#i wanted to write something longer about this but i have too many wips so im leaving it as a thoughts post for now lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

3amfanfiction · 2 months ago

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You wrote this about Simon: “At this lieutenant, already chewed up and spit out by the world. More scars than skin at this point. You wonder how many people only see the scars and not the shivering body underneath it, waiting for a soft touch.”

I’d LOVE to read more of this - i wanna be the one to offer him the soft touch he wants so badly, maaaan! He’s just so big n’ strong but i want to let him curl up against me while i pet him until he stops shivering

This came through at the perfect time. I had the desire to write but I was picking at all my wips half heartedly bc none of the them were what I wanted.

But this? This I wanted.

So thank you again and please enjoy 1.5k words of acclimatizing Simon to soft touches.

<33

Ask referencing this post.

~~~~

He scared you, the first time you saw him.

Not because of how big he was (tall, thick, muscular) or the look in his eyes (cold, dismissive, too watchful), not even because of the scars themselves (numerous, expansive, tragic).

It was because you knew any interaction would come across as a threat. He had that look in his eyes that said he'd seen the worst of what the world had to offer and he persisted through luck and spite equally. Now he was sat in front of you, too disciplined to let his skin shiver but hating being seen. Hating that you were looking.

When you met him it was through a friend of a friend sort of thing. One of your friends was seeing a Scottish boy and invited you out for drinks with them. You had no reason to say no so you found yourself sitting at a high-top doing your best not to bother the man sitting quietly to your right.

His gruff, Simon, during introductions was the only thing he had said in the last hour, content to sit quietly and watch. Almost outside of the group even though he was sitting at the same table. You made sure to include him when you were speaking to the group, your eyes darting to each person as you spoke, not leaving anyone out. But you made sure to never direct a hard question at him that required an answer. It was all, I bet you never have a problem seeing over the crowd. or I'll grab everyone a drink while I'm up or Sorry, I'll be out of your space in a moment, my jacket was getting a little warm.

He would look at you. Every time you spoke to him he wouldn't shy away from eye contact but that was where his involvement ended. Never a head nod or shake, never a verbal answer.

By the end of the night you were positive he didn't like you. He didn't dis-like you but he didn't like you, you were pretty sure. That was okay though. You'd done your best not to infringe on his space, not wanting to step on his toes. You thought you had done a good job all around and put it out of your mind, the interaction over and done with and no longer needing to be reviewed.

What you never realized was Simon's shoulders lowered a whole inch throughout the course of the night.

\\\

You called your friend out on the number of times she invited you to hang out with Johnny and Simon, flat out asking if she and Johnny were trying to set you and Simon up through subtle double-dating.

"No!" She leaned forward grabbing your hand, her eyes looking earnestly into yours, "I promise it's not like that. Johnny told me he's pretty much all Simon has. Well, their team is. So they're always together when they're home. I don't want Simon to feel like a third wheel or left out or anything."

And you believed her. This was one of her strong suits, always looking out for others. That's probably why you two got along so well, a pair of givers, the both of you. And she had a point. The idea of Simon sitting awkwardly with the other two as his only companions made something twist in your stomach. You didn't want that for him.

So you kept seeing Simon and you kept doing your best to give him space but include him at the same time. You were shocked the first day he spoke to you but the fact that it was a bad joke made a sort of perfect sense.

"What's the best way to carve wood?"

You looked over at him in shock that this was what he chose to break the ice with. At the same time you were delighted and you couldn't help but feel giddy at the prospect of Simon telling you a joke. A bad one by the sound of it.

"How?"

"Whittle by whittle."

"That was absolutely terrible."

He smiled to himself if his eye crinkles had anything to say about it. That giddy feeling bubbling up inside you was getting unsettlingly big right about now. You looked at the ground and bit your lip to keep from a cheesy grin of your own breaking out.

Before you knew it he had no problem speaking to you. While never particularly verbose, he would respond to comments directed towards him, offer his opinion if options were offered, and kept telling awful jokes.

You were hopelessly charmed.

You broke your own rules and reached for him first.

You were sat next to him on a bench, the sun setting and the evening air cooling further. He had told you another one of his god-awful jokes when you unthinkingly swatted out with your hand, brushing his arm. His muscles jumped and his arm tensed right before you made contact as if bracing for a hit. An involuntary reaction to someone reaching for him. It was a horrifying realization.

You sobered quickly and your chuckle died off awkwardly. You turned to face forward, looking out at the street, watching for any sign of your friend or Johnny who had stepped into the store for a quick moment leaving you and Simon to find a bench while you waited. You hoped that if you didn't draw attention to it then your faux pas would pass unmentioned.

You let out a relieved sigh when Simon continued with another comment, not taking your overstepping to heart. By the time the other two had rejoined you the whole situation was forgotten, water under the bridge. You didn't think of it again until it was the end of the night with everyone about to go their separate ways.

When you said goodbye to Simon he said it back, reaching out to brush his hand down your arm in return in almost the exact same spot as where you'd touched him earlier.

Your heart skipped a beat before picking up a double pace. You couldn't help but beam at him, a wide grin splitting your face even as he grunted and turned away, likely embarrassed by your show of emotion.

Today had been a good day after all.

You thought you had ruined it for a moment there, thankful when Simon seemed to brush past it. You hadn't expected him to reciprocate in the same manner though.

Maybe he really did like hanging out with you. You never doubted it for a second.

\\\

It took time–a slow steady build to where you ended up, curled up on the couch together with Simon laying on top of you. You both had your tops off to bask in a little skin-to-skin time.

You'd been together for a few months at this point and it was like night and day to compare him to the Simon you met all that time ago. This one couldn't keep his hands off you to save his life. It was a slow warm-up to get past his walls in a way that wasn't upsetting to either of you. Soft touches that slowly built, leading to hand holding, to hugging, to kissing, to this.

You dragged your fingers slowly up his back, fingertips catching on raised scar tissue before continuing on, ever moving. He hummed into the crook of your neck where he had buried his face when you switched from fingertips to nails, gently scratching the skin.

You loved spending time like this, feeling Simon melt into you, eager for every touch he could get. If you were sitting still and Simon was in the vicinity you could bet that he would be pressed against your side before too much time had passed. Eager for the soft caresses you always had for him.

He was starved for touch and you wanted to feed him.

So you offered, again and again in the beginning–most times with no luck, to let him touch you. On the couch watching TV? Your arms would open, inviting a hug when he walked by. At the table? Your head was tilting up for a kiss if he wanted one. Passing each other in the hallway? You'd raise your hand and hold it in front of you, letting him press his big barrel chest into your palm if he wanted.

It was a slow acclimatization that brought you to today and the taste was all the sweeter for the time you had poured into it.

You lifted a hand to drag it through the spiky hairs at the back of his head, enjoying his groan of contentment. It sounded like he was already halfway asleep and you knew you wouldn't be leaving this spot for a while.

Might as well settle in and get comfortable. You familiarized him to gentle touches, now he was insatiable for them. He would be consuming them from you greedily for as long as you offered.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #i enjoyed writing this #asks #thank you nonnie for sending in this ask! i appreciate it more than you know #touch starved!simon riley #slow acclimatization #as it should be

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collaredsoldat · 3 months ago

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Silver and Garnet.

summary: Soldat hurts himself a lot.

a/n: I had another wip but I have no clue where I'm going with it so I started this one. Since someone commented the other day, I had to write another scenario specifically for this. I wrote something kinda touching this subject on my other blog but this one is exploring it better. Heed warnings, potentially triggering. Unedited. ;; wc: 4.3k

So many things to tackle with him.

You had done the hardest so far. That was good.

He was still wary around you. He avoided you.

He stayed locked in the bedroom you spared, hiding like a frightened animal. You hadn't seen him in a few days, the only evidence of his presence were the slightly eaten down bowls of broth and mashed potatoes you left for him. The untouched portions of these meals showed you just how fragile he still was, barely sustaining himself on the meager amounts he managed to consume.

His self-imposed isolation spoke volumes about the depth of his trauma, leaving you to wonder about the extent of his emotional wounds and the long road to recovery that lay ahead. You had never been a caregiver before, hell taking care of yourself proved to be hard sometimes. But now you had a responsibility for someone else, someone who really needs it.

Luckily, he had taken the opportunity to at least go to the bathroom without any sense of apprehension or unease. You often heard the shower running and he spent close to an hour in the shower at a time. You never went in to question him or why it took him so long to shower. Sometimes he'd let you wash him off, he did when he first arrived.

But for now, he liked having privacy, and you didn't blame him for wanting it.

You had been sitting on the couch and his shower had exceeded well over an hour, which was odd. Normally he only clocked close to an hour, just below sixty minutes. But he had been in the bathroom for much longer, and the shower had been running the entire time. You could spot steam peeking out from the cracks in the closed door, rising to the ceiling and fogging your apartment lightly.

Today, the shower had been running for an unusually long time, prompting you to check on him. Given his delicate health condition, you couldn't afford to be anything but vigilant. With a slight sense of concern, you gently pushed aside the warm, fuzzy blanket that had been draped over your legs. Rising from the comfortable embrace of the couch, you stretched your limbs briefly before padding across the room towards the bathroom door. The sound of running water grew louder as you approached, but there were no other noises coming from inside.

Reaching the door, you hesitated for a moment before raising your hand. You gently rapped your knuckles against the smooth surface of the door, being careful not to make too loud a sound. The last thing you wanted was to startle him in his potentially vulnerable state. "Soldat?" you called out softly, your voice barely audible over the steady stream of water, "Are you okay in there? It's perfectly fine if you're still showering, I just wanted to make sure you're doing alright. Is everything okay?"

Silence greeted you, save for the continuous patter of water against tile. The lack of response sent a small shiver of worry down your spine.

"Soldat?" you tried again, your voice a touch louder this time, tinged with growing concern. "Can I come in? Just to check on you?" You pressed your ear against the door, straining to hear any sound of movement or acknowledgment. Several long seconds ticked by, each one amplifying your unease. Still, there was no reply, not even the slightest indication that he had heard you. The silence stretched on, broken only by the relentless sound of running water, leaving you to grapple with mounting worry and indecision.

After a moment of hesitation, you decided to confront the situation head-on, pushing aside any thoughts of future repercussions. You reached out and gently grasped the cold metal of the door handle. Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you slowly turned the knob and eased the door open, the hinges creaking softly.

As the bathroom came into view, your eyes were immediately drawn to him, huddled in the corner of the shower. His form was hunched over, back pressed firmly against the tiled walls as if trying to disappear into them. The shower was running over him but instead of clear water, a steady stream of crimson flowed beneath him, swirling ominously before disappearing down the drain.

Your gaze was inevitably drawn to his right hand, it was covered in blood, fresh and glistening under the harsh bathroom lights. His nails were ragged and torn, thick chunks of flesh clung to them, the aftermath to the frenzied self-mutilation he had inflicted upon himself. The raw, exposed skin underneath looked so painful, the pieces of skin that he clearly had torn and tried to rip away from himself clear as day.

Your eyes slowly traced the contours of his body, lingering on the gleaming silver titanium that seamlessly merged with his flesh. The junction between metal and skin was marked by a vicious scar, a sight you had seen before during your previous bathing sessions. However, this time it appeared significantly more severe. The area was angry and inflamed, with fresh blood seeping from the edges, and the surrounding tissue looked far more mutilated than you recalled. The overall damage seemed to have intensified, leaving you with a sense of growing concern.

His eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed straight ahead, as if seeing something beyond the confines of the room. The vacant stare sent a chill down your spine, he looked so empty and haunted there under the steady shower. His hand trembled visibly, betraying the depth of his distress very clearly, as if his wounds weren’t enough to go off of. Words couldn’t compare to this sight alone.

"Soldat..." You whispered, your voice barely audible as you gently closed the door behind you, careful not to startle him. The soft click of the latch seemed to echo in the tense silence of the room, the shower had been muffled by now, your brain zoning the sound out in hopes he would speak. "What's going on, hm?" You asked carefully, your tone was slightly apprehensive, your approach had to be very careful. You remained rooted to the spot, instinctively knowing that approaching him too quickly might escalate the situation. Instead, you stayed put, your body language open and non-threatening. "Did you do that?"

He remained motionless, unresponsive to his surroundings, as if frozen in place. Despite the scalding temperature of the water cascading over him, he shivered uncontrollably, as if he were trapped in a blizzard. The relentless stream of hot water had turned his skin an angry, vivid red, resembling a freshly boiled lobster wherever it made contact. You slowly stepped closer, speaking up again. "Did you do that to your arm?" You repeated.

Soldat finally stirred, his trembling hand slowly reaching up to his bleeding shoulder. His nails dug deeply into the scar tissue as his gaze fixed upon the metallic surface of his prosthetic limb. Unbeknownst to you, his mind was awash with vivid, haunting memories of endless saws mercilessly cutting into his flesh. The loss of his arm hadn't been a clean, swift amputation. No, it had been a gradual, excruciating process that began around his elbow.

In the sterile confines of the laboratory, they had methodically removed the rest, piece by agonizing piece. Throughout the entire ordeal, Soldat remained horrifyingly conscious, forced to endure every moment as they systematically dismembered him, carving away at his body with the cold precision of butchers preparing a carcass.

The gruesome experience marked the beginning of his torment at the hands of HYDRA. It was merely the opening act in a long, nightmarish performance that would span decades. As hellish as this initial ordeal was, it paled in comparison to the tortures that would follow. The amputation of his arm, as brutal and inhumane as it had been, would come to be seen as almost merciful when juxtaposed against the relentless cruelty he would endure in the years to come.

The memory of the cold metal was seared into his consciousness. He could still vividly recall the sensation of the frigid prosthetic fused to his body, an unnatural extension of himself that felt more like an invasive parasite than a replacement limb. The cold was so intense it transcended mere discomfort, burning his flesh with its icy touch. In his desperation to be free of this foreign appendage, he had made numerous attempts to tear it from his body, clawing at the juncture where flesh met metal until his fingers were raw and bleeding.

HYDRA's response to these acts of defiance was characteristically brutal.

They forcibly removed his fingernails, not out of concern for his well-being, but to protect their valuable asset. In their eyes, Soldat was no longer a person, no longer human. He had been reduced to a mere object, a weapon to be wielded at their discretion, stripped of his humanity and autonomy.

They did this frequently, until he stopped clawing at himself.

He had nails now, and they served as desperate tools in his frantic attempt to extricate the metal embedded within his flesh. His prosthetic limb was a source of intense loathing; he yearned to be rid of it, to cast it off entirely. The sensations it produced were a maddening contradiction; simultaneously frigid and scorching, each moment bringing fresh waves of agony. The pain was all-encompassing, radiating from every point where flesh met metal, leaving him bewildered by its relentless intensity. Where was this torment originating from? How could this damn appendage cause such overwhelming suffering-

"Soldat, you're hurting yourself," you intervened, your voice cutting through the fog of his anguish and halting his downward spiral into self-destruction. Slowly, as if emerging from a trance, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. His fingers had burrowed beneath his skin like eager maggots, exposing the cold gleam of metal that had been forcibly inserted beneath layers of tissue and muscle. You reached out slowly, doing your best to avoid startling him. Carefully, you grasped his hand, applying just enough pressure to halt its destructive path, and gradually eased it away from his bloodied shoulder.

"There we go...oh, Soldat, look at you..." You whispered gently, watching the scalding water sear down on his wound, washing dark garnet into a watery pastel.

He whimpered softly in response, his body trembling with fear as he anticipated your reaction. You had caught him in the act, and he had been surreptitiously harming himself for some time now. His timid, apprehensive eyes slowly lifted to meet yours, filled with a mixture of dread and resignation. He fully expected you to unleash a torrent of angry words, to raise your hand against him, or to inflict some form of harsh punishment for the self-inflicted damage to his arm.

But to his surprise and confusion, you did none of those things. Unlike the cruel handlers from his past, you exhibited a gentle demeanor that was entirely foreign to him. Your actions spoke of kindness, a concept he struggled to comprehend.

"Ты не собираешься меня наказать?" He questioned hesitantly, his brow furrowed in a perplexed frown as he addressed you. His voice emerged as a barely audible whisper, weak and raspy from prolonged disuse. It sounded like he had swallowed broken glass, his throat utterly torn apart.

Prior to this moment, he had only uttered three single words on separate occasions: a tentative ‘thank you,’ a fearful ‘no,’ and a hesitant ‘yes.’ You found yourself grateful for your basic understanding of Russian, which allowed you to decipher his simple words, but full sentences would be trickier. He hadn't said a thing in English yet.

"Eh...I'm sorry, I don't understand, Soldat...but...I'm not mad." You reassured gently, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let's get you out of here and cleaned up, okay?" You spoke softly, reaching out with a steady hand towards the shower knob. With a twist, you halted the flow of water, the sudden silence amplifying the sound of his ragged breathing. His body began trembling more noticeably now, the loss of the near-boiling water leaving him exposed to the cooler air. You couldn't help but wince internally at the sight of his scalded skin, angry red compared to the rest of him. However, you forced yourself to push that concern aside for the moment. His bloody scars, still weeping and raw, demanded your immediate attention.

You allowed him to remain seated in the shower for a brief moment, giving him time to adjust. You moved towards the bathroom counter, your eyes scanning the contents of the cabinet as you opened it. Methodically, you began pulling out the necessary first aid supplies, arranging them neatly on the countertop. Your gaze flickered back to him, noting how his trembling had intensified. You carefully approached him once more with a large, soft towel draped over your arms.

“Here, I know you’re cold now.” You draped the towel over his shivering form, taking care to keep his injured shoulder exposed so you could tend to it properly. He flinched as the fabric settled around him, instinctively responding to the unusual action. You maintained your calm demeanor, choosing not to react to the flinching. “I’m going to clean this up a bit, okay? All you have to do is sit still. That’s pretty easy, right?” You tried your best to sound comforting, knowing his nerves were through the roof and he was especially fragile.

His shoulder was a gruesome sight, coated in a deep crimson layer of blood with ragged pieces of flesh hanging precariously from where he had been violently digging. You couldn't help but let out a soft, empathetic sigh as you reached for a substantial handful of sterile gauze. Kneeling beside him with careful movements, you noticed how he deliberately avoided your gaze, his eyes fixed intently on the intricate patterns of the tile floor beneath you both.

With precision, you reached up and began to gently dab at the blood-soaked area, allowing the pristine white gauze to gradually absorb the viscous red liquid, allowing the injury to become more visible to you to assess the proper kind of treatment.

The self-inflicted damage from his frantic clawing was even worse than you had initially feared. Deep, angry tears marred his shoulder, the surrounding scar tissue visibly swollen and undoubtedly hypersensitive to the touch. Despite the pain he must have been experiencing, Soldat remained remarkably still for you, permitting you to continue your ministrations as you meticulously dabbed away the excess blood.

Your heart ached at the sight, and you found yourself whispering softly, your voice barely audible in the quiet room, "Oh, Soldat…look at what you've done to yourself." Your tone was filled with compassion rather than judgment as you continued, "You must be in so much pain to have resorted to this. I wish I could take it all away."

He didn't reply, which was expected given his current state. He simply allowed you to continue dabbing at his wounds until the majority of the bleeding had subsided. The condition of his skin was a bit alarming, and you found yourself hesitating, unsure of how to properly treat such severe injuries. Your medical knowledge was limited, lacking the expertise required for advanced treatments such as suturing.

But, upon closer inspection, you felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized the wounds, while serious, weren't as bad as you had initially feared. Not bad enough for stitches at least. A few carefully applied butterfly bandages and snug gauze wrapping would be sufficient to promote healing. Besides, you hoped his enhanced healing might help aid on this too.

"I'm going to start wrapping you up now, okay? I'll also need to apply some bandages over certain areas to help keep the skin together. You're being so brave and cooperative," you said, your words of encouragement causing his eyes to lift slightly, meeting yours. The subtle shift in his demeanor made your heart rate quicken, a warmth spreading through your chest as you sensed him beginning to trust you. "I need you to remain as still as possible while I do this. Can you manage that for me?"

After a moment of consideration, he responded with a soft, barely audible, "...да." The Russian affirmation, though brief, conveyed his understanding and compliance.

You offered him a warm, reassuring smile as you began the delicate process of tending to his wounds. You carefully cleaned each injury using soft cotton balls soaked in a mild antiseptic solution. You winced slightly as you dabbed the open wounds but he hadn’t flinched at all, despite knowing the antiseptic stung. Once the cleaning was complete, you applied bandages to the areas where his skin had been broken, taking extra care to position them for optimal healing. For the scar itself, you had a handful of things. First laying down a layer of soft, cushioning gauze to help with any bleeding that might occur, you then wrapped it with an adherent bandage to keep everything in place.

Throughout the entire process, he observed you intently, his gaze alternating between your focused expression and the various medical supplies you used. His eyes searched quickly for anything sharp, but he didn’t see anything like that. This experience was entirely new to him; never before had he been allowed to witness the ministrations performed on him.

The HYDRA scientists had preferred to keep him in the dark, relishing his startled reactions to unexpected pain or discomfort. It was so different to your approach. They liked watching him struggle against the bindings he was kept in, then used it as an excuse to hurt him more, as if his very valid reaction to being cut open with a scalpel or stabbed with a needle was unwarranted. But nothing you did hurt. You were so careful, like you were afraid to hurt him.

"There...all done." You hummed gently, a soft smile playing on your lips as you looked up to him once the bandages were securely fastened in place. Your eyes scanned over your handiwork, ensuring everything was just right. "Now, I want you to take it easy, okay? Don't push yourself too hard. But if it happens to come undone or feels uncomfortable, just let me know. I can always redo it for you." You reassured him, your voice warm and caring. Taking a small step back, you gave him some space, understanding that he might need a moment to adjust to the new sensation of the bandages.

Soldat, still silent, gripped the towel tighter and wrapped the damp fabric around himself, creating a cocoon of sorts. The quiet that enveloped the room was almost tangible, broken only by the soft dripping of water. You watched him carefully, noting how he seemed to be taking inventory of his newly bandaged body. In your mind, you surmised that he probably needed a few seconds to get accustomed to the feeling of the bandages against his skin, perhaps even testing their flexibility as he moved.

After what felt like an eternity but was likely only a minute or two, Soldat made a move to stand. His legs were a bit unsteady, trembling slightly under his weight as he rose. He took cautious steps out of the shower, leaving behind a trail of water droplets. He came to a stop directly in front of you, close enough that you could feel the residual warmth from his shower-heated skin. His still-wet hair continued to release tiny rivulets of water, the droplets trailing down his face and neck before disappearing into the towel.

Your eyes were drawn to his, those steel blue irises that always seemed to hold so much depth. As you gazed into them, trying to decipher his thoughts, you realized that while they were as inscrutable as ever, there was something there. A look, a silent request perhaps. He seemed to be seeking something more from you, though you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

"Alright, let's get you properly dried off," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. Your hands moved of their own accord, grasping the edges of the towel he held. "And then... well, I think we should get you settled comfortably in the living room. How does that sound?" As you spoke, you began to gently pat him dry, your movements careful and considerate, especially around the newly bandaged areas. The act felt intimate, you had done it before, but it felt different this time.

He was carefully dried off and dressed in clean, comfortable clothes before being gently guided to the living room. You led him to the spot where you had been sitting earlier, allowing him to sink into the warm impression left by your body. As you draped your thick, cozy blanket over his legs, he instinctively pulled it up higher, cocooning himself in its comforting weight. His tense muscles began to relax as he nestled deeper into the soft folds, finding a small measure of solace in the simple act of being warm and protected.

You settled yourself beside him, your eyes drawn to the bandages adorning his shoulder. You broached the subject that had been weighing on your mind, wondering about his habits, "Do you do that a lot, Soldat?" The question hung in the air, your tone carefully modulated to convey genuine concern rather than accusation or judgment.

For what felt like an eternity, he remained silent, his eyes fixed on some distant point. Just as you began to think he wouldn't respond at all, he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Да." The single word, spoken so softly you almost missed it, carried the weight of countless untold stories.

"Why?" you pressed gently, hoping to coax him into opening up, to share even a fragment of the burden he carried. You yearned to understand, to offer whatever comfort or support you could. Your underground research on HYDRA had come up short, you hadn’t discovered much yet, and many of the released files the Black Widow had released were heavily encrypted. But as quickly as that tiny crack in his armor had appeared, it vanished. His lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line, and the brief, guarded glance he cast in your direction spoke louder than words.

Without uttering another word, he had made it abundantly clear that this line of inquiry would go no further. The wall between you, momentarily weakened, had been fortified once more.

"I understand... you don't want to talk about it right now. That's perfectly okay," you reassured gently, your voice filled with compassion. "I want you to know that if you ever feel the urge to hurt yourself again, you can come to me. I'm here for you, and I'll do everything in my power to help you through it." You offered this support sincerely, hoping that your words would resonate with him and provide some comfort. Your intention was to show him that there were alternative ways to cope with his pain, rather than resorting to self-harm. You wanted to be a source of safety and understanding he could turn to.

He remained silent, but you could see that your words were having an impact. His eyes, previously averted, briefly met yours, conveying a mix of vulnerability and gratitude. Then, he slowly shifted his position on the couch. He leaned closer to you, gradually lowering his head until it rested lightly on your leg. He was using your thigh as a makeshift pillow, a huge sign of the trust he was placing in you. It was an incredibly significant step forward in your relationship, a wordless acknowledgment of the connection between you.

You knew this was a big gesture, how much security he must feel for him to allow himself this closeness. Considering he never allowed himself to lay down around you, this was a big step in the right direction. As he settled, he pulled the blanket higher, adjusting it to cover himself more fully. He was positioned to lay on his uninjured flesh shoulder, seeking relief for the wounded one and to be covered by the blanket for some extra security, you knew he didn’t like feeling exposed.

Your hand, trembling slightly with the weight of the moment, slowly descended towards his damp hair. You were acutely aware of your own nervousness, not wanting to make any misstep that might shatter this fragile trust. This unexpected display of vulnerability had caught you by surprise, and you wanted to handle it carefully. Your fingers gently made contact with his hair, gently running through his chestnut locks in a soothing gesture. Your touch was light and tentative, massaging and lightly scratching at his scalp as he laid there.

Soldat permitted this rare moment of complete vulnerability. He was feeling particularly exposed and fragile, yet he felt secure enough in your presence to lay beside you. To lay on you. The comfort he found in your company was evident as you both settled in to watch television together.

The episode progressed, you noticed a gradual change in Soldat's subtle movements on your thigh. His breathing began to slow and deepen, becoming more rhythmic with each passing minute. Before long, the weight of his body pressed more heavily against you as he drifted off into a peaceful slumber. You looked down to make sure you weren’t just imagining things.

Soldat felt safe enough in your presence to completely let his guard down and fall asleep.

It was a clear indication to the trust he placed in you, a rare and precious gift from someone who typically kept the world at arm's length upon severe conditioning. The simple act of Soldat falling asleep beside you spoke volumes about the growing bond you had, your chest warming and swelling with warmth as you observed his sleeping form.

You couldn't help the smile that spread on your face.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Cover images from Pinterest

I had a few people inquire about being tagged for my fics, if anyone is still be interested in being on a tag list, please let me know.

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #winter soldier x you #catws #captain america the winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #blythewrites⛓

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prettiestgrlinthemorguexo · 11 months ago

Text

Swipe (Lucifer Morningstar x reader) Preview

This is a preview of my WIP fanfic for Lucifer, it’s a three parter and this is a small about of part 1, since it’s still a WIP it’s not yet proof read :) Description: after his divorce, he finally gets back into the dating game…through a dating app :)

Please note I’m writing this before the release of ep7 and ep8 so-

Takes place between ep 5 and right before ep 6

I wrote nearly 98% of this at like 3 AM-

Warning: Lucifer being a dork, Lucifer being a dorky dad, age gap(reader died at like 25 and Lucifer is like a good few thousands years old so), talk of divorce, Charlie being a supportive daughter, I’ve never used a dating apps so i might get info wrong, Lucifer doesn’t know modern day technology or slang, lying

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

Lucifer’s POV

“Charlie, are you sure about this?” I ask still hesitant, I knew Charlie just wanted to help and had the best intentions, but a dating app? “Of course!” Charlie exclaimed, face lite up. “It’s perfect! You get to meet people without the face to face interactions!” Charlie said downloading the app, viva by Voxtech.

Charlie’s was more excited than I was, I wanted to meet people but an app? I can’t help but feel my heart race and my body get heavy, why was I this nervous. In the middle of my overthinking Charlie handed me the phone, it had a profile made it had my name and many details. It felt like I was giving it to all 9 rings of hell! “Ok! How we gotta add some photos an-“

“Charlie!”

We both turned are head to see Alastor and Vaggie standing there. “Can you help with something real quick?” Vaggie ask seeming annoyed. “Of course!” Charlie’s called back before as standing up. “You go ahead and add those photos dad I’ll be back!” Charlie said as she ran to the two, leaving me alone on the couch staring at the screen.

I read over the info and it all was so…personal. How would anyone be comfortable putting this much out? I Don’t get me started with being the King of Hell it’s self, then an idea popped in my head. I turn my head slightly to see Charlie still talking to the pair so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I added photos of my duck inventions and made a duck with a white top hat as my ‘icon’. Now onto the name, Lucifer was too out there everyone would know, think! L names that are similar.

Lucifer..

Luci…

Luc…

Luca..

Luca! I instantly think changing the name quickly, removing the last name from the profile along with it. After that it looked like a normal profile. When I finished and satisfied with it Charlie was walking back over. “Sorry bout that dad! Now back to w-.” While she was speaking I shove my phone in my pocket and stand up. “No it’s fine! I set it up!” I nearly screamed it out as I stood from the couch. Charlie stared at me shock for a moment before her normal bright smile returned to her face. “Wow that’s great!” She said as she walked over “Look at you getting the hang of technology!” Charlie said happily. I didn’t know why I was so nervous by an app, but it was on my mind. After finishing talking to Charlie I was able to leave, soon I was back in my bedroom. I let out a sigh and feel onto the massive bed and pulled out my phone, Viva still open.

Y/N POV

Left..Left..Left..

God this app was a never ending app of swiping left on people wanting hook-ups was tiring. This was the last time I’d take F/N advice and use a dating app, the fact they exist in hell was already surprising. It was nude after nude of people looking for a hookup. Then something different popped up, instead of the naked body I almost have gotten used to, I was greeted by a rubber duck with a white top hat. My eyes widen a bit as I layed there I swipped to look at the second photo, more ducks. I then moved and read the bio. “Luca..” I said quietly to myself reading the short info. I looked at the photos and the bio, it stood out in the sea of profile, i stair a while longer…

…Right.

#x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #Lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x you

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monsterfuker3000 · 11 months ago

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You Call the Shots, Babe ༺♡༻

Hi kittens, mommy’s had a rough one and that’s why it’s been since October since I published anything lol. My now-ex boyfriend broke up with me and it thrust me head first into my man-hating era and I couldn’t write to save my life. I’m not happy with this fic but I had to publish SOMETHING bc it’s been rotting in my WIP folder forever. Enjoy, my stinkies 🩷

WARNINGS: p in v sex, perv!Leon, unprotected sex, mentions of male masturbation, a lil bit of footjob action/very light CBT, Leon is a two pump chump I’m sorry, creampie as always, uhhh you degrade him and stuff but he’s Leon so he gets off to that, idk RE2R Leon strikes me as a panty thief who would get off on being told he’s a pervert so that’s what I wrote lol

Word count: 3k words of Leon being a perv

“Leon?” you called.

“Yes?”

“Why do you have my fucking panties?”

Movie night with Leon was always unnecessarily complicated. It very nearly felt like it took him hours to get settled; he needed the right snacks for the two of you, the right drinks, the right comfy clothes, the right movie. If he put much more effort into every movie night, it would start to feel like a date. Not that he’d mind that.

You, however, seemed like you would mind. He had tried like hell to hint to you that he wanted something more than friendship; brushing his hand against yours whenever he could, resting his hand at the small of your back in a manner that was much more than friendly, letting his gazes linger a bit longer than they needed to. But you? Dear, distant, unmovable you? Never once reciprocated his affections. Leon was desperate for you.

That’s why the movie nights came about; they were the closest Leon could get to a date night, and by God did he push the envelope. He’d spend every movie night with an arm around your shoulder, both of you under the same blanket. He’d behave himself, keep his hand a where they belonged, but all the while he’d have to try like hell to conceal the hard-on he’d be sporting every time. He felt pathetic, jerking off to the thought of you every night after you’d leave. That’s when he started stealing your panties.

It started out with just one pair he’d seen discarded on top of your hamper in your room, too careless to hide it before he came over. He’d snuck them into his pocket, vowing to himself they he would return them the next time he was at your place. Only he didn’t return them, and he did do it again.

He jumped at every chance to spend time at your place instead of his, sneaking another pair from you nearly every time. You had to be wondering where they kept going, but as long as his operation was still going off without a hitch, he was going to keep stealing them.

Then came the hitch.

You had come over for the aforementioned movie night, barging in after work without knocking like you owned the place, not that Leon minded.

“Lee!” You whined, “It’s cold out! How come you have to live so far from where I work?” You continued your lament as you kicked off your shoes by the door and walked further into the apartment toward the kitchen. Leon poked his head out from the doorway, pointing to his bedroom door.

“Go grab one of my hoodies or something if you’re cold, I’m making popcorn, so help yourself!” He busied himself with the popcorn once again as he heard you turn and walk toward his room, thanking him as you walked away.

“Leon?” you called.

“Yes?”

“Why do you have my fucking panties?”

His heart immediately dropped into his stomach, remembering just how many pairs of your used panties were tucked away in his drawer. The volume and variety would have been impressive if he didn’t feel downright creepy.

He slunk towards his room like a child expecting to be scolded, and his face reddened when he stepped into the doorway. You had your arms crossed, one of his favorite pairs of your panties dangling from one finger

It was a little baby-pink number; cotton, his favorite, with delicate lace around waistband that he couldn’t get enough of. Memories flashed through his head of just what perverted things he’d done with the scraps of cloth spilling out of the drawer you’d apparently yanked open.

He loved to jerk off with them wrapped around his cock, eyes closed and head falling back, sometimes with another pair pressed to his nose to inhale your scent. The worst thing he did, however, embarrassed even him; he loved to jerk off directly into the crotch of your panties, imagining that the reason they were covered in his cum was because it had spilled out of you. This was his favorite of all of his dirty fantasies about you, and imagining that the panties in his hand were soiled because you’d finally let him fuck you would often make him have to touch himself a second time.

“I saw these sticking out of your drawer, and I thought they looked familiar,” you said flatly.

He forced himself to return to the present at your words, fidgeting a bit to try to hide the half-chub that refused to go down even in the face of such profound shame. You cocked an eyebrow, looking all too relaxed given the situation the two of you were in.

“I asked you a question, Leon,” you reminded him. “Why do you have so many pairs of my panties? And I know theyre mine, don’t try to tell me they aren’t,’ you added, effectively crushing to death the only chance at redemption he thought he might have.

“Um, well. . .” He trailed off immediately, completely unable to tear his eyes away from the panties swinging from your hand, not sure how he was going to get out of this one. “I don’t- I. . . It’s beacuse-“

“I know why you have them,” you cut him off, his eyes finally snapping up to meet yours before the embarrassment made him duck away again. “It’s because youre a fucking pervert.”

His heart dropped; this was it. You were disgusted with him, you were going to leave his apartment and never come back, you were going to tell everyone you knew that he was a disgusting panty thief, never to be trusted. However, there was no hiding the full-blown hard-on he was now sporting, thanks to the insult. His face reddened more, if that was even possible. Your eyes flicked down to his crotch, and the scowl you’d been wearing slowly turned into a smirk.

“I’m so sorry, I-“ he began, but you cut him off yet again.

“You’re not sorry you did it,” you salked toward him. “You’re sorry you got caught.’ You were right on the money, as usual, but before Leon could even try to get a word in edgewise, you spoke again. “I think you need to be punished.”

What?

His confusion must have been clear on his face, because you continued.

“What, cat got your tongue?” You teased. “Take your pants off, Leon,” you said. It very obviously wasnt a request.

This felt like a trap to Leon, but he figured things couldn’t get any worse, and so help him he was going to do whatever you asked of him in the hopes it might smooth things over. He cleared his throat, reaching for the drawstring of his sweatpants as you began to slowly circle around him. He felt very much like a cornered animal.

“O-okay,” he finally spoke, albeit haltingly as he slowly pulled at the tie on his pants.

“Tell me, Lee, what have you been doing with all the panties you’ve been stealing, hm? Be specific. And hurry up with your pants, I don’t like waiting when im already impatient.”

God, what were you going to do to him? He tried like hell not to very his hopes up, but he hoped to God this was going to end well for him.

“W-well,” he began, sliding his pants off as he spoke, nervous but still eager to find out what was going to happen next. “I mean, I jack off with them. . .” He trailed off, clearly not wanting to be any more forthcoming than that. He chanced a look at your face again, hoping what little he told you was sufficient, but of course not.

“Tell me more, Lee. And look at me when you do it,” you added. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his eyes on you while he spoke.

“I wrap them around. . . Around my cock and I, well, I jack off with them, ‘nd then I. . .” He trailed off yet again, cheeks burning bright red, afraid to try your patience but far too embarrassed to get it all out at once. He took a deep breath. “And I like to. . . To finish in the crotch,’ he finally finished.

“Why?” You asked simply. He wasnt prepared to answer that one. He cleared his throat again, and mumbled something, turning away. “Come again?” You asked. He huffed out a breath and looked back up at you, tears very nearly welling up in his eyes from the humiliation but still hard as a rock.

“I said I like to imagine theyre filled with my cum because you put them back on after I fucked you!” He nearly yelled, frustrated with the interrogation. A few embarrassed tears he hadn’t even noticed finally spilled from his eyes and he wiped them away roughly with his sleeve, knowing he had no right to cry.

“I figured,” you replied flatly. How were you staying so calm about this? You’d just found out your best friend had been stealing your panties for the past few months! Leon opened his mouth to ask you just this, but you moved lighting-quick, stuffing the panties into his open mouth and covering it with your hand, swatting away hips hands when he instinctively reached up to push you away.

Holy shit. You just stuffed your panties in his mouth.

“Kneel,” you told him, and his knees were on the floor without a second’s hesitation, placing his hands down on the tops of his thighs. You walked around him, adding the instruction to be careful not to spit them out, and he could hear you once again digging around in the drawer behind him. you gasped behind him, reaching out from behind him to range another pair inches from his nose before snatching it back.

“Leon, these are my favorite!” You cried indignantly. “I’ve been looking for them forever, you pervert,’ you added. God, there was that word again. It absolutely shouldn’t have made his cock twitch in his boxers, but it did anyway. “Hands behind your back,” you instructed him, and he obeyed, wondering what you had in mind. His eyes widened when he felt you twist that second pair of panties around his wrists, essentially improvising a pair of handcuffs. You walked around him again to stand in front of him, and he looked up at you expectantly, tears long-dried. “Try not to rip those, I like them,” you said simply, before sitting on his bed and pressing your socked foot to his crotch without another warning.

He cried out as best he could with a mouthful of your panties, nearly doubling over from the sensation. You were pressing harder than should have been pleasurable, but between how wound up you had him and how long he’d wanted you to touch his cock, he was still in heaven. As you slid your foot up his cock, he wished with everything in him that he didn’t still have his boxers on; that he could feel the friction and not just the pressure, delicious as it was. You leaned back, surveying your work, all the while still working your foot up and down his cock.

“You like that, Leon?” You teased, propped up on your hands. Of course he liked that. Of course you knew he liked that, but how could you not tease him like this?

Your curled your toes gently over the head of his cock, squeezing a bit with your toes. He was sensitive, so fucking sensitive, and he bucked up into your touch with another muffled cry.

“Ah-ah,” you admonished him. “I didn’t say you could move.”

Leon whined again at this, worried you were going to stop touching him, but far too afraid of that prospect to do anything about it.

Instead of withdrawing your foot Ike he expected, you pressed the ball of your foot against his cock, hard. You meant this as a punishment, of course, but poor Leon was so very on edge that he came in his boxers, shaking as he dampened the crotch of them along with your foot.

“Leon. . .” You sighed with a deep frown, one that would have made his heart clench had all his blood not been allocated elsewhere. “You really are a pervert,” you scolded. God, there was that word again. Leon knew at this point that this was all a game, but he couldn’t help the way that word made him feel. Pathetic. Dirty. Unbelievably horny.

You stood, looming over him as he looked up at you with wide eyes.

“I was worried about the rest of my plans for you, but it looks like youre still hard,” you remarked, nudging his overly sensitive cock with your foot and pulling a surprised yelp from him. To his shock, you unbuttoned your pants and slid them off along with your panties all in one go. The way his eyes flicked over to the panties you discarded to the side wasnt lost on you.

“Don’t be greedy, Leon. You have more than enough,” you teased. You knelt on the ground in front of him, pushing against his chest and knocking him off balance to sit flat on the floor with his back to his dresser, hands still bound behind him with your panties. You straddled him, hovering over his cock so close that he could feel the heat and wetness of your pussy. He didn’t dare move after what happened last time.

You decided to grant him just a little relief, using your hand to slide his cock shallowly through your folds, Upand down, up and down. His head hit the dresser behind him with a thunk, a deep groan tearing itself from his throat. Then finally, fucking finally, you slid down onto his cock, taking him to the hilt.

He tore his eyes away from the ceiling, and they nearly popped out of his head as he took in the sight in front of him. His cock had completely disappeared inside of you, your clit resting against his pelvis. He was mesmerized for just a moment before you lifted your hips and slammed them back down, earning another muffled shout from him as his head hit the dresser again.

You began a brutal pace right off the bat, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your moans; yours were completely unbridled, his were still dampened by the panties he absolutely wasnt spitting out.

You reached up to place a hand against his cheek, patting it softly before pulling your hand back and delivering an earnest slap. It took him by surprise and he bucked into you again, but you seemed to let that transgression slide. You squeezed his cheeks with one hand, forcing him to look at you.

“Fucking disgusting, Leon. I should spit in your face for stealing and doing such nasty shit with my things,” you said through gritted teeth, hips still rolling against him. God, he was going to cum way too soon again. Sweat rolled down the side of his face with the effort he was exerting trying to hold off his orgasm.

“‘M gonna cum,” you moaned, and it was like he saw the light at the end of the tunnel. “You wanna cum in me Leon? You wanna fill me up with your cum? Of course you do, you fucking sicko,” and Leon knew he had just seconds.

Finally, with a last, particularly strong roll of your hips, you came. As your pussy pulsed around him, Leon came as well, filling you with his cum and thrusting up into you in earnest now, though he was too fucked-out to notice and correct himself.

As soon as your breathing evened a bit, you stood abruptly, the friction against Leon’s softening cock startling him along with the overstimulation. You hooked the panties in his mouth with your finger to yank them out and he choked a bit, his mouth dry. He was speechless as you shook out the slightly damp panties and slid them on with a snap of the waistband.

You bent over in front of him, showing him that the thin gusset of the panties was wet enough with his spit that it had gone slightly translucent. He could see your pussy lips through the wet fabric, and nearly passed out when he watched the wet patch spread as his cum began to spill out of you and onto the panties, just like he’d jacked off to so many times. If he wasn’t so mindful of not wanting to rip the panties that were still wrapped around his wrists, he probably would have pulled you toward him to fill you up with even more of his cum.

You walked around behind him to untangle him and free his arms. As soon as you did though, his hair stood on end remembering what he’d been caught with earlier. He whirled around, still on his knees to look up at you with big, pleading blue eyes.

“I’m so, so sorry, I know it’s gross that I was taking your panties-“

“Leon,” you interrupted him. “Why do you think my used panties were always on the top of my hamper? No girl would leave her panties visible like that if she knows someone is coming over. I wanted you to find them.” You turned and walked out toward the kitchen before turning back to him and seeing his jaw practically on the ground again. “You might wanna check on your popcorn, Lee.”

I’m on twelve Vicodins smoking on Scooby-Doo dick

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #re4 leon #leon kennedy reader #re leon #resident evil leon #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy fanfic #leonkennedyfanfiction #re2 #re2 leon #Spotify

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jojojoy1 · 2 years ago

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I thought I lost you- Lando Norris

Lando Norris x reader

A/N: so this isn't on my wip list but I got some inspiration to write and 4 hours and 1.1k words later I have this, enjoy.

Sunday. You loved Sundays, getting to see Lando race, getting to experience the joy with him. You also dreaded Sundays though. The fear and the worry doesn't disappear no matter how many races you attend.

Lando was just about to get in the car, helmet on and focused. Just before he stepped into the cockpit, you grabbed his hand.

"Be careful out there. I need you back here in one piece." You kissed his helmet, leaving a lipstick stain. You couldn't see Lando's whole face, but you could see in his eyes that he was smiling.

"I'm always careful." He said in his usual cheery voice, hands on your waist as yours rested on his chest.

"Just be extra careful, okay? I love you." Your tone changed slightly, clearly worrying.

"Hey, I'll be careful, don't worry. I love you too."

After that Lando was hurried into the car, no longer in your arms, no longer right next to you. You were normally quite calm at races, but something was different. You had this gut feeling telling you something was going to go wrong.

The start of the race was smooth sailing. Lando had made up a few places and there had been no red or yellow flags so far. But you still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

That's when your whole world came crashing down on top of you. You didn't know how to react, so you didn't. You sat there in complete shock and fear. The words of David Croft replaying in your mind: Lando Norris and George Russell have hit each other. Norris has flipped, he's spun straight into the wall.

The car had spun into the wall upside-down, with Lando inside. Your Lando. Your World. Your everything. And there was nothing you could do but sit there and wait. It felt like time had stopped but was moving rapidly all at once.

No message had come through on Lando's radio. No indication of if he was okay. The waiting killed you. Watching the screens as the marshals ran to help him.

You wanted to move, you wanted to run to him. You wanted to scream and shout. You wanted to cry. But you couldn't. You couldn't move, you couldn't scream and you couldn't even cry. You were frozen.

A frantic shaking had brought you out of your trance. It was Carlos. He seemed out of breath, as though he got out of his car and ran directly to you.

"Are you okay, cariño?"

You tried to speak, the words on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came out. Carlos immediately knelt down to the height of the chair you were sitting on and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. His hands started stroking your hair soothingly. The first tear fell onto his shoulder as Carlos whispered comforting words into your ear. Suddenly, you were a train wreck, going from zero to a hundred in a second.

Carlos pulled away to look at the screens still showing Lando's wreck. Your eyes followed to see that Lando had been pulled from the car and was being taken to the ambulance on a stretcher.

"I need to go with him." You blurted out, the first thing to leave your mouth since the start of this nightmare. You arose from the chair hastily, however, your legs felt like they had disappeared from beneath you and you tumbled. Carlos caught you, enveloping your legs in his arms as he was still crouched down. He helped you sit back down and held your hands before he started talking.

"Y/n, you're in no state to go anywhere right now."

"I need to be with him, Carlos." You pleaded with the man in front of you.

"Then I'll come with you, cariño."

"But the race. When it restarts-"

"I'm coming with you." Carlos interrupted your frantic excuses. He didn't care about the race anymore. His best friend just got into a horrific crash and was in the hospital and you were having, what could only be described as, a breakdown.

"Thank you." You whispered as Carlos stood up, pulling you to your feet and helping you find your balance.

Carlos drove you both to the hospital. Your anxiety through the roof at this point. Leg bouncing up and down. Hands fidgeting. Shifting in your seat constantly.

When you arrived the nurses told you: He's in surgery, you'll have to wait.

So you waited. And waited. And waited.

Four hours later, a doctor entered the deserted waiting room. "Are you two here for Mr Norris?"

Your head shot up. "Is he okay?"

"Why don't you come and look for yourself."

The doctor led you to Lando's room. He was asleep on the bed. He looked peaceful and the parts of his body that weren't covered in a blanket looked virtually untouched, like the crash had never happened.

"I'll leave you two with him. There's a button you can press to alert a nurse if anything is wrong."

"Thank you." You and Carlos both thanked the doctor and entered the room.

You sat down on the chair next to Lando, Carlos at the foot of the bed. You carefully held his hand as the floodgates reopened. You couldn't control the tears. Seeing Lando laying in a hospital bed is not what you had expected when you woke up this morning.

You rested your forehead against his chest, feeling him breath and hearing his heart beating. You continued to sob in the nearly silent room, so overwhelmed by the events of today.

You felt a very soft squeeze, really it was a tap, to your hand. You lifted your head from Lando's chest to see his eyes just barely open. A cute, cheeky smiled adorned his face.

"Hi." He croaked out in a faint, weak voice.

"Hi." You smiled through the tears at Lando. Admiring his beautiful eyes you thought you'd never gaze into again. Feeling his soft curls you thought you'd never run your fingers through again. Cherishing his pink lips you thought you'd never kiss again.

Your hand reached up to tangle in his hair, your eyes following the movement. "I thought I lost you." You whispered, if you could even called it that. You could barely hear yourself, but Lando heard you.

"You can't get rid of me that easily." He laughed, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"I love you." You spoke softly, relief washing over you.

"I love you too." You lent down and gently pressed you lips against Lando's, trying to memorise how he felt and tasted.

"I love you too, Lando. Do I get a kiss?" Carlos spoke up from the foot of the hospital bed.

"Obviously. Get over here."

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gffa · 1 year ago

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I would like to say I've slowed down a bit on BATFAMILY fic over the last month, but that's kind of a lie because fandom has put out some absolute banger longer fics and I've been reading a lot of comics (can you believe how many comics I've been enjoying?? I have never felt so spoiled for choice!), so I still feel like I'm inhaling everything as fast as I can go and it's GREAT. It's a constant stream of crying about fictional characters in canon, crying about fictional characters in sad fic scenarios, crying about fictional characters in happy fic scenarios, and crying about fictional characters because other people care about our babies, too. Also, I have decided I no longer have a Dick Grayson Problem that you must all suffer through to get some variety in the recs, but instead I have a Dick Grayson Solution. You're all welcome. But I'll mix it up a bit just for you guys, so hopefully you find something fun to read no matter your fave and have a good time, because this fandom has been knocking it out of the park with the fic that has given me a good time, READ AND CRY WITH ME, OKAY. BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I'M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ Grounded by WingFeathers, dick & bruce & clark & wally & ma kent & pa kent & background clark/bruce & cast, 60.4k In the early days of the Justice League, Bruce is out more and more frequently on League missions, and Dick (age 13) is growing more and more restless and lonely stuck at home. His friends can't know he's Robin, and there are no superheroes Dick's age--or so he thinks, until Bruce receives a call from Barry, desperately seeking mentorship advice. Dick asks to meet the Flash's new sidekick, but Bruce refuses; a fight ensues, ending in Dick getting grounded. One week in Gotham off patrol, and then two weeks alone, far from Gotham... at a little family farm in Smallville, Kansas. And hey, if a certain Midwestern speedster sidekick just so happens to turn up, that'd be just fine. Or would it?

✦ trust in serum by deargalileo, dick & bruce & alfred & clark, 15.7k "I believe the serum is a mixture of chemicals that compels the target to be completely honest, even against their own will." "You got hit with a truth serum?" Bruce winced as Dick's voice reached a high pitch. "Really?!" "Yes, really."

✦ Storge by CKBookish, dick & bruce & alfred, 5.4k “Your dad must have his hands full with you.” Elizabeth Ribbons leaned forward and patted Dick’s shoulder, as he reached for yet another slice of cheesecake from a passing waiter’s tray. Bruce fixed his eyes on the ice sculpture that hid him from view. It suddenly seemed like the most interesting design in the world. The soft lines of the ice on the otherwise insignificant over sized swan seemed like a lead shield... Because Dick would read it easily in his expression. He wanted to be Dick’s dad. But he wasn’t.

✦ Robin Wings by JeanjacketCarf, dick & clark & bruce & cast, 3.4k Clark wakes in a panic, unsure what has jarred him from his sleep. Until he notices Robin's absence from Batman's side.

✦ Hey! He Attempted a Coup! by PandasandDucks13, dick & bruce & clark & justice league & cast, 6.8k wip What if Dick Grayson was a Kryptonian?

✦ grief mosaic by newsical, dick & bruce & alfred & leslie, 1.3k Grief paints Dick’s days in muted shades of red and yellow and green. He grows to expect sleepless nights and sweat-drenched sheets. In turn, he finds late night companions in Alfred, with his old movies and stories, and Bruce, who wears the colors of his own grief to prevent its spread to others. Dr. Thompkins writes a letter to Bruce diagnosing Dick with PTSD.

✦ before this ends by emavee, dick & bruce, 2.5k Mr. Wayne would definitely be angry if he knew what Dick was planning, but it’s not as if Dick is going to be here long anyway. Might as well take the opportunity to fly one last time, while he still has the chance.

✦ A Light at the End of the Tunnel by dizarys, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.6k Maybe the parenting and grieving books he skimmed the highlights from last week–and Alfred–were right. Why else would Dick have approached their newest case with such ferocity and determination? At first, Bruce chalked it up to empathy. Seeing another child crying after his parents were murdered was something Batman and Robin could relate to.

✦ Last Night of Sadness by gothamshero (emhyr), dick & bruce & slade & william cobb, 6.1k Dick Grayson has to take liberties when he’s a civilian, but he still knows when he’s being followed.

✦ Starlings in Winter by FromStarstuff, dick & bruce & clark & cast, 18k wip When Dick was eleven years old he ran away from Gotham. No one could quite figure out why. Take your pick; there was a fight at school, a circus in town, and a song he can’t remember the melody of. Eleven-year-old Dick Grayson was flooded with grief, swimming in it, perpetually drowning. One day it was too much.

✦ What Defines A Father by Browniesarethebest, dick & bruce & justice league & cast, 7.7k wip Batman hasn't known the newly formed Justice League long enough to trust them, but he's willing to put everything on the line when the one thing he cares for most is taken somewhere he can't easily follow.

✦ Stolen Son by springfox (dallystrings), dick & bruce & cast, 8.6k Bruce’s heartbeat sped up, but he leveled his breathing to remain clear headed. After another thirty seconds he abandoned the cart and walked briskly through the store, searching every row in a growing panic. “Dick?” he called, “Dick, can you hear me? Where are you, chum?”

BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ Learning Experience by strikeyourcolors, dick & bruce, 2.3k "Does it ever get easier?" Dick asks. Bruce isn't technically old enough to be his father biologically, but those deep blue eyes are looking at him as a child beseeching a parent. "Some nights I feel like I can't do this anymore, Bruce. I can't be Nightwing."

✦ Rainbow Puppies by zombiesbecrazy, dick & bruce, 2.4k Bruce really wanted to hate Pamela Isley right now, but all that he could focus on was how much he admired the way she passionately fought for her beliefs and how he could applaud her application of her educational background into practical endeavors to her cause, however misguided. Being hit with one of Ivy's toxins has Bruce babbling like a fool.

✦ the business of the very few by dustorange, dick & bruce, 4.2k “I was trying,” Bruce says, “to respect your privacy.”

✦ notches in the door frame by dizarys, dick & bruce, 2.1k Bruce hadn't been prepared for his days or nights to feel so empty. And he wasn't sure how to interact with the young man before him now. Because Robin didn't need Batman anymore. --- A patrol gone wrong forces Bruce and Dick to finally talk about Robin becoming Nightwing and feelings they'd been avoiding.

✦ No Comfort in the Shade by mx_chrx99, dick & bruce, 3.4k Dick Grayson is having a hard time and Bruce is there to help.

✦ The Long Distance by takadainmate, dick & bruce, 1.2k Down here they're not Batman and Nightwing. They’re Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. But they still fight.

BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ tender will fall by dizarys, dick & bruce & donna & jason & cast, 3.5k When the Titans are devastated in an attack, they go to Batman in a last ditch effort to rescue one of their own.

✦ the hardest part by emavee, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & cass, no powers au, 5.8k Dick is dreading his eighteenth birthday and everything that it means for him as a foster kid. His time with his family is running out, and he needs to be prepared for what comes next, to be on his own again.

✦ 5 Times Dick Grayson Was Grateful for His Insomnia + 1 Time He Wasn't by avengemyheart, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & alfred & wally, 5.7k Dick can't sleep, but that's a good thing. He finds himself helping the people he cares about late at night throughout the years. Eventually though, everyone realizes just how intense his insomnia can get. Or: A 5 +1 thing about Dick's insomnia.

✦ A Darker Shade of Gotham by JackHawksmoor, dick & bruce & tim & alfred, 8.3k wip Dick and Tim are stuck in a crappy alternate universe where most of the heroes they know are dead, Bruce Wayne's bad health meant he never became Batman, and Tony Zucco runs Gotham City's underworld. When Dick is shot by the mob, they take a risk and go to Bruce for help. Alternate Bruce didn't have children, but as he gets to know Dick and Tim, he starts wishing he did.

✦ leave as though fire burns under your feet by perissologist, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & cast, read the tags, 33k That glow is gone, now. Gone from Dick’s skin, gone from inside him. It used to shine out of him, out of all the cracks the world put in him. But now Bruce looks down at him, and he is as dark and cold as a snuffed star. That’s what gets to him the most—not how cold the morgue is under its colorless fluorescent lighting, or the cloying smell of formaldehyde that clogs his throat. It’s how still Dick is, on the cold, sterile surface of the examiner’s table. It’s unnatural. The boy never learned how to sit still.

✦ papers say it's doomsday by dottie_dc (dottie_wan_kenobi), dick & bruce & donna & cast, 2.5k Half-laughing at his own joke, Nightwing starts to say, “He just doesn’t—” In the space of one word, one breath, and the next—the world ends.

✦ Ibn al Xu'ffasch by hellsreluctantheir, dick & bruce & damian & jason & cast, 16.2k Batman when they’d thought Bruce was dead was one kettle of fish. Batman when the original Batman was around was another. In his head, Robin—perched on a gargoyle next to him—tutted like an eighty-year-old, and rolled his eyes like the kid he was.

BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY'RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ our aspirations are wrapped up in books by theragingstorm, damian & barbara & cast, 1.8k Damian's been confined to bed rest. Someone unexpected helps him.

✦ remind me why I'm here again? by dizarys, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & bernard(/tim), 3.5k Jason's at a Wayne gala. He doesn't want to be. Good thing his siblings are there too. "Were we mean?" Dick mused, "Or just being big brothers?" "He's holding your hoodie hostage." "You're right. We went too easy on him."

✦ put away childish things by bittlebarnes (monroesherlock), dick & damian & clark & jon & barbara & ma kent, 7.2k "I was sent here as a punishment, surely," Damian deadpans. "Are you feeling punished?" Martha sounds like she’s laughing at him. Unacceptable. "Absolutely."

✦ a hero by hellsreluctantheir, bruce & dick & jason, 15.5k Dick Grayson died in Amusement Mile. Four years later, Jason Todd is Robin. But he's not dressed in the costume when he hears about a new player in Crime Alley; a man in a red helmet.

✦ Improvise A Symphony by cabezas_de_vaca, bruce & dick & alfred & cast, 5.5k Or: three generations of Wayne and Wayne-adjucacent men do their absolute best.

✦ The Second Stage by nightwalker, tim & jason & bruce & dick & damian, 8.2k All Tim wants is to take a shower, get something to eat, and try to wear off the effects of Ivy's stupid pollen in peace. So of course tonight is the night Jason decides to start acting like a brother.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I CUT MY TEETH ON DICK & TIM AS CLOSE BROTHERS AND NO ONE WILL NOT TAKE IT FROM ME: ✦ Red Letter Day by silverwhittlingknife, dick & tim & damian & cast, 41.8k wip Dick Grayson, stressed pseudo-parent to a preteen assassin, tries to solve the case of Damian’s Mysterious Wednesday. He never expected it to help him fix his relationship with Tim, too. (... Though only after everything fell apart first.)

✦ I know it's just a number but you're the eighth wonder by orphan_account, dick & tim, 1.2k Dick gets sick. Set before their lives implode on them, so Dick’s Nightwing and Tim’s still an itty bitty Robin.

✦ it's been a long time now (i'm with you) by centreoftheselights, dick & tim, 1.8k Tim has been noticing some strange things about his life. He isn't the only one.

✦ Little Do You Know by sardonic_sprite, dick & tim & ra's, 2.2k "So," Tim said quietly. "You're here to break me out I guess." "Yes," came out in a choked sob. "Then you're wasting your time."

✦ pain/release by unchosenone, dick & tim, 4k Dick goes to check on a wayward brother in the middle of yet another Gotham Toxin (TM), and Tim has a bad time.

✦ I'd Fly Far Away From Here by Sohotthateveryonedied, dick & tim & jack, 3.5k Tim stacks his fries onto his burger patty in a crosshatch, covering every spare inch in a layer of salty potato and grease. “It all happened kind of fast. Dad and I got into this huge fight, and it’s not very dignified to go back upstairs for my wallet and then storm out.” Dick is quiet while he eats his sandwich, trying to figure this out. “Dick?” “I’m just—trying to think if I should call Bruce first or your dad.”

✦ A Collective End to a Harmony by 061828, dick & tim, 1.2k A drop of water falls into an ocean, a house’s wooden skeleton has its last nail screwed into place, an old book’s first page finally crumbles off, and Tim Drake turns twenty years old.

✦ young numb and broken by wingedgrace, dick & tim & cast, read the tags, 1.1k His bare feet were covered in cold, damp sand, and he could barely feel them. Well, he could feel them, but they didn’t seem to be connected to his body. Or maybe it was him that wasn’t connected to his body. (or: poor Dick Grayson needs some love and a chance to catch his breath.)

✦ there's an endless road to rediscover by Zahri, dick & tim & cast, 1.2k Sometimes the only way to show that you've moved on and forgiven each other is to take a flying tackle from the ceiling. Dick and Tim know each other's demonstrations of affection. Damian doesn't.

✦ spread your wings by wingedgrace, dick & tim & cast, 2.1k “Why did you give Robin to Damian?” Dick pinched his nose. He’d started to pick up some of Batman’s habits, whether he realized it or not. “Tim, we’re not talking about this again. We’re talking about how you’re off on this… quest, to prove that Bruce is still alive. And I just want to talk. Come home.” Tim didn’t budge. “Why did you give Robin to Damian?”

BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK/BABS FOREVER AND YOU CAN SHUT IT IF YOU DISAGREE, THEY'RE ADORABLE TOGETHER: ✦ Taking Turns by mx_chrx99, dick/babs, 2.3k Tim had practically begged Dick to get a flu shot. He probably should've listened.

✦ The Summer of Her Discontent by dotfic, dick/babs, 7.8k Batgirl contends with her feelings after Dick leaves Gotham.

✦ Thirteen Hours by dotfic, dick/babs, 7.9k Set during "Knight Time," during their trip to Romania, Dick and Babs start healing some old wounds.

✦ The Night the Lights Went out in Gotham by dotfic, dick/babs & bruce & tim & jim & cast, 13.8k "When it comes to emotions, even great heroes can be idiotic."-from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

✦ Regular People by zombiesbecrazy, dick/babs, 1.6k All sorts of people can enjoy a good sunrise over the city after a long night. Why should heroes of Gotham be any different?

✦ strawberry milkshakes by brandywine421, dick/babs & bruce, 2.8k Why is Bruce bringing Dick? It's not an emergency alert, or medical - just an alert. She should have put in her comm - if it was a simple pit stop they had safehouses, but - Batman dangles Dick's keys in her direction at the door but she's glad he didn't come through the window. She looks past him to catch Dick's attention and - something's wrong.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE'S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ Stay for breakfast and also forever by Ididloveyou_once, tim/kon & bruce, 2k Conner turns up in the middle of the night after a mission gone wrong. Tim learns that seeing Conner cry makes him feel like his heart has been torn out of his chest.

✦ Think Cupid, But Aim Lower by NevernightUnderRainbows, tim/kon & bruce & cassie & bart, 2.3k Or, the Batfamily will make sure Tim gets his guy, even if it entails a lot of beating around the bush, dropping hints so veiled that they can be misconstrued surprisingly easily, and basically giving the bird and his clone boy a headache in the process

✦ The Once and Future Bat by LilliputianDuckling, tim/kon & some kon/cassie & dick & roy & martha & anita & cast, 16k Tim realizes it was a mistake to clone Conner when he ends up with a baby on his hands at sixteen years old. Well, Jackie's his now. Where does he go from here?

✦ there you were by mindshelter, tim/kon & cassie & bart & martha, 19.5k wip “You know, the cool thing about me,” Tim says, voice gone quiet and petal-soft, “is that even when I didn’t care whether I lived or not, I was pretty goddamn hard to kill.” Kon sighs, eyes glued to his feet. His hand is still encircled around Tim’s arm, trailing up to the bend of his elbow.

✦ time flies by by Laroyena, tim/kon & clark & jon & lex, 6.5k Jon Kent is Superboy. Tim's gut instinct tells him that's wrong. (Timkon fix-it where reboot!Tim misses Kon like a phantom limb. And then he gets him back.)

✦ Tangled by thewhitestag, tim/kon, NSFW, 4.1k Kon doesn’t want to be that person, always waiting, wondering if the next time will be more than just two friends messing around.

✦ you put your arms around me and i'm home by merils, tim/kon, 4.5k Kon's acting a little odd after a close call. Tim ponders the potential causes.

BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT'S WHAT I'M HERE FOR: ✦ Bereft by glassofwater, dick & bruce & cast, 4.7k Laying on his back, shoulder brushing up against debris, Dick closes his eyes briefly. He doesn’t want to die, has no intention to do so tonight, but he is scared. The blood on his side pumps out of him with each thump of his heart, beating at a rate too fast for Dick to properly count. That shouldn’t be right, he shouldn’t even be awake and struggling at the moment, but the luck that hangs over Gotham is a mysterious one; it doesn’t favor anyone and yet…

✦ fun and games by prismatical, bruce & dick & jason & tim & barbara & stephanie & duke & cast, 78.6k The Joker's loose, and the Batman isn't in Gotham. The family struggles to hold itself together as everything else spins out of control.

✦ Bone Weary by TheSilencer, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & duke, 8.1k "You cannot reach out until you reach in." Dick assumed the words were metaphorical. They weren't. Or Dick Grayson is cursed, and the cure is not any better.

✦ What These Hands Have Done by WinterSky101, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & alfred & cast, 14k Dick is mind controlled into attacking his family. Unsurprisingly, he takes the whole thing very badly.

✦ All The Small Things by Geeves, dick & bruce & damian & cast, 20.1k After Bruce's return to the Bat, Dick and Damian have to deal with just being brothers, but things are just a bit too messy to be that easy

✦ All Our Broken Parts by mx_chrx99, bruce & dick & jason & dick/babs & cast, 28.1k wip Jason will not let this happen again. He can't. But what if he's already too late?

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #barbara gordon #conner kent #dickbabs #timkon #fic recs #batman fic recs #long post

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caubool · 1 month ago

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Transformers One fic WIP:

Isn't it crazy how much work Sentinel's "The Truth is What I Make It" spiel would actually take to follow through on and how much stuff "he" did that would require many many many more bots to carry out? Isn't it wild that Orion was searching for answers Everywhere in that archive and never found a stray hair out of place in the story Sentinel spun?

I’ve started writing out my own answer to the questions I kept coming up with while thinking way too hard about this movie! The first bit below:

In his spark, Optimus Prime is a mech of action. But never without strategy. Contrary to popular belief, he did look before he leapt. He just tended to assume he would land flawlessly on the other side. He wasn't called Optimus because of his dedication to realism, after all. And if all else fails, he knew he was fraggin’ lucky.

In the wake of Sentinel’s execution, Iacon stands on shaking, new-build legs. In just 50 cycles Cybertron lost a war, lost all of its Primes, nearly starved, and went into hiding at the call of a charismatic mech who pulled cogs from freshly sparked chambers. In less than that, Optimus himself onlined. Now, he stands as the sole Prime of Cybertron. Primus’s chosen. He and Iacon reel in tandem. So much in so little time. His servos still buzz with the vibrations of splitting D- Megatron’s canon. As if it'd been mere kliks ago and not a several phases.

Elita helps in the aftermath. B, too, but the little bot seems more preoccupied with exploring these days. Optimus can’t blame him. Though he privately wishes he could get out of all these blasted meetings and go exploring with the minibot rather than just hearing about his adventures after the fact.

In his office, Elita pushes another neat tray of holowork into his servos and levels him with a look. Her optics narrowed and lip plates pressing together so tightly there’s the faintest scrape of metal.

Optimus lets her stare for a few nanokliks before restarting his voice box. “Can I help you, Elita?”

The scraping sound twists up sharply as her look intensifies. "You're no help to anyone right now, Optimus."

He blinks. The words take longer than he'd like to admit to fully process. When they do, he jumps to his pedes. "What do you mean? Have I missed something? Has there been a Quintesson attack?"

"Sit back down, Prime." She ex-vents sharply and walks around to the other side of his desk.

He slumps into his seat and turns tired optics out onto Iacon, vast and crumpled before him. He had tried so hard to deny this office. With its gold trimmed windows and grand desk and personal energon fountain. It was all too much. But he was the Prime and this was a Prime's seat, it's tradition it's- he shutters his optics and terminates that line of thought. "Elita, please tell me what I've done wrong."

Leaning against his desk she watches him out of the corner of her optics. "What do you see there?" She gestures to the windows.

"I see Iacon, in pain. Bots, still unsure of where they fit now. I see a Cybertron uncertain of itself." He says.

"Do you know what I see?" She asks and Optimus doesn't so she continues, "I see a very tired bot working himself to the wire." He startles, but she isn't done yet. "I see a mech spreading himself so thin that he can't actually step up where he's needed."

Optimus has to work hard to get his jaw struts to function correctly. "I- Elita, I can't turn away from Cybertron, even for a nanoklik. They need a leader and that's- Primus chose me to do this. I can't undermine Primus's will."

"You can't jump in front of every canon blast aimed at Cybertron. And frankly, I don't want you to. Primus knows doing it that first time has only made your recklessness worse." Elita says.

"It is not reckless to try to build a better future for all bots." He shoots back.

She rolls her optics and sends him another look. "No, but it is reckless to avoid self-maintenance in the name of being a good leader. You can't be the mech Cybertron needs if your processor is half fried."

He ex-vents and he knows she's right. She often is. "Still, what do you suggest I do? Everywhere I turn there are more bots who need me."

"Find someplace quiet, keep all the lights off, and take a fragging break." Elita knocks her pauldron against his as she says it.

Optimus can feel a smile coming on and he doesn't fight it. "Is that advice, Commander?"

Elita smirks back at him. "That's an order."

For as often as he visited the Hall of Records—or, more accurately, was chased out of the Hall of Records—Optimus Prime had never seen another bot actually wandering the stacks. Security bots, sure, but they only showed up if they got tipped off by a roaming drone.

It feels odd to walk through the front doors of the Archive, nobody on his heels. Walking among the shelves of holovids that used to dwarf him and now seeing all the dust caked on their tops. It feels forbidden.

When he had dismissed the security at the entrance he had asked them to leave the lights off. Something he appreciates, even as it adds to the uncanny feeling building in his core. He knows the paths in the dark, the way his headlights snake around corners and up walls. Keeping one thing the same, just one…it's helping.

He starts where he left off last time. The projector screen was still set up with the history of Cybertron queued up. He spins the cartridge tray idly as the holovid starts. It breezes through the history every bot knew forwards, backwards, and inside out. He can feel his actuators depressurizing as the narration continues. He can almost pretend he's still Orion Pax, trying to solve an epic mystery and prove himself as more than just some cogless miner.

"-The Matrix of Leadership. Lost, with the Primes, to the surface." This is where he'd gotten found out last time. Optimus watches as the Matrix fades out into the globe and shakes his head, almost fond. He's already reaching for a new holovid when the narration continues. His optics narrow, hadn't he gotten to the end already? "Cybertron's only hope rests with our final, tireless leader: Sentinel Prime. But he cannot protect us alone. That's why Sentinel needs every bot in Cybertron to do their part and pull their weight. Cybertron needs you, your Prime needs you." The holovid projects Sentinel smiling, waving to an unseen audience, with the light glinting off of his helm.

He looks regal.

Optimus feels his fuel lines twist.

As the holovid finishes, it flashes a few final lines of text. "The Modern History of Cybertron - by ID-A. Sponsored by the Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative."

"What?" the word flies out of him as he reads, then re-reads the text. The Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative? Out of all the branches of government he'd had to get acquainted with recently, he hadn't ever heard of something like that. Optimus ran an internal search of his memory just to be sure but, no, this was the first time he'd seen the name.

Frowning, he swaps out holovids and let the next one play. The screen glows with colour as each of the Primes getts introduced. It's a basic history of the rulers of Cybertron and is similarly scant on details. The holovid once again ends with a shot of Sentinel and a call to work hard for the mech. The credits read: "Who Are the Primes of Cybertron? A Summary - by Thundercracker. Edited for clarity of purpose by ID-A and sponsored by the Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative."

Optimus slides in another vid. "The Quintesson War - by Gearstrike. Edited for clarity of purpose by WR-N and sponsored by the Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative." Then another one. "Energon: Its Sources, Uses, and Necessity to the Cybertronian Ecosystem - by Quarkkey. Edited for clarity of purpose by ID-A and sponsored by the Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative." And another one. "Iacon's Sub-Levels and You: A Guide - by WR-N. Sponsored by the Cybertronian Well-Being initiative."

Optimus spends the rest of the chord looking through any and every holovid he can get his servos on in that archive. By the time Cybertron starts its hum again—the signal for recharge to end and for first shift to begin—he's an island among the piles of holovid cartidges. Each of them branded by the Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative. And none of them ever explaining just what that initiative is.

This bothers him, more than Optimus thinks was strictly logical. It's more than likely that it's just an educational branch that created basic informational holovids. Yet, just reading those four words fill him with a dread that has become all too familiar. On the edge of a cliff, searching brassy, yellow optics, and knowing that no matter how much he hoped for the best, the worst is already staring him in the face.

#transformers one #fanfic teaser #optimus prime #elita one #world building #maccadam #im so deep into this story you have no idea. im going crazy #I *THINK* it’s about halfway done but we’ll see #for reference this little snippet is roughly 1/10 of the full thing

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triptychgrip · 2 months ago

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Yurio crushing on Yuuri

“How many times do I have to say it?” Yuri snapped, warily eyeing the sparkler he was now holding out to him. “That’s not my name!”

Yuuri just smiled, stepping a bit closer.

“Ah, sorry…I guess it’s already become a habit,” he replied with a shrug as well as a tilt of his head.

The fizzing light turned the rims of his glasses into gleaming squares, and the reddish tint of his irises was thrown into sharp relief, his eyes no longer appearing so inky as they strained to make out shapes in the dark. Not that Yuri spent a lot of time thinking about that…

“Anyway, do you want to light a sparkler? I could use your help in preventing Makkachin from trying to eat them, and besides, I noticed you hadn’t lit one, yet.”

He was about to retort that that was because he wasn’t seven years old, but something in the pig’s gaze made him reconsider.

Yuuri just looked so damn hopeful for some reason. As if the entirety of his night rested upon whether or not Yuri would join him in running around with his arm stretched aloft like a(n admittedly graceful), luminescent maniac. He made a tutting sound before looking back out at the surf.

He’d stood at the edge of the Gulf of Finland many times, marveling at the distance out to the Baltic Sea when standing in St. Petersburg. But there was something about the ocean here in sleepy Hasetsu that tugged at his chest in a way he’d never experienced in Russia.

“Fine,” Yuri mumbled, wedging his heel a little too deeply into the squelching sand. He almost stumbled and fell. “Probably best if Viktor’s dumb dog doesn’t wind up in the hospital with a burnt tongue.”

Yuuri giggled like he’d just told the most hilarious joke and he wondered why his face was feeling so warm, even with the frigid water underfoot.

—

The above excerpt is from an upcoming scene in my Viktuuri developing relationship/bodyswap WIP. The somewhat unhinged premise involves Viktor realizing that he and Makkachin can swap bodies for a 3 hour window of time every day: a phenomenon that begins in the days leading up to Yuuri and Yurio facing off against one another in the Onsen on Ice challenge. Obviously, this has major impacts on Viktor and Yuuri’s dynamic, especially when Yuuri spends time with “Makkachin”, not realizing he is sharing things with his coach (rather than his coach’s dog).

Writing this fic has been a ton of fun, 1) because I tend to mostly write post-canon content, so this gets me out of my comfort zone, and 2) because writing from Yurio's POV as he is forced to watch Viktor’s interactions with Yuuri is always so interesting. Especially with respect to Yurio’s blatant admiration for him, which Viktor can't help but tease him for.

I took a break from writing this story for a few months, but recently was re-inspired to continue working on it. I hope you'll give it a chance!

You can read the story so far, here. I'd love to know what you think of it!

#yuri on ice #yuri!!! on ice #my wips #yuri on ice fanfiction #yoi fanfiction #yuri plisetsky #yuuri katsuki #my writing #katsuki yuuri #viktuuri #victuuri #yuri on ice bodyswap AU

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wolfjackle-creates · 2 years ago

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Ghost!Robin Part 8

Look at you lucky ducks! Two WIP Wednesday excerpts today! I'm afraid you won't be able to get used to it. Going forward I may update each fic on alternating weeks. I have a busy few months coming up if everything goes to plan and could use the buffer in case I can't get much writing done. We'll see, though.

I'm going to start leaving a fic summary at the beginning of every excerpt in case people find this in the wild and want to know what they're getting into.

Summary: Danny is finally going to meet Jazz's boyfriend Jason. At Jason's family's mansion. He spent weeks making sure he could have an evening off of any Ghost King business. But when he meets Jason on the steps of the mansion, he can barely pay attention to the guy because his focus is on the ghost of the dead Robin hanging off his shoulders. Who is very happy to find someone who can actually see him.

Word Count: 1.4k

First, Previous

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“Right. Um… Well, I do just kinda do whatever is necessary or find someone who can. Because, um, well, I’m… kinda the High King of the Infinite Realms? There’s a bunch more titles after that but I refuse to memorize them because ugh.”

Danny looked down at his plate, not wanting to see everyone’s reactions. Jazz must’ve made sure he got a piece of pie because it sat in front of him. It looked so good. Did they even know about the Infinite Realms? Justice League Dark members did, but did Batman? Jazz reached over and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Tim and Barbara’s typing seemed to get faster. And then a pair of pixie boots and legs settled on the table next to his plate. He looked up and met Robin’s eyes.

Robin reached out an poked Danny on the nose. He gave a little trill of safe, friends drawing a smile out of Danny.

At the same time, Duke exclaimed, “That’s why you have a crown!”

And Steph said, “Okay, I may be out of the loop, but what the hell are the Infinite Realms?”

Damian snorted. “Aren’t you too young to be a king of anything?”

Danny half stood. “Look, do you want to go spar or something? Is that why you keep picking fights? Because we can do that. Fighting is good for young liminals. But I really don’t think this is the time or place.”

Jazz groaned and dragged him back into his seat. “Stop it, Danny. You’re on Earth right now.” Speaking over Danny’s protests, she explained to Damian, “We wish. Managed to get them to delay until he turned eighteen at least, but his grandfather wouldn’t let us wait any longer than that.”

Danny let the fight drop, but he did notice how Damian’s grip on his spoon tightened. Looked like they would be having that spar tonight if Damian had anything to say about it. Still, Jazz was right and he had to follow human customs on Earth so he bumped his sister’s shoulder and spoke to her instead. “You know as well as I do that he would’ve if it was possible. But thanks to Pariah, there are things that haven’t been done in a thousand years and it’s been causing so many problems.”

“Steph,” said Barbara. “The Infinite Realms are the spaces between universes according to Constantine. His documentation states that the Realm’s inhabitants are all incredibly overpowered and should not be approached under any circumstances. Just one being can evade all methods of capture with standard supplies.”

Jazz nodded. “And our parents dedicated their lives to building a portal to the Infinite Realms, or the Ghost Zone as they call it, and destroying all ghosts.”

“By ‘ghosts,’” asked Bruce, “Do you mean beings from these Infinite Realms?”

Jazz nodded. “Yes. Most beings from the Infinite Realms come into being when a living creature dies in a traumatic way, with a lot of emotion, or near a large source of ectoplasm. Usually some combination of all three.”

Both Tim and Bruce tried to ask further questions, but Jason’s voice cut in over theirs. “Jazz, when you say your parents wanted to ‘destroy all ghosts,’ did they stop after Danny’s accident?” Jason’s question did, at least, cause silence to fall as everyone stared at the two siblings.

Jazz looked down and gripped the tablecloth tightly, jaw clenched. Now it was Danny’s turn to lay a comforting hand over hers.

“No,” Danny said. “They didn’t. They didn’t know what happened for several years and when they found out… Well, there’s a reason I can’t use their last name and Jazz won’t call them ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’ anymore. But”—Danny clapped his hands—“this is a great segway into what is actually important. Does the Justice League know about the Guys in White? More formally known as the Ghost Investigation Ward? Or even just GIW?”

“That name is unfamiliar to me,” said Bruce.

Tim agreed. “Babs and I aren’t seeing anything in the JL databases.”

Even Robin just shrugged.

Danny didn’t expect the jolt of pain that sent through his chest and Jazz turned their hands around until they were gripping each other’s hands with more force than any baseline human would’ve been able to.

“I told you, Danny. They didn’t know. They didn’t know.” Her eyes were wet, but she forced a shaky smile. “You could’ve had help.”

Danny just shook his head. “Even if I had believed they didn’t know… Without meeting them, without knowing how many of their own were in danger, I would’ve never trusted them. Too many people rely on me for me to risk it.”

“Care to enlighten the rest of us?” asked Dick. His posture was relaxed, but his voice had an edge that hadn’t been there earlier.

Robin nodded from where he sat staring at Danny. He sent out a questioning Danger? pulse at Danny.

“Yeah, danger,” agreed Danny. “Barbara, Tim, if I give you a law code number, can you pull up the law I’m referring to?”

“Of course,” agreed Barbara. “Just a moment… And shoot.”

Danny gave them the code for the Anti-Ecto Acts. “The Guys in White are the government agency responsible for enforcing the Anti-Ecto Acts which classify all ‘ectoplasmic entities’”—he made the air quotes—“as non-sentient and non-sapient and excludes us from the metahuman protection acts.”

“What the fuck!” shouted Duke.

Next to Danny, Dick suddenly was sitting up tense. “That’s impossible.”

“The league would’ve noticed such an act being passed,” said Damian, though he didn’t look as sure as his words would seem.

Cass merely tilted her head and looked at him while Steph choked on her drink.

Bruce looked to Tim and Barbara. “Is this true?” he asked them.

Robin pointed to himself and mouthed the word ‘Me?’ at Danny.

“I’m afraid so. And Bruce, Cass, Steph, and Damian as well.”

Dick’s spluttering got louder. “How are they all in danger?” he demanded to know.

Before Danny could reply, Tim was speaking. “It’s all true. And far worse than Danny implied. Not only are ecto-entities not protected by the metahuman protection laws, but they are to be actively hunted and turned over to the GIW for experimentation and extermination and anyone who assists them is declared guilty of treason.”

“When did they pass?” asked Bruce.

“Four years ago,” said Barbara. “While Luthor was president. They were hidden in some laws about green energy.”

“Ghost are made of ectoplasm,” explained Jazz. “Ectoplasm is a fantastic energy source.”

“It happened a few months after I defeated the previous king but before my coronation,” added Danny.

“Why do you think myself, Damian, Cass, Stephanie, and Jason will be targeted by this Ghost Investigation Ward?”

“It’ll be easier to show you.” Danny reached down and pulled up his bag. The thing was made in Pandora’s realm and was bigger on the inside. Once open, it took him a moment to find what he was looking for. He could see Robin signing to the group next to him. “Here we are,” Danny said as he pulled out three devices. “These are all different ectoplasm detection devices. One is my own design, one is the Guys in White’s design, and one is my parent’s design. I’ll show you mine first because it’s the best.”

“Might be a dumb question,” started Dick, “but what the hell is ectoplasm?”

“So you know how all the elements in this universe came about from nuclear fusion of hydrogen in the cores of stars?” asked Danny. When most everyone nodded, he continued, “In the Infinite Realms, that base element is ectoplasm. But there’s no need for a star to transform it into anything else. It will mold to the shape any consciousness that interacts with it wants. When sentient creatures slip through, either by a portal or through death or any other means, they shape the part of the Realm they’re in to their will. The stronger the ghost, the larger the area they control.” Holding out his hands, Danny called forth a ball of ectoplasm, shaping it into a glowing-green ice duck. “Something like this,” he commented grinning around the table.

Only to be met with horrified looks as most of the table were staring at his hands with distrust. Damian had his knife out again. Jason, his gun with the other arm held protectively in front of Jazz. Bruce was standing and Cass tense.

“What’s wrong?” asked Danny. “It’s just an ice duck sculpture. Completely harmless.”

Jason’s voice was low and threatening. “It’s an ice duck made of Lazarus water.”

More alarming than his voice was the way his eyes glowed ecto-green and the fear-anger that filled the room.

----------

Challenge: Stay on one topic for more than two sentences.

Outcome: Failed.

They keep getting side tracked with more questions. And Danny still hasn't had a bite of his pie. This evening will never be over.

Tag List Part 1

@addie-lover-of-stories, @justwannabecat, @gin2212, @amercurio, @regonold, @overtherose, @readerzj, @sjrose1216, @echoednonny, @deeterzz, @blu-lilac, @number-one-jew, @rowanaway-fromthisbs, @vythika96, @tired-yet-awaken, @themirrorghost, @emeraldcorpral, @all-mights-asscheeks, @darkhinauniverse, @blep-23, @phandomhyperfixationblog, @larkcoe1, @thegatorsgoose, @job-ross-the-second, @britcision, @lenacraft, @bubblemixer, @androgynouslordofescapism, @purefrickingspite, @leftmiraclechaos, @lizisipancardo, @starlight-sparks, @miraculousandmore, @gildedphoenix, @sometimesthingsfallapart, @letmesayfuxk, @phoenixcatch7, @skulld3mort-1fan, @abaowo, @dhampir-princess, @idkmrpianoman, @sarina-elais, @ballzfrog-blog, @undead-essence, @spookytragedyshark, @flyingpansaurus, @akintoabitch, @marivictal, @8-29pm, @justreadingthefanfics, @happybear135, @kisatamao, @spoopyspoony, @adorablechaos, @sara0055, @screamingtofillthevoid

Looks like 50 is the limit for active user tags in a post. Good to know

#dpxdc #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jason todd #Ghost!Robin #anger management #my writing #every sentence out of danny's or jazz's mouths leads to more questions #they will never be able to get through them all #but more importantly!#will danny ever get to eat his pie?#even he's forgotten about it #and its sitting right in front of him #but so is a ghost so...

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viperwhispered · 8 months ago

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I just wanna take a moment to say thank you for always being around to chat since I don't have many to talk to about TWST. I also suck at characterization so I don't write many fics. But I was very happy when you used one of our discussions for Revel in You. I don't mind if you use our convos to write, just be sure to credit the source.

On that note: saw your smut posts. Here's an idea: Jamil celebrating his promotion to being a Housewarden.

It's Friday, there's an enormous party going on to celebrate Jamil and Kalim's new roles and the successes of the first month with this new dynamic. While Jamil is more accustomed to the spotlight, he still gets "tired out" and leaves it to Kalim to keep the party going and organize the clean up crew. After all, he's due for a more private celebration of his own.

Fun fact: for a good chunk of snake species, the male will bite the females neck to hold them down while mating.

Imagine Jamil relentlessly taking his beloved from behind, deciding they're wriggling a bit too much. Delighting in the sounds they make as he pulls them towards him by the hair, he just bites the back of their neck as his body pins them to the bed. They'll probably be annoyed by morning, but Jamil's already got some concealers beforehand.

Did I forget to mention it's a Friday, Jamil no longer has roomates, and pretty much the entire dorm is still partying to loud music several hallways away?

Also worth mentioning that, as a healthy mature couple, all of Jamil's jealousy and possessiveness is addressed in a healthy manner so the relationship never turns toxic. This statement does not apply to the bedroom.

Aww thank you, always happy to talk with you too 😊 Plus like, if you’d rather talk over messages sometime in addition to the asks, feel free. (And this applies to anyone else reading this post too.)

Yeah iirc I was thinking a bit if I should ask you about using that ask as a jumping off point for To Revel in You, but I figured I was using it more as inspiration rather than rewriting anything you wrote or anything like that. And that since you sent that ask in the first place, I did kinda assume it would be okay to build off it. But good to hear I wasn’t wrong in thinking so, and glad you liked it.

As for characterization & writing: it really is a matter of practice, I’d say. Plus, like, everyone is bound to interpret the characters in a different way, or focus on different aspects of them. Which can be freeing, in a way, knowing that you can bring to the table something that no one else can, certainly not in the same exact way you would.

Also I was actually thinking of asking for some writing prompts since the current wip seems to need a bit more time to marinate, and here you are with perfect timing.

So let’s see what I can do with this concept.

If it wasn’t obvious: smut ahead. Written with fem / afab reader in mind but I think this could be read gender neutral as well since the only specific body detail mentioned is that reader has hair long enough for Jamil to grab.

The day - and the week, and the month - had been such a whirlwind that even Jamil had had trouble keeping up with it all.

Tonight, Jamil had basked in the praises from his dormmates, their congratulations and glowing words - and noted the cautious looks of those who still had not forgotten the events of his overblot.

He had enjoyed food that was not made by him, watched others fuss over the preparations and the serving - well, as much as he had been able to keep himself from giving direction. Still, even he had not been able to oversee every single detail, as much as he wanted to.

After all, both you and Kalim had been quite insistent, in your own ways, that this celebration should be for him, not by him.

So Jamil had danced, eaten, drank, listened, talked, so much so that now when the night was beginning to turn towards morning, he had more than had his fill.

Besides, tired as he may be of the crowd, there was still something on his agenda that he was more than happy to indulge in.

You had been teasing him with promises of a more private celebration - starting from when the party was decided on all the way to when you had been dancing together earlier - and Jamil intended to finally collect his reward.

You were outside for a moment of fresh air and quiet when Jamil found you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nipping your ear.

“I remember someone promising to be mine tonight,” he murmured, voice low and husky.

You shivered, feeling Jamil’s lips on your neck. You’d half expected him to be too tired to turn your teasing into action. Yet, you certainly welcomed this turn of events, your own tiredness washed away by Jamil’s eager touch and his tempting whispers.

“You know me. Always love - ahhh - spoiling you,” you said - your words turning into a gasp when Jamil licked the side of your neck.

In no time at all you found yourself in Jamil’s room - as easy as it was to be distracted by each other, you both still preferred the privacy over lingering in the common areas of the dorm.

Jamil’s mouth was hungry on yours, his hands working quickly to rid you of your clothes.

Sometimes you wondered just how much Jamil was holding back in the presence of others, for him to get so ravenous as soon as you two were alone.

Not that you were any different, pulling away that long belt from Jamil’s hips so that you could slip your hands under his shirt, your lips covering every available bit of his skin with kisses.

It was always delicious, your naked bodies tangled together. That heady feeling of each other, both of you grasping and kissing wherever you could, like you could never quite feel enough of the other.

“So what would mister housewarden ask of me tonight?” you asked with a playful grin, nuzzling your nose against Jamil’s.

There was undeniable hunger in the way Jamil looked at you, yet also the warmth and softness of your lover that always filled your heart to the brim.

“Just all of you, albi,” Jamil murmured, pushing you down onto the mattress.

You’d entertained ideas of a celebratory blowjob, of taking care of Jamil tonight. But if he’d rather help himself to you, you were certainly not going to say no.

A few orgasms later and Jamil was pounding into you, firmly holding onto your hips while your face was pressed onto the sheets. His cock was invading your insides so hard, so deep, leaving you nearly senseless. You jolted helplessly every time Jamil slammed his way all the way in, the pleasure bordering on pain as it shot through your nerves.

“Ahhh, Jamil…” you whimpered, barely aware of the spot of drool you’d left on the bed.

“Too much?” Jamil muttered, one of his hands leaving your side to instead trail a soothing path along your spine.

“...No.”

It was a lot, your senses nearly overtaken by the intensity of it all - yet you didn’t want anything less.

Still, you couldn’t help squirming, your body twitching with every thrust, yelps and moans pushed from your throat no matter how much you tried to hold them in.

“Hold still,” Jamil grunted.

He gathered your hair in his hand, making you gasp when he tugged. You could feel the pull on your scalp, almost like Jamil wanted to rein you in - or pull your face away from the sheets so that he could hear your cries more clearly.

“You’re all mine tonight, aren’t you? Mine to have, mine to enjoy,” Jamil breathed to your ear.

“Yes, yes, yes…” you whined, aroused beyond belief.

Always his, just as he is yours - but you had no time to vocalize that thought before Jamil’s weight pushed you prone on the bed.

Your gasp was cut short, turned into a sharp cry when you felt moist pressure at the back of your neck - a bite, you realized, some instinct telling you to keep still.

Not that you had much of a choice in the matter. Jamil’s hand, still gripping your hair. His mouth, latched onto your skin. His body, holding you down.

The weight of him against your back was almost suffocating, yet in a delicious way. Like you could be closer to him like this, more connected than just skin to skin contact - or penetration - could provide.

You could feel the rolling of Jamil’s hips against your backside, the way his cock was dragging along your insides. Not as harshly as before, yet intense enough to keep you trembling and whining with the little breath you could take.

And Jamil’s mouth, his teeth, never letting go. His muffled groans such a delicious sound, making you clench around him.

Such sweet torture, and you never wanted it to end.

Taglist since this turned into fic: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @perilous-pasta @twstgo @cannedpickledpeaches

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #ner talks #ner writes #chatting with folks #lex752 #embarrassingly enough I still haven’t read Jamil’s bday vignettes and they probably would’ve been useful for the early parts here #but oh well it is what it is #for some reason I’m just so used to writing smut in present tense (especially if it’s second person)#so I really kept on going back and forth with the tenses while writing #hopefully I caught all of those and got my tenses in line #but if you see something silly feel free to let me know #banged this out kinda quick as a little intermission treat #honestly just the kind of writing I was craving for for today so ty again for this ask lex!

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aloonaram · 9 months ago

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Just wips and thoughts for how I’d write my dick grayson x wally west smut with plot

“You look like shit, Dickie.”

“Gee, thanks Walls. You’re such a loving partner.” Dick retorts, but the smile he gave afterwards, doesn’t reach his eyes.

Wally hurriedly moved to open his door wide enough to let Dick in. Wally may be the type to spout random shit, but this time, he wasn’t exaggerating—Dick looked rough. He watched worriedly as Dick slowly made his way toward their room, limping and rubbing his temple slightly as if he had a migraine.

Dick is a touchy person—it’s his main way of communicating—so his lack of it at the door was telling enough.

He knew things had been rough lately. With Bruce missing, the natural order of Dick’s family had fallen a part. Wally would be lying if he said he fully understood the magnitude of it all—that he knew how large the chasms carved by trauma must have grown between Dick and his brothers. But, what he does know, is that Dick has been pulled too thin trying to solve every problem on his own.

There’s a small, sick part of Wally that wishes Bruce would just stay gone. Not because he wants his lover to suffer even longer, but because of Bruce’s influence on Dick’s day to day life. His lover takes after Bruce in so many ways, none of which have been beneficial for his mental health. He’s the reason Dick felt like it was his job to take everything and handle it on his own. To be so independent that he refuses breaks and help that he so desperately needs. And of course, Bruce’s incapabilities as a father, forcing Dick into the role to pick up his father’s slack.

He speeds his way to their room and knocks gently on the door to alert Dick of his presence. Dick looks up from where he was previously staring in their hardwood floor and gives him a small smile. A small bud of relief blooms in Wally’s chest. He dreads of the day Dick Grayson can’t bring himself to smile.

He hangs on the door as he asks, “How was it today? If you feel okay enough to talk about it.”

Dick looks to the left, seemingly at nothing and everything. Rough, is what Wally infers.

He slowly moves towards his lover and sits gently next to him on the edge of their bed. He pushes their knees together and lets his warmth seep into Dick’s body. He’s feels his early relief grow when Dick quickly moves to press his head into Wally’s shoulder and thread their fingers together.

“It…it was rough Walls,” Dick pauses to take a deep breath. “Dami and I…we got into an argument, out on the field. It was just some—I don’t even know. Not something important enough to get distracted.” Dick closes his eyes and presses his face further into Wally’s shoulder. Wally gently lays his head on top of Dick’s and uses his other hand to rub his lover’s bruised knuckles.

“I can’t fault Dami, he’s only a kid. If I had a choice, I’d keep him off the damn field. But that’s beside the point. I fucked up Wally, I got distracted and I got a civilian fucking shot.” Wally has to fight to not tense his body so as not to make Dick uncomfortable. Not because he’s thinks it’s Dick’s fault, but because he knows. He knows this is going to weigh heavily on Dick’s conscious and he’s not sure with all the stress his life, Dick can handle more pressure.

I shall add more to this tomorrow

#dick grayson #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing #nightwing fanfiction #nightwing x kid flash #dick grayson x wally west #dc fanfic #dc comics #wth is wally’s and dick’s ship name again?#birdflash #okay i think im right #anyways ill continue when i wake up tmr

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lyralit · 1 year ago

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4.1.24 - the importance of learning new things

As much as I think academic & work focus is incredibly important going into the new year, one of my other goals is to practice doing more: to learn all of the things I want to do, in addition to work, in addition to writing. I want to know how to do thousands of little things, and I think the longer we wait, the less likely we are to do them.

Picking up a new hobby doesn't have to be buying a dozen textbooks and spending hundreds of dollars on lessons because you might have the slightest interest: it can be from whatever you have here, now, and you'll never learn if you don't get started.

Some of the things I've been getting into (as I've mentioned before) are baking & crocheting. it just feels so cozy and nice & I love the idea of comfort.

here is a list of things I want to / you should try that's new!

learning a new language. fifteen minutes a day, I kid you not. I'm learning latin on duolingo and I don't ever think about it, but when I do it (25 day streak 💪🏻), I'm starting to notice my improvements

consuming good media. and that's not scrolling for half an hour on tumblr. it's books—deep ones and silly ones and ones about romance and dragons and apocalypses. it's movies! I watched keira knightley's pride and prejudice twice in the last few months, and also three men and a baby which is something I never thought I would watch, but it was quite funny I think. and I learn from it: I cannot write humour or romance for the life of me, so it's basically studying to write (is the self-gaslighting too evident?)

learning to crochet. I made a silly little headband today, after scrolling through pinterest and desperately wanting one. I started crocheting in december to give as gifts (I completed none of my wips, much like when I write) and used the tools I had around me: an old rainbow loom hook and whatever string I could find. now I'm proud to say I can read somewhat fluently crochet acronyms.

baking. I keep saying this. I know. but when I tell you a two years ago I was exploding cupcakes in the oven and last month I made bakery-style cookies...I made bread! a loaf of bread! (in a bread machine, but it's so good and I instantly made another. there is one in the bread machine right now). honestly it just made me feel that much better about improvement, and trying new things, and that is the mindset I want for the new year.

learning to code. in all honesty, I never thought I was a compsci - engineer kind of person. then this year, out of sudden (masterminded) urges, I joined a bunch of tech and robotics initiatives, and maybe it's the sense of community (I can rejoice in finding another nerdy group) but now I am happily chauffeuring myself to these meetings 4h a week. I'm looking into pursuing more into the fields of eng and science. and I'm learning some code from one of the friends I've made!

starting a blog. ...I know most of the people who linger around my blog stay for the writing content (the last posts have turned this writerblr into a digital diary, and I'm only half sorry for that). but since I've joined tumblr (almost three years ago now!) I've got to meet so many wonderful people (including you!) and want to try so many things.

and I get it. it's overwhelming. so here are some starting goals that maybe I'll try also.

start doing art. -> make a card for someone as a gift.

learn a new sport & start exercising. (I'm trying out track & field in the spring, so stay tuned to figure out how that goes) -> see if someone will come play ball with you. do 1 or 2 youtube workout videos a week.

film videos of your daily life. it doesn't need to be for posting! -> edit together clips you've taken for a last year recape.

start a scrapbook. -> print out photos and dig up construction paper. decorate a page.

make a poetry journal. -> go on pinterest to read poetry! pin styles you like and set fifteen minutes to writing.

make a regular journal! -> write once a day. just try: goals for the day in the morning, or a recap at night.

try your hand at gardening. -> research plants that grow well in your region. see if any of the seeds you may have at home are useful. water your lawn. buy a plant and try to keep it alive (set reminders, leave it in front of your sink)

learn to make candles. -> watch a youtube tutorial. see if you can play around with candles you already have.

play chess. -> see if someone will play chess with you. no? chess.com is right there. go make an account. go find a stranger.

learn to play an instrument off youtube. -> maybe you have a piano sitting around, or a guitar you've never touched. you don't even need to master it. pick a song you like and google that. no instrument? maybe there's a way to play drums with home items.

go for a run. -> once a week. a set time. just shoes and the outdoors. too cold? go to a gym and use a treadmill. maybe that's not possible? skip rope.

start / join a book club. -> just you, or some close friends, or people online. a book a month. talk about it.

** on that note, would anyone like to join a tumblr book club? slide into my asks and maybe we can get a blog list!

thank you for reading again <3 until next time.

#lyralit #writerblr #blog post #creative writing #writblr #writing prompts #writing ideas #writers block #writing #writers #mental health #taking breaks

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bbcphile · 6 months ago

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In Memory of Kiah

cw/tw: death, medical assistance in dying

If you’re wondering why I kind of disappeared from the Mysterious Lotus Casebook tag and stopped posted WIP Wednesday things, here’s the explanation: One of my closest friends, who has been dying progressively and increasingly painfully over the last two years, told me about 3 weeks ago that they were going to pursue medical assistance in dying because it is legal where they live. It was originally scheduled for the end of July, then moved up to the end of June, and then on Monday, they moved it to Wednesday (yesterday), because their life was agony and they couldn’t wait any longer.

I’m lucky that I had enough advanced notice that I was able to say goodbye–both by sending them a message telling them in detail how much they’ve meant to me and thanking them for everything, and then in one last phone call the night before–so I’m glad they knew how much I loved them and that I could be there for them emotionally, even though I couldn’t physically be there for the end itself, because they live too far away. We met on Tumblr through the chronic illness community because we share the same genetic connective tissue disorder and many of its comorbidities, and I will always be so, so grateful to Tumblr for bringing us together.

I wanted to post about them here because it just felt wrong to keep going like nothing had happened, and because I wanted to do something to pay tribute to how good a person they were and how much I miss them. So, some words about Kiah:

Kiah was one of the kindest, funniest, intellectually curious, loving, and fiercely protective people I have ever met. I loved that we could talk about anything, including the terror of living in a failing body or how to come to terms with being disabled when you were always an overcommitted overachiever who defined yourself on external metrics of success, analyze media together during watch parties, and laugh together about literally anything (including during our last conversation, where we were both bawling our eyes out, but also somehow laughing about how absurd it is that you can’t really cry hard and talk at the same time and how that seems like a real design flaw). We didn’t share any fandoms, but we still had fun sharing details about our blorbos and fandom activities: I loved hearing about their cosplay adventures, and they always wanted to keep up to date on the metas I was writing. Even once they went blind and couldn’t read my metas on tumblr anymore because it wouldn’t work with their screenreader, they had me send them Google doc versions so their computer could read my posts to them because they didn’t want to miss any of my analyses. And when they were too sick to listen to the full posts, they asked for summaries because they still wanted to keep up as much as they could.

They were always so caring and compassionate: when they first called to tell me in January that they were going to do medical assistance in dying, and after I had told them I understood and supported them and we’d talked about how they felt about it, they asked me how I was. I had told them that while I was heartbroken, I would handle it, because I didn’t want to make them feel responsible for comforting me when they had their hands full with processing everything and feeling their own grief. They said that while they appreciated my not wanting to make it harder on them, they didn’t want me to feel like I had to be ok in front of them, because they wanted to comfort me and support me even in this if they could, since they didn’t have that much time left to be there for me and they wanted to make it count. (yeah, I’m sobbing right now.)

None of those descriptions could even begin to do justice to how much they meant to me, but I hope this anecdote will:

I couldn’t be with them at the end because I’m a country and an opposite coast away, but I hated the idea of not being able to say goodbye in person or hold their hand if they were scared during the injection. So I played piano and imagined they could hear it.

Most of you probably won’t know what that means or why it would be a big deal. Here’s why:

I used to be a musician. Music was my life and my most important means of self-expression, and was absolutely going to be my career. But in high school and college, an extensive series of very traumatic things happened that made me essentially have to give up performing. For the better part of the last 18 years, literally up until I sat down to play for Kiah, even just the idea of performing for someone or a neighbor overhearing me play was triggering enough that I would have a full-blown panic attack and dissociate so badly I would literally go from concert pianist level ability to mostly forgetting how to read music and having to count ledger lines. But my desire to do something so that maybe, just maybe, I could make Kiah’s final moments better apparently trumped my trauma, because I was able to do it. I had wanted to play some Rachmaninoff, Brahms, or Chopin, but apparently those are still too closely tied to Events and I started to have skill loss issues again (fucking dissociative amnesia), so I switched to a piece I had played long ago enough that it was reliably in my mind and fingers (and that I could sight-read if I forgot it partway through).

And I played it.

I hope, somehow, they were able to hear it.

I also recorded it.

And I’m going to share it here.

It kind of feels like serving my heart up on a platter, but that feels kind of appropriate for this tribute to them.

I think they’d be happy, knowing that I’m “doing it scared,” as Tumblr recommends, and that my attempt to give them the biggest gift of love and support I could think of, somehow, even if just temporarily, gave music back to me.

Also, I think they’d get a kick out of the fact that you can hear me giggle a little at one point in the recording when the sheet music falls on my hands, both because it’s a great middle finger to perfectionism, but also because laughing through the tears (and yeah, I was crying while playing this) is very much a chronic illness and disability thing, and feels like a good metaphor for much of the last few months.

So. All that to say:

Kiah, I love you. I miss you so much already.

Here’s Robert D. Vandall’s “Lakeside Retreat.”

#about me #personal post #my music #Kiah

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stargazer56 · 6 months ago

Text

WIP Wednesday (with a bonus plea for advice!!)

Bachelor Auction meet cute

SC writing friends, I need your help! I have started writing an AU where Patrick moves to town slightly later than canon. Instead of Asbestos Fest, Ray has convinced the town to hold a Bachelor Auction and he signs Patrick up. It's currently 5,800 words and these two idiots haven't even gone on the date yet.

Here's where I'd love some input. How long is too long for a one-shot? Is is better to break it into chapters, even if they are on the shorter side? Will people in the fandom read a longer one-shot from a new writer (but one whose name they hopefully recognize from all the comments she leaves)? Am I worried too much about this? Probably. I am grateful for any and all thoughts and advice!

Here is an unedited snippet:

Monday morning, Patrick was surprised to see that his first appointment of the day was with Ray. They had spent 3 hours on Sunday afternoon going over all his responsibilities in detail. What else was there to discuss?

“Now, Patrick, I’m not here for business advice or a partner meeting. I am here to talk about the Bachelor Auction for Asbestos,” Ray began. “Many buildings in town are riddled with asbestos. In the past, we’ve held bake sales and talent shows to raise money for remediation. This year, I suggested we try something new and the Town Council agreed!” the glee in Ray’s voice was palpable. “So we are having a Bachelor Auction. You’re in luck! You arrived just before the sign-up deadline and I was able to add your name to the list.”

“I’m sorry, what?” a flustered Patrick asked.

“The list of bachelors, Patrick! For the auction! You are on it. And one of the more eligible names if I say so myself. There are several older bachelors and a few are even married. You are one of the only ones who is young, single and attractive!”

“Ray–” Patrick began, only to be immediately cut off.

“I hope you don’t mind that I called you attractive. But you are a handsome man, Patrick. The ladies,” Ray paused, looked Patrick up and down, and then continued, “and gentlemen will love you. Schitt’s Creek is a very open place, you know. Everyone fits in here no matter who they love.”

“Ray, no one in town knows me. No one is going to bid on me at a bachelor auction.”

I'm not sure who is writing what, but @a-noble-dragon wisely said tag games won't start unless someone begins them. So tagging @ramonaflow, @flowertrigger and @mammameesh in case they have anything they want to share.

#sc fanfic #schitt's creek fic #sc fic #wip wednesday

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basilone · 10 months ago

Note

I want to hear your thoughts on fandom and the recent influx of the term content creation!

Well, anon, you are in luck! (Or not, depending on your definition of luck. 😉) I just so happen to have many Thoughts & Opinions™ about this. I will get wordy, this will get lengthy, and I will be social and put most of my thoughts under a readmore cut.

I personally try to avoid the terms ‘content’ and ‘content creation’ when talking about fandom works and a fandom’s creative pursuits nowadays. Occasionally, sure, it happens that it slips out anyway – it’s a term we’re all really used to using! – but I want to be as mindful about its use as possible. This is a personal decision on my account and I won’t get uppity about other people’s use of these terms, though.

But, Killy, you might say... why would you avoid using these terms? For me, here’s why:

Content is not synonymous with art;

Content creation indicates something different than art creation;

Fandom should not be subject to consumerism;

Fandom is about connection.

If all a fandom puts out is classified as content, that fandom is going to die.

Yeah. I know. Melodramatic much? I’m on my fainting couch here, folks. 😂 But let’s dig in, shall we?

You know, maybe it’s just the archivist in me that balks at the term ‘content’. Content is a data entry field in the archival system we use at my real-life job: literally speaking, this data entry field is where we put a brief summary of the document attached to that specific archival file. It contains information that tells you the key takeaways of what the document is about, but it will not contain the full text of the document itself. Content is one of the points of access for our archival search: I know what I’m looking for, so I put a few keywords into our search and it pulls up the relevant file. But what do I need, really need, in my line of work? It’s the document itself, not the data entry field. The document tells me the whole story that I need to be able to truly do my job well. The content-field is a cliffnotes edition of that story.

It’s the same way with the art we create in fandom. I’m gonna take myself as an example here, because I create a fair bit! (Shocking, I know. Local Tumblr cryptid sighting, more at 11. 😎) I spend hours writing fic. I spend hours sorting through screencaps before screeching at Photoshop for a lengthy amount of time. I spend days pouring over quotes, books, documents, photographs, tutorials, and other things that will help me create something cool. I apply color theory, art framing/perspective, narrative focus, and many other theories and techniques to my writing and my giffing. If I were to put my finished work or any of my WIPs in that same archive system, it would be the document within the archival file. The tags I use on my posts? Those are markers similar to the content-field. They tell you who my gifset depicts and from which show it is. They tell you which OC of mine my fic is about. My work contains these things I tagged.

But my creative work is not content itself.

Content is marketable, easy access, blurb-y stuff. Content is something you absorb within one minute flat. Content is the highlight reel. It’s what fills a page, something you’ll scroll past in a heartbeat, something that barely stands out in a long long long list of stuff. Content is what you consume on a lazy Sunday afternoon without ever being forced to read lengthy pieces, take in the details of what you see, pause mid-scroll to ponder the meaning of life, whatever else have you. Create content and you create a flash in the pan, a quick laugh maybe, before it fizzles back out again. Create content and it’s here today and gone tomorrow without anyone mourning its absence for too long.

Art should last longer than that, don’t you think? 😉

So when I see people put a fic request in an askbox and it’s phrased like “Speirs x spy!reader fluff” and that very same request makes its way into about ten more askboxes before the fandom starts comparing asks? I might be inclined to classify us all as slot machines. Put an ask in and out rolls a fic. Who cares which slot machine it came from? As long as you’ve got your painstakingly crafted fics that you consume the same way you do actual content, right? We, its writers, are just lucky if we get a pat of acknowledgement on our little slot machine head for our troubles, aren’t we?

When I see an overly detailed summary of what sounds like a full-fledged fic in an askbox and the demand is “write this for me”, I recoil from the screen and go “child, who the hell birthed you, were you raised in a barn?” out loud. If you can tell a story in the space of an askbox, consider asking for help to let that story – a story you own, a story that is more yours that it could ever be mine – grow into what it has the potential to be.

When I see fics and gifsets and other creations get likes but not reblogs, I mutter something about the state of fandom economy these days. We exist in a little fandom bubble. Our bubble can’t expand or blow from place to place without a little help from our friends. And you’re my friends, right? I know the follow-button says follow, guys, believe me, I’m not that far gone, but for me ‘follow’ means ‘friend’. 💚 You’re my buddy now. Suck it up. We’ll share a can of peaches. 🍑

When I see fics and other creations get reblogged without tags or comments attached, I die a little on the inside. I feel like a little Victorian orphan child going “please, reblogger, a little penny of thought for its creator, if it pleases?”. I feel like commentless and/or tagless reblogging is giving me nothing, nothing at all, about who you are.

And I want to get to know you! I want to know who’s in my notes. I want to know who’s scrambling through my MotA gifsets like a fat little raccoon inhaling its third helping of a box of jelly-filled donuts. I want to know who is adopting which character and why. I want to know that it’s your birthday, or that you had a bad day and needed a pick-me-up, or that you are locked in an Ikea at three in the morning reading my blog by the bright lights of countless Solhetta bulbs. I want to know that you love my OC Darlene but that you ain’t sure what the hell my OC Lottie’s got to do with anything. I want to know what tickles you – a turn of phrase I used, a color in a gifset, a little detail I captured that made me go !!!!!! on the inside while I was creating too – and I want to know what moves you.

What reaches into the soil of your being and nourishes you enough to blossom into whichever lovely self you can grow to be? What is precious to you? What comforts you in the dark nights of your soul, when all light feels like it’s faded out? What do you love, truly love? What feeling and thought and idea and love love LOVE do you consume – truly consume, head to tail, no takebacks – and what are you consumed by in turn?

Let me connect with you. Let me know the little internet scraps of you that tell me you’re a DeMarco girlie, or that you’re here for Hoosier only, or that you’re as feral and batty about Speirs as I am, or that you actually really can’t stand the one dude everyone else raves about. Let me know that you like angsty quotes on gifsets – feel free to yell at me for making you schedule an impromptu therapy session – or let me know you saw what I did in my fic there and you’ll be demanding compensation from me while you lie down and wail about it. Let me know you’re very into those lovely blues on a gifset (I know, SO good, right??) or that you are side-eyeing me because that close-up of your fave turned you into a little puddle.

Let me know what moves you, because I created these things with love. I created them because they moved me, too. I created them because I have a story to tell, somehow. I created them because the whole world is a string of stories and I want to pass the heart of them on to you. I created them not because I want to jump on a hypetrain that races past all the episodes and all the alternate universes and all the stories without stopping, but because I want to soak up the sun and point at something and tell you “look, isn’t this beautiful?”. I created them not because I am looking for a quick fix or a distraction or an escape, but because I want to give you something that nourishes you as it has nourished me.

That’s so much more than that quick flash in the pan, yeah? That’s so much more than what content could ever hope to be. That’s something that lasts beyond the clicks and gives you an ever-expanding horizon that leaves you wondering just what in the world is next.

Let me repeat point five: if all a fandom puts out is classified as content, that fandom is going to die. Because content doesn’t sustain you. Connection does. And connection? That happens with meaningful interaction. That happens when you stop getting followers and start getting friends. That happens when you treat all forms of art as something unique that can be precious to someone, rather than something to like today and forget about tomorrow.

Can I do a lil mic drop? Yeah. I think I’m gonna. Just this once. 🎤

#fandom things #yeah so this got long but in my defense I have never pontificated about this in public much before #sometimes I reveal myself as the crochety little fandom old I am #creative asks

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