#i got so many wips with just these two it’s a sickness

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (1)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn't that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You rush off the bus, stumbling as your toe hits the curb. You stagger and right yourself, rushing by the other passengers as they shuffle along the pavement. You cut across the grass into the parking lot and hurry towards the front doors of the box store. You're just on time to punch in. 

You sweep in through the front door and wave at Claudia as she stands at the front door welcoming in customers. You flit around the displays of seasonal candy and dip in between customers and aisles until you get to the back of the store. Before you can key in the code, the lounge door opens. You back up as Drew, the store manager, steps out. 

He stops and checks his watch. He curls his lip. You're not late. Not yet. Not unless he doesn't let you through. 

"On the floor in the next minute," he demands. 

"Yes, sir," you agree. 

He steps out and lets the door fall behind him. You barely catch it as you spin through and keep the door open with your foot. You punch in your employee code. The screen blinks green. It's right on the hour. 

You toss your bag on the shelf above and hang your jacket from one of the many bent hangers. Lilian pull the door back from against your toe and huffs as she steps out. You follow her. She's worked there about two decades too long. 

You go out to your zone; with the vases, candlesticks, and lamps.  

You wander around, waiting on any customer to come by and distract you from the slow grind of time. You rove around for the fifth time and relent to your mindless urges. You take out your phone and check your notifications. A couple of hearts and shares. You smile. You don't have too much time for more than work and everything else piling up around you. Your little corner of social media is your one escape. 

A shadow steps into the same aisle as you. You hide your phone, slipping it into your back pocket, and smile at Drew doing his rounds. He marches toward you. You turn to tidy the shelf. 

"Name tag." 

You look down. "I got it..." your voice fizzles as you see the logo. It's the wrong one. "I'm so sorry--" 

"You're more than entitled to have another job but once it starts interfering with his one..." 

"It's not, sir, I'm sorry." You reach into your pocket and find your other name tag. You switch them out. "It was a long night." 

He doesn't smile. He doesn't care and you know it. You don't make excuses a lot but some things you just can't control, no matter how much you wish you could. 

"This is work." He sniffs and saunters away. 

You stare after him. Yeah, it sure is. You prefer your other job. It's always quiet in the small boutique. That's probably not a great omen for your employment but the vintage re-seller is much calmer than the corporate discount depot. Some days, you can't handle all the people. 

When you're sure the coast is clear, you take out your cell again. You hide in the corner with the decorative bowls. You rewatch your reel of the chrysalis moving ever so slightly. You're really excited for that one. You hope you didn't leave your window closed. The air gets too hot in your room. 

You flip over to your messages. You key in a quick 'how's it going?' and hit send as you hear voices. You tuck away your phone and push your shoulders back. You strut up the aisle and greet the pair of older ladies with a smile. 

"Hi, how are you today? Can I help you find something?" You ask. 

"I think we can find the discount shelf, thank you," the red-haired woman retorts flippantly and rolls her eyes at her companion. "As I was saying, Gia is coming back next month..." 

"Let me know if you need anything," you call after them softly and retreat to the next aisle. 

You give it a couple minutes before you go back to scrolling. The women chatter about their children and their husbands. They have so much going on. Happy things they couldn't be more miserable about. 

A message blips up, a small envelope in the margin. You pull down the menu and click on it. It's your mom. 

'Just woke up. Can't find my water bottle.' 

You type; 'I left a note by your bed. It's in the fridge with your dinner. Sorry if I worried you. Love you.' 

She replies with only a heart. If she just woke up, it's likely all she can manage. You return a heart of your own and put your phone away. It's no longer a doorway to distraction; it's a reminder. 

You stop just at the edge of the clothing section. If Drew catches you, he'll write you up again. You look at the pink paisley scarves hanging beside the tan purses on sale. That would look nice on mom. She needs a new one. Her cap is getting ratty. 

Well, only seven and a half more hours, a bus ride home, and you can check on her. 

🦋

The apartment is quiet as you enter. It usually is regardless of the time of day. It wasn’t always like that, but you understand why it is now. 

You sanitize your hands and turn on the living room light. Your mom is on the couch, hugging a pillow, eyes closed. She looks peaceful. Despite that, you can’t let her stay there. 

You drop your bag on the chair and near her. You gently touch her shoulder. “Mom, hey, you gotta go to bed.” 

She grumbles, “I’m fine...” 

“Mom,” you squeeze her, feeling the bone through her skin. She feels fragile. 

She hums and bats your hand away lazily. She yawns and sits up. As she does, she blinks and touches her bald head. Her eyes round and she feels around the cushions. She pulls on the floral skullcap. 

“How was work?” She asks as he keeps the pillow in her lap. The shirt that once fit her snugly, hangs over her chest loosely. 

“It was work, that’s for sure,” you say chipperly. “But I got through it.” 

“Did you eat?” She asks. 

“Did you?” You counter. 

“Some,” she shrugs. 

You nod. She’s always nauseous. The doctor said she would be. 

“Finish it,” she says. “Please, I don’t want it to go to waste.” 

“Sure,” you agree and turn to the chair. You flip open your bag and dig inside. You pull out the pink scarf, the fabric cool and sleek. “Here. It’s getting hotter out.” 

You hand her the scarf. She admires the fabric between her fingers. “It’s pretty.” 

“It’ll look great on you,” you assure her. 

“You’re too sweet, pie.” 

You smile at the nickname. She always calls you that. Ever since you stole that slice of pie in grade one after bed time. You’ll never forget your first crime. 

“I need to eat and sleep. Somewhere in there, I need to shower. Tomorrow morning, right?” 

“I can go alone.” She says. 

“No, you won’t,” you insist as you go to the kitchen. 

You go to the fridge and take out the container of grilled chicken, rice, and green beans. She had a little rice and veg but none of the chicken. You put it in the microwave. 

You go to the doorway and peer into the living room. She wraps the scarf around her naked head and ties it. She peeks over her shoulder. 

“Well? Is it a good colour for me?” 

“You always look good in pink,” you assure her. “You need anything?” 

“Yes, I need my daughter to take care of herself.” She grunts as she pushes herself up. She throws the pillow on the couch and stiffly waddles around. “I’m going to bed, okay?” 

“I’m not coddling you,” you cross your arms. “I just don’t want to hear you whining when you’re all out of joint tomorrow.” 

She sticks her tongue out at you and kisses her palm, opening it to you as she shuffles by. 

“Get some sleep. I mean it.” 

“Take your own advice,” you throw back and grin crookedly. 

She waves you off and heads for her bedroom. You watch until her door snaps shut. You look down at the floor. The silence slowly rises around you, like water it getting deeper and deeper, until you could drown in it. 

You jerk out of your trance as the microwave beeps. You spin and hurry across the small kitchen. You take a fork from the drawer and grab the container as it steams. You drop it on the counter to cool. 

You hurry into the living room and grab your phone from your bag. You return to the kitchen as you twirl the fork in your hand. That notification remains; the one that blipped in an hour from close. A familiar subject line: OVERDUE. 

In the morning. You continue to ignore it as you open up your Insta. You put the phone on your counter, leaning on the edge, and eat bite by bite as your scroll. Someone liked a few older posts from last year. That beautiful monarch you hatched and the green caterpillar on the log in the park. 

You have a red admiral. Or so you hope. It’s a particular sort of patience you need to have for the hobby. If you can call it that. 

Waiting and waiting to watch the chrysalis crack and bloom with large wings. A butterfly born and released off to flutter. It’s so beautiful but sombre at the same time. The small changes, the subtle twitch of the cocoon, it reminds you of the passing of time. Of the inevitable. 

You rinse out the container and wash the fork. You set it all away and shut off the kitchen and front room lights. You scoop up your bag in the shadows and slink to your bedroom. 

The light in there is duller. Softened to keep from affecting metamorphosis. You stretch out your neck as you drop your bag and phone. You go to the mesh hamper in the corner, covered with a dish towel on top. Through the holes you can see the sticks you set up on and angle and the cocoons hanging within. 

The curtains stir and draw you back. It’s getting cooler. You close the window and bounce onto your bed. Half of it is covered in your clutter. The crinkle of paper has you straining to fish out the envelopes. Bill, bill, bill. You’re trying. So hard. 

You toss them to the corner of the bed and fall onto your back. What if it’s not enough. You don’t think it is. The invoices outpace your checks. Your hours at work can’t measure up to those at the clinic. The chemo is draining your bank account as quickly as your mother’s body. 

You put your hands over your forehead and sigh. Your eyes sting and a wobble of tears brim along the edges. You inhale deeply and wipe away the moisture. 

No. You're not giving up. It’s too early to grieve. You won’t be doing that any time soon. You promised your mom that. 

You sit up and grab your phone. You swipe around and open the app. You have a camera inside the hamper, recording in the chrysalises. It’s tedious and dull. One of your followers suggested a stream but you worried about the cameras picking up conversations or even just running up the internet bill. Besides, what’s there to watch? 

You scan through to find the most interesting bits when you can. If there are any. You edit them into shorts and put them up on your page. People love it, much to your surprise. And you like answering questions. Sometimes, they even teach you something. 

Ten new followers that day. It’s nothing compared to the beauty influencers or the fashion bloggers; or those gamers and their cult-like fans. It’s your own little space where nothing else can touch you. Where all you have to worry about is misting the cocoons so they don’t dry out. 

There’s nothing bad there. No managers, no crowded bus rides, no doctor’s appointments, or red numbers. It’s where you can forget. It’s where you can fly. Reborn just like the butterflies. 

[skimmingmilk]

aughhh sonic going back in time to visit little two yr old tails as been in my brain for what feels like forever! like how many dots does he end up connecting? how does he have the strength to not travel back further and knock the daylights out of tails’s mom? how does he react to the whole kukku invasion and forest fire? so many questions…aaaaa im so excited for this fic i will be in ruins. in ruins, i tell you

also with the whole sonic punching tails’s mom thing: you were talking about tails and his parents, but like sonic interacting (or just seeing) tails’s parents is always something ive thought about. idk, im curious about what your take on that would be, if you have one. (sorry if you’ve already answered something like this ahshhshs)

your boys are just spinning around in my brain constantly. they are living in there completely rent free. i adore them sm, they make me sick. anytime there’s a reference or parallel to something in their past, it hurts. these boys need therapy immediately. maybe even before immediately. your portrayal of them is such a huge inspiration istg

anyway, sorry this is kinda all over the place 😭 i just had a bunch of thoughts and threw them together in the most coherent way i could lol. hope you have a good rest of your night/day! stay safe out there 🩵

So, I was saving this because it really inspired me to write a little something, and it felt fitting because I live for your baby Tails and Sonic art, it's seriously the best boost of serotonin for me xD I'm sorry it took a minute to get to this, and I'll address the second idea you had in another ask (someone else was on the same wavelength as you around this time, and also asked about Sonic and Tails and Tails's parents xD).

But for now, please accept a continuation of the back in time shenanigans <3

Sonic Back In Time Shenanigans WIP #2: Back for the Luggage

Tracking down a second Chaos Emerald so he could skip back in time for an afternoon wasn’t how Sonic saw himself spending the past few days. Though, to be fair, he spent a good chunk of them trying to ignore the very itch encouraging him to give into this particular whim of the week, but impulse control wasn’t Sonic the Hedgehog’s claim to fame. Not by a long shot.

His curiosity had been piqued. New insight into the lore of his little brother’s life before he’d ever crossed his path niggled at his mind no matter how far and fast he ran from the temptation to take a peek. The glimpse he’d got on that rainy night hadn’t been all that reassuring, with Tails so small and sick and the time Sonic got to spend with him in that dusty, stuffy cabin all too brief.

Cocoa Island. He’d looked it up after he and Silver returned to Sonic’s present, their respective futures stabilized for the time being, but he couldn’t find much information on it. If it wasn’t for the fact that Sonic could chart it on a map, it almost seemed like it didn’t even exist.

Historic records mentioned studies of the volcanic activity on the island more than a decade ago. Mines had also been dug out in the cave systems throughout the island long before Sonic had been born, in search of potential esoteric energy sources.

The Chaos Emeralds, no doubt.

But other than that, it seemed the island had never been properly settled. Sonic could’ve flown over in the Tornado for a quick jaunt—running to small islands never boded well for him, they were always tricky to aim for—but he knew it wouldn’t have the answers he was itching to find out.

And sure, the big one was already answered. The sick baby fox he’d had to leave behind in the care of some flickies after that rainy night obviously made a full recovery, or else Tails wouldn’t be alive in Sonic’s present, off on his own adventure. Flying solo. Alone.

But knowing that without actually seeing it, experiencing it for himself, didn’t satisfy Sonic in the slightest. He was all about experiences. And he wanted to experience this mysterious chapter of his best bud’s life, one he never really let himself think all that hard on.

So, that was how Sonic found himself on a nearly deserted island eight years in the past with two Chaos Emeralds in hand. It was warmer than in his present, willing to bet they were somewhere in spring or early summer as opposed to late fall, but the dense cover of pine trees kept the forest floor cool in its shade. Allergies tickled his nose, prompting Sonic to scratch at it as he took in his surroundings. Flickies sang throughout the branches, their chirps a comforting song accompanied by the steady hum of insects hidden in the brush. With his own curious hum, Sonic picked a direction and ran with it—er, walked with it. He took it slow for the moment, trying to find his way back to the cabin from that night. It seemed like his best bet to start his search for Tails.

Until a child’s voice somewhere in the forest caught his ear, both perking up and flicking towards the sound with an instinctive pull as everything else faded into the background. A breath Sonic hadn’t realized he’d been holding lifted from his chest. The child sounded light, healthy. No coughing or crying as far as he could tell. 

Sonic followed the voice to a clearing. Unlike the stormy day he’d first stumbled in on, sunlight flooded the patch of grass between the trees with its warm beams. One fell across a tree stump where a two-tailed fox kit lay sprawled across on his tummy, bright-eyed and bushy tails further confirmation that he’d made a full recovery. Sonic’s shoulders sagged with relief as he observed him from the brush, his own green eyes lighting up as he realized he was playing. Making motor sounds with his mouth, Tails rolled a toy airplane through the long, wild grass. His tongue poked out as he accidentally blew raspberries amidst his very serious airplane noises.

“Pfft—” Sonic’s laugh nearly sputtered out of him, cut off only by the fact that the kid heard him and froze.

Ears swiveled in his direction, but Tails couldn’t see him through the trees from his spot on the stump. The toy airplane fell to the grass with a soft thump as the baby fox squirmed and tried to hoist himself up into a sitting position, his two blue boots dangling just over the edge as his bare hands planted themselves on the wood between them to support himself. One tail flicked up and down with excitement while the other twitched limply against the tree stump, like it didn’t know it could lift itself up like its twin.

“Mom?” he called out, and the hope in his voice ensnared Sonic’s heart in a vice. “Mom!”

“Ah, sorry, little guy. Not mom.” Sonic stepped out from behind the brush with his hands up, a sheepish smile on his face. “Just me. Long time no see.”

His tails immediately wilted as the bright-eyed, eager expression on his face retracted into something shy and pensive. But not scared, Sonic noted. There wasn’t a trace of fear in his eyes.

“Remember me? I stayed with you during that rainstorm the other night,” Sonic added, hoping to jog the little guy’s memory, but he didn’t actually know how long it had been since that night. 

He didn’t have Silver’s neat little time travel gizmos. His comm couldn’t pinpoint where he was in time, only in space. Which meant he couldn’t stay long, because if Tails or anyone else tried to ping his location, it’d probably come up blank. 

The Tails sitting in front of him drew his legs up, curling into himself a bit the closer Sonic got. Okay, well maybe he was a little afraid. Sonic stopped short of reaching the tree stump, hoping a reassuring smile would get him the rest of the way.

“My name’s Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog. What’s yours?”

Tails stared at him for a moment, until his gaze slowly slid past him to focus on the tree line behind him. Sonic planted his hands on his hips and canted his head back to see if anything was there, but aside from the buzz of insects and rustling of flickies in the leaves, the forest was still. No one else but the two of them smack dab in the middle of it.

“…Mom?” Tails whispered, grabbing onto one of his tails to hold.

Sonic’s smile slowly slid off his muzzle. In all the time he’d known Tails, he’d never once called for his mom. Not a single cry. By the time he came into Tails’s life, whatever innate trust he’d had for this faceless person had completely evaporated. There was only one person Tails had ever called out for, ever cried for, ever searched for when he was lost or scared or lonely.

Sonic swallowed thickly. “I don’t know where your mom is, bud. You waiting for her?” Tails nodded with the most intense certainty, his ears flopping forward and back with the force of it. “Did she… did she say when she’s coming back?” 

This time Tails pursed his mouth as he thought carefully about his answer, his pensive expression the same one he’d still make to this day when he debated how to explain something to him. If he should explain something to him. If he should give his big bro a glimpse into the inner workings of his big brain, or if it’d be easier—safer—to keep it all to himself.

And just where’d he pick up that particular trick?

But this Tails was young enough—hadn’t been hurt enough—to trust someone who looked like a grown-up, so he slowly shook his head in response, wide blue eyes gazing up at him like there’d be some sort of prize if he answered all the questions correctly. 

Sonic’s brow furrowed. “Do you know how long it’s been since you last saw her?”

“Long.” The small, squeaky voice was so matter-of-fact, Sonic nearly fell over with the sheer amount of joy a single syllable filled him with; his little bro’s attitude had been baked into him from the start.

“I’ll bet,” he huffed out a chuckle, choosing to sit cross-legged in the grass so he wasn’t towering over Tails like some kind of threat. “You like planes?” Sonic glanced meaningfully at the toy plane still discarded in the grass.

Tails glanced down at it, the tip of his tail in his mouth as he gently chewed on it. “Mmhm.”

Though Tails had long-outgrown the habit of chewing on his own tails, Sonic would still occasionally catch him nibbling on the ends of pens and pencils when he was deep in thought or starting to get hungry. Or, at least, he used to. Back before Sonic had been captured and Tails had been out on his own for six months…

“I like ‘em, too,” Sonic piped up with a grin. “Probably my favorite way to travel! Second to running, of course.”

Tails blinked at him, head canting to one side. Sonic’s smile grew and he scooched forward a couple inches, steadily closing the gap between them.

“Y’see, running’s sort of my thing. What kinda things do you like to do?”

Tails glanced down at the toy plane again, then up at the sky. He pointed shyly at the white, puffy clouds slowly floating by overhead. Sonic followed his gaze, unable to help the way his smile crooked to one side.

“You like to watch the clouds?” Sonic filled in for him, beaming when Tails nodded. “Me too. You ever look for shapes in ‘em?”

The little guy’s brow furrowed. “Shapes?”

Sonic laughed as the perplexed, and ultimately unconvinced, expression remained fixed on Tails’s face. “C’mere, I’ll show ya!”

Unceremoniously flopping onto his back, face turned towards the sky, Sonic patted the grass beside him. Though they were mostly shielded by the thick cover of trees, a light breeze still wafted down into the clearing and carried the salty scent of the sea with it. The stands of grass tickled Sonic’s side as he laid back and took a deep breath, listening for the familiar patter of eager footsteps following his lead.

Except they didn’t come.

Sonic pushed himself up onto his elbows. Tails was still curled up atop the tree stump, chewing on the tip of his tail as he watched him with worry in his eyes. Worry that had no place being there in a kid so young.

So Sonic cracked another smile. “Don’t worry. The floor’s not lava,” he teased, but it was something the toddler obviously didn’t understand. “It’s safe, bud. I’m not gonna hurt ya. Promise.”

Tails’s gaze darted to the treeline again, searching amongst their thick trunks and low-hanging branches before snapping back to Sonic. “Mm… s’pposed to wait here,” he mumbled, his words sounding a little thick as some of his syllables slurred together in a mouth that was still so small, but ultimately what he’d said was clear enough for Sonic to understand.

His smile slowly faded as he processed the simple explanation; the same feeling rising in the back of his throat as when he sat with a sick Tails in the cabin while the kid asked if he could go home. “Your mom tell ya that?”

Tails nodded. “Wait here. Be good.” His little face scrunched up in a look of pure, earnest determination. “Wait here an’ be good, then mom will come back. She said… she said.”

But she wouldn’t.

No one would.

And maybe Tails already knew that. Even if he didn’t want to believe that someone he loved would leave him, he’d always been a smart kid. Tails’s tiny claws caught in the fur of his tail as he clung tighter to it—like he could physically cling to the hope that his mom would still come back if he did this one thing really well.

If he did his very best.

“Look Sonic, I made this for you!”

“Sonic, I’ve made some adjustments to the Tornado’s aerodynamics, so her base speed has more than doubled! Pretty cool, huh?”

“I made a radar to help us track the Chaos Emeralds faster!”

“I still need to optimize your Extreme Gear’s turning radius and acceleration for your next race. It’s not good enough.”

“The Cyclone still has a ways to go in terms of balancing its different modes of transport. It’s just not good enough at land or air travel yet.”

“I’m wildly inconsistent. I’m just a burden to you. I’m not good enough.”

Not good enough.

Sonic’s fingers dug a little firmer into the soft, damp soil beneath the grass. “Well, I mean, ya gotta get off that stump sometimes. What about when you get hungry? You leave to go get food, dontcha?”

Tails stiffened, fur frizzed up like he’d been caught with his hand in the proverbial mint chocolate chip cookie jar. “Don’t tell,” he pleaded, eyes wide as panicked tears welled up. “I’m sorry—”

“Woah. Hey, hey, hey,” Sonic sat up straighter so he could lift his hands, using them to make a calming gesture as Tails’s little chest started to heave with each little gasp. “Easy there, bud. I’m not gonna tell her.”

“…Not?”

Despite the storm brewing just beneath the surface, faced with further confirmation that Tails had never truly felt safe or wanted, he refused to scare the kid with its intensity. Offering up a kind smile and reassurance, Sonic held up a finger to his mouth. Like they were keeping secrets from some nameless authority figure they’d never shared. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Tails’s ears perked up and the grip on his tail eased up. “M’kay…”

“M’kay,” Sonic mimicked, smile growing as he watched Tails scrub at his face with the fur of his forearm. “C’mere, kiddo. Watch the clouds with me.”

Tails looked at him for a moment, then scooted closer to the edge of the tree stump. He swung one leg over, then the other, his little boots scraping against the bark as he eased himself down. He was a little off-balance as he toddled over. Both arms splayed out to steady himself as one tail flicked up and the other was dragged behind him, still as limp and awkward as it had been on the stump.

Sonic’s gaze narrowed in on it immediately. “Didja hurt your tail?”

Tails paused and craned his neck back, wobbling a little as he tried to look behind him. “No,” he answered simply.

“Then how come it’s not up like your other one?”

Tails reached behind him and picked up the limp appendage, hugging it to his chest. “Doesn’t do it.”

Sonic’s frown deepened. “Let me see it.”

Tails didn’t even hesitate. He let go of his tail as he waddled right over to him. He turned his back to him, giving him complete access to the part of his body he protected the most. Sonic was the only one he’d learned to trust with them over the years, but he’d had to earn it. 

Sonic gently ran his fingers through the fur, watching his baby brother’s posture for any sign of discomfort. He didn’t flinch, but his good tail started wagging almost immediately, thwacking Sonic in the side of the face. 

“Careful with that,” he chuckled, catching it in a loose hold when it smacked him again. “You could take someone’s eye out with one of these bad boys. Here, hold onto this for me.”

He waited for Tails to grab onto his eager tail, hugging it hard when it wiggled uncontrollably. “S’tryna get away,” he giggled.

“Oh boy, better get a good grip. It’s a slippery one, that tail,” Sonic laughed, using the distraction to his advantage as he palpated along the base of the weaker tail with his fingertips.

There was barely any muscle to it, and the fur was patchy and matted, flattened in a way that his other tail clearly wasn’t, even though his fur overall could’ve used a good brushing. But it wasn’t injured, no welts or bruises or cuts. It was just… weak. Like it was developing slower than its twin. He’d caught a glimpse of it that night where he was sick, but now that he was getting a good look at it, the differences between the two were stark. He couldn’t imagine why; Sonic’s brain literally wouldn’t let him conceive of a situation where this would happen—where Tails wasn’t allowed to use one tail to the same extent as the other.

Whatever had caused this had reversed itself by the time Sonic met Tails, both little propellers of equal strength. At least, he thought they were. To be fair, he’d only been eleven and he hadn’t looked all that closely at them. And Tails barely let him patch him up from where he’d been smacked around by bullies or badniks in those first few weeks.

Idly petting along the length of his tail, Sonic stilled when it spasmed against his palm. Just looking at it, he’d have thought he accidentally pulled on it or snagged his fur, but there was a gentle rumbling sound emanating from Tails’s chest that assured him otherwise. Sonic flicked his gaze up to see Tails watching him, a smile on his face while he purred openly. His tail jerked in his hold again. It was trying to wag.

Sonic’s shoulders sagged, his own smile lopsided as he let his tail slip from his grasp. “All clear. Time to park those two tails of yours right here on the runway.”

Tails squeaked as Sonic nabbed him around the middle, but dissolved into a fit of giggles as he was lifted up and plopped down on the grass next to him. Kicking up one leg over the other, Sonic laid back once again, arms pillowed behind his head as he let out a contented sigh. Beside him, Tails laid back and wiggled a bit to get comfortable, both tails swept to the same side so they wouldn’t get pinched underneath him. He tilted his head up to look at the sky, the same color reflected back in his eyes.

“Shapes?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re gonna look for shapes, little buddy,” Sonic hummed. “Go ahead and tell me what ya find.”

Tails considered the sky for a moment, then pointed at a blob above them. “Oval.”

A sharp laugh burst right out of Sonic. “Sorry, sorry,” he wheezed when Tails pouted at him. “Not those kinda shapes, pal. I’m talking things like flickies or flowers or chili dogs! But good first try. I’m thinking that one looks more like… a whale.”

“Whale?”

“Uh-huh. See the tail?” Sonic removed one hand from behind his head so he could trace the oblong cloud as it faintly curved upwards at the end, making sure Tails’s eyes followed where he pointed. “And there’s its fin. And the wispy bits at the top are like the water shooting out of its spout.”

“Spout,” Tails echoed, blinking up at it like he was trying to solve a puzzle. 

“Yeah, you know. Like when they come up from the water and all that mist sprays from that hole on top of their heads like…” A devious grin spread across Sonic’s face before he looped his arm around Tails and dragged him close enough to blow a raspberry against his cheek with a loud, “pbbbbbbfffft!”

Tails squealed, legs kicking as he squirmed about instinctively, but made no move to pull away entirely. The ticklish sensation buzzed through him like a bunch of tiny butterflies; the feeling silly, unfamiliar, and almost overwhelming all at once. He eventually pawed at Sonic’s muzzle, pushing it away from the fluffy, baby fur of his cheek, but he was smiling and laughing as he looked over at him, eyes shining with delight.

“Was that funny?” Sonic snickered.

“Yeah!” Tails beamed at him, his tails beating an inconsistent rhythm against the grass. “You’re funny.”

“I’m funny?” Sonic feigned offense. “Excuse me, but seems to me like you’re the funny one, wiggling around over here like a cup of sparkle gelatin!”

“No!” Tails squeaked, curling up when Sonic poked him in the tummy. 

“No?” Sonic eased back, reminding himself to reign it in a bit so he could figure out if the “no” was just in play or if he was serious. 

As much as he wanted to give this little guy something to smile and laugh about while he was out here on his own—and it was so easy, it was almost intoxicating when he hadn’t seen his brother’s smile in weeks—he didn’t want to overwhelm the kid. But as he let him go and pulled back, a panicked look flashed in Tails’s eyes. His smile fell and a fear that was too big for a guy so small replaced it as he froze up.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Sonic lowered his voice, but even that didn’t stop the tears from suddenly sprouting in the corners of his eyes. “Was that too much? Sorry, kiddo. Not really used to you like this. I don’t know your limits.”

Tails didn’t answer him, probably because he didn’t know how. He was a baby, after all. Four-year-old Tails had often had trouble expressing how he felt or what he wanted. And heck, even ten-year-old Tails was still facing that particular issue. He couldn’t expect a maybe-two-year-old to know…

Tails’s tiny paw reached for Sonic’s arm, the light touch barely registering as anything other than an itch before his fingers curled into his fur. Sonic stared at his hand for a second, then immediately darted to his face. Tails sniffed, muzzle quivering as he held back his tears.

Always sucking it up. Always putting on a brave face. Always trying to be a big kid, like his big bro.

Even when he was just a baby.

“It’s okay,” Sonic repeated, his arm curling around Tails again. “I’m right here, it’s okay.”

Tails nestled against his side, nuzzling his face against him with a shiver and a barely suppressed whimper. “Mom… dad…”

The storm returned with a white-hot flash of frustration and resentment. Sonic directed his glare at the cloud whale lazily floating past them, since he couldn’t look the people responsible for this in the eyes. Not that he particularly wanted to. If they never crossed paths, his and Tails lives would only continue on for the better. That was one thing he was still certain of. There was nothing in the universe that could convince him otherwise.

Not even the baby who desperately wanted them.

But he didn’t know any better. They were all he knew. 

Releasing a long sigh, Sonic let go of the past and pulled himself back into the present—or, well, two-year-old Tails’s present anyway. He patted Tails’s side, then ruffled his fur a bit when he cuddled closer. His fur tickled as he rubbed his little face against his ribs, so Sonic scooched him up a bit more until his cheek was pillowed against his shoulder.

“Sorry if I scared you, bud,” he hummed, watching as one of Tails’s ears twitched from the lull of his voice. “Didn’t mean to. You’re safe with me, okay? When I’m around, I’m always gonna do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Tails tipped his head back to watch him, silently absorbing his words, even if he didn’t understand them. But as Sonic looked down at him, he saw his four-year-old brother snuggling up to him in a storm and his six-year-old brother falling asleep on him during a movie and his eight-year-old brother trying to be strong for Sonic as they lost another friend… He could see all of Tails in the way he looked at him, every moment where he let Sonic see a little of that vulnerability he always tried so hard to hide.

He could even see his ten-year-old brother, hundreds of miles away, determined to bury that vulnerable little kid for good, somewhere Sonic would never find him. And that was fine. If that was what Tails wanted, then Sonic wanted that for him. He wanted Tails to feel confident and capable and every bit the hero Sonic saw in him every day.

“And even when I’m not here… when you can’t see me? I’ll still be with you. Wherever you go, whatever you face, you won’t have to do it alone.”

Tails sniffed, then lifted his head to gaze up at him. “Pomise?”

Sonic’s breath hitched, his eyes as wide as saucers as the fox kit who’d only known him for a few minutes at most looked at him with nothing but trust. “Yeah. I promise.” He had to clear his throat, then tugged Tails up to sit on his chest. “You’ve got no idea just how stuck with me you are, keed.”

“No idea,” Tails repeated, shaking his head with the utmost seriousness a two-year-old could express.

Sonic’s laughter traveled through him and right up into Tails, the two of them shaking with it. The feeling of being bounced about coaxed a few giggles out of Tails and he nearly slid off his unsteady perch. But Sonic’s hands supported him, holding tight so he wouldn’t fall.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Sonic choked out as his laughter petered out on a breathless sigh. “Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

“M’kay,” Tails agreed.

“M’kay.” With one hand remaining on Tails’s waist, Sonic lifted the other to poke him on the tip of his nose, grinning at the way he went cross-eyed from following his finger. “I’m gonna follow up on that in eight years, y’know, so better work on committing that to memory, stat.”

“M’kay.”

“I mean it. There’ll be a test and everything.”

“M’kay.”

“You’re so agreeable,” Sonic sighed, closing his eyes as he laid his head back, leaving the comfortable weight of the baby fox on his abdomen. “I don’t think I know what to do with a little bro that actually listens to me.”

He felt Tails squirm a bit, one knee digging into his ribs as he attempted to scoot further up, then a finger lightly tapped Sonic on the tip of his nose. One green eye cracked open, immediately greeted with a pair of pleased blue ones and a wagging fox tail. Despite the fact that it was pinned beneath him, pressed into the grass, Sonic felt his tail give a jerky little wag, too.

“Shapes?” Tails asked.

“You wanna look for more shapes in the clouds?” Sonic waited for Tails’s eager nod before turning him around and laying him back in the grass beside him. “You got it, bud! You need a redemption round, after all. Let’s see what kinda shapes you can find this time.”

Tails hummed, contemplative gaze fixed on the clouds for a good minute before he pointed slightly to his left. “Floor!”

“Floor?” Sonic squinted up at the cloud, making sure he was looking at the right one. “Oh, ‘flower!’ Yeah, that does kinda look like a tulip flower. Good eye, kiddo.”

Tails nodded proudly. “Mmhm. Floor.”

“Flower,” Sonic repeated, and even made the sign for it, touching each side of his nose with his fingertips, like he was smelling a flower.

“Floor-er.”

“Close enough,” he chuckled. “Oh, okay, now that one looks like a crab claw. Like from a crabmeat.” Grinning devilishly, Sonic made a claw-like grabby motion at Tails with his hand while the little guy laughed. “Or, y’know, an actual crab.”

They watched the clouds, picking more shapes out of them until Tails’s stomach started growling. Sonic quickly sped through the forest to gather up whatever kind of fruits or vegetables were available on the island, eventually settling on some peaches, plums, and cherries. He grabbed them from the other side of the island, so as not to take from anywhere Tails was likely to forage on his own. He liked the plums and peaches, the sticky juice staining his muzzle as it dripped from his hands. He kept trying to lick his fingers clean while Sonic wiped the fur around his mouth so it wouldn’t bother him later when it dried. He didn’t care for the cherries as much, but Sonic still left a small stash of them and the leftover peaches at the base of the tree stump.

With a full tummy and sticky paws, Tails let out a big, squeaky yawn before he curled up on top of the tree stump. His tails covered him like a blanket as he settled down for a nap, giving Sonic just the out he needed. He’d been debating how to head back to his present time without sounding any alarms for Tails. He honestly wasn’t sure he’d be able to if the kid just looked at him with those sad eyes, like he was being abandoned all over again.

But if Tails was asleep, then maybe this would all have felt like just a dream. Sonic had just wanted to check on him after leaving him so abruptly that first time, and then he figured it couldn’t hurt to give him one good afternoon. There would be so many days where he’d be on his own after this, so many months before their paths would cross. One afternoon where a stranger showed him kindness and played with him wasn’t going to break the time stream, but even Sonic knew it couldn’t really go further than that.

“I’d break time lines for that kid.” His own words echoed at the back of his mind, the certainty he’d felt at the time faltering when faced with the sleepy face of a baby fox who wasn’t supposed to have met him yet. It wasn’t so simple.

Sonic waited until Tails’s breaths were deep and steady, arms wrapped around the weaker tail while the stronger one blanketed him with its fluff. Smoothing down his bangs with his thumb, Sonic gently stroked the top of his head and scritched behind his ear.

“Love ya, little bro,” he whispered.

Things would be okay, Sonic reminded himself as he backed out of the clearing, picking up the two emeralds that were his ticket back to his time. Because they were okay in the present. Even if Tails wouldn’t be there when he returned, they would still be okay. Eventually. They always came out on top. Sonic still believed that.

If there was anything he still believed in above all else, it was Tails.

So, to be fair, when he left the Poloy Forest that afternoon, it had been with the intention that this wouldn’t happen again.

But then, Sonic the Hedgehog’s impulse control wasn’t his claim to fame, was it?

---

A/N: Anyway, just wanted to say thank you again, 0vergrown, and that I appreciate you so much! I'm so happy you're interested in this little side plot I've got brewing and all the angst potential that it holds <3 I have so many little scenes I want to write for them, you have no idea! Hope this scratches a bit of the itch for more of these boys who need so much therapy. So much...

And thank you everyone else who's also interested in this idea! Much love to all of you!

[ceturyboytoy]

wip!

(evil) scientist dad who would burn the world to the ground for his trans son. his little ray of sunshine. his boy is the only thing in the universe that matters besides global domination.

he takes very special interest when his son comes out as a boy. he immediately begins synthesizing his own formula of testosterone, one with very fast acting and amplified effects. the doctor gets a sick pleasure from sticking his boy for the first time to administer his concoction.

he studies his baby closely, jotting down notes and dates with every little change. he insists that his precious little test subject stays by his side at all times to make sure he doesn’t miss a thing. when his voice cracks, dad is there running his fingers over his soft throat. when he start growing body hair, there’s dad slowly inspecting every inch of his little body. and finally when the kid starts going into heat and cant help rubbing his tiny thighs together, he knows it’s time for his favorite test.

“dad needs to make sure his strong boy is healthy, right? i’m a doctor, sweetheart, this is completely normal for me. now just try and relax.” but the boy was squirming like the stirrups were burning him, his legs spread wide and showing off his wet puffy boycunt.

“daaaad, please. please- why is this happening? it’s too much…” poor boy’s head was swimming with so many thoughts, all about his genius daddy. his big callused hands, those piercing analytical eyes, that strong but steady voice worming its way down to the little boy’s core.

“well,” he begins in his casual doctor voice, “your libido is getting much stronger, which is what we want to see, baby boy.” he’s got his hands on the kids knees just to gently keep them open as he looks down at the leaking wet mess on his table. he’s so proud of his son, growing up so fast but always a daddy’s boy. “now, sweetie, daddy’s going to touch your penis. my little man has grown, huh?”

two gloved fingers now fold back the hood on the boy’s clit, which seems to have grown a full inch over night. doctor dad makes a note. “3.175 centimeters. that’s great, son.”

“nngh daddy… please. please.” his boy is not paying attention to what he’s saying at all, but the doctor continues nonetheless.

“and… how does it feel when i do this?” daddy starts flicking his thumb over the swollen tdick. it gets a shriek out of the kid, jerking his body at the red hot sensation. “interesting. seems it’s more effective than I theorized.” and he continues with his ‘treatment’ until his little angel is cumming so hard he can’t see straight. the mad man notes the time it took to achieve orgasm via clitoral stimulus and smiles to himself. cold. clinical. even while his cock is hard and straining in his dress slacks.

[kikithekiwi19]

HAI!!! I loved reading your panty anarchy! Reader x mark and your stocking anarchy!reader x mark, and I was wondering if you'd mind doing a stocking anarchy! Reader x rex one?? If not that's fine!!! :]

SWEET EXPLOSIONS!

Rex Sloan x Stocking Anarchy! Reader

Rex, you beautiful asshole.

To be honest, you guys hated each other at first.

He found your withdrawn demeanour unerving while you found him irritating. A mutual hatred that only further blossomed when the two of you officially met.

You guys met at The Guardians try out. Compared to the other contestants, you stood out like a soar thumb; dark Lolita fashion with a mix of Gothic touch.

"Why are you dressed like a depressed princess?"

"Same reason why your an ass to overcompinsate for your shrivelled dick."

Yeah, you guys fought after that.

You easily wipped the floor with him, blades deflecting the explosives with ease. It was pathetic watching Rex stagger about from your relentless assault.

After that, it was a point at Guardians HQ to keep the two of you apart. Not like it really stopped the intense 'banter' the two of shared.

Got so bad that Invincible had to step in.

"You sugar obsessed freak! You almost got me killed out there! Watch where you throw your swords!"

"Maybe you should watch where you sling your dick. Of course if you have one."

"You fucking bitch!"

"And your a whore that's head is to far up his own ass!"

Your relationship was strained at best and non existent at worse. Forcibly spending time together as Guardians makes your relationship more bareable.

It's starts slow; being slightly more cautious of each other, offering support during battles and even after them. Hell, even holding a conversation that didn't spiral into a yelling match.

It wouldn't be far fetched to say that you've grown somewhat soft to Rex's antics. No matter how abrasive he was, it would make your lips curl up into a small smile.

Rex found your witty comebacks charming, no matter how much they tore his ego to shreds. Even your addiction to sugar was endearing.

It blossomed into a friendship, then into romance.

You were the one to ask Rex out; not that he was scared, you just were sick and tired of waiting for him to do so.

When the two of you do start dating it's PDA galore. Cheesy flirtations, messy kisses and a quickie once or twice in the storage closet.

Like, the others are sick of seeing you guys eat each other's faces off.

Also, firmly believe that Rex would partake in your pole dancing. He sees it as a fun way to bond with his partner. No matter how many boners he gets while your doing it.

He's in love with you and will not shut up about it. Would brag constantly about how much of a badass you are! He's such a loveable jerk.

[elixirfromthestars]

On Days Like This

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: The comforts of sick days with your boyfriend Matt.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): fluff / descriptions of mild sickness / sick + comfort

requested by anonymous

a/n: hello! i'm jumping between wips and i was able to finish this bingo request 💖 originally it was just going to be the first part, but then I got carried away 🤭✨ as always feedback is appreciated! and my writing challenge is still on going 💗

birthday bingo masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

When He's Sick

“ Matt, don’t even think about it,” you warn as he reaches for the armrest of the couch. You know what he’s about to do and you refuse to let him do it. You’re not letting him move a muscle while he’s sick. 

“ I got it,” you add, rushing to the front door and answering the knock that rang throughout his apartment seconds earlier. Matt grumbles something under his breath as he sinks back onto the couch—a resigned sigh leaving his lips. 

Your boyfriend gets a little grumpy when he’s sick. He relies on his senses to see and it’s hard to do that when he can’t breathe out of his nose and has a constant ringing in his ears. The delirium of his ongoing fever further muddied his brain. The clouding of his senses was overwhelming to say the least and you were trying your best to help remedy that. 

You open the door and grab the items you instacarted to make him some homemade chicken noodle soup. You make your way back to the kitchen where you take the items out and start preparing the meal.

You peak out into the living room. Your boyfriend resembles a child all snuggled up into the blue cotton blanket you draped over him earlier. The slight hum of the television in the background casting a light glow onto him. 

He won’t admit it now, but he secretly loves being taken care of. Its not a feeling he’s used to, but when it comes to you he welcomes it. 

When you’re done preparing the ingredients, you pour them all into a pot to simmer. You wash your hands thoroughly and then make your way over to your boyfriend. Its time to take his temperature again.

“ Hey, how are you feeling?” You ask, your tone filled with a gentle worry. You lower to your knees to be eye level with him.

“ Like my head’s going to explode,” he groans quietly. You give him a weary smile, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. You’ve done this so many times you can’t tell if his fevers gone down or not. 

“ Open up,” you request as you inch the tip of the thermometer to his lips. He does as told and you take his temperature. 

“ One hundred and two. Looks like that medicine is starting to kick in. You were at one o’three earlier,” you say, slightly optimistic. This does nothing to cheer your boyfriend up as he’s still in his sickly haze.

You kiss your fingers and then press it onto his lips,“ Soup will be ready soon. I promise it’ll make you feel better,” your voice brings him a comfort he direly needs. Coupled that with the indirect kiss and the way you’re brushing away the strands of sweaty hair from his face—he’s in heaven. 

“ Thanks, baby,” he manages to croak out. You brush another strand from his face and he leans into your touch. “ No need to thank me. I’m here for you,” you reply with a soft sincerity. 

Damn the medicine and the soup. All he needs is you. 

After about another forty minutes the soup is done and served in a bowl. You let it cool down a bit before heading over to the couch, setting the bowl down on the coffee table. Matt can faintly pick up the savory aroma in the air and he gently sits up. He intends to reach out to grab the bowl until you swat his hands away lightly. 

“ No. I got it. You focus on getting better. I’ll do the rest,” there’s a slight pout on his lips as you say this. You’re tempted to kiss it away, but you stop yourself. The last thing either of you needed was for you to get sick too.

You blow on the soup a bit before serving him the first spoonful. The warmth spreads throughout his body blanketing him better than anything else did. 

You were right. The soup did make him feel better.

When You're Sick

A content sigh escapes you as Matt massages the lavender scented shampoo into your scalp. His fingers are delicate, but working with purpose as he lathers every strand. Your body was already melting into the bath, but with the way his hands were working—you’d soon melt into him. 

There wasn’t a strand of hair left untouched by him. He gave every bit of it his full attention. Wanting to make sure he was doing things right. He had never done this for anyone before. 

The bath was Matt’s idea and his doing. When you came down with the flu and complained about your achy muscles and congested sinuses—he knew just what to do. 

Well, more like the internet told him what to do and what products to buy.

His every touch was gentle and soothing. The scent of lavender was calming to your senses so he left it in your hair to settle for just a bit while he worked on lathering a rosemary scented body wash into your skin. His fingers work in slow circular motions, applying just the right amount of pressure to pacify the ache. 

“ How’s that?” he asks, fingers gliding over your back as his circular motions continue.

Now you were completely melting into his touch, “ Perfect. That seriously helps so much,” you reply a little breathless, your eyes closing to focus on the feeling. 

Matt grinned, pleased that he was able to help you. He loves taking care of you as much as you take care of him. Being the one you can lean on, on days like this, means everything to him.

When You're Both Sick

“ Come here,” Matt’s quiet voice rings out in his dark bedroom. The slightest sliver of moonlight coming from his window. His arms are outstretched in your direction as you make your way into the covers. 

You sniffle briefly as you snuggle into his side, his arms enveloping you immediately. You clear your throat to hold back a nasty cough that is trying to fight its way out of you. 

Your bodies tangle under the blanket, trying to calm the chills that run through both of you. Matt’s head rests delicately on your head as your face nestles into the crook of his neck. 

The cold medicine starts to take effect as your eyelids get heavier. Matt’s breathing has relaxed signaling to you he’s on the verge of falling asleep too. 

“ Goodnight,” you whisper, tilting your head to plant a soft kiss to his jaw. 

“ Goodnight,” he whispers back, planting a loving kiss to the top of your head, pulling you impossibly closer to him. 

You fall asleep just like that.

[mythals-whore]

Some thoughts on fandom engagement

Post got long but TL;DR engagement is low, Never Ever Stop Creating! fandom is community and everyone needs to participate

extended thoughts and personal anecdote under the cut:

For writers:

I have turned off Kudos emails from ao3. I found myself checking my email and feeling discouraged when I didn't get them. So i turned the emails off so I wouldn't know I wasn't getting them. Even now when I go to my dashboard, I specifically do not look at the bottom of the work to see those numbers.

This is not me telling you to do the same thing. It is easier said than done, and I understand that. But that's what I had to do to have a good time.

Because for a little while, posting made it less fun. I felt like people didn't like it. I was being overly critical of myself, couldn't write more than three sentences without feeling like I was garbage and my work was garbage and I should just quit. I would post a chapter and then immediately want to take the whole thing down. But then I realized...

I have about four half-finished projects in my WIP folder. I have written like 500,000 words that no one has ever read. Because I had fun doing it! Because I enjoy writing!!

And the point of this isn't to say writers shouldn't want or expect engagement. That is not at all what I'm saying!

What I am saying is that if you enjoy writing and you find that posting your work is making you feel unmotivated, discouraged, and you're not having fun anymore it is okay to take it down. It’s okay to make your work private for a while. It's okay to turn off Kudos emails or even comments. Whatever you need to do to make it fun again, do that. If you enjoy creating, please do not let the lack of engagement stop you!

It's been really helpful for me to find a community of creators! Without the support of @thedissonantverses @flowersforthemachines and @basedonconjecture I may have deleted my work months ago!

And that said, if you want someone to read your work, there are so many people (including and especially me) who would love to read and promote you! Participate in WIP Wednesday and Writing Weekend! Promote your own work!! Promote other creators' work! This is how we build community!

For readers:

If you love fanfic, and fanart and fandom in general engage with it. The urge to take down your work is real! And not unique to me! If writers don't get kudos or comments or replies on tumblr, they will delete their work. If there's a fic you find, and you enjoy it but you don't engage with it do not be surprised if you log on one day and it isn't there anymore. Or if it gets orphaned. Or if they simply stop updating it.

Fandom is meant to be a community. The whole purpose of it is to enjoy the things you enjoy with other people. If you're consuming free work (be that fanfic, fan art or something else) and you're not liking or reblogging or commenting then those people will stop sharing it.

And my personal take, while we're here: I do not get it.

I do not understand why there are people out there who do not jump at the chance to directly engage with authors and artists who make things that you enjoy. You can tell them personally how much you like their work! You can ask them questions! You can send them your unhinged ramblings on The Character.

And before anyone comes to my replies and says: I never know what to say ))):

Here is a non-comprehensive list of 10 slightly unhinged things that I've actually commented on fics (some edited for brevity)

I am chewing on glass.

bye i’m putting my fist through the wall 😭

These two are consuming my every waking thought

That ruined me i fear. I have passed away

THIS IS LITERATURE. absolutely tore my heart out.

You are sick in the head my friend

Im gonna sip on this sentence a while.🤌🏻

how could you do this to them? writing about this in my burn book brb

A) You absolutely cooked here B) how fucking dare you?

 kicking my feet and giggling!!!!!

And this isn't just for ao3/fanfic writers. Fanartists deserve love too! Artists love feedback!! The more unhinged the better!! Tell us we're evil! Quote our work back to us! Tell us you're smashing through walls like the Kool-aid man! Tell us that our work is making you scream and cry and blush!

No one is expecting you to leave several long paragraphs with an actual annotated review (not that that wouldn't also be welcome). Comment! Engage! Community is the whole point!

This also goes for finding Tumblr mutuals, by the way. If you want to make friends with people on here engage with their content! Like their posts! Reply to them! Send asks and messages!

Stop being afraid to enjoy things! That is like...all we are doing here.

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

Good Omens - January reads part #1- fanfics recs 🤓🩷

Follow along for short summaries each month about the books i read🩷

I only read finished stories and rarely one-shots. You will find no WIPs in here. Also you will only find happy or at least hopeful endings here - i couldn´t handle anything else.

Also i try to find every author here on tumblr to link-to, but sadly some times i am out of luck. If you happen to know them, please tell them, write to me in the comments or DM me and i will update the post!

Ratings in ()

Multichapter Fanfics

1] Sky Clear Blue (E) by @klikandtuna

Human Au. It is the year 1804 and Azekiel is running a bookshop, but this folly is about to end, as he is obliged to marry the daughter of a pastor. Meanwhile in the year 2024 Crowley lives in a flat above a deserted shop. He can still read "A.Z. Fell, purveyor of the books" and is fascinated by it. And so sometimes he sneaks down in the empty place, until one day he finds a small handmade angel under the floorboards. And isnt it just a coincidence that Crowley likes to fiddle with a machine for timetravelling? 😉

It doesn't say in the tags but it feels a bit like a Dr. Who Crossover in the first chapters. This is a longfic of 749 pages that will decorate your mind. Brace yourself for some big emotions and quite a stretch of at least umcomfortable feelings and questions. Be brave, you will be rewarded. 🩷 Do make sure you read to the end!

One of the many most touching sentences: " He lives in the lilac wood of his own imagination, and he lives there all alone." 🦄

And incredibly there is also a song to one of the chapters, its a lullaby Azekiel sings for Crowley.

2] The two that got away (T) by @caedmonfaith

Aziraphale is alone at the pub, when a tall lanky ginger walks in - also alone. They start talking and decide to meet again there. But then the world goes crazy and lockdown starts. Years later, Crowley still thinks of the "angel", neither knowing his name, phone number or any further details. When Nina tries to set him up for a blind date, he stubbornly refuses. Good thing, that Nina and Maggie don´t let him get away with it. 😉

A sweet little christmas-story you can read every time of the year. I just love @caedmonfaith, you can seriously read everything from them and will always be in safe hands! 🩷

3] What are you doing on New Years Eve (T) by @thebookshoparoundthecorner

It is 1806, when Crowley and Aziraphale happen to be meet by chance on New Years Eve. The fic takes us through the years and tells about other New Years, including the ones after the end of S2. 🍀

4] Against all expectations (E) by @sixbynine

A/B/O & regency aera: Aziraphale/she/her is an Omega to be presented for marriage, but she has the least interest in finding a husband. So she sneaks away from the ball, but while trying to climb off the balcony, a strange Gentleman and Alpha even helps her to gather her dress and braid her hair.

A tale of unconventional thoughts and gender questioning, that had me googling for victorian paperweights and you"ll never guess why. 🤭

5] The trouble with beeing a demon (E) by @verdantvulpus

This fic is basically the answer to the question: if there are 2 Crowleys and 2 Aziraphales - how many different possibilities are there for them to enjoy themselves in bed (and also other places)? 🌶️🌶️🌶️ Felt Plot : Smut - Ratio = 1 : 9

Lovely quote: " There isn't a me that doesn't love Aziraphale."

6] The Grindr Logo Doesn´t Even have a 'G' in it (E) by @indieninja92

Set after S1, Aziraphale and Crowley are free to explore their friendship - or is it more? In the meantime Aziraphale is stumbling upon a fascinating but anonymous creature on Grindr for having online fun. 🌶️🌶️

I read this fic a while ago and while i was sick now, i listened to it in a great audiobook-adaption from @podfixx! Superhot no matter if you listen or read it, the shower-scene will live in my head rent-free forever.

Oneshots

7] Trust me (T) by @beet-feet

Set after S2, Crowley cant handle his broken heart and seeks a final solution... 😔

Mind the tags, but as always - a hopefull ending.

8] Keepsake (E) by @naromoreau

AU, Crowley is a fairy that likes to tease Aziraphale, who is a centaur. Well, that can't go without punishment any longer ... 🌶🌶🌶

Art by @golswia !

9] Christmas Traditions and all that (T) by @captainblou

Crowley wakes on christmas morning - alone. But only, because Aziraphale has a surprise for him. 🎅😉

Lovely quote: "If Aziraphale wasn't the first thing he'd see, and touch, and smell in the morning, then it wasn't worth waking up at all."

10] Animal Instinct (G) by @captainblou

Crowley returns to the bookshop after a day in hell and desperately needs to unwind. Though this time must have been especially awful, because when the angel returns with tea, Crowley is - gone?

Yes, i have subscribed to this author and so this is why you sometimes get more than 1 rec for her 😁

11] A little help from a fiend (E) by @mimsynims

Human AU - although not really. Aziraphale sumons a demon because he is in need of ... assistance. I can´t tell you more without spoiling it. You´ll never guess what kind of "payment" the demon is willing to accept. 😉 Had me downloading the follow-up multichapter-fic!

12] Submitted for your consideration (E) by @zehwulf

Crowley hires a professional dom - but when he opens the door and takes the other man in, he doubts this will ever work. Well - it will. Better than expected. 😁🌶️

Go ahead - spoil yourself, love yourself - and don´t forget your love for the authors, too! 🤗

[bked0n-lorazepam]

"The Wrong Kind of Jealousy" p. hockstetter Oneshot

---------------->

Summary: A break up leaves Y/N heartbroken and feeling awful, and Patrick doesn't like it. He's the only one who should make you feel like shit, and he's determined to prove he can be worse than your boyfriend.

Warnings: Vulgar language, break up, kind of non-con, choking, passing out, dacryphilia, classroom setting, almost fingering, use of "slut."

A/N: My bad guys, I got botox up my bladder so I haven't gotten to my Wips 😭 Here's my apology, please don't burn my house down.

---------------->

“Aiden, please! I didn’t know he’d ask me out, I thought he was just being friendly.” You sobbed, breath raspy and scattered. 

You had met a guy named Donnie in your science class while you were taking a test. He had asked for answers since he was new to the school and didn’t know much, and being the people pleaser you were, you gave them to him. 

He asked for your number after and said that he’d give you the answers to the upcoming math test as a thank you, and you didn’t think anything of it. 

You two started talking, and became friends over the few weeks you knew each other. Of course, nobody ever has kind intentions anymore, and he called you, asking you out on a date while you were making food in your kitchen. Since your boyfriend Aiden went to a different school, the two had never met. And he picked up the phone before you could.

“Does that really fucking matter?” He raised his voice at you and you flinched. He’d never gotten so upset over things like this, so it hurt to hear him yell.

You had a plethora of guy friends; many that he was also friends with. So why was he so angry now?

“You never thought to tell him about me? About us?” Aiden threw his hands on his head and laughed. He was pissed.

“I didn’t think about it, it seemed innocent!” You couldn’t recall the last time you had to defend yourself like this to someone over anything because you were an honest person.

He shook his head and ran his hands down his face, inhaling deeply. “I should’ve known you were gonna cheat on me. Nobody’s that perfect.” 

“Aiden-”

“You’re a slut, Y/N. I should’ve fucking known. We’re done.” He growled, grabbing his jacket off of the counter and aiming towards the door.

“Aiden, please wait.” Tears fell down your face as you tried to reason with him. You loved Aiden, and you didn’t want to see him go. 

“I don’t wanna fucking see you again.” Aiden slammed the door behind him, leaving you to cry in your kitchen.

–

Two days passed, and you were miserable. You cut it off with Donnie, and you hadn’t seen or heard from Aiden since that night. It was lunch and you were at school, eating your meal in an empty classroom, sitting on one of the desks. You’d usually eat with Aiden and talk about anything, but now it was quiet and lonely. 

Holding your sandwich up to your mouth, you were about to take a bite when the door opened.

It was Patrick Hockstetter. The bane of your very existence.

He was such an asshole, and you hated him. He’d grope you, call you names, sometimes even hurt you if you two were alone. You had brought it up to Aiden a couple of times, but he’d always dismiss it, saying he did it to everybody and that you weren’t special.

You never had sex with Aiden, and he never saw you naked, so he also never saw any of the marks Patrick would leave on you. Burn scars from lighters and cigarettes, bruises, cuts, the initials he carved under your belly button. The hickeys.

You never thought it counted as cheating since you never reciprocated anything Patrick would do, and you never told Aiden about it in fear that he’d break up with you for it. But you knew deep, deep down, that you were cheating.

Because a sick, sick, part of you liked it.

Aiden was never rough with you when making out. He treated you like fine China, which you were thankful for. But he never went further, not like Patrick would.

Aiden would kiss you softly, never pressing too hard on your lips. Patrick would make you choke on his tongue and bite your lips, making you bleed every time. 

You hated him, and everything he did. But sometimes you’d look at your scars and remember how awful it felt, and you’d get hot and red in the face.

“Figured your cunt would be in here.” Grinning, he slipped through the crack in the door and closed it, locking it behind him. You shivered, knowing that you weren’t going to leave the classroom without some kind of wound. 

“What do you want?” You croaked out, voice hoarse from crying. You put the sandwich back in your lunch bag and crossed your arms over your chest, regretting the tight white shirt and pastel pink skirt you wore today. 

Patrick snickered at your poor attempt to cover yourself and he turned the lights off, making the only light in the room be from the cracks in the blinds that covered the windows. 

“What do you think I want?” It was only then that you noticed the blood from his nose, and the blood on his hands. Usually you’d never think anything of it, but you were somewhat worried.

Patrick never liked Aiden. He hated how much attention Aiden took from you, and he made sure you knew. He hated how upset you’d get when you remembered a date you two would have to go on, especially right after he’d make you suck him off.

You’d be a complete mess, mascara running down your face, lip gloss smudged, hair sticking up everywhere, drool on your chin, and your clothes would be ruined.

He liked you better when you looked that way and begged him to stop. He made sure to take a picture once, and when he couldn’t see you, he’d jerk off to it.

Patrick loved when you looked ruined, but you always wanted to look put together for Aiden.

“Patrick, what’s on your hands?” You asked shakily, eyes trained to his blood soaked fingers. 

Patrick tutted and started a slow stride to the desk you were on. “You know, Aiden was never a good choice for ya’, toots.”

You crossed your left leg over your right and your skirt rode up your thighs, and Patrick licked his lips.

“I mean, he always controlled what you did. You couldn’t go anywhere without him. And you surely wouldn’t be wearing that skirt if you two were still together.” He stopped in front of you, and put his right hand on your left knee, and his other on your calf.

He uncrossed your legs and stepped between them, removing his hands and placing them on the desk.

Patrick’s eyes never strayed from yours, and you were shaking. 

“What did you do?” You caught your breath and questioned him, fear evident all over your face.

“You never cried for me as much as you did a couple nights ago for him.” Patrick’s face held no emotion, and you had no idea what was happening inside his mind.

It filled you with dread.

“Patrick, please.” His right hand moved from the desk and he placed it up your left thigh, moving it under your skirt. His left hand went around your throat, and his fingers placed themselves skillfully against the sides of your neck.

He squeezed, hard, and slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear, pulling them back and snapping the elastic back onto your skin.

You yelped, and it took away most of your oxygen. Patrick’s fingers teased down your leg and to the back of your knee, leaving a trail of blood as it went.

You didn’t ask him, but you knew it was Aiden’s. You didn’t want to know what happened to him.

You were hyperventilating now, taking in any air that you could. Patrick would lessen his grip every now and then so you wouldn’t pass out, but then he’d tighten it again. The process repeated until you were wailing, and your hands were clawing at his.

His right hand was resting on your thigh again, and would etch up closer to your groin whenever he’d let go a bit. You were full on sobbing, and you looked perfect to him.

Mascara down your face, red marks on your neck that would surely leave a perfect blue and purple handprint later. You were trembling underneath his touch, and he loved it. 

Aiden could never make you cry like he could, and Patrick carried that pride with him. 

You tried to beg him to stop, but your words were broken and you could barely keep yourself conscious. Black spots dotted your vision, and you kept thrashing against him. 

He had never gone so far when choking you, and he’d usually leave you with some air. But he didn’t now, no matter what you did.

Patrick’s fingers climbed up into your underwear, and he smirked when he saw the fear in your wet, drowning eyes. Two fingers touched your entrance, and he dragged them up and down, pinching at your clit.

You’d never been more terrified as to what Patrick was going to do next, but you never found out. He squeezed your throat much harder, completely blocking your windpipe from getting any form of oxygen. 

The black spots took control of your vision, and you went limp in his hands. Your legs stopped kicking, your hands fell to your sides. Your head lolled back, and your face relaxed. 

Patrick hummed and let go of your neck, letting you fall back on the desk. He made sure your pulse was still beating, and his fingers went into your entrance with no more resistance. 

Aiden could never make you feel anything like he could.

[physalian]

When can you "tell" instead of "show"?

Based on some beta feedback I got, I have thoughts on a narrative style that is very “tell” over “show” and when it might be useful to be a little leaner. This is highly, highly subjective and no matter how much potential a story might have to be entertaining, some readers will get turned off by the lack of “immersion” no matter what you say to them. Doesn’t make the book bad, doesn’t make the reader wrong, you just can’t please everyone.

So I got some feedback on my new novella, Tell Me How Long, about a group of marine biologists with the chance of a lifetime to save a Mer, sick from the epidemic of bleaching coral reefs. Outside of fanfic, where I don’t have to tell you the worldbuilding, it’s all been done by the canon, I don’t write short stories. My usual wordcount is 100k+ words, easy, for sci-fi and fantasy.

TMHL was written like a fanfic, in many ways. I’d pulled the OC characters from my other work and tossed them into this little ficlet because I was suffering some writer’s block and I like mermaids and here we are. It’s 20k words and is bereft of the following:

A main villain character

Romantic subplots

Manufactured drama for a 3rd act “falling out” between characters

Lengthy backstory for all but 2 characters

Lore or magic

The main threat is simply time, the ravages of a disease, and the nihilism of the MC raging against the creep of global warming destroying the reefs she loves so dearly.

It has themes, too, asking the question of whether commodification of the natural world is necessary for preservation, of which all the main humans have different perspectives on.

My merfolk cannot speak, so while they can learn Sign and can understand English, there’s no place for lengthy conversations between mer and humans or opportunities for explanations of backstory.

It is absolutely a very “telling” story, lots of speeding through the MC’s days while dealing with and treating this disease. She does get moments of introspection, this is my only WIP from the past 9 years of my writing career that does not have multiple narrators. It’s all Finley all the time.

But due to the nature of this story and setting, 4/6ths of it is set on and around a single boat anchored in the Great Barrier Reef, there is no justification for extra scenes away from the action.

Nor are these mer trapped by anything except the need for medicine and while they do trust these immediate humans, they’re itching to leave as soon as they can, so there’s no precedent for longer, fluffier moments, when half the characters aren’t invested in establishing a long-lasting friendship with the other half.

I wrote it this way because you’re not here for Finley’s (MC) daily hum-drum of life. You’re here for the mer. Who is she outside of this job? Not important. What’s her family life like? Not important. What’s going on in the rest of the world? Not important. What’s the backstory for the rest of the team? Not important.

So much I could add simply does not matter, is not important, and would only detract from the reason you’re reading it: You want to know if they’ll save the mer, and if, in doing so, they’ll tell the rest of the world that mer still exist.

Does this leave some threadbare characters? Absolutely. The story I wanted to tell was not one of individuals with great depth and symbolism, it’s the collective effort of a generation facing the consequences of inaction by our elders.

And in that way, I think “telling” in terms of not having those slower moments, in not being all that flowery, in not giving the individual humans many solo scenes to really define who they are and what they stand for, works for this specific kind of story.

There can be a time to hold back on the rich character development, I think, when “what they do” matters more to the story than “who they are”.

I do plan to go back and add in some extra detail, but we’re talking 400 words at most across the entire story, a sentence or two here or there for clarity.

But at the end of the day, this is the story I wanted to tell, written in the way I wanted to tell it.

[fivescocoa]

Kandreil thoughts?

for wip game 6/4 | prev wip post for kandreil thoughts

ive been sitting on this oneshot for MONTHS at this point. i just can't get myself to finish it. it deserves to see the light of day bc therere so many parts im proud of but like. I STRUGGLE TO FINISH ANYTHING RIP

📌 a whole scene from kandreil thoughts:

Kevin rested his head on top of Neil’s, with arms hung over his shoulders and chest leaned against him. They both only had one class this morning, but in the few hours they’d been away from the dorm, a chill had infested the place. Between the two of them, Neil ran colder, but Kevin would be lying if he said he was only clinging for Neil’s benefit. The Nest was frigid like this which left Kevin uneasy, and stealing Neil’s warmth grounded him firmly. Neil was spreading cream cheese on his freshly toasted bagel when a strangled huff escaped him. It reverberated up through Kevin’s chest. He hummed a questioning noise in response and dropped his head, so their temples rested together. “Just thinking about practice.” Neil’s hands paused, clenching the butter knife. His body stiffened at the admission, in a way that Exy alone would never cause. “About practice? Or about Jack?” The shrug Neil gave pushed against Kevin’s limply hung arms. “He challenges every decision I make, on and off court. It’s—” Neil gestured wildly with the butter knife as he searched for words to describe Jack. “He doesn’t think you should be vice-captain.” “No kidding.” “Do you think you should be vice-captain?” “Yes." Neil bit back immediately, then paused a beat, truly thinking the question over. “No. I don’t know.” “With the way you’ve been handling him, that uncertainty is apparent. It’s like blood in the water. Can you really blame the shark?” “Fuck you.” Neil went back to spreading his cream cheese. Kevin pulled out of his warm orbit, accepting the chilly air in favor of facing Neil. He leaned against the counter next to him, crossing his arms as he stooped his head to catch those piercingly beautiful blue eyes. “Start acting like you earned your place here because you did. You’re going to be Court, Neil.” “Careful or I might think you’re complimenting me.” “Is that so hard to believe?” Neil barked a laugh at that and turned back to his half-done bagel. Admittedly, Kevin was hard on the team. He demanded their best and pushed their limits to garner his desired results. But he was working on doling out positive reinforcement as much as he did critiques. Kindness wasn’t apart of Evermore’s curriculum. No one applauded when you were succeeding. You either were meeting their high standards or were baring an amount of bruises equal to your failure. Weeks where he got to play without those painful, colorful reminders littering the places armor didn’t protect were how he knew he was getting better. But even on his good weeks, the guilt never stopped. He’d laid awake at night sick to his stomach about every lost scrimmage, every hesitated pass, every slip in attention to the ball’s position. This concept of contrition was etched so deeply into his relationship with the world that he was doomed to forever be on his knees begging for absolution. Before coming to Palmetto, he couldn’t have imagined anything besides shame and pain inspiring change. He knew now, from experience with the Foxes, that encouragement could play a vital role in building a players' confidence. But even with this knowledge, breaking the habit of throwing people’s mistakes in their face was a challenge. He couldn’t get it through his head that his teammates didn’t share the same pride and relief when they started practice with their body a clean slate, free of aching bruises on their thighs and coaches looking for a reason to inflict more. He was trying though. He wished Neil knew that he was serious about his praise.

[thewardenisonthecase]

Bloody Meeting

Fenris x Elizabeth Hawke

Summary: Elizabeth Hawke and Fenris haven't spoken much since she became the Champion. That is, until one night, he shows up on her doorstep with a stab wound. A/N: I'll be honest, I didn't like this how this one turn out that much but I need this fic to leave my WIPs. like, even if i dont love it, i need it to be AWAY from my sight whenever i open my documents so i'm posting it. i got stuck on this fic for months and now im finishing it while im sick as hell, i need it to GO. Link to ao3 on the title word count: 1,404

It was a quiet night. 

Elizabeth was awake, writing in her journal about the events of the past day - a meeting with the Knight-Commander, helping Anders with some mage troubles, drinking with Varric, wondering where Isabela was, the usual . Barkspawn lay at her feet, and she could hear his soft snoring. Everyone else had gone to sleep, and for once, things were peaceful. 

A year had gone by since she had become Champion, turning her life upside down. Where once she was just another Ferelden refugee who made something of herself, she was now known by the whole city. Everyday, someone needed something from her and she was happy to oblige, but Maker did she wish things were easier. She wished people didn’t need her as much as they did. 

She looked at her bed. Her cold and empty bed. So many people that looked up to her and yet not one to share a lonely night with. She sighed. There was only one person who-

A loud knocking on her door interrupted her thoughts. 

Barkspawn immediately awoke, standing tall, his ears perked up. At first, she tried to ignore it, but as the banging grew louder and louder, Elizabeth quickly stood up and headed towards the door. 

Groaning, she opened it. “What is t- Fenris?” She said, and gasped as she took a good look at him. He stood there, covered in blood, a hand on his side while he breathed heavily.  “Maker’s breath, what happened to you?” 

Fenris opened his mouth and took a tentative step forwards before collapsing, knees giving in. He would have hit the floor, if Elizabeth hadn’t caught him. “Shit. Bodahn! Orana! I need help.” She called out to the other members of her household as she began to drag Fenris inside her home. She didn’t make it very far - Fenris was heavier than he looked and Elizabeth was not strong enough to carry him up the stairs - opting to sit on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

She moved Fenris’s hand, and saw a deep gash cutting through his armor and his skin. Blood oozed from the wound, and she quickly covered it with her hands. 

“My Lady, what’s happened?” The dwarf asked as he approached them. 

“I need you to go into my room and grab some healing potions. And Orana, go bring me some towels and water.” 

She heard them scurry away and she turned her attention back to Fenris, who had fallen unconscious. Elizabeth had never been a good healer, and since meeting Anders she put less and less care into improving those skills, but she took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she focused, letting her magic flow through her. 

“C’mon, Fenris, wake up.” She said, opening her eyes and looking at him, hoping and praying it would be enough. Elizabeth gulped, her heart beating loudly the longer it took for him to show any sign he was alright. 

“Fenris, please.” She touched his arm, trying to stir him, as a panic settled within her. It wasn’t the first time she had seen him like this. The two of them had been injured in battle and taken a bad fall a lot of times. 

But it was different now, she thought. With all that had happened between the two, there was much she wanted to say. This was the first time in months that they had actually seen each other and if he was about to die here then-

Fenris groaned, and stirred and Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief. She removed her hand and noticed the wound had stopped bleeding though the flesh was still open. When Bodahn arrived with a potion in hand, Elizabeth was quick to give it to Fenris. She held this head up as she pressed the vial to his mouth and after a few sips, his skin mended itself back together. 

He was still asleep but there were no other signs of major injury. She breathed a sigh of relief. Maker, if something worse had happened, something beyond her skills…

She looked at her carpet, which was now stained with Fenris’s blood, but it didn’t matter. She and Orana could clean it later. She looked at the dwarf and said “Help me bring him upstairs. I’m not gonna leave him on the floor.” 

. 

Fenris woke up with a groan and a headache, as he sat up on a bed far more comfortable than his own. 

He put a hand on his forehead as he looked around and quickly realized he was in Hawke’s room. 

A fact made more obvious when he saw her standing at the foot of the bed - her bed - with her arms on her hips and a frown on her face. 

“Hawke-”

“How are you feeling?” They both spoke at the same time. 

“My head hurts but it will pass.” He meant to say more but he wasn’t sure what to say. The frown lifted from Elizabeth’s face as she nodded. 

“Good.” She crossed her arms. “Now, care to explain what in the Maker’s name was all that?” 

“Uh…what do you mean?” He scratched the back of his head, as he thought about what to say. 

“Fenris.” She began to walk closer to him. “You show up in my house in the middle of the night, bleeding, and then pass out in front of me without another word.” Elizabeth spoke in a worried tone. “What in the Maker’s name were you doing?” 

Fenris took a deep breath. “I was on a job. I got ambushed and I…came here for help.” 

“Where did this happen?” 

“Lowtown.” 

“Why didn’t you go to Anders, then?” 

He scoffed. “I wasn’t going to go to Anders.” 

“He’s a better healer.”

“Well, I didn’t want to go to him.” 

“Maker.” She said under her breath, rolling her eyes. “Stop being so stubborn!” 

“I don’t understand what your issue is.” 

“Don’t understand-” Elizabeth threw her hands in the air. “My issue is that you and I both know I’m not the person you should come to for healing. What if you had a grave injury? Something that wasn’t fixable with a healing potion? What if I couldn’t stop the bleeding? What if you had-” She stopped herself, but it didn’t take much for Fenris to understand what she meant to say. 

“I apologize.” He said, looking at her. “For upsetting you.” 

“I’m not upset, I’m just…” She rubbed her eyes. “Don’t do this again.” 

“I won’t. I promise.” 

“Good.” 

An awkward silence stood between them. She was right. Fenris should have gone to the other mage, in fact, he had thought about it. Despite their differences, even he could admit Anders was the better healer of their little group. 

But his feet had dragged him to her house almost on instinct. 

A year had passed, and things were still…weird between them. Fenris didn’t blame her. There was much he wanted to say but the words seemed always stuck on his throat. He wanted to apologize for that night and say he wished he never left. He wanted to say Hawke rarely left his thoughts.

He looked at her left arm, uncovered and heavily scarred from her fight with the Arishok and he wanted to say that that night he had been more worried than ever, when he thought she might die. 

Fenris wanted to say that the real reason he had walked over to her house, bleeding, was because he wanted to see her. Because ever since she became Champion, they barely had time to talk and she became more and more reclusive and he missed his friend. 

Elizabeth was not a good healer, but Fenris knew she wouldn’t let him die. 

Instead, Fenris stood up as she took a step back. 

“I should be on my way.” He said and she nodded.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” 

He moved past her, grabbing his things which she had placed next to her desk. The two walked in silence down the stairs. Barkspawn looked at him with big eyes but stayed put. Fenris chuckled and shook his head, as Elizabeth opened the door for him to leave. 

“Be careful out there, will you?” She said. “And go see Anders in the morning.” 

“I’ll do my best. Thank you, once again.” 

“Of course. Good night.” 

He gave her a stiff nod, and walked back home.

.

Thanks for reading! If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging it and leaving a comment, they're extremely appreciated!

[babybrainedstarscream]

i gotta ask, what is your ultimate fantasy/scenario? like one where if you drew/wrote it, you'd need some kind of divine intervention to stop

(also the bed bound art is super cute!!)

i dont have just one fantasy. pretty much any drawing or ramble you see on this blog not in response to an ask is a fantasy that was rolling around my head long enough that it was clawing its way out the back. Skystar bathtime definitely got close to what youre describing, though.

all art i make is a beast trying to escape. though sometimes that beast is there to jack me off.

Give me a scenario where it's Starscream, pregnant and in a Situation and im DROOLING immediately.

Locked in a closet on the nemesis and trying to hide the fact he's in emergence? Way too many babies? In mortal peril? Committing cannibalism on the battlefield because of mineral deficiencies and a deep primal need to put his sparklings before anything else?

hm okay might need to come back to that one and look at it some more.

One I've beenn rotating a lot recently and trying to even make a fic out of is Permapreg starscream.

Now, in the preg kink community there are TWO definitions to permapreg.

Get pregnant and give birth and get pregnant over and over again.

get pregnant and NEVER give birth.

I prefer the second.

The premise is that somehow, Megatron gets it in his helm (im thinking a G1 flavored thing) that carriage would calm him down or make him more meek. Shockwave goes.... "...okay m'lord" and puts a chip that induces a false carriage in Starscream. and Instead of being too sick to do schemes or too scared to get hurt or even just removing it- starscream LOVES it. He stops trying to overthrow megs just because he feels so GOOD.

It's a super duper wip, but i've honestly been having fun responding to asks with variety instead.

[jilyawards]

The Jily Fandom Rec List 2024 is a compilation of Jily stories our readers want to keep an eye on for this year's awards.

AUGUST

A Matter of Fairness (completed, 3.9k) by @yallthemwitches. Rated E.

James' Quidditch match is derailed by a very distracting Head Girl.

stitch the wound (completed, 15.7k) by @loverscrossmp3. Rated T.

moments on a battlefield and in a home. there are only so many things you can do when in hiding before you begin remembering.

101 Padfoots (completed, 4k) by @tedwardremus. Rated G.

An accident in potions class results in 101 Padfoots running around Hogwarts while Lily and James work together to round them all up

swimming through sick lullabies (completed, 4.7k) by @gigglesandfreckles-hp. Rated T.

“So, I’ve got a question,” James says, leaning forward slightly. Lily nods without looking at him, busying herself with wiping the puddle of water from the condensation of the glass. “If you were meeting Kallus for a date, why’d you bring a book?” She looks up sharply, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “What?” He smirks, letting his eyes flicker down toward the book in emphasis. “Were you anticipating a rubbish date?”

the dance of mischief and duty (completed, 3.5k) by @gigglesandfreckles-hp. Rated T.

Lily Evans is an infuriating mosaic of traits—beautiful and she knows it, captain of the House Quidditch team, and the loudest voice in nearly any room. She has this way of floating through the school, her laughter ringing out as she moves between corridors and classes, one arm usually slung around Sirius Black’s shoulder and the other gesticulating wildly as she spins tales of misadventure. But she also sort of has a point, and that’s possibly the most infuriating part about her.

the road to reunification is not so smooth (WIP, 10.2k as of 31 August 2024) by wisterial. Rated T.

Other than her persistent guilt and loneliness, Lily Evans is doing perfectly okay. That is, until her friends give her phone number to James Potter, an old schoolmate she would very much like to avoid. If that wasn't enough of a problem, Lily meets a boy in the local library, who appears just as lonely as her, and she begins to realize that he may be the son she gave up for adoption eight years ago. Or: The story of how Lily, James, and Harry reunite, and eventually learn how to be a family (with the help of time, their friends, and a lot of ice cream).

bad day wall (WIP, 14.8k as of 31 August 2024) by apalapucian. Rated M.

lily calls it the bad day wall. it's like this weird communal one-liner diary thing. every time i think i'm over her something happens and it hits me just as stupidly intense as all the other times. i'm SICK of it why can't people just LIKE by default the people they LOVE? why do they have to be separate feelings? it would make things so much less complicated or: in sixth year, lily starts talking to a stranger(?) through messages on a wall. she also befriends james potter. these two things are completely not related.

Guilty as Sin (WIP, 56.7k as of 31 August 2024) by ohevans. Rated E.

This is not sustainable. He cannot keep being so god damn perfect or it’s going to ruin her. It sort of already has, really. Lily Evans is a practical young woman, and having sex dreams about one’s best friend that leave one waking up hot and bothered at 3:32 in the morning is decidedly impractical. Especially when said friend—self-proclaimed early bird—started Mamma Mia! together over facetime at half-past eleven solely because she said she couldn’t sleep, even though he likes to get up early and go on long runs before work. And then she went and fell asleep mid-lyric to Dancing Queen and he sent her a string of text messages and stayed awake long enough to finish the movie, all the while she was passed out on the couch dreaming of his face between her thighs. Again. For the third night in a row. (It would be the eighth, but there was one night she had a stress dream about missing her Eighteenth Century Women’s Lit exam.) This is not sustainable.

Check out the previous months' recs too: January, February, March || April || May || June || July

And don't forget to check out the Jily Week 2024 masterlist!

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 32/42? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN (interlude) ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY (interlude) TWENTYONE TWENTYTWO TWENTYTHREE TWENTYFOUR TWENTYFIVE TWENTYSIX TWENTYSEVEN TWENTYEIGHT TWENTYNINE THIRTY THIRTYONE

(And we have an estimated final chapter count!)

CHAPTER THIRTYTWO

                “Hey baby… how was work today?”

                “Busy busy, usual stuff. Lots of prep. Lots of high pressure so there was a bit of yelling,” Bradley admits, because Jake never believes him when he says he sometimes yells at people.

                “You were yelling at people? I can’t believe that…”

                Bradley laughs, because Jake hasn’t ever seen his infamous temper. Not that he really feels he has one anymore, capable of putting it when the cameras are rolling, but otherwise he’s pretty even keeled.

                “God I miss you.”

                “I’ll be back before you know it.”

…            …            …

                “Seresin’s Sauce. This why you always insist on having sauce with every meal you egotistical dick bag?”

                He ignores the insult. Gravel is, and always has been, incapable of handling Jake being better than him. The fact that there are so many aviators better than Gravel doesn’t seem to ping his radar, but Gravel is not Jake’s favorite person. However he is holding something that Jake’s recognizes.

                “Where did you get that?” Jake asks, reaching for the bottle. It’s plastic, not like the glass ones he gets with little love notes written on them from Leo. But the logo on the front is the same, and he knows Maria and the others have been doing something, and it’s involved making this sauce and blah blah blah. He really doesn’t care about the business side of the farm, just knows that they were making sauce now, and it had their name. He unscrews the lid.

                “Hey! Hands off! What the fuck do you think you’re doing! Don’t stick your finger in the bottle? Oh for fucks sake…”

                “Where did you get it?” Jake repeats, and he licks the sauce off his finger. It’s just the plain one, not one of the variations that Leo had made him try.

                “I bought it at the grocery store, like a normal human being you asshole.”

                “Huh. Like… This is my sauce though.”

                “Just because it’s got your name on it doesn’t make it yours.”

                Jake wants to argue, say that the tomatoes in it are grown on his family’s farm, that his boyfriend made the sauce but if it’s gotten to be a big enough operation that they’re somehow stocking grocery chains enough that his dickhead colleagues can just buy it then maybe they’re getting the tomatoes from somewhere else because this tastes different.

                Jesus.

                He can tell the difference.

                Leo will be so proud.

…            …            …

                Bradley reaches for his phone, sliding his thumb across to answer it when he sees Ice’s name pop up. They’re about due for a catchup.

                “Hey Ice.”

                “It’s not Ice. He’s sick again. Please don’t hang up.”

                He doesn’t hang up but he does suddenly sit down, his free hand scrambling for the nearest chair. Vi is looking at him with concern so he figures he’s probably gone pale. Again? What the fuck does Mav mean again?

                “I’m listening,” he croaks out.

                “The cancer is back…”

                Bradley closes his eyes, feels the world tilt and can’t believe that this is the first he’s hearing about it. Fucking Ice and Mav both. There’s Maverick living dangerously and dodging the grim reaper at every turn. And now here is Ice, who quit smoking years ago and yet somehow still inviting death in. He shakes his head, refuses to borrow trouble before he even knows the whole story. It might be different than it was with his mom.

                “How bad?”

                “He’s undergoing some scans right now. I needed to tell you, because… shit. I need to tell you something else as well.”

                “Okay?”

                “Your mom asked me to make sure you never flew.”

                It hits out of the blue.

                The air in his lungs punches out of him and he doesn’t know what to say at that declaration following on from finding out Ice has had cancer and didn’t tell him. He knew there was something that Ice knew, that he’d never felt like he could share with Bradley, and he has no idea what he’d been expecting but this had not been it. What is up with the two men and keeping everything locked down and secret? As the thought skitters through his brain he realizes that’s their entire lives, living under DADT, both of them career Navy. So is Jake of course, but he has five older sisters who have helped mold him into the man he is.

                Well shit.

                “Why now? Why are you telling me now? Why didn’t you tell me back then?”

                “I didn’t want you to resent her!”

                “It wouldn’t have mattered if I had resented a dead woman Mav, it was far worse to be betrayed by someone alive. Who I thought loved me.”

                “I do love you.”

                Bradley’s hands are shaking and he runs his knuckles over his forehead, not sure what he can say or do right now. He wants to go home, so have Silvia fuss over him, to have Leandro make him pasta and push a glass of wine toward him and ask him what he thinks. They’d both be urging him to calm down and he realizes with startingly clarity that if Maverick hadn’t done what he’d done, he’d have never met Silvia and Leandro.

                Oh shit.

                Would he have ever met Jake?

                Thousands of different lives flash through and he forces himself to refocus.

                “I was eighteen Mav…”

                “I know. I’m sorry. I just… I panicked and did the only thing I could think of. Ice was… well. He went after you. Made sure you were okay. Asked the Gallo’s to keep an eye on you. Refused me when I said I wanted you to come back to the States.”

                He had no idea that any of that was going on back then, not about Mav wanting things and Ice denying him, nice to know that that’s even possible. He can only imagine what Ice said, and he desperately wants to talk to him; figures he must be somewhere that he can’t take his phone, given that Mav is calling him using it. And it’s taken Ice getting sick for Mav to finally tell him.

                “You could have told me this years ago. Why didn’t you?”

                The silence at the other end is telling and he takes in several deep calming breaths, waves away Vi’s concerning look when she realized just who he was talking to.

                “I… I didn’t want to admit I was wrong.”

                And there it is. He feels like crying, so lets a few silent tears just slip down his face, which makes Vi flail angrily before she settles at his side awkwardly and wraps her arms around him and there’s another person he wouldn’t have in his life if it had been different.

                “So. I was wrong and I’ve felt that guilt for years and I’m very sorry but… Jesus Bradley. I’m so proud of you. What you’ve accomplished all on your own.”

                “I wasn’t… I wasn’t alone. I didn’t do it on my own,” Bradley says, looking to Vi but also biting back the fact that if he was alone it was because of Mav. He’s still a little angry and bitter, but he also wouldn’t change anything. He’s more than happy with his life.

                “I… I know,” Mav says, voice breaking and he’s pretty sure Mav is also crying. “I’m sorry.”

                He wonders if Ice already knew he was sick again the last time they spoke, when he said with certainty that Maverick would call him. He’s going to have words with him.

                “So. What does Ice need?”

                Then Mav is off, listing a whole range of things and Bradley realizes that Ice doesn’t talk very much anymore, his phone calls with Bradley one of the few times he solely talks. Fucking martyr. He’s definitely going to be having words with him.

                “I never blocked your number Mav. You can call me if you want. I won’t always be able to pick up, but I’ll try to.”

                “I… thank you.”

                “Hmm,” Bradley hums back, because it’s going to take a bit to completely let go of the anger. But he realizes he’s holding onto it out of habit now, rather than actually feeling angry. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to utter I forgive you when he still really doesn’t understand why Mav did what he did. He guesses he was trying to do what his parents wanted but… well. He sort of has different parents now and they might have entered his life once he was officially an adult, but he feels like he got third time lucky.

THIRTY THREE

[landwriter]

I know you've sort of migrated over to Arcane for the time being, but would happily take any Sandman thoughts or WIP updates floating around in your brain!

(Also please feel better soon. ❤️)

Thank you! :)

Funnily enough, I just started working on the seventies SF AU (Lighthouses tag) again after months away. I'd been feeling really uninspired on it but something this week called me back! It's in that awkward stage--maybe you know it, depending on your writing process?--where you've got all the really good solid bits down but it's missing some vital connective tissue. It's 32K and I think I can come in under 40, but those last bits really are the most treacherous and annoying.

As far as Arcane goes, I don't think I've migrated as much as been scooped up temporarily and dropped into my own private obsession. It truly is one singular fic and a highly specific haunting that I need to exorcise. I just cannot and will not get over the idea of these two characters being foils for one another, who are alike in so many ways but living on opposite sides of a coin (a coin that says, I have made myself into a weapon, a coin that says I measure myself by my service to others, that has manacles engraved on it with the word loyalty underneath); who collide once, by chance, and then come together again and again, like magnets, a visceral inexplicable yanking; recognizing themselves in the other, and believing, despite knowing better, that love can transform another person enough to change who they are, and change them enough to save them. It's the Fox and the Hound. It's two knights in warring kingdoms. It's lovers trapped in a story that always ends with facing each other down on a bridge. It's holding hands in the dark, and trying to rewrite the ending. I digress! Very normal about it. As you can see. Super normal.

Have a big long (1.5K) Lighthouses excerpt under the cut. Any of you who've been following along and waiting for this fic are saints in your own right. Dream phones Hob while sick, and Hob talks to him until he falls asleep:

When the sound of the phone ringing cuts through his sleep, Hob stares at the ceiling for another ring or two before he fully understands it’s a phone, and his, and he has to get out from under the covers to answer it. Groaning, he stands and turns on the light, blinking hard. The kitchen clock says it’s just after five, and he jolts the rest of the way awake, hurrying to pick it up. Something’s wrong at home. Nobody here would call him at this hour, but it’s already eight o’clock back east. “Ma?” he answers.

“Oh. No.”

“Dream,” he breathes out. Relief unknits his shoulders. “Hey. Why are you up so early? Did something happen?”

“I did not sleep. In the first place.”

Hob waits, but he doesn’t say anything else. The sound of Dream’s voice, scraped raw, answers the rest of Hob’s question anyway.

“I’ll bring you notes from class. Is that why you called? You sound rotten.”

“Yes,” says Dream, haltingly. “Thank you.” He starts to say something else but stops and coughs sharply. Then he speaks again, in tight measured bursts, and Hob can nearly feel the titanic effort of Dream stubbornly holding off from coughing. “Did I wake you. You said. You were. An early riser.”

Then he muffles the receiver and resumes hacking. Hob grimaces in sympathy. He glances sidelong at the clock, and bites his lip. 5:05. He’d bet a crisp Benjamin he doesn’t have that Dream was staring at the clock too, waiting for the first acceptable moment to call. The sudden wash of protective fondness threatens to drown him.

“I am. I’m up for the day,” he says, as soon as Dream catches his breath again. It is, technically speaking, the truth. He’s not going to go and let Dream feel even worse for what the man presumably deems the mortal sin of needing a small favour when he can barely string together a sentence.

The quiet susurration of static hisses between them. When he realizes Dream isn’t hanging up, he eyes the front door. “Listen, if you can’t sleep, do you want company? I could come over.” He shifts and stretches, putting clothes on in his mind.

“No,” says Dream, and his imagined self, half the way out the door already, turns back and glares bitterly at the phone.

Hob chews his lip instead of asking, Can I come over anyways? He can’t bring himself to let Dream off the phone just yet. “Well, let me distract you from your misery. If you’re lucky, I’ll be boring enough that you finally catch some sleep.”

There’s a long pause. “Alright,” Dream replies. “Since you insist.”

Hob grins. “Can your phone reach your bed?”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re definitely not going to fall asleep if you’re standing by the phone, are you?”

“Oh. No.”

Hob smiles at his own bed across the room as he listens to the sounds of shuffling. His stomach does something funny, with Dream in this state, still him but not, slow and pliable from exhaustion. Letting himself be bossed around by Hob. Just a little.

He hears a distant cough and then Dream brings the receiver back to his mouth. “Alright.”

“Good?”

“Miserable.”

Hob snorts. He can picture Dream sitting propped up in his bed with his phone beside him, receiver cradled in his hand. Chest aching like hell, probably. Delirious with exhaustion. He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. Doesn’t even know what he’s going to say until he opens his mouth, still thinking of other nights he’s been up, sleepless. Thinking of withstanding suffering. “Alright. When I played football in high school,” he starts, smiling when he hears a little huff on the other end, “Coach would lead us in this prayer before games. Same one every time, sent up to the patron saint of athletes. Saint Sebastian, give these boys the strength and fortitude to prevail. We must’ve heard it a hundred times. I end up looking him up in the library one day on my free period. I’m killing time and I see this big book of illustrated saints off the shelf. Alright. I wanna know. Who’s this guy that’s supposed to stop us from getting our asses kicked, right? What’d he ever do?”

“I know who he is,” rasps Dream, who even while sick as a dog can’t resist showing off his omniscient knowledge. “He-”

Hob hushes him. “‘Course you do. But I didn’t. Picture me, sixteen or so, finding his entry. In the school library. Saint Sebastian, martyr. Commanded to be shot to death by archers. But the art. He’s in this little loincloth, bound by rope to a tree, muscles straining, pierced with arrows. I stared at it until the bell rang. Then I did something terrible.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I tore the page out of the book and shoved it right into the pocket of my letterman jacket.”

“No.” A scandalized croak.

“Oh, yes. I took him home with me,” he says, laughing. “Hid him under my mattress between the pages of a Playboy. He became my patron saint.”

“Undignified.”

“No way. Undignified was me imagining how I’d come upon him in the woods, and rescue him. I was one of his loyal converted soldiers, wasn’t I. I’d untie the ropes, suck the venom out of his wounds-”

“Venom?” interrupts Dream.

“Listen, I’d just seen Strange Cargo.”

“That’s a myth. It doesn’t work.”

“Come on, you’ve gotta give me a little creative leeway for my sexual fantasies, man.” Then he realizes what he’s said and feels his ears get hot. “But it doesn’t work in the movie either. The guy doing it knows it won’t do anything. He just wanted the guy who was poisoned to know somebody cared about him, before he bit the dust.”

Dream is quiet. The hush of static over the line feels charged in a way it didn’t before. Hob winces. He’d just wanted Dream to laugh at his expense. He grasps for a change the subject, but Dream speaks up before he can find something, anything, better than sexual fantasies.

“That’s very kind of him.” A beat. “Is that what you’re doing now?” His voice is low. He doesn’t sound like he’s teasing at all.

“God, you’re dramatic. You just have a cold,” Hob says, while trying very hard to not imagine pressing his mouth tenderly to a mortal wound on Dream’s thigh. Failing.

“But you do,” says Dream, very quietly.

“Do what?”

“Care. About me.”

Hob swallows down the first three traitorous words that spring to his lips. Dream must be feeling pretty damn sorry for himself, talking like that. Doesn’t mean Hob has any right to say what he wants to say. “Yeah,” he says. “I do. Of course I do. You’re my best friend. I’d suck the venom out, any day. Even if it did no good.”

Dawn is starting to lighten the room. Hob hums. “You know what, I’m pretty sure that’s why I imagined it. Embarrassing as hell, but that’s what it was for me. I mean, it was hot. But mostly it was the thought of putting my mouth to another guy’s skin and, God, and showing him I care, you know? Acting all swaggering like Steve McQueen or Clark Gable but secretly saying, I cared about you. I really cared. Being somebody’s arms to lie in, as they died. As long as there was mortal peril. Saint Sebastian, barely surviving the arrows, or that poor bastard in the desert, bit by a snake. Because there was no other good reason I could think of to hold another man that close.”

He twines and untwines the cord around his fingers, itching for a cigarette. This is the sort of thing he could never say to somebody’s face. Not even Dream’s.

“Sure, it would be nice to be somebody’s arms without all the tragedy. But that didn’t occur to me back then. To be honest, I’ve only just started to realize it is. Never felt possible before. So I never got around to wishing for it. Until here.” Until you.

He trails off into silence. Dream says nothing.

“Dream?” he asks, softly. His heart is pounding again like he just got woken up.

Nothing but the faint hush of static answers him. Hob squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. “Hey. You still awake?”

There’s no response. Well, for the better. To be spared of hearing Hob empty his guts like that.

He gently hangs up the phone, and groans as he stands up, stiff, and walks back to his bed. He imagines Dream in his own bed, dozing curled beside the phone, receiver lying next to his face, and wishes he could be there. Wishes he could see him, getting some rest at last.

Wishes, so stupid that it hurts his chest like holding in a bad cough, that he could be his arms to lie in.

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

hihi! can i request a romantic yandere scott summers x fem (can be gn too) reader who is just naturally obedient and easy to manipulate? maybe reader's submissive personality is how scott's obsession and need to protect them started?

(and if you want, you can add smut on how scott rewards reader for always being so good while reader is oblivious to his sick nature 👀)

love your works <3

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆…

!!! 18+ THEMES, GN reader, compliant reader, Scott is a control freak, slight manipulation, brief hint of a forced relationship(?), mentions of pet-play, mentions of leashes, mentions of collars (back at it again), this honestly isn’t really too NSFW-esque but there is mentions of sex, I fucking forgot how much I hate writing warnings.

*Digs myself out of my 50+ WIPS (I’M ACTUALLY NOT FUCKING WITH Y’ALL, IT’S 56) on yan X-Men content* Hi.

I really like this dynamic in the worst way possible. Scott likes having control over every aspect of his life. I’ve already briefly touched this, but I’ll say it again; bad things happen when he’s not in control. So, naturally, he’s in leader mode 24/7. This man has no idea how not to be in leader mode — the very notion is absolutely terrifying for him — and he’s not about to hang it up for his romantic endeavors.

Should he ever have a lover as vulnerable and obedient as you? Yeah. He’s in heaven.

You listen to him. You do what he asks. You don’t talk back, or question his authoritative presence. It’s like the two of you are made for each other, entwined by a sick and twisted thread of fate; a thread he has wrapped around your neck like a leash. It wouldn’t take long for Scott to pick up on this, the dark voice in his skull he dares call a conscious screaming at him to protect, protect, protectprotectpro—

You’re unwavering, almost worrying (to anyone but Scott, that is) loyalty is something he treasures deeply. Many other people call him a control freak, which he’ll begrudgingly agree with (he’s not that dense to his own behaviors), but it still rubs him the wrong way nonetheless. It creates a weird sense of ownership over you in his head. Not in a way that objectifies you; though he may feel a sense of pride that you actually listen to him, it’s not something he parades around. Rather, it’s the same kind of ownership that one has over a pet. One that strips you of any agency or — god forbid — control. You’re too fragile for control… why don’t you let Scott take over, yeah?

I swear I’ve mentioned this before, but Scott doesn’t really go out of his way to manipulate; it just kind of happens. His main tactic — albeit a subconscious one — is his authority, and since you already follow that to a T… well, shit. Guess he doesn’t really have to do anything, huh. God, aren’t you just perfect? Too perfect for this world… and that scares him. Just a little, of course. As long as you remain a controllable variable in his life, he can keep you out of harm’s way. Nothing will go wrong because he’s a leader. He dictates the terms and executes the strategies. Everything is under control.

Everything has to be under control.

This man is obsessed with you. He inserts himself into your life as a sturdy pillar for you to lean on, offering soft affirmations that he’s here for you and always will be. It’s okay… he’s got everything covered… he can protect you, keep you safe from anything that could possibly hurt you. Don’t you want that? An unwavering constant in your life that will never let you down? Scott can be that for you… all you have to do is fall into his arms. In the most literal sense, if you can help it.

Well, you might not be willing to completely surrender to him at first. That’s okay (he thinks to himself with clenched fists). You’ve proven time and time again that you’re practically incapable of insubordination, so your hesitance must come from a place of bashfulness; he actually thinks it’s kind of cute. This can be dealt with. You’re a dependent variable, and he knows how to manipulate those. He can easily put you in a scenario that requires him to swoop in and save you, cradling you to his chest as he softly mutters, “I’ve got you, you’re okay” in your ear. Sure, he absolutely despises the idea of you getting hurt, but the ends justify the means, and he had the situation under control.

Everything is under his control.

Including your new compliance to finally fall in his arms. Again, in the most literal sense.

It wasn’t manipulation. Not in his eyes, at least. It was just a strategic move to push you in the right direction, and it worked remarkably well. He’s your reliable leader-turned-something-more, and you’re his most treasured darling he’d easily kill for. It would take a while for your relationship to actually be labeled, as Scott’s too emotionally constipated to decern his desires over the overwhelming urge to protect and have you. But after his caring words and affection touches garner the teasing of those around you — the ones that don’t find your dynamic concerning, that is — and he eventually gets comfortable enough to think of you as his partner. There’s no conversation between you two about it; he’s in love with you, and surely, you’re in love with him.

Because… why else would you be so obedient for him? You would’ve mocked and ridiculed him for being a control freak long ago, just like the others, but you never did. You listen to him. You do what he asks. You don’t talk back, or question his authoritative presence. The two of you really are made for each other, and this is what love is.

You love him enough to relinquish your control.

And that definitely doesn’t go unrewarded.

When it comes to the more sensual side of your relationship, Scott handles you with just as much care as he does outside of the bedroom. It’s all praise and delicate touches, and while he’s the one with the proverbial — or literal — leash, he does let you set the pace. Should you be more on the shy side, he’s careful to take things slow and reassure you that everything’s okay. He’s got you covered… he’s the sturdy pillar in your life, after all.

“I’m right here, love… everything is alright. Yeah, that’s it. Good (boy/girl/pet)… let me take care of you, alright?”

Like with everything else in Scott’s life, he approaches sex with strategic planning. He takes notes of what makes your back arch and pupils dilate, utilizing your preferences even outside of the bedroom to further incentivize you to behave (not that you have a history of rebellion; just remember that Scott “plan B implies we only have 26” Summers is a man of many precautions, and that includes romantic precautions). Is it generally frowned upon to get a little frisky in public spaces? Maybe. But have faith in Scott’s judgement, as he would never risk anyone finding out.

He’s got it all under control, remember?

Scott’s kinks are pretty limited, as sex is mainly centered around you, but we’d all be lying to ourselves if he wasn’t into at least a little bit of pet-play. I mean, come on. Obedience is literally the central point of this ask. What did you expect. Yes, he has a collar for you. If you’re not into it, that’s too damn bad. He’ll convince you that it’s a symbol of how much he loves and desires you. And, hey, if you wanna be the coolest person ever, wear it as an every day item. He also likes it when you kneel at his side, even in a non-sexual context, where you just have your head resting against his thigh as he goes over paperwork.

If you’re chill and funky, you’ll know to get on all fours for him the moment he says something along the lines of, “you’ve been so good today.”

But, again, sex mainly centers around you. It’s your reward for being good, so his pleasure takes a backseat to yours. It’s his responsibility to make sure you’re properly taken care of, after all. He’ll be sure to fulfill all of your desires as long as you promise to stay by his side.