#speed writing

[airfieldddrive]

"Poetry Woman"

It's the time of the season for cherry blossoms to fall all around you

It's like the feeling you get from reading an old fashioned love poem

You're like the wind when it blows through the blinds

Poetry woman

take some time every once in a while and think about me

sleeping in peace at night

writing about how I feel after seeing you in the limelight

Your presence is felt

even though you are so far away

And then there is the feeling that comes over me when I think of your beautiful brown eyes

Poetry woman

So lonely

is where I am

night after night

Feeling all right

After and before

in the spring day

Loneliness is an age old cry

Desi daze is what you give

and the power is fully on

Feeling satisfied

Poetry woman

you look wonderful

night after night

And there is a spark of emotion in your beautiful brown eyes

Poetry woman

So lonely

is where I am

night after night

Feeling all right

Poetry woman

Love is all around you

Dancing in the moonlight

There is a love of life in your beautiful brown eyes

Poetry woman

you look wonderful

night after night

Such a heavenly sight.

-Walter

@olearypoetry

[wallflowerwritesstuff]

Out of Love (for the Art)

Why does Sylus sing despite apparently being bad at it?

Or

I had a dream that Sylus' love for singing comes from MC.

Tried a new writing format cause why not. Free will and all /j 🤭.

-🌻

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The Dragon, who listens to you sing so sweetly for the people who want you dead.

The Dragon, who feels frustrated and confused about why you waste your talents for a city now up in flames.

The Dragon, who discovers you weren't mourning, but breaking free of the binds placed on you by human limitations.

The Dragon, who began to see you in a new light despite every inclination to push you back into darkness.

For your sake.

The Dragon, who scoffs at the name you attempt to give him, leaving you and the butchered Philosian language alone outside the cave that'd begun to feel warmer nowadays.

-------------

Sylus, who discovers that you like him and does his best to avoid the satisfaction that surges through him, unsure if it is truly him or the desire to claim your soul.

Sylus, who learns that the answer is both when he nearly takes your life only to be stabbed in the chest once again.

Sylus, who watches as you heal him just as easily as you had hurt him and does his best to keep his emotions at bay.

Sylus, who fails miserably and succumbs in hopes of being able to fight against the curse he'd learned as a child.

Sylus, who shows you the flowers while wondering if you were aware of the emotions blooming in his chest.

Sylus, who kisses you until your head spins and your heart picks up pace... The thrill of his own heart beating in time with yours is one he burns to memory.

Sylus, who watches you get taken away by the humans he'd told you to keep alive, fighting every urge to take care of them to get you back.

Sylus, who knows it is a trap, but can't help but follow the echoes of your voice, that familiar melody causing his heart to stop in his chest.

Sylus, who replaces you in that old Dragon's curse by taking Death's hand.

Sylus, who is pained at your horrified expression but relieved you get to live another day.

Sylus, who feels his heart break sync with your own, slowing until his vision faded.

Sylus, who didn't fear death... Happy to have gotten a chance to hear that sweet melody sung by an even sweeter voice one last time.

--------------

You, who asks over dinner preparations why he sings so often.

You, who despite teasing him for his voice, asks him to sing his favorite song.

You, who listens as he sings a song of death, one that is unfamiliar yet tugs at your heart enough to reach out and grip his sleeve.

You, who watches as a knowing smile crosses his lips once he finishes.

You, who he reminds to breathe as he wipes your tears and apologizes for picking a depressing song.

You, who insists it was the onions that made you cry despite there being no onions in sight.

You, who requests he sings it again, earning a quiet laugh from deep in his chest.

You, who wonders while he sings what person taught him such a sad song... How important they must have been for him to remember it so well.

[strangesthirdeye]

I'm speed writing now.. Speed writing are cool. 👩‍🍼

[shakespearevillain]

For @ectogeo-art

“... Take that rod and eat it,” Garak said.

“Eat it?” Julian said.

Garak nodded and gave him a confirming grunt.

“You’re joking,” Julian said.

Garak smiled at him. “Yes, Doctor, I am,” he said, glad that Julian had caught on. He’d come a long way from the naïve young man he’d met at the replimat. It suited him.

“Very funny,” Julian said, grabbing hold of Garak’s right hand. Before Garak could pull away or think of a counterstrike, Julian lifted the hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

“Well,” Garak said, his brain now in a holding pattern, “I thought so.” He moved to take his hand back, and Julian let go. “But the answer to your question, Doctor, is no. There’s nothing you can do for me while I’m away.” When I get back, on the other hand... By the State, when did I start thinking like that?

“Then these,” Julian held up a familiar, silver and black package, “are for you.”

“Delavian chocolates?” Garak asked, taking hold of the box. Warm skin brushed against his cold scales and he quickly pulled away, taking the chocolates with him. “But these were meant for you,” he protested.

“I know,” Julian said, “I thought you might need them more than I do.”

Garak felt like all the breath had been pulled from his lungs. Manners, Elim. It was almost as if Mila was here with him now. Always remember your manners. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, pressing the chocolates against his chest in the traditional gesture of thanks on Cardassia. Not that Julian would know that, but it was the thought that counted.

Julian smiled at him. “Good luck,” he said.

Rather than give him a lecture about how Cardassians don’t believe in luck, he hummed a noncommittal response and turned on his heel. As he heard the airlock start to shut behind him, something itched at him. Like an ill-sewn tag on a shirt, something was scratching at his mind. If this is Tain, he thought, and Tain is exactly as dangerous as you remember him, you may never see that young man again.

Attachments were dangerous in spycraft. Partially because of what Garak was doing now, pulling the emergency stop on the airlock and shimmying through the half-closed portal. “Doctor!” he called at Julian’s retreating back.

Julian stopped and turned to look at him.

Garak rushed forward and pressed his lips to Julian’s. Rather than pull away or any of the other things he assumed a Starfleet doctor could do to harm him, Julian melted into the kiss. “Message received then?” Julian asked once he’d gotten his breath back.

“Message?” Garak asked.

“The message about coming home safely?” Julian said. “The one I was trying to be subtle about?”

Terok Nor was not Garak’s home. At some point, likely over lunch, he would make that fact very clear to Julian. For now, he pressed his chu’fa against Julian’s forehead and tried not to think about how soft he’d grown. “Message received,” he said.

“Good.” Julian pulled away. “Well, I need to get back to sickbay then. Have a good mission!”

Garak took Julian’s hand in his. “The traditional Cardassian farewell,” he said, “is ‘Udachet prosh mken.’”

“You’re not just making me swear in Kardassi?” Julian asked with a little uptick of his brow.

“Why, Doctor, you make an excellent point,” Garak teased. “For all you know everything I say could be riddled with foul language.”

“Uda-ket pros mechan,” Julian said before squeezing Garak’s hand. “Now, go. Before Odo has an aneurism.”

“I don’t think Changelings are capable of such things,” Garak said, “but I take your meaning.” He turned and walked back towards the airlock. The itch, he found, was gone. Instead, he felt a certain weight on his heart. A weight that he was sure wouldn’t lift until he came back to Terok Nor. 

[very-sleepy-head]

Decide to do this challenge for December! I was already kinda late so this was a speedy writing (didn’t even proof read it, oops) I’ll try to do every day, let me know what you think ✨

Day 1: Only One Bed

Read this on Ao3 Next

Ian couldn’t sleep. He looked down, Mickey was sleeping on the floor of his room. He didn’t want Mickey to sleep on the floor anymore. It’s not like the Gallaghers didn’t already know what’s going on, even if they never explicitly confirmed anything. An idea popped in Ian’s head.

He reached out to poke Mickey’s shoulder, making him startle awake.

"The fuck, Gallagher?" he whispered roughly, "What do you want?"

Ian signaled him to get on the bed.

“Ian, we can’t…Your brothers–”

Ian rolled his eyes ,"c’mere." he whispered.

"Are you deaf or something?" Mickey said impatiently.

"I’ll make it worth your while…"

Mickey smirked. "Is that so?"

"Mick, just come here." Ian urged.

"Fine. Fuck." Mickey stood up, Ian grabbed Mickey by the hips and dragged him closer until he climbed into the small bed beside Ian.

Mickey laid on his back as Ian pulled him in closer by the waist and covered them both with his blanket.

Even though Mickey attempted to push Ian away and keep some space between them, the redhead only held on tighter, until Mickey realized his actions were pointless and he gave in, letting Ian’s body press against his.

Mickey let out a long sigh and closed his eyes as he felt Ian's fingers brush his hip just above the line of his boxers.

Mickey bit his lip, silently begging Ian to take over. When he realized Ian wasn’t going to make the first move he teased, “Now what, big guy?”

“Is this not enough for you?” Ian pressed Mickey against the bed, Mickey grunted against his neck, as Ian slid Mickey’s boxers down.

Mickey felt Ian's hot breath on his skin while he tried to form words that didn't make him sound like some desperate bitch, but what came out of his mouth was “Will you touch me already, asshole?”

Ian pressed his lips against Mickey’s neck, he couldn’t control the smile that broke out over his face at the words.

In one quick move, Ian had his tongue in Mickey’s mouth and his hands grasped Mickey’s ass. A surprised moan left Mickey’s throat.

Ian knows exactly how to get Mickey off, where to put his hands and his mouth to make him moan the loudest. Mickey hates and loves it at the same time.

The redhead paused their making out for a moment to reach over and grab the lube out of his drawer.

Mickey leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Want you.” and pushed down Ian’s boxers.

Squirting some on his hand Ian reached down between them to wrap a hand around both of their dicks, jerking them together.

He felt Mickey’s hands sliding up and down his back, digging into his ass as he tried to urge the redhead even closer.

“F–fuck…” Mickey muttered, slipping his hand up into Ian’s hair and tugging on it until Ian moved his head to kiss him.

Mickey felt his balls draw up and his stomach tighten. He squirmed underneath Ian's skilled hand.

“Don’t stop,” he begged, too far gone to care about sounding like a bitch, “Ian…fuck—“

With that, Mickey came hard into Ian’s palm that continued stroking him through his orgasm.

Ian slowed down his movement, letting Mickey recover, but Mickey wasn’t having any of that. He wanted to make Ian feel just as good, so he used his cum as lube to stroke Ian.

He moved slowly for a second, savoring the little gasps Ian was letting out of his throat. He sped up his pace, twisting his hand when he got to the tip before moving back down. Every few strokes, he'd swipe his thumb over the head, knowing it was driving him wild.

“Fuck, Mick! shit!” Ian breathed heavily and bucked his hips into Mickey's hand.

He dug his nails into Mickey's hips and without warning, he was cumming, shooting over Mickey's hand.

When Ian opened his eyes he saw Mickey staring back at him, licking his sticky hand, the one that was just wrapped around Ian's cock seconds ago.

Mickey moaned at the taste of Ian's and his cum.

“Fuck.” Ian breathed, his chest heaving “You’re going to be the death of me, Mickey Milkovich.”

Mickey just smiled wickedly and bit his lip, trying to stop himself from shoving Ian away. Instead he let Ian spin him so Mickey’s back was pressed against Ian’s chest. Ian’s hand slipped around his waist and under his hands, not quite holding his hand but keeping it within reach.

Ian's nose nuzzled into him just behind his ear and Mickey's fingers twitched. It took another few minutes before he reached down to rest his hand on Ian's wrist, their feet already tangled at the end of the bed.

They haven’t done anything like this before, but it was like Mickey had already accepted it as the way it was going to be from then on.

[a-gal-with-taste]

Hello HAPPY NEW YEAR, you could write something where reader, silco and jinx celebrating the new year. Thank you can anything.

Note: Sorry for the close-call of this request!!! Was busy whooping my families' butts at our annual New Years Eve Monopoly game

Happy New Years, beautiful people!!!

Characters/Pairing: Silco, Jinx, GN!Reader (pre-slash GN!Reader X Silco if you want to take it that way)

Wordcount: 1.1K+

Warnings: Jinx being a lovable lil' shit, explosions and humor and cute Dad!Silco moments.

'I can make it to midnight,' she swore.

'I can stay up that long!' She insisted.

'Shut up, Sevika, I TOTALLY can!' She had hollered at the disbelieving.

Now, Jinx is snoring loudly into Silco's hair, the older gentleman remaining stoic and calm despite visibly-trembling knees from the weight of the growing pre-teen he was carrying in a piggyback. You are biting hard at the inside of your cheek as you glance over at the bizarre, and yet completely unsurprising sight. "I would be happy to trade places with you sir, if you were to ask," You offered, managing to keep your tone professional.

"Mmhm."

"... You could ask me if you need help, boss."

"Yes. I could."

You suck in your bottom lip to bite down on it slightly, holding back a smile as the man keeps his eyes fixed stubbornly on the awaiting horizon over the Piltover towers. Listening to the waves crash against the dock behind the two of you, you decide to forego the boundaries of your professional relationship by stepping over to Silco, close enough for the two of you to be brushing shoulders.

"... She said she wanted the best view."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not leaning on you for support, understood?"

"Of course not, sir."

"...She's not that heavy."

"I believe you, boss."

"... And you-"

"Are ya gonna kiss at midnight or somethin'?" Jinx yawns loudly, arms tightening around the crimelord's shoulder as she lingered between slumbering and barely-awareness. "That'd be funny. Start the new year off with a bang." She paused, then a sleepy high-pitched giggle sounded, "Heh, bang..." "I don't think that's the best idea, Jinx-" You are silenced by her finger reaching out limply, smacking her index against your face as her bleary eyes open to look towards the City of Progress. "Shhhhh.... don' ruin the moment."

You suppress the snort, glancing over to the scarred, grayish side of Silco's face, his red-eye hooded with his own tiredness as you feel his body lean just a bit more against you as Jinx wiggles for more comfort on his back and shoulders, the strain clearly taking a toll. But he was simply too stubborn to put down the girl now, and you felt too much admiration for his efforts to leave him to bare the burden alone.

When the countdown begins, you see Jinx perk up immediately, reaching into her back-pocket, earning a hiss of her name as the sudden movement nearly completely throws Silco off-balance. "Jinx-!"

"What? You really expect me to sit around while bombs are going off and not have my own??" She sounded vaguely insulted, blowing her long blue-bangs off her forehead as she fished out a crude, semi-star shaped contraption out. You resist the immediate urge to pull back and run, having been trusted enough to accompany your boss and his prized-second/beloved daughter to this middle-ground between the Undercity and Topside. You didn't want to reveal cowardice to your bosses face by running to duck-and-cover now.

Standing your ground, you decide to help the tired man by putting an arm out, curling just-short of touching his waist to give him a sense of sturdiness while Jinx, much more awake as you reach the 30-second mark, plucks the pin from her homemade gadget.

The kingpin hisses through teeth in a pointed objection as his charge turns slightly on his shoulders, bracing her arm as far back as possible before sending the star-shaped bomb flying along into the choppy waves along the dock. "That's far enough to avoid us becoming casualties, correct?" Silco asks her dryly, but Jinx only begins to chant along with the distant echoes of the Topsider's countdown.

You watched as the man closed his eyes with a loud sigh and shake of his head, but the hint of an upward curl on the edges of his mouth at the young girl's antics. Feeling like you've been intruding on a personal moment for the two of them, you suddenly feel the need to step away and go to unfurl your arm from around Silco's waist...

"Nuh-uh, you guys hafta kiss, it's tradition or whatever!" Jinx whined, reaching over to tug on your collar before you can fully escape, your employer turning to you with a raised brow and neutral look as you begin to hear the excitement in the air at ten... nine... eight...

"Look, sir... s-sorry, maybe this wasn't-" Your weak explanation on why this probably isn't the best idea is quickly silenced at the four, three, two-mark.

At four, he sighs and rolls his eyes a bit, somehow more exasperated with you than his child's antics in the moment.

At three, his hand releases on one of Jinx's leg long enough for him to grab the flap of your jacket and tug you over with such utter casualness it makes you stutter your words to a surprised halt.

At two, the ocean behind you explodes into bright lights, docks beneath you three shaking with the force of the colorful, experimental explosion.

One, his mouth against yours, and Jinx's delighted and humored cackles echo along with the distant booms and cheers of greeting-in a new year.

Three seconds into the new page on the calendars, Silco sighs as he released you, quick and smooth to grab her leg again and steady her on his back, before she falls off from his piggyback. "There, did that bring in good luck for the year?" He asked her dryly, both duel-colored eyes made alight as he calmly watches the lightshow in the skies high above the three of you. The blue-haired girl shrugs, squeezing his shoulders with her arms wrapped around him as she peeks at you through her bangs, giggling mischievously at your gobsmacked expression of what the hell just happened in the last 10 seconds.

"Something like that~" She mused with another humored giggle, swinging her legs slightly at his sides as she returns her own attention to the light-show above, the sparkling remnants of her own creative device falling down around you in the curious imitation of fallen stars.

You... you honestly don't know if there's a way to respond to this. The situation, your boss who just kissed you with all the casualness of holding-a-door open for someone, and his daughter's makeshift firework ending in something akin to beauty, and not sending you crashing into a destroyed dock. Unable to come up with words appropriate to even begin addressing what just happened, you find yourself turning quietly on your heel, arm unconsciously raising again to offer physical-support once more for your boss as your eyes draw to the sky.

Alight with colors, exploding ripples cutting through stars and the ink of night, the hope for a future year ahead is bright, loud and much like the last few minutes of your life, wholly unexpected with what comes next...

"Oh. And Y/N? Keep in mind that I will absolutely obliterate you into dust to be swept away and forgotten of all eternity, if you ever mention this to anyone."

Well... maybe not entirely unexpected, you note as you sigh in some twisted sense of relief at the familiarity.

"Yes, sir."

[tllgrrl]

Talk Like A Pirate Day 2022

Avast ye!

I will be writing the Paul & Darlene ship’s log for Sarah Wilson, and @btwxsixesandsevens will be writing Bucky Barnes’ journal entries.

All I can say is, Heave Ho and make sure your hatches are battened….

The Paul & Darlene’s Ship Log - Sarah Wilson, Captain

19 September, the Year of our Lord, 1722

Dropped anchor off the coast of Hispañola.

Several of the crew went ashore to pick up provisions and supplies for the last leg of the voyage home to the port of New Orleans.

This campaign was a success as this time we lost no hands to illness, sport, or in battle. With spoils so rich, we’ll all be able to be with our families through Hurricane Season and none of us will suffer.

The loas were kind and generous to me, my crew, and my children. The idea of any of us making orphans of our babes doesn’t sit well on my heart, but this is our chosen way.

My late husband’s parents are still alive and spry, and willing to look after their grandchildren while I’m away. That they refuse my offer of payment, preferring I set it aside to purchase land for the boys’ future, is a kindness I won’t forget.

Along with the latest scuttlebutt from other ships, the quartermaster returned with a sealed message that The Shield was recently in port and is on the same route back to New Orleans that we are.

The Shield is Captain Samuel Wilson’s ship, and their main mission is to find and arrest pirates.

For months, one of their targets has been the Paul & Darlene, her crew, and me.

We’d spent a good month careening the ship, and now even loaded with supplies, provisions and the booty from this recent run, ours is still one of the fastest brigantines sailing the sea.

Definitely faster than a Royal Navy frigate.

The quartermaster also reports hearing that The Shield picked up a civilian passenger. A former officer in the Royal Navy, a friend of the Captain, and who is also on his way to the port of New Orleans.

By the time they weighed anchor, we had the wind at our backs and were making good time for a rendezvous.

We knew they’d spotted us when the lookout reported seeing what appeared to be the battle ensign hanging from the Shield’s mainmast.

Seems the Captain is spoiling for a fight, still feeling sensitive because the last time we met, unbeknownst to him, when we made our escape, along with his ship’s wheel, we took one of their crew with us:

Idris. The cook.

~~~~Sarah Wilson, Captain

Sarah’s Ship Log: Entry 2 / Entry 3 / Entry 4

Also on AO3.

* * * *

Bucky’s Journal: Entry 1 / Entry 2 / Entry 3 / Entry 4 over on @btwxsixesandsevens blog.

* * * *

Dividers from @firefly-graphics .

************************

[enquiringangel]

hashimadaweek2022 day 5: death/rebirth/undeath

A/N: An overgrown drabble that reimagines chapter 691 and then stops because I am cruel and lazy.

-x-

Several lifetimes ago blindness had threatened Madara daily, a darkness that crept in at the edges of things and reduced the world to a tangle of shadows and silhouettes. Even that was denied him now. The sun rose over the world he had tried to bring to an end, and though its rays warmed his face he couldn’t see them. It was fitting, he supposed, since he had been blind in every way that mattered all along.

He’d failed. And rightly so. His grand dream of a better world had been nothing but lies. He’d thought himself the master shogi player, but in the end he’d been just another pawn. Used up and hollowed out, he was left broken.

Now there was nothing left but to wait in darkness for death to claim him. The boy Sasuke would take care of it – Madara could feel his chakra nearby, poised and ready to swoop down for the kill. But he would say goodbye first.

“Hashirama?” It hurt to speak, but it wasn’t much worse than the already blinding agony caused by just lying on the ground and breathing, so he paid it little heed.

“Yes.” The sounds of the other man moving to be beside him were soft and deliberately made. “I’m here.” Hashirama took his hand, and his fingers burned where they were so cold. Dead things, the both of them.

Madara managed a smile. “I’m not going to say you were right,” he said, trusting that Hashirama would know what he meant. “Even if you probably were.”

An amused hum, Hashirama’s thumb tracing half-moons over his knuckles. “I won’t say I agree with what you were trying to do,” he said softly. “But I understand. Like I’ve always said, you’re a kind man.”

Madara had to laugh at that, even if it made him break into hacking coughs, because there was no one else in this world or any other who would still describe him as such. “Such a fool,” he said fondly.

“It’s nothing but the truth,” Hashirama insisted. “You still wanted to save everyone, just like back then.”

“I’m sure no one else would agree.”

 “Well. I know better.” He gave Madara’s hand a squeeze. “You’ve always tried to carry heavy burdens alone – even when they were more than your share. You didn’t need to do it alone. It’s not something that could really be achieved by just one person alone, in one lifetime. But see what they’ve achieved together now, things are coming along after all.”

“I was just too impatient, I suppose,” Madara agreed. He tried to squeeze Hashirama’s hand back, but his grip was as weak as a newborn baby. He wished he could see his face. “And you know me. I could never stand having people behind me.”

They stayed like that, just the two of them as if nothing and no one else mattered. Madara wasn’t sure how long they had been there, but the heat of the sun on his skin grew more intense, and still he showed no signs of finally shuffling off the mortal coil for good. In fact –

He was actually beginning to feel better.

His body was healing itself, the cells he’d taken from Hashirama working to repair damage and restore homeostasis as they’d always done. The pit at his core where the Juubi had been torn out still felt like a gaping void, but with every breath he took he was breathing a little easier. Hashirama had noticed too, Madara was sure.

“Is this your doing?” Madara couldn’t muster up any feeling other than warmth and tenderness for Hashirama at this time, so the question came out sounding conversational rather than accusatory, as he had intended. He was done with this world and their time was over. They needed to move on.

“It’s not me,” Hashirama answered quietly. He rested a hand over Madara’s heart and sent cool chakra probing questioningly through his tenketsu. After a moment he sucked in a breath and drew his hand back. “…It’s still in you.”

“Come again?”

“The Juubi. I can feel a fragment of its chakra inside you.”

“It would seem so,” a new voice agreed calmly. Madara flinched; he would’ve felt worse about being caught so obviously off-guard if he hadn’t felt Hashirama jump out of his skin as well.

“Ōtsutsuki Hagoromo,” Hashirama said – purely for his benefit, Madara felt.

The Sage of the Six Paths.

“Yes, it’s me. We meet in person at last, Madara. Anyway, I had a feeling something like this would happen, so I concealed the fact that you haven’t yet left for The Pure World from the shinobi. They are gone now, to pursue their own destiny.”

What the— Madara struggled into a sitting position, grabbing at Hashirama in order to do so. “Why would you do that?” he demanded. “You’re the one who helped them, aren’t you? They were different after I killed them.”

“Yes, I gave them my power in order that they should stop Mother,” the Sage agreed in genial tones. “We had a conversation in Limbo. As for why—so that I could do this.”

All Madara was aware of was a sudden burst of chakra and the way Hashirama gasped and spasmed, clinging on to him like he was adrift and Madara was the only thing keeping him moored. He felt blindly for the other man’s hands, his face. He felt the change in the texture of Hashirama’s skin – gone from waxen and unyielding to pliant and soft, he felt the way the other man’s ribs rose and fell under his touch, the pounding of his pulse under the veins in his wrist.

Hashirama in his arms, warm and alive. Reborn.