#comet fic

[markcampbells]

Vash pulled in a harsh breath, unsure of the words, so unfit for everything he could say if he wanted to—the boy he'd been once, confronted for the first time with the knowledge he'd lose the woman who had been his lodestar. The times before this—fifty years passed on this planet, another fifty beyond that—he'd sought out the selfsame glow in the sky, alone each time, so alone he'd felt it was all he'd been suited for. Throughout a long life, Vash watches a comet pass through the too-brief existences of the people he loves most dearly. content warnings are in the fic notes

Hello, friends! I have a new TriMax-compliant fic I hope folks will enjoy if they give it a shot. For enjoyers(??) of:

reflections on Vash's attitude towards mortality and existential angst throughout his life

your post-Volume 10 angst, because Part II is all about widower Vash and how... complicated his feelings about Livio would be

people who have thought way too much about Vash outliving everyone he loves and the angst that would potentially cause in the far future [raises hand]

If you check it out, I would really deeply appreciate a comment! Gen fics are really hard to get eyes on and I put a lot of time and effort into writing character studies, so I really appreciate hearing what resonates for folks about my work. <3 (Thank you to @trigunfanfic for remaining up and giving us writers an outlet to promote our work!)

[reineydraws]

mishanks sketch dump bc ive been doodling them to de-stress or when i need a break from other pieces lately ✨️

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

a little doodle i did last night while streaming bc i got the space fanfic festering a hole into my brain rn

[sapphicmutt77]

CW: Ego/Identity Death! Continue with care!

Oh to be reset. Maybe even erased.

Imagine being taken by something beautiful, you're minding yourself, existing as you always have, and the next moment you're somewhere else. A basement, a garden, a quiet segment of forest, it doesn't matter. And she's there, she stands in front of you. Her eyes are as gentle as can be. You try to scream but she puts a finger to your lip.

"Shhh, it's okay pet, you're safe. I know how you've suffered." She plays with your hair, she leans in to kiss you on the cheek. You don't resist, you don't want to. "I'm here to make things much better~"

You feel something sharp penetrate the back of your neck. You feel it drain you, perhaps not physically, but you feel your grip on reality lessen moment by moment. Your memories are fading, at first a day, then a week, fragments disappearing moment by moment. Where did you go to school? I've forgotten. Who is your family? I don't have one.

"Don't worry pet, it'll all be over soon, you'll be able to start from zero, doesn't that sound lovely?"

It does sound lovely. So lovely. You choke back sobs for a moment, unable to tell if they are tears of joy or fear. You call out to the woman through tears.

"Yes Pet?" She says, her voice smooth as honey.

"Please... Hold me..."

Her arms wrap around you, squeezing you into a comfortable warm embrace. She pets your head, humming a gentle tune as your eyes flicker.

"Good night pet, it's time for you to rest."

Your eyes softly close.

When you awake, well, maybe not you, but you, she's there.

You don't know who she is. You don't know where you are. You don't know your name. It's scary. Everything is scary.

You curl up in a ball as you begin to sob, it's the only thing that makes sense. She comes over to you, and gently pets you. You look up to her with innocent eyes. She's so pretty.

She tells you your name, she tells you that she'll be your caretaker from now on. She tells you that she will love you to the fullest. She tells you that you'll never have to worry again. Even through the fog, you know she's telling the truth. Her earnest love sings through ever word. She offers you her hand. You reach for it with your shaky paw and hold it tight. She helps you up, your poor legs give out as you find them hard to use. She doesn't let you stumble for long as she lifts you into a princess carry. You nuzzle into the crook of her neck. She's so soft. After some minutes of walking and being carried, you hear a door creak open. A flurry of warmth floods over you.

"Welcome home pet~"

You feel your heart beat and your cheeks flush. A warm delight blossoms deep within you.

You smile.

You're home!

[hoes4matthew]

Please

Warnings: PEGGING / sub!matt / dom!reader / praise kink / porn w no plot / shortt

Summary: idk what to put here since there's no plot

Authors Note: If you don't like it don't read it!!

"Please, please, please!!" Matt repeated, his voice high-pitched and slightly wobbly as he continuously bounced up and down on your strap, the silicone hitting just the right spot every time.

His movements were sloppy and uncoordinated. His breathing was heavy, with loud moans and whines spilling out of his mouth with every movement. He looks at you through hooded, slightly teary eyes. Silently begging you to help him out. To grab his hips or touch him in any way, for that matter. 

He looked pathetic on top of you. Non-stop moaning, tears in his eyes from how good it felt, his hair all messy sticking to his forehead, and his cheeks all pink. His nails dug into your shoulders as he slightly picked up the speed. His head went to the crook of your neck.

"Come on, please..." He whispered in your ear between heavy pants and grunts. "Please help me out..." His voice came out as more of a whine as he felt a knot in his stomach start to form. 

You couldn't help but give in, your hands moving to his hips, helping him quickly move up and down on the strap. He gasped loudly at your actions.

"mm! fuck! Thank you, thank you, oh fuck!'' He rambled. He lifted his head up from your neck to look into your eyes. Tears were now steaming down his face; he felt fucking incredible.

The sounds coming from the room were loud and dirty. Matt's whines and moaning, skin calling, and the bed ever so slightly banging against the wall every time he bounces.

His jaw went slack, with only babbles and moans coming out of his mouth. He threw his head back, his eyes going crossed for all the pleasure. His vision began to get blurry.

"m' close.." He managed to mumble out loud moans. His breathing got heavier. You brought your palm up to his tip, rubbing it in circles at a quick pace. His legs began shaking. "I'm- fuck! yesyesyes!!" His voice was high-pitched as ropes of cum spewed out of his dick into your palm, some leaking into your stomach.

"You did so well for me, baby." He let out a very quiet whine, hiding his head in your neck yet again. You wrapped your hands around him comfortingly. His breathing was still heavy, and his legs were still shaking slightly.

"M' your good boy...?" He whispered, his voice raspy and quiet, as she spoke. If he weren't near your ear, you probably couldn't even hear what he said. 

"Yeah. My good boy." You very gently ran your hand through his hair. He leaned into your touch, smiling slightly. His breathing has slowed down now. 

Idk how too ends fics are so that's how it's ending

[oceansssblue]

SW REQUESTS:

"Would love to see a Wolffe x reader fic where the AFAB reader is injured in battle, Comms him and then their Comms get jammed and he's just freaking the hell out. Love some angst of him carrying her back to a ship and losing his mind over it"

Some minor alterations but I'm SO HAPPY with how this one came out! I love wolffe and there aren't that many fics about him. Do recommend your favourites! Xx, sky.

"RADIO SILENT" –WOLFFE/F READER

WARNINGS: BATTLE, WOUNDS&BLOOD, ANGST AND FLUFF. 📩💔💖

Halsakaa is a nightmare. The Republic hasn't been able to redirect more forces to the Outer Rim planet to help you; and your troops are struggling to keep the droids battalions at bay. It honestly feels as though the Republic –and the Jedi– have abandoned you to your wrath; no-one coming to this remote location in the galaxy to save you. The destine of your own life, and the lifes of your soldiers, are solely in your hands. And you'd give everything for them, even sacrifice yourself if you have to. After so many experiences together, for almost three years straight now, they have becomed such an important part of you it feels as if you have ingrained every single one of them in your soul. You know you should'nt be so attached to them; Master Ploo quietly reminds you from time to time –though you know he's not exactly indifferent either–. The wolfpack is his own just as they are yours. Yours. Growing up as Jedi you haven't had this kind of... ownership over anything but your saber. Obviously, you don't see the clones as something you can posses, use; but they do belong to you in some sense, and in that way, it's your responsability to command them, to take care of them. And you... love them. It's a dangerous word for a Jedi. But it's the truth. It is the reason why, right now, your soul aches. Each death is a strike right to your heart. But how can you see them any different, when they are such loyal friends? Such fierce soldiers, who fight and die selflessly for the freedom of other citizens in the galaxy, a freedom that hadn't been given to themselves?

Your dark emerald green lightsaber flies in your hands, deflecting one bolt after the other one. Sweat makes your usually comfortable jedi robes stick to your body; minor scratches and wounds tingling painfully at the friction of the fabric. It doesn't make you move any slower, though; you feel unstopable jumping from a cluster of droids to another, the hum of your saber following you around while you slash through your enemies with persistent focus and skill. General Ploo is doing his own thing on the other side of the battlefield; your clone troops split in half to defend both sides of Halsakaa's capital.

You don't know how much longer you can hold this off. All of you have been trained for this, and you're used to drawing strength from the Force, increasing your usual endurance; but even you are feeling exhausted, muscles straining like painful cords, and the thing about the droids is that they never tire out. You know this has to end eventually. Right now, Master Ploo's orders are to hold on til some other battalion can come to your rescue –the other option abandoning Halsakaa to the separatists, which would cause a disastrous impact on the Republic–; though you don't know when that will be. It may be days, or weeks. A month, maybe two. Even with the system of rest-and-takeover you've got established with the clones you're afraid you're going to lose.

The night falls, and some troopers fall back into the delicate safety of the makeshift camp, a decent distant away from the battlefield; they'll try to shut the eye for some hours before replacing other brothers positions again. You keep fighting, completely exhausted but knowing perfectly well that your presence in the battlefield equals the force of ten clones; pushing through your energy limits and fiercely holding your own.

Hours pass, and the two suns of Halsaaka rises again; your tired eyes getting used to the new light while you keep slashing droids with your saber.

"We're pushing them further away from the South Door" Master Ploo's calm voice picks up through your coms. "I have been informed that the 442th have been dispatched in our way. They will join us in two sunrises".

You can't help but give a relieved sigh. The 104th have worked with the 442th more than once in the past. They are heavy infantry; and you wouldn't say no to some of that now. Any fresh soldier would be a welcomed addition. You can see the strain on your troopers; though none of them would dare say a word out loud.

"Copy that" you answer through your channel with your Master and the 104th's commander and sergeant. "I'll feel as happy as a kid with a popsicle when I see that green stripped armour along our light gray one".

You dodge a shot and use the Force to push a wave of droids to the side; your troopers quickly using the oportunity to blast them down.

Wolffe's deep husky voice pipes up in a tiny, well-humoured comment.

"Still a kid yourself, General" he teases you, voice still firm and contradictionally serious.

Your lips pull up on a tiny smirk.

"We can't all age in a blink of an eye, my dear Commander" you chirp back.

The coms pick up his raspy chuckle before the frequency goes back to silence.

The droids make way for something bigger and you groan under your breath. The first bolts make the earth beneath your feet shake slightly; orders and screams shouted all around you.

"Bad news, boys" you open the general coms this time so everyone gets updated in this very unwelcomed surprise. "We've got some spiders".

You focus yourself on them; flying through the battlefield and jumping on one droid after the other one, sinking your saber into their red sensors or cutting off their laser canions. Then, when you're in the middle of jumping off of one, a surprisingly well aimed bolt crosses the air and hits you; and you fall down with blood quickly soaking your side, staining the fabric of your Jedi clothes.

"Fuck" you mutter out loud, jaw clenching til your teeth hurt while you stand up quickly and deflect another bold with your saber, trying to cope with the pain. You open your private frequency with Sinker and quickly inform of your state.

"Sinker, I've been hit" you grit between your teeth while you kill the droid responsible for your wound and step back between your troopers to cover yourself momentarily.

You pull your clothes up and quickly glance down at the wound. Usually the bolts inmediately cauterizes the wounds; but this hadn't been a normal droid, but a combat-J1, with it's weapon specifically designed to make the most damage to human's skin without it's predecessors side-efects. The apparently less dangerous bolts are quite the opposite; dividing into smalller ones that diverts into different directions when hitting a surface with enough resistance. Right now, there's only one entrance wound on your right side; but you know they may have carved more than one path inside of you, making it a life or death situation depending on how lucky you are.

"How bad is it?" He asks, slowly but effectively advancing through the droid lines towards you, an easy person to locate with the shine of your emerald saber.

You grunt in pain, hand soaked in dark scarlet blood, and take a deep breath in, knowing what you need to do for now.

"Bad" you just answer, carefully lowering your own saber towards the wound "It's a shot from a J1. I'm going to cauterise the wound for now, but I might go into shock in the next hour. Just a heads up."

You chuckle weakly, and then carefully graze your lightsaber against the wound. The skin quickly hardens and clots; the smell of the burn quickly reaching your nose. Your knees buckle while you swallow your scream of pain; legs shaking weakly and tears springing to your eyes while you finish putting a momentarily solution to your wound. At least you won't die from blood loss for now.

"Maker, General" Sinker is suddenly there, taking a strong hold of your opposite hip to stabilize you. "That really doesn't look good. You should go back to camp, Sir".

You find solace in his strength for a minute before rightening yourself again and getting ready to move. You close your eyes and center yourself with the Force. You're hurt, but you're still in the middle of open fire; you need to swallow the pain and dizziness down and hold on.

You give Sinker a firm nod.

"I'm letting this side of the battlefield on your hands, then" you tell him, his own back inmediately straightening too under such responsability. "Just one more night and we'll have reinforcements with us tomorrow".

Sinker nods in understanding, appreciating your words of encouragement. He quickly orders Comet to help you get safely back to camp; while he inmediately takes the role of leader and commands your part of the 104th clone troops. You need to protect the North Door of Halsaaka while Master Ploo and Wolffe take care of the South.

One arm around Comet's shoulders and finding strength in the Force, you quickly start your dangerous way back to safety. Even though Comet's alert with his own blaster and you're still deflecting bolts with your saber, you're vulnerable now. You just hope you're both able to make it.

You open your coms to inform of the new situation.

"I've been hit with a J1" you warn Master Ploo and Wolffe. You don't like how weak your voice sounds. "Wolffe, I..."

There's a small explosion right beside you; and the force of it pushes both you and Comet to the ground. You whimper in pain, but quickly grab him and push the two of you back up, resume walking –more like stumbling forward–. You try the coms again, wanting to tell Wolffe you've left Sinker with command before retiring for the night; you grumble in irritation when you see your com device has detached from your forearm and has been left abandoned behind.

"Do you have your com?" You ask Comet.

His voice is barely audible under the protection of his helmet.

"My audio appears to be broken after that last fall, General."

You sigh, tired. There's nothing you can do about it now. Sinker will communicate with them sooner or later.

"Let's just make it back to safety then" you say, and Comet nods diligently.

You'll just focus on not collapsing to the ground before reaching camp.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Wolffe's heart stutters inside his chest when he hears your voice in the coms. You're always strong, always fierce; something he had admired from the very first time he had had the chance to work under your command. He had been cold towards you back then; not purposedly harsh against you, but not friendly either. You hadn't cared. When one of his men had pointed out to you it wasn't personal, but just Wolffe's reserved, unpolished personality, you had answered unbothered and completely understanding. He could still hear those words in his head; "I get it. I'm a stranger that holds the lifes of his brothers in her hands. None of you know me yet; trust is earned. I hope I will with time. I'd like us all to be comfortable with each othef. But if not, it doesn't matter. I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to fight. I'm here to protect people; and I'm here to direct my assigned troops as best as I can in order to achieve the best results with the minor number of casualties. If Commander Wolffe opens up to me I'd be honored. If not, I'm sure we could still be good comrades in this war". He still remembers the way you had tilted your chin upwards; staring defiantly at the clones in front of her, completely unaware of him standing not so far away at her back. "Now, I believe there's still some preparations needed for Jaal; and we're taking off in an hour". With that not-so-subtle signal that the conversation had ended, the troopers around you had quickly fell back to place; and Wolffe had silently followed Master Ploo Koo towards you. "Look at you, little warrior" the older Jedi had told you, a pleasant smile wrinkling the corner of his covered eyes. "Already displaying such good lidership traits". You had turned around in surprise; so many life presences around you, and experiencing a rush of your own emotions, you hadn't been aware of both of their presence. Your cheeks had flushed slightly; though that same defiant glint hadn't left your eyes. "Master" you had slightly bowed towards him. "You see me with good eyes" you had smiled softly at him, in a clearly opened affectionate way Wolffe wasn't used to seing in other Jedi. "Just having a chat with the troops". Master Ploo had chuckled quietly and pointed at him with a hand gesture; Wolffe quickly taking a step forwards towards them. "I have just had a quick meeting with the Council. Commander Wolffe will update you on my behalf, as I need to go have a word with the pilots" Master Ploo had glanced back at him pointedly. "If he'd be kind enough...". Wolffe had inmediately nodded, firmly. He had high respect towards that specifical Jedi; and he didn't usually hold others in such high regards. "Of course, sir" he had then turned towards you. "General, if you can follow me to the strategy room...". You had firmly hold his stare for a few seconds; and the quiet inquisitive gaze had felt as if the young Jedi Warrior had scanned his own very soul. Wolffe had had his first tingle of that uncomfortable but curious feeling back then; a feeling that had only increased with the following years. Nowadays, he...

Wolffe cleared his thoughts and focused on battle. Your voice had sound weak and tired, but you were perfectly capable of holding yourself, and this wasn't the first time you had been hurt before. He had actually patched you more than once in the past and... And then you mentioned a J1, and whispered his name, and there was a loud ringing sound through the coms that sounded too close to an explosion for his comfort and... And the sounds died, leaving nothing more than radio silence. And Wolffe, going against everything he had learnt and was trained for, pannicked.

"General?" His frantic, afraid voice was enough for Master Ploo to focus his attention on him, a graze at his Force life enough to make him understand his commander's feelings. "General. Come on. Com in, kid..."

There was only static.

Wolffe's heart pumped faster, adrenaline shooting through his veins. His hands trembled. A knot formed in his throat, slowly chocking his voice. He never broke down. He never broke down, but...

"Cyar'ika" he begged in a whisper. "Please, please answer and tell me you're okay".

He still got no answer back from you, and he felt his soul hurt.

Master Plo's hand suddenly renched him back into reality; a comforting wave of what could only be his Force washing over him. Wolffe turned his face towards him. The Jedi watched him in understanding.

"I can feel your turmoil. It is such it's difficult for me to focus on anything else. You are in no state to stay in the battlefield" he told him, cautiously gentle. "If my padawan has been gravely injured someone has probably helped her return to camp. You must go and make sure she's okay".

Even if Wolffe wanted nothing more than to start of a run and find her, he still hesitated in front of his General. He was a soldier. A commander. He couldn't leave his place just because he had stupidly, oh so fucking stupidly, fallen in love with her...

Master Plo squeezed his shoulders once. He knew him so well.

"Go" he insisted. "That's an order".

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Wolffe quickly wrenched the flimsi excuse of a door of the tent open. He had gone to the makeshift infirmary first; his doctor quickly informing him of the state of his Jedi, and where he could find her resting at the moment. "A dangerous wound, but surprisingly stable" he had told him while he took care of the wound of a fellow brother. "She's a tough one, our General. It was a good idea to use her own lightsaber as a cauterizer. She wouldn't have probably made it all the way back here otherwise". That probability had made Wolffe tremble.

His own eyes quickly scanned the Jedi's state now. She was laying down on a rucksack, unusually clad in just a sport top and his Jedi pant's; outer robes discarded and clean bandages effectively wrapping around her lower torso, with just a small amout of blood transpairing on her side. Her lightsaber had been carefully placed at her side. Her hair was untied and a mess; some sticking to her dirtied face and some falling around freely behind her. Despite her evident exhaustion, Wolffe hand't ever been so happy to see her.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Commander?" You asked in a surprised voice, slowly and carefully propelling some of your weight in your elbows in order to see him better. "Shouldn't you be back on the battlefield?"

Your face quickly changes into a deep, worried frown as you scan him up and down quickly.

"Are you hurt too, Wolffe?"

His heart clenches again. He steps inside the tent, slowly falling down on his knees besides you, and closes the door.

"No" he simply answers, observing you quietly.

You're completely lost. He's looking at you in a different way. He... Feels different, in the Force. Usually he feels much more reserved, almost as if he had learnt how to shield his emotions from a Jedi; however this... This felt raw.

"I'm afraid I don't understand" you chuckle and then wince at the way the movement tugs at your wound, a bit nervously now. You pointedly look at him. "You wouldn't be here just because you got worried, right?"

Wolffe's expression doesn't change.

"You went radio silent" he answers, quietly.

You arch an eyebrow.

"Our coms died" you explain, still confused about his attitude.

Wolffe can't help himself. He reaches forward and carefully grasps your chin in his right hand; eyes boring into yours. You gasp in surprise and can't do anything else but stare at his breathetaking mismatched eyes in response; emotions inside of you swirling dangerously with his move.

"You were hurt" he enfasises, almost as if he's trying to tell you something else, something you're not quite understanding. "You were hurt, and you went radio silent".

Oh. Oh. He thought you might be... You might have...

"Oh, Wolffe" his name is an understanding, affectionate sigh on your tempting lips. "I'm okay".

He doesn't want empathy. Doesn't want that almost condescending type of comfort. He needs to make sure you're still here; with him. He needs to exteriorize all this raw, painful emotions he has been keeping hidden for so fucking long, and he wants you so fucking bad it makes his mind and soul burn...

He bends down over you, holding himself against one hand proped against the floor while the other one tugs your neck forward, and then he's kissing you –fiercely, dominantly, real–; he kisses the same way he fights and a surprised but delighted whimper of a moan can't help but escape from your lips, hands quickly clinging onto his shoulders desperately.

You... You hadn't thought you'd end up having this. With you being a Jedi and him being such a perfect, respected clone Commander, you had always brushed your wants aside and...

"Wolffe" you whisper, trembling inevitably when his plush warm mouth moves from your lips to the side of your neck, biting gently. "Wolffe, I...".

He breathes and looks up at your face again; cupping your cheek with his right hand and observing your reaction with his eyes shimmering in needs and desire.

His Force signature blasts. He loves you. He loves you, and you...

"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum" you whisper, risking it all and giving your heart to him.

Tears blur your sight. They're not sad tears; they're not happy either. They're a mix of emotions that make you feel like a mess and...

Wolffe sighs. You love him. You love him, and the fact that you've told him in Mando'a...

He closes his eyes and gently presses his forehead against yours; finding solace and peace in your embrace, in this Keldabe. His eyes then flutter open, and he holds your face in both of his hands, slowly joining your lips in a kiss much more sweet and unhurried than those from before. You hum, surrendering in complete bliss.

He caresses your smuged cheek with his thumb, taking some of the dirt and exhaustion of the battlefield away.

His voice is a secret whisper as well.

"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, cyare".

Your fingers tug at the hair at the back of his neck, and you crash your lips onto his.

You imprint those five mandalorian words in your soul.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This one was a blast to write! Felt the emotions so raw myself tooo bfbfbsfb this two are so cute. I hope I get to write more of Wolffe in the future, I really like the guy.

Did some minor alterations –like him not been the one to actually carry you back to safety– but it kinda wrote itself and I'm happy with how it came out. Hope you liked it as well!

Also, dear friends, if you ever want to request something longer than a one-shot, you're able to do so as well (if the plot goes accordingly or I find it expandable). I'm not writing whole stories, but a short one of maybe 2-5 chapters max would be okay.

Stay tunned for the next one yall. It will be a little angsty one with Echo, and then we'll have a flirty fun one with Crosshair.

Xx,

Sky.

Back to main masterlist here!

[0vergrowngraveyard]

i did it

this isnt like an au or anything, just for fun lol

[23fallencomets]

Comets Fic Snippets

ranging from the oldest drafts I have to the newer ones so sit tight because this is pretty long :)

Made in the A.M

It takes Jenson a few minutes to realize what he’s looking at. In the dim lighting of his home office, with the sunset as a golden backdrop, he finds that Williams is screwing over their rookie. The data basically shoves it in his face with a taunt, look and see how they’re destroying this boy from the inside out. It takes him another second to gather himself, to put the papers down and look at the data from the sim racing and the on-track racing.

It’s bad, is what he’s getting at, so fucking bad that he’s surprised no one has said anything. He picks the papers up again, raising them above his head so they can catch the light like if the truth would reveal itself, like if it can convince him Williams isn’t sabotaging their only rookie.

Blue (Navy and True)

pairing: Max/Logan (inspired by that one edit one is the loneliest number followed by two ifykyk)

He wakes up a few hours later, 6:47 am exactly. His head swims as he goes to the bathroom, momentarily forgetting where he is exactly. By the time he remembers, he’s way too hungry to really care.

Max is still asleep and it reminds Logan that Max is still only three years older than him. He looks calmer, peaceful. Logan moves away and finds Max’s meal plan sitting on the table near the phone. He calls in room service that falls within their diet before moving around and picking up the mess he had made in attempt to get Max in bed.

Twenty minutes later, breakfast is on the table and Jos Verstappen at the door.

Endzone

“A boy born in the Sunshine State of the United Staes who left his home at a young age to pursue a challenging career in racing, who has been doubted again and again has shown up today in the red and white of the American team of Haas to bring them their first podium of the season! Logan Sargeant who has had to fight tooth and nail to prove himself over and over again showed up today and became the first American to win a Grand Prix since Mario Andretti in 1978! Logan Sargeant passes the checkered flag and wins in Suzuka!”

Logan sits in his car for a moment, hands still shaking around the steering wheel. His eyes are blurred by tears, a heaviness he didn’t know he still carried around suddenly loosening as he forces himself out, going through the motions. He stumbles to stand on the nose of his car, the red and white livery that helped deliver him first across the checker flag.

You Are More Than Just a Dream

Pairing: Loscar

OG mentor!logan fic i had posted about

“Do you want to go back? I’ll drive you.” Logan said, his Italian just a bit stilted. Whatever tension Kimi had releases as he leans heavily onto Logan. Logan had picked up Italian quicker than anyone Kimi had known, even Ollie still struggles, and they were teammates for the entirety of their time at Prema.

Kimi’s debut race could have been worse, like Oscar’s who had to DNF after a gearbox issue. There was no shame in Kimi finishing in tenth, unlike Logan who got lapped and ended in twelfth. Logan understood the stress of wanting to finish better, after all Logan was consistently below P15 for the first half of the 2024 seasons.

“Can I sleep in your room?” Kimi asks quietly. Logan nods, hands on his shoulders as he leads him out of the party. Their hotel isn’t that far, and the air is nice on their flushed skin. The whole walk back is silent, Kimi still in his head while Logan just makes sure Kimi gets in safe.

One in A Million

pairing: ??? i think it was implied carlos/logan ngl

Logan sighs, simultaneously relieved and dreading the briefing. It had taken them a week to post a proper goodbye post across their social medias. Logan didn’t exactly care since there wasn’t much he could do about it besides film a one-minute goodbye video. The media team had basically begged him to look happy and all Logan could have managed was a tense smile.

He didn’t really understand why they were making such an effort in getting content out of him when it wouldn’t matter in the next ten races. The only things he was looking forward to were the Team Torque videos and the little ten minutes challenges that were cut down to three or four minutes.

Meet Me Halfway

dad!logan, pairing undecided (toss up between loscar and sargebon, any suggestions of any logan ship is welcomed :)) , healthy co-parenting with female oc

Steph wasn’t lost, he just happened to lose sight of Miss Wendy and was now sitting next to a tall man with a funny accent. He watches the screen intently, keeping an eye out for his dad’s car. He rocks himself slightly when he catches sight of the Williams.

“That’s my dad’s car.” Steph says seriously, nodding as Logan overtakes another blue car. Toto blinks, pen moved from where it was pressed against his mouth. He looks at the little boy, his blue-green eyes and messy blonde hair, a natural down-tilt smile. He kind of looks like a baby version of Nico, and there’s only one other person on the paddock who sometimes looked like Nico.

Fred appears at the moment, a cup of coffee in his hands and freezes when he catches sight of Steph Sargeant sitting cutely next to his boss. He looks around, sees a camera focus in on him and he quickly steps forward, quickly drinking the warm coffee before he swoops in.

Let Me Wrap my teeth around the world

supernatural, past loscar, sargebon, parents!loscar, siren!logan

The fledging flinched; one hand gripped into the sweatshirt of the vampire next to him. The dark toned vampire looks between them, braid beads clinking almost beautifully; the leader, by all means as the others flank his sides.

Logan feels sick to his stomach, feeling it roll like storm waves, dangerous and painful. The fledgling—Oscar, his brain chants, Oscar, Oscar, Oscar—whines, eyes squeezing shut and trying to hide behind his leader.

Logan takes a step forward, shakily, and so fucking angry. It’s a few more steps until he gets his hands on him, tan skin against the sickly paleness of Oscar’s skin. The coven hisses, teeth bared in a pathetic mimicry of intimidation.

“You died.” Logan says, almost so quietly he’s not sure he can hear himself, “I buried you; Lia and I buried you.” At the mention of their foster child turned daughter, he flinches hard enough his leader grasps his hands, gentle and loving.

Rage boils under Logan’s skin.

Close to you

sargebon, post 7/28, dating-but-not-knowing-they’re-dating, redbull reserve driver!logan

Alex makes it home before midnight, the apartment as empty as he had left it. He drops his things off by the door, figuring out that he’ll move it later when he spots the first thing out of place. It’s nothing big, but Alex has always been good at keeping track of his apartment and that blanket wasn’t there when he left.

He walks over, running his hands over it and his fingers bump over the embroidered LS on the corner. He holds it in his arms, the heavy blue material making his arms ache as he looks around the living room. His movie center thing was moved around and there were droppings of popcorn on the floor near the couch.

Alex feels hope bloom in his chest when he spots a familiar navy blue suitcase in the hall by his bedroom door. He opens the door, a familiar tuft of blonde hair visible from where Logan is buried under Alex’s blankets. He drops the one in his arm on his desk chair as he carefully grabs his things. He still has to shower so he does so quickly, a million questions running through his head as he tries to not to slip.

Logan Sargeant and the Inconveniences of Crushes

In hindsight, this isn’t the worse thing that has happened to Logan; being friends with Arthur Leclerc takes the cake. Either way, Logan has a life-long history of falling in love with people he will never have so just like all the others, he doesn’t do anything about it.

He really should’ve taken in account how persistent Alex Albon and George Russel are.

And done! If you got to the end, thank you very much. Most of these fics have at least 1k words written, but keeping up with all of them isn’t easy especially with writers block. If any pique your interest and want to know a bit more, please don’t hesitate to shoot an ask and i’ll be more than happy to share more 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[crow-caller]

I had fun with the crunchy collage but today got into more artsy design. So I've done like 10 pages. so. I'll do more and share them when ready :3c

Text is from Creatures Of Heaven, my Forbidden Ship fic

[leavingautumn13]

a little height reference for my may and her two main pokemon

[omori-headspace]

tony becker: oh man this promotional art of freddy and bonnie looks very intimate maybe i should go ask bonnie about that

ellis: WOOOO YEAH BABY MIDNIGHT MOTORIST HELL YEAH BROTHER WOOOOOO HELLLLL YEAHHHHH GONNA GET THE HIGH SCORE ON THIS BABY LETS GOOOO

[iamthecomet]

Nothing is Enough

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Dewther Featuring: Quintosis. Mean Aether. Hair Pulling. Kink negotiated off screen. Dew being *very* into shame. Oral sex. Aether being a bastard. Dew being completely and totally down for it. Word Count: ~1.7k

Many thanks to @kroas-adtam and @miasmaghoul for encouraging my hair pulling Aether agenda.

“Please,” Dew whispers. A barely there noise that Aether could pretend not to hear. For a second–Dew thinks he really didn’t hear. Aether doesn’t shift, doesn’t say a word. Then, there’s an inhale, deeper than the others. Dew’s stomach flips over, drops, settles somewhere down by his balls. .

“I told you to be quiet,” His voice is cold, sharp. Void of any fondness and Dew feels himself throb. He almost moans with it–this callousness. He longs for it to be used against him. He wants to choke on it.

“My feet hurt, Aeth. Come on.”

“Shut up.”

Read the rest on AO3.

[sergeantgoggles]

Prompt: Excitement Ship: Wolffe/Comet Rated: .

When Wolffe tells his men that they’re going to get a few days of leave, the excitement is almost contagious, especially from his shiny, who reminds him of, well, an excited puppy. His eyes light up, and Wolffe swears if Comet had a tail he’d be wagging it so hard that he’d lift off from the ground. 

He dismisses his men, but he calls Comet to stay behind a moment. 

“I was thinking since we’re going to be on leave that I could take you out properly,” Wolffe suggests quietly with a bit of a smirk. 

If Wolffe thinks that Comet had been excited before, he is absolutely elated now, and he bounces on his heels with an enthusiastic nod before stealing a kiss from his Commander.  

[nevesmose]

Meteor, Trailing Light

Not a request - this one's all on me. Reading Dunmeshi and thinking about how Mithrun has enough vague similarities to Fulgrim that his story arc almost-but-not-quite scratches the itch for a sort of whumpy hurt/comfort style redeemed Fulgrim story. And then, as if by magic... (Title taken from the same poem McNeill used for The Reflection Crack'd because I'm a huge fucking nerd.)

Even now he remains the Phoenician, beloved by all and the star around which his warriors orbit.

Fulgrim found it strange to be dead.

And yet that was what had happened, as far as the galaxy at large knew. The traitor Fulgrim slain in single combat by his own best-loved brother Ferrus Manus. Simply one more dead heretic in a galaxy bursting at the seams with them.

The truth, as was so often the case, differed slightly. At the final moment Ferrus Manus had stayed his hand and settled for capturing Fulgrim instead.

Once he was under observation it hadn't taken the Iron Hands long to deduce the connection between him and the cursed Laer blade and, abhorrent as it was to their rational sensibilities, to begin a process of what a more spiritually-inclined observer might have called exorcism.

When their efficient disassembly of the body failed to root out the infection, they had moved on to his mind instead.

He was grateful that he remembered so little of it, except for the sensation of the perfect white silk of his hair falling away as it was shorn off and the high-pitched squeal of a chirurgical saw biting into his skull.

"He may not survive damage to the brain of this magnitude," the cold, artificial voice of a techpriest had announced.

"He's strong enough," came the reply. His brother's voice, organic but infinitely colder. "Burn it out of him."

"My lord Primarch, even if he lives the neurological effects are beyond our ability to determine. His recall and cognition may be permanently altered."

"Understood," Ferrus had growled. "Do it."

He had relearned how to walk, in the end. How to talk and read and write, to feed and clean and dress himself. The medicae had told him his recovery was vastly quicker and more complete than could be expected of any mortal, or even an Astartes.

His hair had grown back dishwater grey and the physical damage was mitigated as far as possible by whatever therapies and augmetics could be adapted to the body of a Primarch, but the gaps in his memories and mental capabilities still lurked around him like ghosts, eager to drag him down at any moment.

How many Astartes in a legion? How to tie the laces of a boot? Sometimes the shame and humiliation of not knowing, of having to need help with such things, made him weep. He had been the Phoenician once. The guiding star to an army of superhumans.

Ferrus had been a constant presence, sitting at his bedside for what felt like days at a time. They had spoken often of the past, over and over again, Ferrus telling him the stories of his own exploits to try to reconnect the burned-away neurons into something approaching a memory.

There had been a smithing competition between them, apparently. Three months at work beneath Mount Narodnya on Terra itself. Ferrus had brought him what he said was Fulgrim's own creation, the great warhammer Forgebreaker, and although Fulgrim had looked at it and appreciated the skill and effort of his past self it simply did not register with him.

He had apologised to Ferrus for not remembering and been sure that it was the first time he had ever seen the Primarch of the Iron Hands cry.

Ferrus often spoke with him about the war, too. The war was going badly. Fulgrim knew with an instinct that must have been imprinted on him at the moment of his creation that the presence of another Primarch on the battlefield, even one so irreparably damaged, could mean the difference between survival and annihilation.

So, like a distant comet being drawn back to its star, he would return to war. When his recovery was deemed to be as complete as it would ever be, he was presented with a suit of black Iron Hands power armour trimmed in dark purple, accompanied by a newly-forged replica of the lost Fireblade.

When he left his chambers Ferrus was waiting for him, clad in his own black warplate.

"One of us is going to have to change," Fulgrim said flatly.

Ferrus chuckled. "It's good to see you like this again, Fulgrim. Come with me. I have something to show you."

"Am I to be an Iron Hand now?" he asked as they walked together, gesturing to his armour.

"If you want. Nobody will care if my closest general happens to be taller than average or look different to the rest of my Legion. There are far worse things happening in the galaxy right now, brother."

Fulgrim slowed to a halt, prompting Ferrus to stop as well.

"Am I still your brother, Ferrus? Even now?"

Ferrus didn't say anything at first, instead favouring him with one of the monumental metal-handed shoulder pats he seemed to reserve for those closest to him.

"You'll always be my brother," he replied. "You're still the only one of the bastards I can stand."

"A truly great honour," Fulgrim smiled.

They moved out onto a raised dais at one end of a large ceremonial chamber liberally decorated with Iron Hands iconography, in the sense that a certain amount of Iron Hands iconography not strictly required for the room's structural integrity was present.

In front of them stood a contingent of black-armoured Iron Hands, a few companies in total, whose plate bore the same dark purple trim as Fulgrim's along with a variety of hoods and cloaks in the same colour.

Fulgrim knew that before, he would have been able to come up with some witty, cutting remark at a time like this. He had even watched old pict footage of himself doing it until the sight of the beautiful, shining Phoenician he'd once been had become too much to bear.

It was so hard for him to get words out now, or sometimes even just to put his thoughts in sufficient order. He settled for a quizzical look at Ferrus instead, who just raised his eyebrows in an expression that on any other face would have looked downright mischievous.

"Iron Phoenixes!" he called out, striding forward. "Remove your helmets!"

In one smooth, well-drilled motion the ranks of Astartes pulled back their hoods and took off their plain black helmets to reveal a sea of white hair and violet eyes, all fixed on Fulgrim.

He realised with a sharp pang of grief that he didn't recognise any individual faces among them, but the overall resemblance was undeniable.

Tears came unbidden to Fulgrim's remaining eye. His sons. Tired, scarred, and far, far too few in number, but nevertheless his sons.

"They followed me?" he asked.

"Of course they did," Ferrus said quietly. "You're the star they orbit around, brother. They would follow you anywhere."

He recalled, hazily, or perhaps just assumed, that in the past he would have remained above them and made some lengthy declamation, most likely about the perfection of the III Legion and its primarch.

It would be beyond laughable to do that now, and in any case he lacked the breath in his lungs and the fluent command of words for such a performance. The moment called for something else.

Slowly, carefully, Fulgrim descended from the dais to stand at the same level as his Astartes. They watched him intently. Even now, broken and diminished as they all were, they still looked instinctively to him with trust and, one could even say, faith.

The sensation was, of all things, humbling. He was sure he would never have thought of it that way before.

"Welcome home," Fulgrim said, holding out his arms to his sons. As if at some mutually-agreed signal the Astartes broke formation and surged towards him, eager to be close to their Primarch, to affirm his survival and their own despite everything.

After what felt like hours, Fulgrim was finally able to extricate himself from the throng of his sons and return to Ferrus, whose craggy features gave every appearance of satisfaction at the reunion he'd arranged.

"Thank you, Ferrus," he said. "Truly. But I have to ask - the Iron Phoenixes, really?"

Ferrus shrugged. "Well, I thought it was a good name. You're welcome to change it to something more artistic if you like."

Fulgrim looked at his sons contemplatively. The Iron Phoenixes, perhaps.

"Let me think about it," he said. "We might just be stuck with it."

[ghuleh-recs]

It's @iamthecomet's birthday!!! Comet is easily one of my favorite ghoul writers and in honor of her birthday I threw together a list of some of my all-time favorites of hers. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have enjoyed every. single. thing. Comet has written. On top of being an incredible writer, she is a DELIGHTFUL human being. She is SO ridiculously kind and quick to offer advice or support to whichever anon might be dropping into her inbox that day. We are beyond lucky to have such a talented, beautiful soul in this fandom. So go forth, treat yourself to some Comet fics, and leave some comments and kudos as a lil' bday treat ♡

recs under the cut.

Born Under a Troubled Sign - Aether x Dewdrop - 40.7k

Dewdrop goes from water to fire. It goes about as well as can be expected. *THE DEWDROP ANGST FIC OF ALL TIME. I will never stop recommending this and I am not sorry.

Dance With Me - Aeon x Swiss - 1.1k

“Dance?” Swiss rolls his eyes and curls his hand around Aeon’s forearm. He’s so warm. That’s the one thing about Swiss that stays constant even with the glamor. The heat of him. Aeon moves closer like a moth drawn to a flame, and Swiss abandons his grip on Aeon’s arm in favor of one around his waist. “Yeah,” Swiss whispers, leaning in to drag his nose up the side of Aeon’s neck. Inhaling sharply as he noses against his hairline. “That’s what I said.” “There’s no music?”

Tear Me Down - Dewdrop x Rain - 7.7k

Dew can't handle a bad day productively. Rain makes him handle it his way. They make some noise. They're probably never going to be allowed at this hotel again. “Yeah, yeah,” Dew says dismissively. Stroking from root to tip, watching the way Rain is leaking already. Like always. Wet from start to finish. “Can’t believe you’re still mouthing off.” Dew shrugs, watching Rain fill out in his hand, twisting his fist around the head, pressing his fingers to the underside. Rain’s flushed and shiny already. Each stroke makes his stomach clench. “You haven’t really given me a reason to stop.”

Comet's Ficlet Collection (Ch. 154) - Aeon x Dewdrop - 1k

Prompt: i will offer you my firstborn child for a new ghoul focused fic about him being praised about insecurities. i find comfort in my favs having the same issues as me, so the idea of him not really liking his body but being praised for it is just so good to me

Comet's Ficlet Collection (Ch. 16) - Aether x Cumulus x Dewdrop x Sunshine x Swiss - 1k

Could I request something with similar appreciation for a larger body for Cumulus? Any partner or multiple partners are fine. I crave some fat body appreciation and love on a soul level, I adore her so much and she deserves every inch of her beautiful plush figure to be lavished with attention and devotion.

Dewdrop & Sunshine are Chaos Incarnate - Dewdrop & Sunshine - &lt;;1k

Prompt: I neeeeeeed chaos twins Dew and Sunshine gettin in trouble with Mountain and Ifrit

Fill Your Lungs With Words - Aether x Dewdrop - 4.8k

He loves Dew when he’s two seconds away from self-immolation. Loves him when he’s badgering Mountain into letting him in the kitchen—which is always a bad decision. He loves him when he’s high and pliant, loves him when he falls asleep on Aether’s chest, a gentle purr rolling through his body. Aether’s fucking in love with him. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Let Me Decide What You Need - Mountain x Swiss x Rain - 8.6k

Rain and Swiss take Mountain down to studs. It's surprisingly easy.

Perfect Fit - Aeon x Cumulus - 1.2k

Cumulus tries on her old uniform. Aeon gets an eyeful. Can't really blame him for what happens next.

Comet's Mushy May Collection (Ch. 10) - Aether x Everyone (kinda) - 1k

Unspoken I love you / First I love you Love is an easy thing with them. The pack is full of it. Casual I love yous thrown over shoulders. The press of thumbs over knuckles, the slide of fingers together. They all fit together. Bonded by experience, by undeniable kinship. Aether feels it. Feels the swell of love, the burn of it in his chest. And he thinks about saying it back when Cumulus calls it to him. Thinks about whispering it in Dew’s ear when they’re curled up together. Thinks about letting those words fall off of his tongue again. It’s been…he could pretend he doesn’t know. He could just say it’s been a while. It’s been almost a year. He can pretend that he doesn’t know this down to the day—the minute almost. *this one hurts. you have been warned.

It's No Fun 'Til Someone Dies (series) - murder ghouls - 10k

Dew doesn’t understand how they haven’t figured it out yet. Humanity's persistence, its blindness will be its downfall. He’s in awe of the way they continue to insist to themselves that it’s normal for multiple people a month to just—vanish. To “go home” without taking any of their stuff. To flee in the middle of the night. Or fall from balconies, or down the stairs, or drown. That they haven’t figured out that the unlucky few are fodder for the machine that is the Ghost Project. Food, literally, for the hell-spawn that drives it forward. They spend their days looking at the Ghouls like they are something to be attained. A prize to win. Dew is happy to encourage it. To let them walk right into the trap. He runs his teeth over his fangs. He can still taste the blood.

* Okay I need to stop myself because I could keep going indefinitely.

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

[23fallencomets]

for the actor logan fic can you tell us what kind of roles logan usually get? what was his career trajectory up until the fic? Im sososo excited driver x non-driver aus are always so fun

ooohh i haven’t really thought of that but we can establish that right now

so he’s been in the industry for 15~ years so he basically grew up in the eyes of the media. I put him as his generations heart throb so he usually gets romcoms because the awkward lover boy trope is a hit. he most definitely experimented with other genres: horror, thrillers, action, indie, sci-fi.

he’s a hit in romcoms and fantasy though. his one horror film did so well people wanted him in more and he was like “i had to see a therapist, i don’t know how the others do it” so horror, one and done.

would probably mess around with western style shows/movies. the longest show he had been on was a sitcom type of thing (friends, modern family, that 70s show type of beat) and it ran for ten seasons, so from from the ages 11 to 21.

he has a super clean reputation because he had seen how the media can turn on someone like nothing so he worked extremely hard to be a respectable person. He does still act like any other young person in their 20s but he will disappear the moment drugs or anything that can incriminate him appear.

people get suspicious about him since there’s literally no dirt on him but that’s just because logan knows how to act like a normal person and is a firm believer in boundaries.

mans was booked and busy so he takes a year off and that’s where formula one comes in!

his one connection to F1 is through liam because i’m a mess for lilo (literally the cutest ship name) and the fic timeline starts in miami :)