance that I won’t let that happen again,” Pooch shared. “In that ridiculous pirate hat,” he muttered under his breath
Roque suddenly rejoined the conversation “his ass was wearing a pirate hat??”
#jake jensen#jake jensen x reader#jake jensen pirate hat#pirate hat#the losers#blinded by the fog series#franklin clay#william roque#cougar#pooch#wip ask#wip asks#wips ask#my wips
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• ana bashing/ chris swimming at bbq 👀
due to popular requests… ask and you shall receive!!
the sneak peak;
Ana sat at the kitchen island for a decent amount of time, just sipping on wine and listening to the other ladies here talk. Eventually, Ana decided to slip away quietly and joined the boys outside. She immediately found Eddie sitting with his back towards the pool while he was in light conversation with his boss and co-worker. She looked over to the pool and gasped.
Christopher was lying on a water hammock, water surrounding his hips where his body made the mesh material dip into the water. His feet were tucked into the opening at the end while he mindlessly kicked his feet.
Why is Christopher in the pool? He can’t swim! How is Eddie allowing this?
It then dawned Ana that Eddie’s back was turned. Eddie must not even know his son was pushing a limitation with no adult to watch him.
Ignoring the fact that Buck is still in the pool, never staying more than a foot away from the flooring boy as he played with the other two boys; Ana walked right up to Eddie. Bobby and Chimney both watched her get closer and grew quiet. Eddie looked over his shoulder, confused as to why his friends stopped listening, to find Ana blocking the sunlight from hitting his back.
“Christopher is in the pool.” Ana informed, accusingly.
“Yeah, yeah he is.” Eddie agreed, confused.
“And you’re allowing that? He’s alone and he can’t swim!” Ana exclaimed, not lowering her voice.
“Yeah I can.” Christopher called out from behind her in a ‘duh’ voice. Chimney reacted by letting out a snicker laugh before clasping his hand to his mouth to keep quiet.
Eddie turned his body enough to check in on his boy while never actually moving from where he was sitting. Christopher smiled over to him, Buck looked between Ana and Eddie with a questioning look on his face. Turning his attention back to Ana, he spoke calmly.
“Chris is fine. He can swim with his life jacket and right now, he’s just floating. Buck is right there in case anything happens.”
Ana took a breath and acknowledged the fact that Bobby and Chimney were both still watching as Hen and Karen stepped outside with their own glasses of wine. Ana just nodded her head and sat with them, taking it upon herself to keep an eye out on her soon-to-be step-son.
Eddie made one last look over his shoulder at Buck, who nodded his head once in reassurance before giving Christopher a light push and playing with the other two again. Eddie turned back to his friends and restarted their conversation.
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this will be continued to be worked on soon, and there may be more to the plot than just chris swimming. i hope this sneak peak met any interests you had with my WIP list!
(i will be posting more tomorrow that are in my asks, and i’m thinking about doing this with my huge idea list for buddie plots!)
also if you’d like to be tagged to see my contributions to these challenges, let me know and i’ll make a list of who to tag!!
#evan buckley#eddie diaz#911 on abc#911 buddie#911 fox#buck and eddie#incorrect 911 quotes#oliver stark#911 season 4#ryan guzman#ana flores#ana bashing#ao3 911#ao3 buddie#ao3 writer#ao3fic#writing wip#wip ask
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