#and like. i was actively in a flare up in that dream so the brain fog was making it harder to think clearly

[glitchdollmemoria]

yknow the cool thing about having a ptsd induced bad dream is it gives me more motivation to go watch cozy movies and eat comfort food til i feel better

[neerdokells]

In With the Old, Part 3

I didn't know what the best play was here. Changing form to avoid this situation would draw attention, and I could only imagine how hard it would be to discuss it reasonably after that kind of shock. Once she picked me up and hung me outside the shower and started the water, I felt I was basically committed to this course of action.

Hanging there was kind of nice. I wasn't heavy, so there wasn't any sense of strain or pressure associated with it, it was just relaxing. The hot, humid air in the bathroom as the shower ran was cozy, and watching Linda walk past naked, climb into the shower, and wash herself was flaring up the residual excitement I still had from earlier. I wanted her, and by the time she finally turned off the water and reached for me, I was eager for the contact.

The feeling of being rubbed all over her body was like a thermostat getting cranked up in my brain. We had played at bondage in the past, taking turns tying one another down and playing with them. I knew what it felt like to be teased, mercilessly, for what felt like hours, how the pressure builds and builds, how a skillful partner can, with care, make you feel like you can't possibly get closer to the edge and then push you just a little more, and a little more, until it feels like you will be trapped in this ecstasy forever without release. Being her towel, my whole body sensitive and dragged across every inch of her skin, was like that. By the time she wrapped me around herself, hugging her body tightly and feeling it move within me, I could barely think. I was lost in near-orgasmic bliss.

I felt pressure from outside, and it took me a moment to get my bearings enough to see why. She had gone to Yakov, to the man who looked like me, and he was holding her tight as they kissed deeply. Both of their bodies pressing, rubbing against me, it was too much. I faded into the edge, losing thought of anything other than the sensation and the desire to find release.

I never found it. Eventually, the feeling started to fade, and I realized I was crumpled up on the bedroom floor. On the bed, they were actively engaged in sex, having apparently started some time while I was lost in my haze. I couldn't bear it anymore; I turned invisible, returned to my gendermixed fairy form, and flew out the open window into a nearby tree. Watching them, remembering what it felt like to be between them, imagining being between them now-my hands found their targets, and I finished myself off with an explosive double orgasm that caused me to black out.

When I came to, they weren't in the bedroom anymore. I flew around the property, and spotted Linda in the living room watching tv. Yakov was out back, chopping wood. I tried to materialize an outfit with my magic, and ended up with a dress not entirely unlike Tinkerbell's. I guess it was the most obvious choice in my present state, but I figured I would play with other ideas later. Right now, I had work to do. I waited until he left the axe in the stump for a moment to grab a drink, then landed on the flat edge of the axe head and made myself visible.

“Ahem!” I shouted. He jumped; I had expected my voice to be tiny, weak, almost impossible to hear at his size, but apparently the desire to be heard was enough to make my voice a normal human volume. “Are you having fun with this?”

“With…chopping the wood?” he asked.

“Wait.” I flew right up to him, hovering in front of his face. “Do you remember me? Do you know who I am?”

“A fairy? A real, live, fairy? Is this a dream?”

“No! It's a wish, or it was. You remember the wishes?”

“I wished for a fairy?”

I stared into his eyes, and realized he was confused. Really, truly, confused. It wasn't an act, and it wasn't just that he didn't know what my fairy form would look like. The entire event had been erased; as far as he could tell, he had always been Bryce. There was never a genie. There was never a wish. He had become human-he had become me. There was, truly, no place for me here anymore. I had been written out of the story and recast. Yakov the genie was not just free, he was gone.

I turned and looked at the wood, then back to him. “Will the wood to split,” I told him. He sputtered for a second, then sighed and pointed his hand at one of the logs.

“Split,” he said, and the log split. He jumped back and screamed.

“You…there was a wish. And as a result of it, you have magic now. Not forever, it will fade with time, but you have it for now. Can you see the weave of magic, how your use of it is balanced by the order of nature?”

“I…I do! I can see the causality of it! I can see what happened when the log split!”

“Let it guide you. Use your power wisely, Bryce. Give Linda the life you always wished you could.”

“Who are you?”

I put on my best smile. “A friend. I'll see you around.” I turned invisible again and flew away. I heard him protesting, asking me to stay, to tell him more, but I couldn't. I couldn't stay there. Maybe I could find a way to fit in, to be a part of their lives, but did I really want that? Did I really want to see Linda, every day of my life, knowing she has no idea who I am? No, I decided. It was too much. I would accept the consequences of my decisions. I pressed my hand to the living room window, whispered a goodbye, and flew away into the woods.

Yakov had told me there were no other fairies, that they were a fiction dreamed up by humans. At the time, I didn't mind; I wasn't planning to live as a fairy, I was planning to live as Bryce, and just sometimes turn into a fairy when it was beneficial to do so. But I scoured the wild places for over a year, traveling around the world, seeking any sign that he was wrong. That there was a society out there, somewhere. A group of beings like me, who would understand what this nature was like, among whom I could start a new life.

I scouted everywhere. I took on various forms, mostly animals, to travel and avoid trouble. It didn't matter for my search, my experience with New Bryce told me I could sense magic if I found it, so I trusted I'd recognize other fairies and they would recognize me, regardless of form. But I never found them. I never found any sign they were even real.

I was a squirrel, resting in a tree in Europe and thinking about where I would go next, when I heard a familiar voice. I scampered around the trunk to face a cabin, nestled in the woods, where a woman was singing. A woman I knew. I froze as I stared at her.

It was Portia.

Before I met Linda, I had Portia. We loved each other, deeply, but it couldn't work. We tried, oh how we tried, but I couldn't be the man she needed, and she couldn't be the woman I needed. When we went our separate ways, it wasn't because the love had died, but because we both knew it was necessary. We loved each other enough, in the end, to see that the best thing for one another was to find someone else. for me, at least, those feelings had never faded. Linda knew, of course, and took comfort in the knowledge that, even though I had eventually become a much better partner, Portia loved on the other side of the country and wasn’t a threat.

But now here she was, and here I was, and Linda was far away with another man. Or the same man, in a sense. Either way, I wasn't there anymore.

I didn't even actively think about it. I wasn't aware I was doing it until it was done. But the squirrel disappeared back around the tree, and a moment later, Bryce walked out from among the trees, dressed in hiking gear.

[weiying-lanzhan-fics]

it's always open by ScarlettStorm

Absolutely amazing!

LZ’s inner monologue was such perfection. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

His inner voice is witty, endearing, petty, hilarious - just read it! 😁

Quotes:

Lan Zhan is already in his pajamas, but he sets aside his book and swings into action. He knows from experience that “incoming” means Wei Ying’s rideshare has turned onto his street, which also means he has exactly the right amount of time to put the kettle on and steam one of the sweet red bean paste buns he keeps in his freezer for times such as this. By the time the knock on his door happens, Wei Ying’s guest slippers are waiting for him neatly in the entryway, and Lan Zhan has the steamed bun and a mug of the horrible cinnamon ginger herbal tea Wei Ying likes waiting on the coffee table closest to the side of the couch with the taco-shaped throw pillow that Wei Ying bought him as a joke and now ends up absentmindedly cuddling every time he comes over.

(Lan Zhan has his Wei Ying surprise evening visit preparations down to a science at this point. He is aware that this is not the way most people treat their friends, even their best friends, and actively chooses not to care.)

——

“Well, he has a point,” Wei Ying says seriously. “Nie Mingjue is a catch.”

“As ge makes clear to me at every opportunity,” Lan Zhan says in the long-suffering deadpan that he’s learned Wei Ying finds amusing. Wei Ying laughs again, the sound bright and too-short, causing a flare of satisfaction deep in Lan Zhan’s chest that mellows back into gentle concern. “Are they… disappointed?” he asks carefully, deciding to risk a more direct question in the wake of the laughter.

“They’re sure not appointed,” Wei Ying grumbles in something close to his usual sense of humor. He frowns. “Hey, can you be appointed?”

Lan Zhan considers that. “One can be appointed to a position.”

Wei Ying nods. “Yeah, okay, so being disappointed is the feeling of bummerhood that comes when you don’t get appointed to the position you want?”

“That makes a certain amount of etymological sense,” Lan Zhan allows. He pauses there and fixes Wei Ying with a flat look. It’s time to be blunt. “You are avoiding the question.”

“I was going on a fun verbal tangent, something you normally love to join me on,” Wei Ying insists, looking extremely put-upon. He sets his mug aside and picks up the taco pillow, scowling at the embroidered smiling face. “Everyone’s ganging up on me tonight but you, El Taco.”

E, 60k

Summary:

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I dunno,” Wei Ying says, offering up a smile that’s small but genuine. “Can you rewire my brain so I don’t panic when people want to kiss me?”

“I do not believe so,” Lan Zhan says with exaggerated mournfulness. (Most people would not be able to tell he was doing so, but most people are not Wei Ying.) It would normally get him a laugh, or a snort, or his favorite, a snort laugh, but Wei Ying doesn’t respond. He just sits there and stares at Lan Zhan like he’s doing extremely complicated math in his head and choreographing a nine-person dance number at the same time.

“Lan Zhan,” he starts, a light sparking in his eyes and his voice coming out rushed, “Lan Zhan, could you—would you be okay with—”

“Breathe,” Lan Zhan orders gently, squeezing Wei Ying’s hand again.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes but obeys, inhaling deeply and re-centering himself before he looks Lan Zhan full in the face, shoulders square and chin up. “Will you kiss me?” he asks, like that’s a reasonable thing to ask and not the culmination of over a decade of Lan Zhan’s specific, secret, fervent dreams.

Or: A journey of self discovery... and the inevitable emotional fallout.

@scarlettohairdye

[sleepy-aletheas]

post 2.3 ramblings

I love the mindbending ability any dream-reality story is build on, but damn, is Penacony flaring up my paranoia and just leaves me cynical about any and everything.

(These are just my on-going observations and musings, so really, it's more like an unhinged red-string-on-the-wall moment for me since the start of 2.0 all the way here. I'm so delighted, but damn, is it putting my brain into a constant loop.)

It's not even necessarily the fault of a "too ideal ending" or "that was a fast wrap up". I don't need to see the stellaron be dealt with on-screen (neither did it happen in Belobog or Luofu, so I didn't expect it to happen here either), but it's always brushed off as us just being deeply asleep while its been dealt with, and no one wanting to wake us up (and TB asking if they're still asleep is also a thing to note. Makes my paranoia feel validated, because the mc is also paranoid).

Then there is March, and oh boy, am I the most suspicious of her, cause this doesn't feel like March at all. It's like a caricature, or someone trying their best to be March from a very surface level, but never really landing the mark right. Her being there every time we wake up from a dream (be it Ena's or then after Sunday), and avoiding elaborating on stuff, just pushing us on with the plot. Her being like "I dreamed of shopping until a tentacle yanked me out of there" (I'm paraphrasing here) makes no sense at all to me — if everyone was stuck in a dream of an ideal reality, her "just shopping" wouldn't scratch the surface of her character; she is always struggling with her past and lost/blocked memories, her purpose and identity, and you wanna tell me her dream didn't give her anything of that? Doubt. The closest true March we got was when we stood to bid farewell to Mikhail, and her monologue — that is our March, someone who struggles with her sense of belonging in the grander scheme of things, who clings to memories and moments because she only has the time on the Express.

Doesn't help, that no one mentioned the Annihilation Gang, like, at all. We were made aware they're gonna be there. One of them directly talked to Black Swan, but now it's quiet? No destructive shenanigans? No plotting from the shadows? Nothing? Where did they go?

On the matter of destruction — there is a black hole sucking in all the memoria and making the dream slowly collapse, and no one is concerned? There is that one NPC, but otherwise there is no panic, no active plan on how to handle it. Micah will keep up the peace in Dreamflux Reef, but the blackhole we got a perfect view of is...not a problem? The Dreamweavers also aren't really solving that issue either, instead they are just building more on top over everything, not going to the core of the problem to deal with it.

Also with the whole waking up from a dream to wake up from a dream to wak- you get, it's such a mess, because unless we leave Asdana for good, we cannot ever be sure what is a dream and what is reality. Non of these characters are reliable narrators. All of them are swimming in memoria. The closest beings capable of moving around aware of this are Memokeepers (and possibly Ratio and Acheron, for one is Ratio and the other walks the path of Nihility, so that makes it complicated, cause we don't know their limits and capabilities, ugh), but Black Swan is keeping her cards close to her chest and rather pushes others to do stuff while she slinks around observing.

Not to say, that nothing that is happening is inconsequential or unimportant — many things are a true concern or possibility to happen (the Express running out of fuel, the IPC trapping Penacony into a deal, the Express being chosen as mediators between the factions, because of course they would be), neither do I think the interaction between the characters is a delusion, I think they are acting as they would outside Asdana and their dynamics are real (except March, there just is something about her that makes me feel antsy whenever she is around; I got more trust in Sparkle than her at this point, and that's so funny to me). It's like, the information is true about people and other places, because these are thoughts and memories brought to Asdana from the outside, but the happenings in the star system are too convoluted to really be confident in saying "this is what is truly happening", because we cannot know for sure. Not now, not until we get out, or until the memoria is handled in one way or another.

Conclusion: Penacony is playing with my mind so much, I cannot trust anything until it's all actually resolved. It's fun and makes my brain buzz with energy and zest, so that's great. And even if technically Penacony's story is at the end, there are just too many plot points staying unresolved or need to be expanded upon, nothing was truly explained and only left me with more questions. Maybe I just need more time to ruminate over it all.

[stary-regression]

for 🎈anon, tumblr is being mean and wont let me respond to your ask sorry, heres what i wanted to say though-

hi! first of all this is very sweet to ask about. ill admit im not the best with taking care of my self and my disabilities, i also dont do a ton of agere adjacent writing. however i like to think about what i would like from my like dream caregiver in my brain who is very considerate about my disabilities. they check in, helps reassure me that my needs aren't too much, make sure I'm taking the brakes I need to, comfort me when i am upset about being disabled, help me with flare ups (bringing water, watching movies with me, cuddling with me ect.) making accommodations so we can play, and involving my disabilities into activities such as making sure that if we went to the aquarium or zoo, i could rent a wheelchair for the day or reading me books that have characters with disabilities. i think the best like advice i could give is think about what (if you're the type of person to want a caregiver) you would want your caregiver to do with you and do to help you. Honestly, i don't have a ton of writing experience when it comes to this, but i really hope this helps. feel free to ask any like clarifying questions. im so sorry if i don't make any sense.

oh and also- making sure that any banners/text is readable, using image descriptions, and tagging things with flashing lights, as well as any other things needed to make your blog more accessible!

[brokendreamscreation-moved]

@originemesis xxx)

The seraphim earns himself a quirked brow and a bullish snort courtesy of the man he'd just got finished body slamming into the mud with a six appendage advantage. Wouldn't dream of harming him, huh? DEBATABLE. Though aside from the mounting pressure of a certain nut allergy flare up, there's no indication he's come to any undue duress besides the streaks of mud stuck to his flanks like newly earned scars. "You know a promise means you actually won't do that, right? No take backs! Not even if my arms fall off and a spider falls on it." Oddly specific, considering his arms don't look like they've ever come off at any point since his creation, but hey. The sky is the limit on ideas in Eden, and he's already attempted jumping up to slap that.

As far as his other angelic company went, the closest conversation he's half held about the habits of their anatomy and reproductive nature had been his periodic pondering hours spent with Raphael in the thicket at dusk when the garden is settling and the angel wanted to ensure the humans were doing the same since Adam had the unfortunate habit of finding trees he could clamber up but not necessarily clamber back down in his search for stars above the canopy. Though those conversations were usually half choked deflections on the archangel's part, particularly when the man wanted to know if giant angels like him had giant dicks-

"If you...feel like it?" It's his turn to offer a series of stumped blinks, though his gaze settles from drifting along the slope of the other's pec plastered forearm to the suddenly bare form of an angel sans a sopping robe. It's a subtle enough alteration given how the cloth has clung while wet, but the connection of flesh on exposed ethereality has him swallowing another gulp that does not quite dislodge the lump in his throat enough for his voice to not crack in time with the demanding pulse pinned between their laps. "So like-"

Curious still despite the thickening brain fog, he shifts his weight onto one hand while the other raises- hesitates with a flex of fingers, then stamps a muddy print on the clean surface of his company's chest before his gaze ventures down to study the distinct lack of a toolkit. "You can just make one like mine- or Lil's?" Whatever's churning in his head is quiet as he processes this curious turn of events before he has to ask (to anyone but Raphael's surprise-)

"Can you make both and just...ya know ~ knock yourself up?"

The First Man’s strange and specific wording about his arm falling off and a spider landing upon it gives rise to one of Lucid’s brow, lips pursed with confusion. That was a thing? Surely not. But where on Earth did Adam get an idea like that? Perhaps the blue angel should consult one of his older brothers on the matter. Or Adam in the future…present? Future to this human, present to the angel. Lucid offers a grin and hand held up, as if giving a scouts honor. “The promise shall be upheld no matter what.”

He watches the man’s wandering, inquisitive eyes, equally fascinated of curious he is of Lucid. It seems they both were in fact wondering of the subject: Lucid of the humans anatomy and function, and in turn Adam curious of the angels seemingly lack of anatomy. He nods with a hum to the questioning of “if he feels like it.” Which is exactly what it is. His gaze flicks down at the prodding finger to his chest, grinning. “Indeed! I am capable of presenting both male and female anatomy, like your own or Lilith’s. However I’ve not really had a need to do as such, due to the lack of need for reproduction and, well…I’ve no partner of my own in which to engage in such activities.”

The next question startles the seraphim, his sky blue eyes going wide as his brow raises high. And then proceeds to laugh, a soft bell like laughter. What a silly question to ask! And remarkably creative, Lucid must admit. Shaking his head, the angel replies. “No~ I cannot conceive from myself. That would be quite an interesting way to perform parthenogenesis. An asexual form of reproduction or “virgin birth”. Animals that can mate without need of the opposite sex essentially clone themselves.”

Oh, that statement gives him pause. Lucid himself is by definition a clone. Not that he’s about to explain that whole hot mess to Adam currently. That bridge will be crossed in the far distant future. His gaze drops further, raising his hand over his crotch. Golden magic glows between his fingers and the sensitive area, causing him to suck in a breath at the sensation. Perhaps to amuse Adam’s curiosity, Lucid forms both sexes. Unlike the First Man, the angel currently did not show signs of a nut allergy.

“You are correct that I can form both at once. But no, I cannot “knock myself up” as you suggested.” Sliding his fingers down over himself, Lucid’s eyes half-lid, noting the tingling of pleasure from the contact. He has done this so few times that the angel forgets just how sensitive these areas can be. Which brings him back to Adam’s current needs. Gently, Lucid cups under the first manhood, his fingers caressing the bass and sliding upwards towards the tip. And then back down again, slow and inspecting. “It is your duty to seed humanity. All from this.” Further down his fingers stretch, rubbing against the man’s “berries” that hang below.

[ecstilson-blog]

One single day—the value of time

The dream is always the same, my mind’s way of processing terminal cancer.

In my dream, I’ve died and I’m missing my family, wishing I could see them, talk to them, hug them… one last time.

“Would you like to go back and repeat a day from your life on Earth?” God’s voice is strong yet gentle, just like His hand—the one I’m standing in right now. I look at the giant lines on His palm and the callouses on His fingers. What type of work caused callouses on the hands of God? Is He a musician like me? Does He work and toil too?

“Any day?” I ask, unable to hold the eagerness from my voice. To see my kids, Mike, and my loved ones again, well, that sounds like… Heaven. It’s suddenly ironic how subjective Heaven must be.

“Yes, Elisa. Any day.”

I think then about the days each of my kids were born, their milestones and triumphs; the moment I met Mike, our first kiss, our honeymoon; running a newspaper in Blackfoot, Idaho, and chasing so many stories my boss nicknamed me “Scoop”; visiting Italy, Mexico, Arizona, or Missouri with family; playing my violin for crowds and feeling the pulsing unity only music can bring… Each of those days were incredible, but would I want to experience them again? Or would that tarnish the memories? Plus, I wouldn’t want to change a thing. So, I shyly look down at my clasped hands, and I do something that surprises me.

“If it’s all right, God, I’d pick a regular day, nothing special. Just a day when I can talk to everyone I love.” I think about the words then. How interesting: What my life boils down to isn’t about my career, degrees, accomplishments, or experiences. At the end, to me the only thing of value is that my loved ones KNOW how much I love them. That I believe in them. That I’m proud of them. That they matter in general but especially to me. That is all I want in the end.

“A regular day. You’re sure?” He asks.

I nod.

“Well, to talk with everyone… You met a lot of integral people toward the end of your life. What if it’s a day with suffering? After doctors discovered melanoma had gone to your brain? You’d still pick a day like that?”

I think for a moment. “As long as I can talk to everyone I love. Well, then it would be worth it.”

—

I wake up then, and most of the time after having this dream, I’m groggy and half asleep, wondering if this is my one day to “live” again. Seconds later, I shake off these thoughts and slowly start my day. But even though I’m living in a new “normal,” and I can’t walk quite right since melanoma ate my L3 and doctors removed a section of my spine… Even though I’m actively getting treatments and throw-up bags seem to be my best friend… Even though there are days when I want to complain because doctors say I’m slowly dying… After I’ve had this dream, I stop.

If I had died and this were my “one day” to re-experience life and tell my family and friends how much I love them, would the pain and sadness about cancer matter quite so much? Probably not.

So, it’s 5 a.m. on Dec. 24th, and I woke up after having this dream again. My back is flaring with pain and the damaged nerves in my legs and arms are tingling with electric shocks and as if they’ve simply fallen asleep from lack of blood flow. But I know this is “normal” when my pain medicine wears off. When faced with something like cancer, trauma, or any terminal illness, each of us discover what price we will pay in order to live. This. Is. Mine. I chose this. And you know what? That’s okay.

So, I’ll treat today as if it were my one special day to come back. I’ll reframe the pain, try to bring joy to people around me, tell everyone in my life how much I love them, and hope today will be as wonderful as it can be.

Although I’m not in remission, my crappy attitude sure is. Even though there isn’t a cure for the mutation of melanoma that I have (yet!), I would be a fool to forget how lucky I am to even be alive. My life is pretty good. I’ve lived a year longer than doctors expected, and I’ve realized the true value of… time.

[vizhi0nw]

Biting Down

Summary: Silco’s scar is causing some problems.

Silco/Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of chronic pain

Word count: 1.5k 

This is my first Arcane fic and my first fic that I’ve posted in a...while? Binged Arcane and now I’m obsessed because of course I am - this is just a short little idea that I thought of the other day, and slightly inspired by my own chronic pain (yay for nerve damage!) Also, I very rarely, if ever, writing in second person, so hopefully I didn’t do a poor job. This is basically just pure fluff. Anyway, enjoy!

                                                          ~~~~~~

It always started as a slight tenderness, a soreness that didn’t seem to dissipate, even when Silco rolled over onto his back. The heaviness of sleep would keep the sensation at bay for a while, but it would always crawl back up to the surface like an ant. Unrelenting. Uncomfortable enough that he’d snap his good eye open and let out a shuddering breath, keeping it soft enough so not to wake the figure next to him. 

Tonight, you were sprawled across the bed with one arm thrown across Silco’s chest. He gingerly lifted the appendage, gently moving it to the side. The only response he received was a soft hum from you, and the noise brought a small smile to his lips - it was fleeting, for a moment later, raw pain seemed to erupt from every pore of his scarred facial tissue. His teeth clamped down on his pillow - an action he’d hammered into his psyche, as he’d once reflexively and unintentionally bitten a chunk out of his own tongue - and he felt his limbs tense. He had to just ride it out. The pain would go away. His injection wouldn’t help. This was only temporary -

A soft groan worked its way from the depths of his stomach and into the pillow, the sound muffled by the soft fabric. His fingers and toes flexed on their own accord, as if the movements would somehow distract his mind from the tortuous pinpricks of fire circling his wounded eye. It throbbed in tune with his heartbeat, drowning out the noise of the small portable fan you liked to keep in the corner of the room. It would go away. It had to go away. The pain had to go away.

Another sound was pulled from him, this time a strangled gasp. You stirred, but remained asleep. Silco’s jaw was aching from how hard his chipped teeth were latched around the pillow. Tears leaked from both eyes, dotting the sheets with damp pearls. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the pain began to ebb away. His muscles uncoiled, and he felt the tension seep from his body. Shoulders first, and then hands, feet, legs. He let the pillow fall from his lips and immediately began working his jaw. It would be sore tomorrow, he mused. 

Throughout the entire spasm, you’d remained asleep. Save for the rise and fall of your chest and the occasional moan, you looked ready for the crypt. Silco resisted the urge to reach out and touch you, instead opting to slide from the bed. He knew he looked monstrous without even having to check the mirror - drenched in sweat, shaking, pale - but he struggled into the bathroom anyway, thin fingers gripping the edge of the sink. He took a moment, his nerves still on overdrive. It wasn’t until he felt…stable, that he mustered the energy to crawl back into bed. He’d probably stay awake the rest of the night, his body on high alert for the possible return of a flare-up. Settling his mind would be an immense task that he really, really wasn’t up for. He prided himself on his mental fortitude, but it seemed like every time he fought against his own brain, he lost. 

In his absence, you’d rolled over and were facing his side of the bed. Your fist was loosely bunched up and resting in front of your face. Your eyes were active beneath closed lids. 

Whatever dream you were having, Silco hoped that it was a good one. 

                                                        ``````````

You swirled the last bit of coffee around in your decorated blue and pink mug - courtesy of Jinx - watching it slosh against the sides. You’d eaten breakfast, but your stomach felt hollow. Your eyes kept darting to the stairs leading to Silco’s office. His own coffee mug sat, full, on the bar. His movements had been almost zombie-like - he’d kissed you on the cheek (ignoring an audible and exaggerated ‘ew’ from Jinx) before completely forgetting his cup and walking, as if in a drunken stupor, up the stairs and into his office. 

“He’s not been sleeping,” You said. Jinx lifted her head from where she’d been resting it on the bar. “Did you see his expression? It was like…he was looking through us. Plus, he looks pale.”

“That’s just his face.” 

“Paler than usual,” You nudged Jinx with your foot. 

The teenager giggled, slipping from the barstool. She jabbed a finger in your direction and said, “You’re his partner. Plus, I don’t know how to deal with…lack of sleep, or whatever. I sleep just fine, when I’m not having nightmares.”

“Nightmares…” You glanced over at the abandoned coffee cup once more. It would get cold if he didn’t drink it soon, so you reached over and gripped it by the handle. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Tell me how it goes!” Jinx said enthusiastically. The girl bounded from the room as you made your way slowly up the stairs, the wood creaking beneath the soles of your feet. You were careful, keeping one palm positioned in front of the steaming cup. You removed it only so you could knock lightly on the door to Silco’s office as a quick warning that you were about to enter. As you pushed the door forward, you caught a glimpse of him slipping his injector back into his desk drawer. A rivulet of sparkling purple was making its way from his tear duct. 

“Here,” you placed the coffee cup down on his desk before reaching out to wipe the liquid away with your sleeve. The scarring around his eye was unconcealed. It seemed to stand out even more than usual due to the fact that the untarnished half of his face was uncharacteristically washed out. He moved sluggishly, his good eye flickering up to your face.

“Thank you,” the words were short, clipped. You raised an eyebrow, reaching over to pull a chair around. He stared at you, waiting for you to speak. 

“Are you okay?”

Silco blinked, as if he hadn’t been expecting the question. After a long moment, he sighed and leaned back in his chair, resigning himself to expressing his exhaustion. It wasn’t like he could hide it from you, anyway. You slid closer, leaning against the arm of your own chair. 

“I’ll be alright,” Silco managed a half-smile. “There’s no need for you to worry.”

“You’re not sleeping. I can tell. Is it nightmares?” You spoke softly. 

To your surprise, Silco shook his head. He pointed to his mangled skin and eye. The gesture was enough - You clenched your teeth, saying, “Your infection is spreading?”

“Neuropathic pain,” Silco replied tiredly. “It’s decided to stick to a schedule, unfortunately. The injections are to stop the infection from claiming the last of my good flesh.”

“Oh, Silco,” You let out a breath. His head was tilted back, legs and arms slack. You feared that if he closed his eyes, he’d fall asleep right then and there in his office chair. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“It didn’t seem relevant. This isn’t something you can fix, and I didn’t wish to worry you.”

“I can talk to the doctor!” You exclaimed. “Singed and I are friendly! I…I’ll talk to him-”

“You don’t-”

“I’m talking to him. I’m sure he could make modifications to your medicine to help with the flare-ups.”

On any other day, Silco would have argued with you, but the fatigue won out. You were a fixer, and deep down, he knew you were right. His medication needed an upgrade. He reached out, long fingers curling over your own. His thumb stroked the tops of your knuckles, and he said sleepily, “You’re wonderful.”

“I just…I don’t like that you’re in pain. It bothers me,” You shifted in your seat. Silco rolled his chair closer, keeping a firm grip on your hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it softly. 

“I’m no stranger to pain. You know this.”

“That’s not reassuring,” You snorted. Silco’s fingers shifted to interlace with yours. “Maybe Singed can add in some sort of painkiller. I don’t know. He’ll figure it out.”

“Indeed he will. While I find him…unsettling, at times, the doctor does deliver,” Silco said. He slumped back in his chair, and you chose that moment to stand and place a hand on his shoulder. 

“You should sleep.”

“Impossible. Duty calls-”

“Even if it’s for thirty minutes, hop back into bed and sleep. Jinx is out doing her ‘chores’ and Sevika should be back from her patrol soon. She can cover while I go talk with Singed.”

Silco’s head lolled to the side. While his injured eye was wide, as always, his good eye was half-closed. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his, and you giggled when you felt him smile against your mouth. When you pulled away, he gave a tired, yet content, sigh. 

“You take care of me. I hope you know…how much you’re appreciated,” Silco said softly. “How much I love you.”

You glanced down at him. He had a dreamy look in his eyes, as if he were already beginning to drift off to sleep. You hooked an arm under his and helped him stand. He leaned against you, and you felt him absently brush his lips across your temple. 

“Love you, too,” You smiled. “Let’s get you to bed.”

[kuroopaisen]

impulse | fushiguro megumi

➵ megumi can't hold it in anymore. gn!reader. 1.4k

Megumi’s tense. He always is, around you.

Although, he usually doesn’t feel like his heart is about to hammer its way out of his chest at any given moment. No, that’s reserved for when you’re touching him.

And you’re doing just that, sat together in the alarmingly muggy infirmary as you tend to his wounds.

He’d be the first to admit that he could’ve left his last fight in better shape, but that isn’t quite how things played out. It’s a rather diverse set of injuries – some cuts on his forehead, a small gash along his chin, scratches on his knuckles, his palms, and his fingers… Typical fare.

He’d managed to clean his face before you’d come bursting into the infirmary, eyes ablaze with worry and rebuke. But you’d spared him the lecture, far too worried about the general state of him than anything else.

It’s late afternoon, and Megumi knows you should be relaxing by now. You deserve it. Instead you’re here, with him, playing nurse. The sun sets outside the window, bathing you in unfairly flattering golden light. It makes you hard to look at.

But if you notice Megumi’s apprehension, you say nothing. You’re too focused on his hands.

“You need to stop being so reckless,” you murmur, fingers brushing against his as you finish bandaging his knuckles.

Megumi grimaces. He’s not sure how, but you always seem to know when he’s been injured. Even if he’s making an active effort to keep it a secret from you – in a misguided attempt on his part to spare you the anxiety – you always find him.

And every time he tries to play his injuries off, every time he tries to tell you that he’s fine, really, it’s worse than it looks, you just glare at him with those aggravatingly expressive eyes of yours, your anger thinly veiling your heavy worry.

Today, however, his injuries don’t look too bad compared to the usual. Regardless, you worry. It makes him feel so… so…

He sighs heavily, too exhausted to even begin untangling the thoughts burning in his brain.

Your eyes are bright as you smile at him with a hint of mischief. “About to start brooding, hm?”

“No,” he grumbles.

You chuckle, your entire face lighting up with a smile. Megumi swears his heart constricts.

He doesn’t want you to worry. Every time you look at him with those sad eyes, asking him ‘what happened’, he can’t help but feel like a piece of shit. You shouldn’t be spending your time worrying about him. He doesn’t even know why you do.

“There you go,” you sigh, holding his hand with both of yours as you inspect your handiwork. Your hands feel so soft against his fingertips, warm yet not overwhelming. The thought of them obscures anything more logical.

“Thank you,” Megumi swallows, drawing his hand out of yours a little too hastily. He turns his hand over to admire your work. As usual, you’ve done an excellent job at wrapping his wounds. Firm, but not so tight it’ll disrupt blood flow.

“You don’t have to do this,” he sighs, flexing his fingers. They’re still a bit stiff, but they’re better than they were a couple of hours ago.

“I know,” you hum nonchalantly, tilting your head at him. “You need to stop saying that.”

Megumi resists the urge to flare his nostrils like a bull in some matador show. He feels like you’re always doing this for him; he’s not as reckless as Itadori, but he knows he’s still too blasé for your liking.

But that’s just how you are.

Soft. Gentle. Too kind for your own good.

Certainly not cut out for this world of violence.

Megumi’s eyes darken at the thought. He can’t help but wonder if it weren’t for him, for Itadori, for Kugisaki, then maybe you’d walk away. Maybe you’d be free from this grim waking nightmare. Maybe you could live as a normal teenager, worried about average adolescent things and crying over inane little dramas.

No fighting. No suffering. No death. That’s the life you deserve.

“Hey,” you murmur, eyes downcast as you fiddle with the hem of your jacket. “I… I don’t want to make assumptions or anything, but… if you’re worried about being a burden, you’re not.”

Megumi’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes widen.

“I-I mean, burden might be the wrong word, but…” You bumble, gaze firmly affixed to your own lap. “I just mean that sometimes you… you seem to feel… guilty, and I don’t want you to.”

Megumi swallows roughly, unable to take his eyes off your face. You look so… reticent. Like you’re afraid of saying something you’ll regret. How can he say that he doesn’t want you to be careful?

“I…” You break the tension with a sound almost no louder than a whisper. “I care about you,” you mumble, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.

It’s not unusual for you to get Megumi’s heart racing. Sometimes a smile from you is enough to make his pulse quicken.

You’re cute, yes, but Megumi knows it runs a little deeper than that.

And sometimes �� just sometimes – he lets himself hope. In moments like this, where you can’t quite seem to look at him, voice quiet and eyes sparkling, looking so innocent and earnest.

He doesn’t know what to say. What to do. He wants to say it back – he certainly cares about you, too. More than he’s comfortable admitting.

But he can’t just leave you hanging like this, letting your quiet little confession melt into the wooden walls of the infirmary.

You swallow awkwardly, fumbling around with your equipment. “Let’s do your forehead.”

He’s struck breathless as you lean in, fingers brushing against his forehead lightly as you inspect the damage. You’re close – alarmingly close, so close he can feel your breath against his nose, so close he can smell the faint sweet scent of your shampoo – and Megumi can’t take it anymore.

Fuck it, he thinks.

A large, bandaged hand cups your cheek and the next thing you know is that his lips are on yours, warm and soft and insistent.

You let out a quiet gasp and Megumi worries he made the wrong move.

But you lean into him, placing a hand on his knee to stabilise yourself. Your lips are so soft. Somehow softer than he’d imagined. There’s the faintest taste of your vanilla lip balm; that, perhaps, is what makes Megumi realise this is real. This is happening.

He’s kissing you, and you’re kissing him back. Neither of you know what you’re doing, fumbling awkwardly through it, but Megumi doesn’t care. He’s so lightheaded that he’s dizzy, and he’s forgotten how to breathe (and he doesn’t even know if he wants to).

But if he doesn’t breathe he’ll pass out, and that’ll just make you fret.

He pulls back reluctantly, his breath ghosting your lips as his face lingers close to yours for a second longer.

“Was that… too much?” He swallows, eyes more intense than usual as he finds the courage to meet your startled gaze.

Your own eyes are wide, but they’re sparkling. It’s a look Megumi knows well – one he’s silently vowed to protect. You’re happy. No, that’s too plain of a word. You’re… joyful. Thrilled. Something of that ilk.

“No,” you smile, shaking your head ever so slightly, “I… I liked it.”

Such a simple sentence, yet such an avalanche of emotion within them. He may not be the best at reading people, but even Megumi can glean what you really mean.

Megumi considers, for a moment, that this might be a dream. That there’s no way he’d kiss you on impulse and that you’d kiss back, and that you’d like it. That you’d tell him you like it. That you’d smile like this.

But he feels alive. And it’s the first time in a while that he realises he doesn’t need to be in the thick of battle to feel this way.

“We…” He swallows once more, brows drawn together as he searches desperately for the courage to continue on. “We could… keep doing it. If you’d like.”

It’s such a stupid question, so teenage, and yet you respond with such earnest sincerity that Megumi’s heart aches.

Your entire face lights up, and perhaps it’s the most humbling thing that’s happened to him today.

Once again, your words are simple, but strong enough to move a tsunami. “I’d like that.”

[timelesslords]

it’s just around the corner darling (‘cause it lives in me)

8-year-old Annabeth is supposed to be sleeping. Instead, she overhears a few things she probably shouldn't.

***

Aka I get very in my feels about pre-TLT found family and baby Annabeth

“She’s a little kid, of course she’s fuckin’ slow.”

Thalia’s words seemed to turn Annabeth’s blood to ice.

She was supposed to be sleeping, and she almost had been before Grover and Thalia had started yelling at each other outside the door of the safe house they’d just barely made it too.

Well, until Thalia had started yelling at Grover, because Grover didn’t really yell, and he definitely didn’t yell at Thalia, who he always seemed particularly nervous and twitchy around.

All thoughts of sleeping were immediately banished as panic seized Annabeth instead.

Read on AO3

She kept herself as still as possible, eyes shut like she was sleeping. She heard Luke shift, maybe looking over his shoulder.

Annabeth wished she could see his face. Did he think she was slow too? Did Grover want to leave her behind? Luke would never let that happen, Annabeth knew that much, but she couldn’t help the guilt from washing over her anyway. Luke had had to carry her the last few miles tonight because her legs just wouldn’t work anymore, not matter how hard she tried to push them. That had only happened a few times ever, Annabeth made sure of it, but she knew they were trying to go fast now, and they were walking and running more than they ever had before. Luke hadn’t been mad, just scooped her up when he saw her stumbling. But they had gone slower after that, and it was her fault.

Annabeth felt her eyes prickle with tears, and she blinked them into her makeshift pillow. Crying was stupid, and it wasnt going to make her faster. She willed herself to stop before anyone could hear— Luke thought she was asleep, and she didn’t want to admit that she wasn’t.

Thalia and Grover were talking again, but their voices were just barely too quiet for her to make out the words. Thalia sounded mad, and Grover was talking fast, like he was trying to get the words out before Thalia yelled at him again. Annabeth picked up Grover saying “please” a few times, and then Thalia saying “no” very forcefully. They argued for another minute, Annabeth’s heart beating in nervous anticipation for each word.

“Don’t bring it up again,” Thalia snapped, loud enough for Annabeth to hear, and then she heard the door of the safe house being pulled back, and soft footsteps walking inside.

“Is she asleep?” Thalia asked, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a sharp contrast from the tone she’d been using outside with Grover. Luke must have nodded, because Thalia sighed, and Annabeth heard her sitting down.

“What was that all about?” Luke asked. Annabeth could hear the forced casual tone he was putting on. If Annabeth had heard part of the conversation then Luke must have too, but he seemed like he wanted Thalia herself to tell him. Thalia made a displeased noise.

“Grover wants me and him to go ahead. Without you two,” she said, lowering her voice even more than she had when she first entered the safe house. Despite how quiet they were, Annabeth could still practically feel the distaste in her words. Annabeth could feel her heart speeding up uncomfortably. Was Thalia going to leave them behind? But she didn’t sound happy about it at all, and that calmed Annabeth’s nerves a little.

“What did you say?” Luke asked. The forced tone was gone, replaced by irritation, Annabeth thought. It was harder to tell without being able to see his expression, but Annabeth could imagine the frown on his face pretty well.

“I told him where he could stick his furry little hooves,” Thalia muttered bitterly. Annabeth didn’t quite understand what that meant, but judging from the way Luke snorted it was probably kind of rude.

“Bet he liked that,” Luke said, sarcastically.

“Whatever. He’s the reason we’re behind anyway,” Thalia said.

She sounded angry. Annabeth knew that shouldn’t make her feel good. Thalia being mad never tended to end well, regardless of where her anger was directed. But Annabeth couldn’t help but feel a rush of relief anyway. If Thalia was angry at Grover’s suggestion then that meant wasn’t leaving.

At the same time, her words filled Annabeth with dread. They were behind, and that was bad, and Annabeth was slowing them down. Even Thalia had said so.

“Why did he want to split up at all? Isn’t three fighters better than one?” Luke asked. The forced casualness was back, and Annabeth didn’t like it, but she couldn’t help but feel a little burst of pride that he’d counted her as one of the fighters in the group.

Thalia sighed again, and Annabeth heard a scraping noise. A second later the heat from the campfire flared.

“He said it would be faster,” Thalia said finally, reluctantly, “And that it might be safer for you two to not have me around.”

“That’s bullshit,” Luke said, angrily.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What, you think you’re special?” Luke said, though now his tone was laced with amusement.

“Well apparently I smell extra tasty,” Thalia replied, only a hint sarcastic. Luke laughed, low and quiet.

“I don’t think it matters,” he said, “Annie had monsters crawling all over her all by herself.”

Annabeth had to actively repress a shudder at the thought. She couldn’t move, couldn’t let them figure out she was awake— they would stop talking about adult things and she would miss it.

“That’s true,” Thalia said, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“You’re not thinking about it, are you?”

“Of course I’m not,” Thalia said, sounding offended that Luke had even asked, “I’m pissed he even brought it up, especially after Annabeth was the one to save all our asses from that cyclops. He kept saying she’s slowing us down but we’d all be dead without her.”

Annabeth felt the same mixture of dread and pride as before. She was useful enough to not leave behind. Even if she was slow, and thinking of the cyclops cave made her want to cry.

“Asshole. He’s the one slowing us down, not knowing where the fuck he’s going,” Luke muttered darkly.

“I almost feel bad for the guy,” Thalia sighed. Annabeth heard more scraping and felt the fire flare again. “I mean he’s a kid just like us.”

“A kid who’s going to get us all killed if we’re not careful.”

Thalia hummed in agreement, and they were quiet for a minute. Annabeth didn’t really know what to think. She liked Grover— he was funny and he let her touch his hooves and he taught her how to play hacky sack— but she could tell that Luke didn’t and Thalia was starting not to. And Grover apparently didn’t like her. Or he thought she was slow, at least— but that made Thalia and Luke mad, even if they thought it was true. It was all very confusing, but she thought Luke and Thalia were on her side, at least.

“Is it weird I like watching her sleep?” Thalia asked, finally. With a start Annabeth realized they were talking about her. She tried extra hard to keep her breathing even.

“Why, ‘cause she’s not chattering your ear off?” Luke teased. Annabeth heard a soft thump and Luke’s laughter, and knew Thalia had probably punched him in the arm.

“I’d have her chat my ear off any day than have her be quiet like she’s been,” Thalia said. Luke didn’t reply. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the campfire. Annabeth could feel both their eyes on her, and she forced herself to keep looking asleep.

“I think the whole cyclops thing really freaked her out,” Thalia sighed, when Luke hadn’t spoken for a minute.

“Of course it freaked her out, she watched us all almost get eaten,” he snapped, his voice angry. Annabeth’s stomach turned. She tried to keep her expression smooth, even though she could practically smell the cyclops’ lair again. She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose, or better yet, open her eyes and confirm that she wasn’t back there again. Their voices weren’t good enough to do that anymore, not after the monster had stolen them. She repressed another shudder.

“Well that’s why we have to get to this camp thing, right? So she doesn’t have to see shit like that anymore.”

Thalia sounded calm, not mad, but when Luke spoke again he still sounded angry.

“Bit late for that,” he said, voice quiet and bitter, and Thalia sighed again.

“Better late than never.”

Luke didn’t say anything.

Annabeth felt nerves swoop through her stomach. Did Luke not want to go to camp? He’d made it sound nice when he’d told her about it, but now he just sounded mad. Thalia wanted to, and that was a comforting thought for a minute until Annabeth remembered that Grover had wanted to split them up. But Thalia had also said she wasn’t leaving, and she’d sounded sure about that. Everything was so confusing, and Annabeth didn’t know how to figure it out. It didn’t help that her brain felt dizzy from being tired.

It took a while for either of them to talk again, to the point where Annabeth had almost drifted off to sleep for real. When Thalia spoke again her voice was quiet, so much so that Annabeth almost thought she dreamed it.

“She looks relaxed. Like a normal kid on a camping trip or something. That’s why I like watching her sleep.”

Luke sighed, heavy and deep.

“You should get some too,” he said, not really acknowledging Thalia’s words.

“You need to rest too,” Thalia said, lightly, “Grover’s keeping watch.”

Luke snorted again at that, but it was much less humorous this time. Thalia didn’t seem amused, anyway.

“Come on. You’re exhausted.”

“I’ll wake you up in a few hours and we can switch,” Luke said. Thalia made an annoyed noise, but didn’t say anything else. Annabeth felt someone lie down next to her, felt light fingers adjust the jacket she was using as a blanket so it covered her arms more fully.

Annabeth didn’t want to sleep. She knew there would be nightmares waiting for her the second she slipped out of consciousness, and she didn’t want to see them again.

But they would be walking a lot tomorrow, and she couldn’t walk if she was tired. And if she couldn’t walk then she would slow them down even more than she already was.

So instead of resisting it anymore, she let the exhaustion wash over her, pulling her into bad dreams. It would be okay in the morning. Her family would be there when she woke up, and she wasn’t going to let them down.

[coppercorn-and-cauldron]

I've always had an "It's ok, I can always go back to school sometimes in the future." idea in the back of my head.

I recently had jury duty, was selected for a trial, and did all of three whole days of normal 9 to five business hours for it.

It's caused a flare-up of my IIH, it was a massive struggle because I couldn't medicate properly until after the trial hours were finished, and apparently, if I switch my ADHD-driven sleep cycle to normal hours I have a solid rise in intracranial pressure mid to late afternoon (an increase of pain, trouble staying focused and awake, right eye gets double vision and tries to cross (I think the nerves that manage eye movement are getting squished)).

Three whole days and I'm gonna be fucked up, health wise, for a few weeks at the minimum.

There's no way I could handle uni, especially given the subjects/programs I'm interested in (science/med related).

Well, that's that dream (uni) efficiently disposed of.

At least the jury duty remuneration means that I can get my CBD oil prescription filled finally (I'm down to two things left on the available options in pain meds list. CBD is one, and fentanyl patches are the other (and fentanyl patch prescriptions are a bitch to get out of the pain clinic docs unless you have cancer or CRPS)).

What I actually need is a shunt.

But I don't qualify for it under the public system as my optic nerves are in decent shape. And I sure as hell don't have the money for a private neurosurgeon and shunt surgery.

And there's suspected endo which needs confirmation and possible excision done before getting the shunt because you don't want active endo if you have after-market plumbing taking excess CSF from your brain to your abdomen.

Yeah, I'm ranting, rambling, and whining.

Gabapentin tends to nuke some of my filters, and some of the mental subroutines I've built to deal with my ADHD.

And I have 600mg of gabapentin, 100mg of tramadol, 120mg of antihistamine (because I'm actively allergic to tramadol), and 2x500mg of paracetamol on board right now.

My eyes still hurt, parts of my head still hurt, so does my neck and my upper back+ shoulder areas in a weird capelet-like pattern.

And the itch is kicking in and my voice is roughened/deeper so it's probably time to take some more antihistamine.

/rant

[iam93percentstardust]

Prompt: tony can’t get enough of Steve’s strength and Steve loves it bc he’s still quite self conscious of his body? 💚

I realized halfway through writing this that you probably meant for a canon-compliant fic, but I was already so deep into the worldbuilding for this little science fiction fic (seriously, you don't even know how much unnecessary worldbuilding I did) so I kept with it

Also on ao3 here!

~

“Steve!” Tony hollers through the communicator. Steve glances up from the board game he’s playing with Natasha and Clint and over at where the communicator hangs from the ship’s wall. He still doesn’t really understand the technology behind the communicators even after a year of being awake, but they’re hung all over the Avenger’s Shieldand he won’t deny that they’re useful.

“I’m here,” he says at a normal volume, knowing that JARVIS will easily pick up what he’s saying and transmit it to Tony. Tony’s just being loud because he’s always loud and because he’s down in the engine room of the ship with all its noises from the conversion of stardust into energy.

“Great! I need your muscley goodness down here like yesterday.”

Steve hides a smile and stands, passing his pieces off to Clint, who’s losing worse than either Steve or Natasha. “Here, you can have mine. Not sure how long I’ll be down there.”

Clint’s eyes narrow and Steve tries not to fidget under the cybernetic enhancements. When he went into the ice nearly three hundred years ago, mankind didn’t even dream of space travel, at least not realistic space travel, and now they’ve got colonies on galaxies as far away from their own, it makes his head spin. Humans have peace treaties with over two thousand alien civilizations. And mechanical body enhancements, meant to augment humans for travel and work and sometimes sheer entertainment, are as common as breathing. But Steve, with his serum-induced enhancements, is somehow still the odd one out.

“You know,” Clint says, “you don’t have to help him out if you don’t want to. Tony means well but that doesn’t mean he can’t be abrasive sometimes.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve says truthfully. Everyone else on this ship seems to dance around his non-cybernetic enhancements—and around the fact that he’d been frozen in the ice caps, now stretching as far south as Florida, for three hundred years—but Tony never once seemed to care. He’s thrilled about Steve’s enhancements—no one else on the ship is quite as strong as Steve is, not since Thor joined the crew of the Milano—both because of what Steve can help him with and because of what the serum means for scientific advancement, though Steve hasn’t let Bruce or Yinsen take any of his blood yet.

He heads down into the belly of the ship, pausing once at one of the portholes to look out at the stars flashing by them. It still amazes him that humans have achieved all of this (and horrifies him that they achieved this but left their own planet behind).

Tony’s “lair” (as Clint calls it) is located at the very bottom of the ship. It’s here that Tony holds his court, making sure that the engines that run the ship are still intact and running smoothly, tinkering with other projects that the other crewmembers give to him, and designing improved systems for the Shield, whether that’s comms, mechanical, or even medical. Tony does it all. According to Natasha, Tony, who’s one of the few nonhumans on the ship, was once a member of high society on his home planet, Aur’a, but left it all behind to join the Shield and travel the galaxy.

Steve opens the door and is immediately met with a wave of heat. It’s always hot down here. Tony says it’s because of the celestial energy, that stars run so hot that even residue energy is still too hot for unenhanced humans to handle. Fortunately, neither Steve nor Tony are unenhanced, and Steve would be willing to bet that the reason it’s so hot in the engine room today is because Tony is working with raw stardust.

The copper pipes running the room are too close to avoid bumping into for someone as large as Steve, so he doesn’t even bother trying to avoid them, letting them brush against his skin as he follows the sound of Tony humming. When he’d first joined the crew, he’d been worried about Tony complaining that Steve couldn’t move around the engine room without knocking something over, but Tony has never once complained, only just made easygoing jokes about bulls in china shops and told him that the pipes are built to withstand forces a lot stronger than Steve. It had gone a long way toward helping him feel comfortable in the space and now he spends a lot of time down here, talking with Tony about the mechanics of the ship, even though a lot of it goes over his head.

He ducks underneath one of the pipes and rounds a corner to find Tony sitting on a bench, carefully chipping at a speck of stardust on the benchtop in front of him. Tony once told him that it only takes a miniscule amount of stardust to power the ship for an entire week, which is good because stardust is difficult to mine. Tony’s goggles are perched on top of his nose, giving him an owlish appearance. Steve finds it adorable, but he waits until Tony is done with the chisel before walking over to drop a kiss on top of his hair.

The rest of the crew doesn’t know that they’ve been seeing each other for a month. After their first kiss, Steve had asked if it would be okay to keep it quiet a little longer. Steve’s brain is still firmly convinced at times that they’re in the forties, so the idea that he can date a man and have it be as accepted as dating a woman is still a little foreign to him. Tony had been more than accommodating though, which is only one of the reasons Steve loves him so much.

“Oh!” Tony exclaims, clearly startled. “Didn’t realize you were already here.” He turns, pushing his goggles up to his hair. “Did you get even more muscley since the last time I saw you?”

“Tony, you saw me this morning,” Steve says amusedly.

“Right you are, Capsicle, but I still stand by what I said,” Tony shoots back with a cheeky wink. He runs his hands over Steve’s biceps, making a low purring sound under his breath. Steve just barely manages to hear it over the sound of the engines, and it makes him smile.

Sometimes, he still feels self-conscious about his size. Spending most of his life looking and feeling one way only to change in only seconds had been disorienting, and he hadn’t had much of a chance to get used to his size before he’d been thrown into the war and then frozen in the ice. Tony’s always good to talk to though when he needs someone to remind him that this is okay, that he isn’t taking up too much room just by existing. Somehow, he always manages to get to the heart of Steve’s insecurities and allay them.

He indulges in Tony’s warm touch for a little longer before asking, “So what did you need me for?”

Tony perks up, spinning on his heel and picking up the speck of stardust with his bare hand. “I need your help opening the converter door so I can toss this in. Something must have gotten damaged during the battle with the Hydra’s Scales, because it’s not opening for me.”

“Huh,” Steve says, following Tony through the warren of copper pipes toward the energy converter. He has no idea how Tony knows where he’s going without a map. Steve still sometimes needs a map and he’s lived on this ship for a year. “That’s not something you can fix?”

“Not with what I’ve got on ship. I’ll ask Fury if we can stop in Knowhere later this week. They’ve probably got what I need.”

“Wow, Tony Stark admitting he can’t jury-rig a solution from his lab. Hell must have frozen over,” Steve comments, grinning when Tony turns to scowl at him.

“You shut your mouth,” Tony growls.

“Or what?”

Tony’s eyes turn dark and heated. He slinks closer to Steve, runs his fingers up Steve’s chest, and purrs, “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

Steve’s brain shuts down. “Uh…”

“But not right now,” Tony says abruptly, tweaking Steve’s nipple through his shirt. He spins back around and marches off, leaving Steve floundering in his wake. He gapes after him for a second before hurrying to catch up.

“You,” he says, carefully bumping Tony’s shoulder with his—he doesn’t want Tony to drop the stardust after all—“are a menace.”

“That’s me: mechanic and professional menace,” Tony says cheerfully.

They stop beside the energy converter. Steve can immediately see what Tony means by there being something wrong with it. The converter is made out of some sort of transparent material—Steve doesn’t know what—so he can see right in to where something is twisted in the converter itself, partially fusing the door shut. Even Tony, with all his abilities as an Aurum, can’t reach into an active energy converter without burning his hand to ashes, and the converter has to stay active or they’ll be dead in space, so they’ll have to stop somewhere where he can make the necessary repairs.

“See?” Tony says. “I need someone who can muscle that open for me.”

“Well, I’ve definitely got muscles.”

“Mmm, yes you do,” Tony murmurs. Steve wonders if Tony’s thinking about the same thing he is: that time he pinned Tony to the walls of their shared bunk and—well, now’s not the time to be thinking about that.

He grabs onto the wheel and wrenches it to the left. Tony sure hadn’t been kidding; the wheel doesn’t budge at all. He applies more of his strength, muscles bulging. Under the squeal of metal, he hears Tony’s breath catch, and he grins saucily at him. Tony sticks his tongue out and gestures at the wheel again.

“Come on, Captain Crunch. Put your back into it.”

Steve, having no idea what Captain Crunch is supposed to be a reference to, makes a mental note to ask Tony about it once they’re done here. For now, though, he uses all of his strength and slowly—so slowly—the wheel turns, protesting the entire way. Eventually, he gets it open, letting another blast of heat into the engine room. Tony tosses the stardust in. It flares in the heat of the converter, setting off beautiful gold and purple sparks. Steve closes the door. It closes a lot easier than it opened. Tony hums thoughtfully at it.

“Well, that narrows things down,” he says, once the door is fully closed.

“What, that it was easier to close than it was to open?”

“Mmhmm. Only a few things that could be. Probably need to tell the One-Eyed Pirate though that we have to stop on Xandar instead of Knowhere. I don’t think Fujikawa will have what I need. Steve, don’t let me forget to tell Fury the course change.”

“Got it.”

“And thanks, by the way. Definitely couldn’t have done it without you.”

Steve glows at the praise. Maybe it’s silly, but it’s nice to be reminded that even in this oversized, clumsy body out of time, he’s still able to do some good. “Happy to help,” he says honestly.

They head back to Tony’s little work area, Tony eagerly chattering on about the project he’s working on for Natasha. Steve listens, fingers itching for the drawing tablet he’d left in the galley with Natasha and Clint. Tony is lovely when he’s animatedly talking about his inventions. Steve has half a dozen folders saved on his tablet, filled with nothing but different poses of Tony.

Tony leans up against the workbench and pulls Steve in, looping his hands around his neck. “Now, where were we earlier?” he hums, eyes dark.

“Careful,” Steve warns, bracing himself with hands on either side of Tony’s body. “I might crush you.”

“You might,” Tony agrees, though he doesn’t sound concerned at all. “And I might like that. All that coiled strength pinning me down? Oh, honey, yes.” He shivers, a small delighted smile curling his lips up.

“You just like me for my body,” Steve accuses. It isn’t the truth and he knows that. Tony loves him for many reasons; Steve’s strength is only one of them. But it’s fun to tease his lover and Tony is always happy when he does. He frequently worries that Steve is too serious.

“Yes, darling, that’s exactly it.” Tony kisses him lightly. Steve lets himself lean into Tony’s body a little more, grinning when Tony shudders against him.

He pulls away, tucking his head against the curve of Tony’s neck. “Thank you,” he breathes. He doesn’t know how Tony always knows when Steve is feeling self-conscious about his body, but he somehow does and he always comes up with something that’ll help.

Tony strokes his hair. “Anytime, darling. Anytime.”

[falling-pages]

Okay how about first cuddles with Bakugou? Like he is almost feral about being held and having reader snuggle into them. And then....then he realizes the powers of a good cuddle. His body relaxes and accepts the cuddles. You know, just Bakugou leaning how to be a soft boy. 🥰🥰🥰 Hope this helps!! Happy Writing!!

This T_T my heart absolutely melted. This was absolutely self-indulgent on my end and I’m so happy you requested it!!!!

I decided to make it a part 2 of this one shot since so many people asked for a part 2 🥰🥰🥰 Lol also it’s long so I’m sorry

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Friday Night pt. 2:

Third-Year Bakugou Katsuki x Third-Year gender-neutral Reader

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Genre: Fluff, pining, cuddles, first kiss, just Bakugou going feral when he finally gets cuddles

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Bakugou didn’t sleep like you thought he would.

Even with the fever ripping through his body, he laid there so peacefully. On his back, eyes scrunched shut, mouth in a thin line, the first time you had ever seen him not scowling, actually. It was like sneaking back into school after hours and watching the teachers work silently, in their natural habitats.

You didn’t know what you were expecting him to look like unconscious. Snarling snores, maybe. Resting on his stomach, gripping the sheets in his fists hard enough to rip. Probably thrashing, screaming and cursing at his dreams. Imploding smokey holes into the mattress.

But not...this. Not so peaceful, not the way he turned and slightly smiled at whatever his brain came up with. Not the way he would gently breathe in and out of his nose. Not the way his right hand sat limply at his side, his left crossed protectively over his worst wound near his stomach. Not the way his hair stuck out on the pillow gently cushioning his bruised face.

Neither Bakugou nor Aizawa would tell you how he got hurt, raising your suspicions. With graduation looming and the hero license exam nearing, you had figured your teacher had taken some of the top third-year students out for extra training. Bakugou had garnered more control over his quirk, granted, but he still needed the extra training. He liked to push himself too hard, take too many missions. Your outburst earlier in the evening sunk that into his thick skull. 

Some part of watching him felt wrong, knowing he would blast you into outer space if he caught you looking. But this was your job tonight, to sit by his side and watch over him as he healed. 

He suddenly gasped in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as he clutched his deepest wound. The air rushed out of his now-open mouth, accompanying the slightest whimper. You lurched forward and activated your quirk, falling to your knees to look within him. 

It staked your heart to see him in so much pain, but nothing was wrong, just some blood rushing to his wound. Not too heavy to come through the bandage, though, so you blinked and let it be. 

And then you took a calculated risk. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was wrong, maybe you thought “to hell with it” about his malicious tendencies. You knew it wouldn’t cure him, and you knew he would probably disintegrate you into a pile of ash and smoke, but you wanted to try. That tugging feeling in your stomach wouldn’t leave you alone, so...

You kissed him.

Well, his forehead. It was hot and dripping with sweat, and you knew it was dangerous, you knew his power was stored in his sweat, but you did it anyway. You had to. You had to try something to ease his pain. 

He shifted beneath your touch, and you dove back into your chair and tried to act nonchalant. 

Like that would work. Nothing escaped Bakugou, even when he slept.

His eyes peeled open, eyebrows quirked as he took in his surroundings. A brief whiff of smoke aired from his palms until he realized where he was. In “some extra’s dorm.”

“Hey--” his voice crackled like his bombs as his eyes fully adjusted to the dim lamplight. His peaceful facade remained. 

“Hey,” you whispered back. Even injured and half-asleep, he still intimidated you. 

“What happened?”

You breathed, relief flooding your core. He hadn’t noticed. “The pain woke you up. But you’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

His eyes trailed lazily across the room, until they met yours. Those crimson red irises could strike fear into the hearts of friend and foe, but when they looked at you, they were soft, confused, trusting. Sleepy.

“That’s not all.”

You settled back in your chair, fiddling with the wicker arms. “That’s what happened.”

“You kissed me.”

You suddenly prayed to every god that you would die. Shiiiiiiiiit, he felt that? 

Panic covered your hands, making you lose feeling in your fingers. A buzzer sounded in your head, like an evacuation alarm. You cleared your throat. You wracked your brain for an excuse, but came up empty. Lying to him was a surefire way of getting blasted through the nearest wall. And, if the way he looked at you was any indication, you’d better tell the truth. “Only on the forehead.”

Bakugou studied you. Now his eyes were calculating, cunning. Now you couldn’t tell if he were looking at you as friend or foe. “You know my sweat could blast your face off.”

It would be a mercy compared to what you were about to go through. “You...just looked like you were in pain. I wanted to help.”

He stared at you for a few more painful seconds. His gaze pierced your sternum like a knife. Then, as if Heaven itself opened, he smiled.

He smiled. 

“I wouldn’t mind another,” he murmured, turning his head back to the ceiling. Try as he might, you saw that grin, joining the blush running across his cheeks. As much as your crush feelings were hyped, you couldn’t help but feel more relieved at the fact that you were still in one piece. 

You crept forward, hesitant to do as he suggested. He was a bucking horse, a wildfire that changed direction with the wind. It was all you could do to avoid getting burned. 

As you leaned over him again, your size dwarfed by him, that calculating sheen stayed put. Was he going to burn you as you were defenseless? Was he going to blast you? He wouldn’t. He had better instincts than to hurt the very person taking care of his injuries as he laid helpless in bed.

But if he was being vulnerable with you, then maybe you should be vulnerable with him.

When you were just a few inches away, Bakugou’s eyes still open, he suddenly reached up and yanked your head down, interlocking his lips with yours. You sputtered, jerking to pull off, but his hand kept you there, eyes fluttering shut as soon as you made contact. After a moment, when you felt your soul reenter your body, you shifted to support yourself better, kneeling half-way on the bed, crossing your chest just above his.

He was warm. You could feel his warmth even while you sat feet away. Unlike Deku, whose skin was always cool and clammy, he was warm. Either by his quirk or fever or just himself, he was burning up, fiery to touch, like a cast iron brand digging into your side. That’s how he made his way in this world, torching the earth and salting the fields if he didn’t get what he wanted, setting off explosions to mold and shift reality into what he desired. He was molten lava, desperate, eager, wanting, burning and terrifying to touch, a spark set ablaze to decimate anything in its path.

Pulsating, and beating, and alive.

But when you lowered your fingertips to his shoulder, and you flinched--breaking the kiss to softly gasp--he frowned, focusing on your face, the way your eyes looked at your hand and how your sensitive fingers rubbed together.

“You okay?” he whispered, gravel voice hushed in honor of the moment.

You heard the pain laced beneath his voice and turned to look at him. Your hand fell on the mattress beside his chest. As his eyes bore into your head, you watched him, the way his muscles rippled, the way his very soul seemed enchanted by your kiss. If you activated your quirk, you were sure you could see the way his blood danced beneath his skin, the rush of chemicals to his brain, the excitement flaring in his nostrils.

He was an inferno incarnate, breathing and wild and alive, letting you touch him with all the slow calmness of an ocean breeze.

You slowly blinked, losing yourself in the imprint of his lips on yours. You unconsciously reached up to your mouth, tracing the outline of it with your fingertips.

As you make a sound of satisfaction, he smirked, trailing a hand up your calf to rest placidly on your thigh. “I said, extra, you okay?”

“Umm. Yeah.” Your eyes follow his hand, expecting it to burst like his grenades. “You’re just really hot.”

He scoffed, smacking your thigh--but gently, just feeling your skin. “Damn right I am.”

“No, not like that.” You rolled your eyes. “I mean, you are hot--attractive, I mean--but your skin...ummm, it burned me.”

“Oh,” he grunted. His eyebrows furrowed, losing that playful edge. He took away his hand, bunching around the sheets instead. 

You massaged your sore fingers as he contemplated. You nearly missed his hissed out, “Sorry.”

So it was a night of firsts--the first time he heard you curse, the first time you heard him apologize, your first kiss and his, too, as far as you knew.

“It’s okay.”

Bakugou moved, waving your helping hand away in case he burned you again. Once he sat up, he leveled his eyes to yours and very lightly, gingerly, took your hand and raised it to his pouty lips. You waited for the sting, but as he kissed your fingertips, all you felt was warmth, like molten chocolate, like a woolen scarf, like the sleepy feeling of an open oven door. 

He finished by rotating your hand in all angles and degrees, making sure to cover every inch of your palm, knuckles, and wrist in his love. The residual buzz traveled from your hand into your heart. 

“It’s my emotions,” he murmured against your skin. “My quirk acts up when I’m emotional.”

He kept his eyes nearly shut, only focusing on pressing more adoring kisses to your skin. When you returned your other hand to his chest, he shuddered, staring back at you with wide eyes. You saw what he was about to say--“Don’t touch me, I don’t want to hurt you”--and folded your finger against his lips.

“You won’t hurt me,” you whisper. “You’re powerful, but I’m not afraid of you.”

You moved your hand down and leaned forward, returning his kiss. The hand he once possessed smoothed under his jaw, outlining it with a finger to pull him close. You tasted the hesitancy in his lips, no longer masked under the bravado of his previous kiss, and smiled. You searched for his hand and found it, bringing it to your waist, giving permission to the boy who rarely waited for others’ approval. But he waited for you. He respected you.

I know you won’t hurt me. 

And that single move was when he realized he was so, so feral for your touch.

His long, powerful arms wrapped around your middle, hauling you completely onto the bed and scooting you into his lap, hugging you as close as he possibly could. There was no soft bone in his body--he devoured you, desperate for your love, your lips, you, you, you. A boy who had been scared to touch all of his life--knowing what it did to people, what he could do if he tried, the damage he even did on accident--was now clutching someone who wasn’t scared, someone who cared, whose hands knotted in his hair revealed just how desperately you needed him, as well. 

You filled him with your love, and he you, and you felt a tear escape, the kind that you cry when watching a sunset, or eating ice cream, or listening to your favorite song, when you’re so happy that smiling just isn’t enough.

Bakugou felt the wetness on your cheek and paused, cradling and dipping the back of your head so he could kiss it away. “What’s wrong, Firework?”

You veins ran hot at the pet name so naturally falling from his lips. “Nothing.” You smile, biting your lip. “I’m just happy.”

He nuzzled your forehead. “Good. Now, let’s lay down. You need to sleep.” 

You smoothed the bottom of your pajama shirt as he stretched to turn off the lamp. As you began to wriggle out of his grasp, he suddenly grabbed you tighter and held you as he shifted, lifting the blanket and dragging you both below. You began to protest on account of his injuries, but he squeezed you tighter against his chest. 

“I’m not letting you out of my arms again,” he whispered, with a kiss to the head.

Once you both were situated in the dark, you rested your head on his shoulder as he scratched your back. The long, slow strokes nearly lulled you into sleep, but one question filled your mind.

“Baku--”

“Katsuki.”

You couldn’t see him, but he moved his face nearer yours, catching your hand planted on his chest. “Call me Katsuki.”

“Okay.” The draw of his informal name sent a chill down your spine that you’re sure he felt. “Katsuki, why call me Firework?”

He smiled into your hair, shifting your weight onto him. Drowsiness choked his voice. “Because fireworks are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at them.” His knuckles found your cheek, and he brushed them against it. “And you are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at you.”

Satisfied, you closed your eyes, drinking in the feeling of his warm skin and arms cradling you, desperate, never willing to let you go, and you never wanting him to.

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[sitp-recs]

(Perfect artwork for Modern Love, by @cambiodipolvere)

Today is the day of one of my favorite people! And I totally resent @tackytigerfic and Starry for almost sharing the same birthday, god the STRESS 😂 Tacky is my first and closest fandom friend. We clicked together so fast and easy that sometimes it feels like I’ve known her all my life, like we’re two dog moms living in the same neighborhood who happen to read fic in their free time. Despite our conflicting time zones and crazy schedules we manage to chat every other day, tagging and sending each other all kinds of stuff, coming together to cry scream about a brilliant fic we’ve just read or shaking our heads in embarrassment at every other unnecessary bullshit post. Tacky’s bright and wise energy uplifts my spirit even on my moody days, and makes me grateful for her friendship and for this fandom life. Okay so this got long and I had to put the rest under the cut:

It’s such a lovely and precious thing, to have someone with whom you can share every single thought that crosses your mind, your scariest, most embarrassing, petty or disturbing idea, without fear of being shamed or judged by it. I trust Tacky with all my heart to hear me out, share a joke or a piece of advice, even on the (rare) occasions when we don’t get the same perspective - that doesn’t happen often when it comes to Drarry, as we are taste twins!

Tacky my darling, you’re such a good person, and such an incredible friend. Thank you for introducing me to this lovely community, for being my safe haven and your unique self, with so many qualities I admire and feel inspired by: kind, witty, earnest, wise, and so very human. I love your humour and empathy, and your chill yet no-nonsense personality; I love your talent and how articulated you are; I love your passion for Drarry, and how you let this emotion inform the way you navigate the fandom and create for it. And god, but you’ve been creating some of the most beautiful content I’ve seen in these recent years! I’m permanently in awe of your ability to write Drarry in any shape, format or length, transforming even the most ordinary moment into an extraordinary and meaningful piece of character or relationship development. You know how you mentioned yesterday that some authors change the way you feel about a ship in a deep, definitive way? Well, you are that author for me. Your works made me fall in love with M-rated contemplative romance, and also allowed me to fall in love with Harry in a way I never thought it was possible before.

Some people - myself included - got to know you through the fun and intriguing A Lick and a Promise, others through the atmospheric and sensitive Modern Love, others through your contemplative and heartbreaking short form. Each story has its merits and purpose, and all of them share a Tacky trademark: the heartkick factor! Your talent has no limits and goes across different genres and tropes, that you explore with a bold twist full of personality and heart. And even more impressive is your consistency at always raising the bar - every new fic of yours becomes an instant fave and makes me think “wow I thought Tacky couldn’t get better yet here we are”. Seeing how your writing evolves as you find your narrative voice is a beautiful and humbling experience, I feel so lucky!

I’m really grateful for being active in the fandom at this moment in time, because that allows me to read and engage with your brilliant work, and to have you as a dear friend. I can’t wait to see what comes out of your beautiful brain next. It was an impossible job choosing a single fic to rec today, so I decided to do a belated Tacky reclist! Naturally these are my personal and biased must-reads, and I urge everyone to go check these beauties right now. Feel free to include your own favorites too, and don’t forget to leave them some appreciation.

Happy happy birthday my darling Tacky! This fandom life wouldn’t be the same without you. I hope you have the amazing day you deserve!

Between the Power Lines (2020, M, 3.2k)

The road trip fic you didn’t know you needed. I got utterly immersed in the heartbreaking quietness of this, feeling like a witness to an ordinary yet poignant love story. Such tender intimacy, such character development, such lovely American aesthetics with barely any dialogue. This is, IMO, the fic that reveals Tacky’s triumph in storytelling.

Even the Night (2020, M, 3.4k)

This fic has a surreal atmosphere, those Midsummer vibes unbelievably sexy and intoxicating linked to the sensorial experience of fumbling together in the night. Masterclass in tension building, a silky and languid dream-like affair.

Aim for my Heart (2021, M, 3.4k) - Harry/Draco/Ron

One of the most sensitive and stunning portraits I’ve ever seen of a poly/triad relationship, this fic packs so much character and longing! It’s a privilege to watch Ron and Draco’s tentative dynamics through the smitten eyes of the one person that loves them like no one else: Harry.

The Long Fall (2021, M, 3.6k)

I can’t even write about this tender domesticity without getting a lump in my throat. Best opening scene I’ve read in years, and a refreshing way to approach both mpreg and parenthood, painfully honest and lovely. This became an immediate comfort read for me, and it’s probably one of the fics I revisit the most.

Mortal Frame (2021, M, 6.6k)

This thrilling, fast-paced spy story left me breathless since the first paragraph, gods what an immersive ride! I’m so here for Drarry on the run, sharp and urgent with danger but mellowed by the silent trust and tender intimacy only Tacky can master. Major bonus points for the brilliant take on the Horcrux hunt plot line!

Last Offices (2020, M, 6.7k)

Oh, this fic 💔 I tend to avoid MCD but there’s something so deeply fascinating about body washing rituals that I caught myself mesmerized by this. I just couldn’t put it down, so emotionally compromised I felt. There’s a sort of strange comfort in the heartbreak of doing one last act of service out of devotion to someone. This fic inspired so many difficult but lovely feelings in me, and one of them was hope. Only Tacky could possibly achieve that!

Our Little Life (2020, M, 7.2k)

Inventive and singular, this story hit me straight on the solar plexus and left me speechless as I saw the (clever, magical and bittersweet) plot unravel. Such a fabulous take on alternate universes and all the angst potential behind it. Come and bask in the yearning melancholia of a short yet intricate and perfectly executed plot.

And One to Play (2019, E, 21k)

What a fun and delightful fic, I can’t have enough of pining Harry losing all sense of propriety when faced with a hot, competent and pragmatic Draco. This has fab dynamics, unhinged protectiveness, even more unhinged attraction between two idiots who can’t keep their hands off each other. A must-read for any Auror partners fan!

A Lick and a Promise (2019, E, 55k)

Hot, BAMF Professors carefully balancing a fuck buddies situation while solving a Hogwarts mystery, do we need anything else? I certainly do not. This fic is so fun and intriguing and immersive, with amazing supportive cast and a delicious get together feat secret shagging and oblivious pining. Love it!

Modern Love (2020, E, 61k)

My favorite read of 2020, this fic is a love letter to Drarry and will always hold a piece of my soul. Sensitive, wistful, tenderly aching and so very romantic, this is a Muggle Draco triumph with a superb Harry, exquisite slow burn and a side of suds comfort. I promise it will be impossible to listen to Bowie again without thinking of this love story.

Bonus: five stunning drabbles!

Something in the Way (2021, T, 119 words)

“Up,” he said, and Draco, sick with love, raised his arms above his head and allowed Potter to slide the jumper on him, big hands stroking it flat over Draco’s stomach until they both shivered.

Stir-Up Sunday (2020, M, 300 words)

“I want you always,” he said, tugging again on the fine curling length of it. “Is it okay to say that?”

Whalebone Arch (2021, M, 722 words)

“Are you still not talking to me?” Draco steered Harry towards the crisps. “Do I have to suck you off in the loo to cheer you up?”

Semiplume (2021, T, 923 words)

“Did you know,” Harry murmured, and he put his arms around Draco, fearless. “I’d be your mate. If you needed a mate, I mean.”

Relic Radiation (2021, M, 927 words)

“You’ll kill me,” Harry said, and Draco turned his face towards the darkened sky, lunar pale, his profile some stupid unearthly thing—a flaring blazar, a supernova—in the light from the kitchen window.

[moonlightwritesdisney]

DREAM COME TRUE. -- WYATT LYKENSEN.

Paring: Wyatt Lykensen X FEMALE! READER

Requested: Yes / No

Warnings: foul language. nudity. graphic descriptions of blood and cannibalism. sexual activity. 

Summary: Weeks after your old elementary friend had finally vanished from all existence everything seems to finally go back to normal. Standing in a coffee shop you met him. And all hell breaks loose.

SEQUEL TO ‘YOU’.

PREVIOUSLY . . .

You were fashioned in the bathroom taking a warm cloth and bringing it towards your face wiping off the dried blood. You sucked in a breathe the sound of your beating heart filling your ears. You didn’t feel at all ashamed for what you had done. That bastard human deserved it.

The overbearing of your anxiety flared, you were worried you might get in huge trouble, since unfortunately, the human is never to blame. You had gone to bed that night in hopes for a better day the next morning -- the only problem was, he saw everything. 

THE DIRT BELOW HIS BROWN BOOTS became sore while he had previously been peering into your small window for the past five minutes watching you. Your brown pale skin covered in the blood that wasn’t your own. Your face dry and lips cracked from the crying you had done, you felt numb. Your heat besting rapidly in anxiety.

The mirror reflected your bruised image. The bags under your eyes were a dark purple, your eyes a dark brown with widened pupils ( a side effect of a broken Z-band which usually wears off after twelve hours ). Your sink water turned a bright pink as the last of his blood washed down the drain. Disappearing into the drain pipes.

Your mascara smeared down your cheeks, your nose and cheeks red and your eyes puffy. ‘Your going to kill him’. A selfish voice spat in his head, his sharp claws dug into the untouched flesh of his tan palm. He was furious.

How could someone so shameful have the power of destroying someone who was so innocent? She was a ray of pure sunshine. His sunshine. The pondering question he already knew the answer to racked the Alpha wolf’s brain. He couldn’t understand it.

You were so innocent. Baby like. His baby. He felt guilt.

A page pant of sadness washed over him. He had wished it was him, who could comfort you from what had just happened. ‘Shh baby it’s okay I’m here now, your safe, completely safe, I won’t let anyone ever harm you again, ever, never again. I am so sorry.

So sorry. So sorry.’ He had imagined you sobbing desperately in his chest the ache of your body he felt against his own skin, he’d stroke your arm softly and whisper sweet nothing in your ear.

He’d reassure you constantly, be their for you when having to deal with the gained trauma even after the act. He’d give you anything you needed. Leave you loving encouraging notes in your belongings. Hold you every night as you slept. Lock every door and window in the house.

He’d lay bare with you in bed for hours just to make sure his babygirl was okay. Although he couldn’t help blame himself. He knew that he couldn’t just burst into your house and save you from your attacker, even after the matter.

‘oh uhm yeah, I’ve totally been watching you for months, that includes changing, and showering, and well... pleasing yourself too.

I’ve seen it all, and uhm I’m kinda in love with you too so I mean that’s a plus, uhm I know literally everything about you, how you are very persistent in organization and you hate cheesy romantic comedies.

How you’d just want to stay up until three a.m. reading a book about truce crime. How you can girl over the most underrated music artists and how you hate a guy that plays dumb in the most basic way. I know you absolutely hate roses anything I’m missing?’

He chuckled at the image of you stunned. He knew more about you than you knew yourself. How you’d jump into his arms, the feeling of your skin against his. Your soft lips brushing against his neck. He’d want it all.

That would immensely creep you out. His intention would to never make you uncomfortable. So the pain only grew worse. Not being able to call you by your name. Hold you. Take in the surreal beauty that was Y/N.

His white fangs pressed against his bottom teeth. His blood boiled to the brim. He wanted to make that disgusting human pay for what he did. His stomach twirled in mixed emotion.

He so badly wanted to hold you in his chest and comfort you, but some things have complicated consequences.

In the low midst of the night he kept a sharp eye on the human who groggily made his way down the deserted dirt road, stalking the weak being beneath the depths of the dark forest.

Small boots could be heard from miles stretched along the black canvas of the open air, the human male scanning his surroundings for some place to rest or.. a possible shortcut that could lead him home.

Wyatt licked his dry lips breathing out slowly watching the human stand in the clearing with curiosity. ‘Kill him’. ‘He deserves to suffer for what he did’. ‘Y/N’. ‘Think of Y/N’. ‘Gut him’.

The imploding thoughts trying to take control of him. His pupils shrunk and turned a bright yellow his fangs grew from the K-9’s in his mouth. He breathed heavily and beast like trying to regain his composure. Sure, he thought of you.

How you would’ve told him ‘this is dangerous and could get you caught by wolf patrol don’t’. But, the monster side of her would’ve agreed with him. Could’ve given into the impulses.

Could’ve joined in on the eccentric thrill of gutting a human to their bones watching as blood came spitting out of their body, falling limp to the ground and squirming like a dead rabbit, until their last breath leaves the closure of their lungs.

But he bit down on the inside of his cheek hard and shoved the impulsive thoughts aside. He caught attention of the human stepping through the clearing, Wyatt swiftly disappeared behind a tree. (Thank his wolf stealth.)

He watching closely behind the large oak as the midnight sky lit up with thousands of glowing stars the bright moon floating still. His feet crunched under the small wood chips and loose dirt, which made Wyatt’s right ear twitch occasionally. 

The human was lost, he had reached up to a large clearing in the middle of the forest ‘maybe this will be a quicker way home’. He thought to himself as he squeezed his way through the thick pine trees that scratched his face and dark leather. Little did he know he wouldn’t be going home.

An owl called in the distance alarming the human. Shrugging it off he walked a few more feet bonfire stopping in the middle of the clearing an eerie feeling began to set it and shake throughout his body. Wyatt quickly ran behind the large oak tree causing the bushes to rustle.

The human quickly threw his head around to the source of the sound, Wyatt felt his heart pace quickly , quicker as each second passed.

The moonstone laid on Wyatt’s chest grew a bright blue his sharp K-9s’ growing to a slick point and his eyes glowing a bright deeming yellow.

A low growl erupted from his stomach the animalistic nature taking grasp of his human side. The human caught sight of a dark shadow peeking out from behind the tree. He bolted the other direction.

His breathing paced as his nimble legs carried him the south west end of the dark dreary forest. Mud crushed under his boots his lungs burning and heaving out of exhaustion. Wyatt was faster. He dodged past trees and bushes running at almost fifty miles.

His leg got caught on a sharp tree ranch nearby he knew that whatever was out to kill him was going to make it quick. He was scared. He pulled with force which caused the branch to cut into the soft flesh of his leg, blood seeped through the blue denim and into Wyatt’s nostrils.

Jumping over large rocks and the bushes he caught up to the human quickly grabbing him by his jacket he pushed to human to the ground and used the force of his arms to hold him in a pin.

The human breathed heavily his eyes widened in fear “please .... don’t hurt me”. He spoke weak like it was an excuse to let him go. Wyatt’s eyes glowed his lips formed a deep snarl.

“Let you go? And what, you continue raping other innocent women”. He whispered a deeply distorted voice replacing Wyatt’s usual calm manner. The monster had completely taken over. The human whimpered and squirmed like a dead animal.

A scream left the human’s mouth and soared above the trees as Wyatt bite deeply into the salty flesh. The blood was warm a large chunk of his skin hung off of Wyatt’s mouth before he spit it out discarding it.

The human grunted and moaned in pain shooting out lines of foul words. Wyatt smirked as he straddled the humans hips in place allowing him to not move.

In panic the human began to wail his arms, the young wolf felt his heart erupt in his chest. The watched as the human wailed in half death, he felt evincible.

The blood squirted and poured out of the human’s uncared wound. The blood tasted sweet in his mouth, a true delicacy.

About fifteen minutes after he threw the discarded bones into a six feet deep ditch he had dug after killing the human.

His mouth, arms, and clothes all drenched in the human’s bodily fluids and chunks of his flesh on his chest.

He smelt foul. He knew he did. He wanted to make sure you were okay but couldn’t come to you smelling like this.

He had walked the path he knew like the back of his hand spotting the small watering hole, he stood at the shore of the small lake the moon glowing brightly over him.

Taking off his fur coat he stripped himself of his purple hoodie before slowly bringing up his white tank top over his head revealing his broad v line, toned abs and chest stained with blood.

Unclasping his jeans he slide them down towards his knees kicking off his boots and white socks. Then came his boxers.

He engulfed himself in the lake slowly, it was freezing cold but was used to it. The water has risen up to the middle of his waist, he began to vigorously rub off the dried blood splashing cold water in his face and arms.

Dipping himself under the cold lake he rushed up and breathed out coughing. Moving his wet hair out of his face he caught sight of a dark shadowed figure that stood at the shore. He could’ve sworn it was you. Your pale skin glimmered beautifully under the moonlight.

He didn’t move a muscle, yet he waited to see what your next intention was. A robe you were wearing slowly feel to the ground as you now stood naked your gaze kept on his, you slowly entered the water.

Your figure made your way through the cold water, his eyes never leaving yours he was absolutely stunned. This had to be surreal.

Your hips moved in the water causing ripples to shift outwards, your brown eyes fluttered innocently. He stood in front of you awestricken, you were gorgeous.

He was scared that maybe if he had made one wrong move you’d leave, so there he stood motionless waiting for you to respond.

You were now in front of him, your naked glory he kept his eyes on you out of full curiosity. Your face inches away from his you guided his hands towards your side his warm arms wrapped securely around your waist.

The tension was lingering, his heart was pacing at an irregular pace questions swirling around in his mind but nonetheless, he wouldn’t change a thing.

The two of your lips met in pure bliss, moving in synchronization your fingernails traveling up the back of his neck and into his soft curls his hands gripping your hips lightly not wanting to hurt you without permission.

His lips trailed from your jaw and to your neck where he softly bite and sucked gaining small moans from you in response.

Heavy breathing and moans began to fall from your lips as he held you in his arms his nails digging into the sides of your hips causing you to squirm, the fingers of his right hand gently sliding over your folds.

Unfortunately for Wyatt, he awoke in a panic, his head was spinning and he was covered in blood. His brown eyes scanned his surroundings, the green trees a dim green and the woods ground wet and sloshy from the rain the night before.

It was a dream.

Fuck. It was a dream.

Shivers shot down his spine and throughout his body as he remembered the horny dream he had. God he wished it where real. He observed his clothing. He was drenched in blood. His whole body.

He pondered to himself in confusion then it clicked. After killing the human he had retreated back to the clearing and fell asleep after ... Waking up he knew aside from the perks of his wolf powers one downside was that wolves couldn’t remember events that happen after they detach from their human form.

He licked his chapped numb lips while his ears perked up, sirens could be heard from miles away, holy shit. The police had found his body. Quickly, he stood up and ran left towards large similar oaks trees, lucky for him he knew the woods so it was easy for him. 

Suddenly while his head was turned behind him making sure he wasn’t seen he quickly looked forward and collided with anther body a loud grunt slipped passed his lips as he fell on the hard soil, groaning. 

[chatonne-rousse]

Outsider

Adrien just wants to be included. Having friends is such a dream! Even if his father keeps him busy and he can't often join them for the fun activities they invite him to, it's so nice to know he would be welcomed if he could get away.

Or at least, that's what he thought. Perhaps he was wrong? What if those terrible fears of abandonment and exclusion are closer to the truth?

He can't still be an outsider after all this time...right?

****

(Reminder: A story can show that the choices humans make can be hurtful to others without being a salt fic.)

Read it on Ao3 here.

It feels good to be back in class again on Monday morning. After such a lonely weekend, Adrien's heart finds contentment in this familiar routine, exchanging friendly smiles and waves with his classmates, taking his seat and being surrounded by the quiet chatter of his friends.

He settles in and takes out his tablet, smiling a tiny smile at the sight of Plagg asleep in a gym sock nest at the bottom of his bag.

A few minutes later, Nino ambles in with Alya, letting go of her hand so she can head to her seat and giving Adrien a jaunty salute as he slides in the bench beside him.

"Hey, bro! Long time, no see!" Nino offers his fist for their customary fist bump, and Adrien happily obliges. "How was your photoshoot?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "Long, boring, and interrupted by an akuma. Nothing new."

Nino snorts a laugh. "Good times," he deadpans. He takes off his headphones and bends to tuck them into his backpack, straightening with a hopeful smile. "Well, maybe we can hang out next weekend?"

"Yeah. That'd be great." The words come easily, but the echo rattles in his brain. They won't hang out next weekend, either. Adrien knows it, but Nino still carries a hint of optimism, even after all this time and all these broken commitments. His smile never slips, but Adrien's chest squeezes painfully.

Rose and Juleka walk through the door next, Rose's hand in the crook of Juleka's elbow.

"Happy belated birthday, Juleka," Adrien says quietly as she starts up the stairs, his smile soft and sincere.

"Oh...um..." She looks down at the floor. "Thanks, Adrien."

"You're welcome. I hope you had fun at the movie. I'm sorry I couldn't make it, but thank you for inviting me."

Juleka blanches, and Adrien watches with increasing bewilderment as her eyes widen and she seems to have trouble breathing.

"That's sooo sweet of you, Adrien!" Rose coos. "You're always so nice."

That's the moment Kim breezes through the door arguing loudly with Alix, though his attention is diverted as soon as he sees Juleka frozen on the stairs.

"Hey, Jules! Sorry I couldn't come to your boat party thing. Ondine had a swim meet and she wanted me to come. Gotta support my lady, you know?"

Several things register at once.

First, Kim's use of "my lady" grates more than Adrien would like to admit. Chat Noir doesn't have sole rights to those two words, but that nickname is near-sacrosanct to him, reserved for one girl only. If the truth is that right now, that whole...situation is confusing and painful, well, he's sure they can work things out. Somehow. He hasn't figured that out yet, but he will. No matter what, "my lady" is his partner, his lady. Even if she isn't. Yet.

But that isn't what makes his stomach swoop and his pulse pound in his ears when his mind replays the words.

Did Kim say...party?

Adrien blinks once, twice, again.

By the time he turns to Nino, the girls have scampered up to their seats and Kim has run up the outside steps two at a time, hurdled over an indignant Max, and promptly resumed his argument with Alix.

"Juleka had a party? I thought you went to the movies?" he asks. Even to his own ears, his voice sounds hollow. He doesn't miss Nino glancing sidelong up at Alya before meeting his eyes again.

Nino wheezes out an awkward laugh. "Well, that was the plan, but..." he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. "There was this thing with Luka and...I mean, it just...it was a location change, bro. That's all." He shrugs, the wild nervousness in his eyes at odds with the gesture.

Adrien knows that Nino has many redeeming qualities, but his best friend will never win an award for feigned nonchalance under pressure. Ever. Which is why Adrien pushes down the swell of emotion rising in his chest, disappointment and anger and the deep, aching loneliness that seems to be his constant companion.

He schools his expression into one he hopes portrays understanding and acceptance, and nods at Nino. His smile feels tight, but this is the best he can do when his veins are filled with ice, even as he tries to shove those feelings down down down, where they can't hurt him and no one will know.

"It's okay," he says evenly. "I understand."

He'd meant to put Nino at ease, but he can't tell if it worked. Nino's brows furrow further, and he shrugs again. "You just...you had your photoshoot anyway, you know?"

Ah. There it is.

Adrien's heart drops like a stone to the bottom of his stomach. Hot tears prick the back of his eyes and he takes the timely arrival of Ms. Bustier as a chance to look away and blink them back.

The voice in the back of his mind that never hesitates to speak the feelings he tries to hide whispers his fears to him, loud and clear.

He tries to ignore it, tries so hard, but...what if that voice is right after all?

Maybe he'll never fit in. Maybe he'll always be that weird rich kid with the weird life and the strict father, always on the outside looking in. Or rather, on the inside looking out. Why tell him if plans change when he won't be able to come anyway? Why invite him at all?

Maybe he's annoying. Obnoxious. Way too emotional, just like his father says.

Maybe he isn't even wanted in the first place.

"You could've told me," he whispers. He didn't mean to say it out loud, but suddenly, he doesn't care.

Nino's hand is on his shoulder in an instant.

"Hey, Adrien, I'm sorry. I totally should've. That's on me, mec."

He turns to find Nino's brown eyes earnest and sincere, and this time when Adrien nods at him, he doesn't have to fake the little smile that turns up the corners of his mouth. He raises his fist and Nino's face brightens as his own fist connects. The darkness recedes a fraction, as if repelled by the light of Nino's smile.

"Your pops sucks, though, dude. You know that, right?"

Adrien snorts a surprised laugh as he unlocks his tablet to get ready for class.

Nino pats his shoulder once more. "Next time, okay? We'll get you out of that place next time if we have to sneak you out."

The school bell punctuates Nino's sentence and Marinette stumbles through the door just as it stops ringing. Ms. Bustier simply smiles and shakes her head.

Marinette tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and hitches her backpack higher on her shoulder. As she walks toward the stairs, her eyes meet his. He hears her sharp inhale and watches the familiar blush rise to her cheeks.

But then, for one single moment suspended in time, it feels as though her big blue eyes see beyond his friendly smile and straight into the mess of his heart, to all the residual anger and disappointment and self-loathing that had flared inside him mere moments ago. A strange spike of terror at being known jolts his spine.

He watches, rapt, as her shoulders straighten and she fixes him with a dazzling smile that seems to make her eyes shine even brighter.

"Good morning, Adrien," she says, a world of warmth in the way she speaks his name.

It sweeps through his heart like a summer breeze, blowing the negative emotions to the corners where they drift into little piles, forgotten for the moment. Forgotten, not gone, just like the desperate loneliness that follows him like a shadow. But even a shadow has no recourse when the sun shines directly overhead.

He grins back at her, full of happiness and light that wasn't there a minute ago. "Good morning, Marinette."

She bites her lip, hunches her shoulders, and scurries past him with a...was that a squeak? Like a mouse?

Adrien can hear Alya and Marinette begin to whisper behind him, and it isn't until Nino nudges him with his elbow that he realizes he hasn't stopped smiling. His cheeks heat, and he's glad when Ms. Bustier starts the lesson.

He thinks over Nino's words. The next time there's a "next time" he'll likely be booked solid or denied permission and made to stay home. Sadness already walks half a step behind, always ready to catch up and overtake him; thinking about the many things he's missed and continues to miss doesn't help.

But right here in this moment, he sits in a little pocket of warm sunshine, surrounded by friends, and that's just enough to keep him going. The rest, he hopes, will sort itself out later.