#mustards fics

[moeblob]

Gavin mentally: wait... that doesn't add up........

[on-a-lucky-tide]

fun things to inflict on a pilot who bases his value on how useful he is to others:

temporary blindness >:3c

141 accidentally pierce an old mustard gas canister during an operation. Nik takes the brunt.

cw: injury, temporary blindness, distressed character.

Price paced up and down the base hospital ward wringing his hands as he waited for news, his heart in his throat. The mission had gone south so bloody quickly, and no matter how many times he retraced their steps, Price couldn't pinpoint the exact action that had caused such a monumental fuck up.

Old world war one bunker. Old old. The perfect place for a terrorist cell to store chemical weapons, or at least a lead to them. They had jumped early that morning with Nik because it was in east Germany and he had the knowledge they needed to break through the security systems. The USSR had used it as a base of operations during the Cold War, so without Nik, getting in would have been like chipping away at granite with a toothpick.

They got in. They secured the intelligence - no bloody weapons though - and were on their way out. A small detachment of enemy combatants had infiltrated through a different entrance that hadn't been recorded on the schematics they were working from. There had been an exchange of fire. A stray bullet caught a canister and...

Nik ignored the most fundamental rule of chemical warfare. You sort your own fucking mask first. But no, the stupid wanker grabbed for Gaz's first, because he was closest to the explosion and had only a split second to react.

Nik had been too slow with his own as a result.

Holding Nik in the casevac had been one of the most difficult experiences of Price's life. The skin lesions across his face had been like second degree burns, his eyes swollen shut, streaming. Anywhere there was moisture, the old gas had attacked. Despite the wounds, Price had seen the terror on his face as he tried to wrench the damp gauze off. He couldn't see.

"John, ya nye mogu videt! John... gdye ty? Gdye ty!" His usually calm, sombre voice, with its laid back drawl, broken and cracked in desperation.

In the end, Price had taken the decision to sedate him in the heli, one of those big hands clenched in his to keep him anchored as the drugs brought his heart rate under control and soothed his panic. He had lashed out at Gaz blindly - "otyebis ot menya!" - but between them they had managed to get the sedative into his thigh.

There were other wounds; bumps, scrapes, but none as serious.

"Sir, I'm sorry," Gaz had rasped, chucking the needle back into the bag. "This is my fault."

"No," Price had shaken his head. "Not your burden to carry. G'won, go eat somethin'."

The door at the end of the hall opened and the doctor summoned him with a flick of the head. "Well?" Price demanded, ignoring the pursed lipped irritation he got in return.

"It's temporary," the doctor said, his arms folding. "The gas was old, degraded. Still potent enough to cause damage, but with the right treatment, he'll get his eyesight back."

"How long?"

"Difficult to say. Four to six weeks for the skin lesions to heal. His body will decide on the rest... uh, captain," the doctor reached out a hand as Price tried to walk past, "there is a risk of long-term dyspnea, respiratory problems, awful stuff mustard gas, it attacks the central nervous system too, it can cause changes in mentation, and I understand from his file that he has a medical history of--"

"--I know what's in the file."

"We may be looking at more damage here than just his eyes. But only time will tell."

When Price stepped through the door, Nik startled, looking in his direction even though the heavy bandages over his eyes prevented him from seeing. Price spoke softly as he closed the door at his back. "S'just me, Nik. Easy."

Price nodded tightly, walked by and shouldered his way into the next ward. He found Nik's room but hesitated outside. Nik was awake. He was trying to grope around the table in front of him, searching.

"Captain, it is... well, I would say good to see you but..." He gestured vaguely at his head, his wry smirk shaky, and then that hand returned to patting around the table.

"Did they explain everything? Did you..." ...understand. Fuck, Price didn't understand half of the medical jargon, so he wouldn't be surprised if Nik struggled in his fourth language to parse what they were saying. Fourth out of eight. Asking felt like an insult to Nik's intelligence. The doctor's comment about mentation lodged in Price's throat like a shard of glass.

"Da. It will heal but there may be some future complications, I..." Nik suddenly slammed his fist against the table, anger twisting his mouth into a snarl, "..blyat, where is my phone? I need.." Nik's voice cracked and his chin tilted down with the shame of it, trailing off into miserable silence.

Price reached for him and tried not to let the resulting flinch shred his heart. Once Nik realised it was Price's hands and not whatever phantom his mind has conjured, he relaxed. Price sat down on the edge of the bed. "You don't need t' do anythin' but heal. We've got yer covered."

The way Nik's jaw twitched, teeth clenching at the back, his shoulders rising a little towards his ears; Price could see the clawing discomfort without needing to see his expression.

"You're gonna have to trust us, Nik. I need yer to trust me."

"I do," Nik croaked. "It is... This is not your burden to carry."

"Even if you weren't who you are, you still got injured in one of my operations."

"I let you down. And now I am useless." Nik's other hand clenched into a fist at his side, making the finger monitor creak under the strain.

"Temporarily out of commission. Not useless."

Nik turned his head away, refusing to hear it. They sat in silence, Price's thumb stroking back and forth over Nik's knuckles, giving him a point to focus on that wasn't his burning skin or the darkness of his vision.

"Nik, short of turnin' me over to Al Qatala, you could never let me down," Price said, finally.

Now was the time. Now Nik needed to hear it more than ever.

"You... mean the world to me. I..." he rubbed at his face, tugging at his whiskers, "...I love you. And when I saw you go down, my heart stopped for a second. The world stopped. Believe it or not, I was glad you were screamin' bloody murder in that chopper, cause that meant you were still here."

Nik drew a stuttering breath, but he didn't say anything. The man who had a one-liner or a bit of sass for every occasion sat in mute silence. It made Price ache in a way he never had before.

"'M not gonna abandon you, Nik. Wouldn't have even if this had been permanent. An' I know you don't believe me. I know. But... 'm gonna show ya. And you can grumble and cuss at me 'til the cows come home."

Nik's head fell back against the pillow and he sniffed, scowling with a muttered curse.

"You olrigh'?" Price squeezed his hand.

"Da. I am crying like little girl and it is stinging my eyes."

Price chuckled, patting their joined hands against his own thigh. "Soppy git."

That had to be a good sign. Tear ducts were what the eyes used to heal and maintain themselves, right? And he could feel the tears. Positive. This was positive. Price lifted Nik's hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, lingering there to feel the warmth of his skin.

Nik swallowed, his fingers tightening in Price's grip. "If I had known that losing my eyes would have earned me John Price, I would have cut them out years ago."

"Fuckin' 'ell, Nik," Price said incredulously, always somewhat taken aback by the intensity with which Nik expressed himself when it was just them. He sighed. "Yer've had me all this time. I just... I'm just not as brave as you are."

Nik huffed. "Bravo Six is the bravest man I know."

"Only for some things. Not feelin' particularly brave right now, and you're the one in the gurney."

Nik tilted his head towards Price, so desperate to see his face. Price was glad he couldn't. His damn eyes were watering. "Then, I will be brave for you. This, I can do without my eyes."

Price smiled and made sure Nik could feel it against his palm, promising him silently in that moment that he wouldn't waste a single second more of their time together on this bloody earth. "Sounds like a plan."

[intothedysphoria]

If harringrove had pets what do you think they would have?

Billy seemed to hold an affinity for particularly scruffy animals but the last thing Steve expected was for Billy to drag in a barn owl. Especially at quarter past two in the morning.

Steve’s first major question was why Billy was even up. There had been a rough couple of months where Billy was up at all hours of the night but it had seemed to calm down.

Evidently, that was until an animal was in distress.

The downsides of having a fiancé who was a vet.

Steve tried to deny it was happening until 5:55 when he was officially all out of sleep and just about ready to explode.

The sight waiting for him downstairs softened him just a little bit.

Billy was feeding the owl water, stroking its feathers and generally talking to it as if it was a real person. It was quite sweet and Steve found himself not minding his terrible night quite as much.

“We’re keeping her.”

Steve retracted anything he’d thought about it being sweet. He was ready to commit murder.

The owl was named Mary and that was that. So Steve, accepting defeat, attempted to bond with her.

Surprisingly, they got on quite well. Mary seemed to enjoy The Traitors and listening to new wave in the kitchen during the times she was actually in the house.

Billy delighted in this fact.

“You totally love her”

That statement would usually be accompanied by a lighthearted poke or a kiss. Just something to soften Steve up before he’d bring in another wounded or forgotten animal.

Mary was the only one who stayed though. And she was still around when they got married being silly and dramatic as she swooped around Steve getting ready.

Steve put his foot down at Billy adopting more owls though. He tried to sound very serious about it.

Billy agreed but his eyes still sparkled with mischief. Steve didn’t trust those eyes but then Billy kissed him again and he forgot what they’d been talking about.

Another owl ended up in their house within the week. Steve just decided to accept it

@shieldofiron @dragonflylady77 for you

(For your official answer, Billy just takes in every animal he sees and Steve decides to roll with it)

[theyellowestmustard]

Considering the not-very-original concept of Ed getting a tattoo for Stede.

But when he shows it off Stede gets emotional because oh my GOD what a grand romantic gesture??

Only for Ed to be totally confused because he's?? Gotten a BUNCH of tattoos to honour Stede (and no NOT just the Trust No-One), some from even before they were TOGETHER together, like he's got a moth and a book and and and-- because Ed is one of those impulsive folks that gets tattoos like new clothing.

Turns out Stede did NOT know all these tattoos he's been admiring and kissing and touching for months had anything to do with him or his influence and is just 😮->🥺->😭💕

Edit: Guess what?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52003504/chapters/131506645

[dragon-deez-ballz]

when are we getting angst kakavege fics where vegeta is hopelessly addicted to dark rooms and knocking around bottles of alcohol with a rake. and getting food poisioning. And then goku is his grinder hookup and is literally so full of joy and happiness that's making vegeta depressed and he, as a result, low self esteem posts on a microblogging website

[fourteenfifteen]

new to the crew

G // 1.6k // friends at the table: palisade

“Aaaaaaand… there! All done!”

Mustard stepped back from the wall. With the last poster hung, she was officially all moved into her cabin on the Blue Channel. “It’s perfect. Don’t you think?”

YES, came a crinkling voice in her mind, LOOKS SUPER CUTE.

(Mustard joins the crew, sort of.)

for @cadmium-free for secret samol 2023

read now on ao3

[wezkotwee]

Recently, I have seen a lot of people use this, X, etc to promote their own fics. So I wanted to go it a try as well.

But I needed a hook to get peoples attention. So I thought, people like headcanons regarding sexuality, it’s a FEM! villain Deku story with only two straight people in the entire league, might as well try that as a hook.

So here are they for the league members, their main opponents, and some extra characters that aren’t enemies, but important enough to get a mention.

Also Deku and Mustard being lesbians is because I genderswapped them. Izuocha with brief Izuochahimi, and Mustard doesn’t end up with someone but it’s repeatedly said she likes girls.

[uselessfox]

there is a recent fic on ao3 i read that i immediately thought of you! aoyama is the protagonist and has a great friendship with mustard!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47845228/chapters/120620215

RUNNING IN CIRCLES, Two of my hyperfixations who have never interacted in canon being friends in a fic?! This made me very happy. I appreciate you, Anon :>

Them frfr!

[mappingthesky]

seeing as they'll be reunited close to spooky season, do you have any headcanons for planymphia's halloween costumes? (+ bonus points for couples costumes!)

omg yes!!! these two could either go full slut mode or lean all the way into their silliness. either way would be so much fun <3

ngl i would LOVE a lil angel/ devil number for them. i think pj should play angel (bc she is so heinous irl) and nymphia can have fun going full chaos demon all night <3 think pj in flimsy feathered angel wings and a cheap halo and nymph in some outlandishly sinful high fashion devil fit. at the end of the night they walk home and pj trades headbands with nymph cuz she’s her angel n all she needs is a halo <3

[c00kietin]

shout out to the cool people who draw Mustard maskless I hope you know you are doing WONDERFUL things 😌

[crossbackpoke-check]

glad to see that d3 vid made it to you as well because ohmigosh... i've watched it like 6 times already and it's still just as wild and good as the first time. like the way they all had an answer?? imagining them sitting around having conversations about who they'd like to marry on the team - not to mention the way babies were mentioned more than once. these kids are/have been on tumblr and ao3, they know what's up lol

(also side note one of the guys who said mason, he said it was bc mason was a good cuddler which sent me too - so you guys have cuddled. regularly. like WOW.) not even gonna talk about the one who picked his brother though wanting someone to do your taxes is so real

rotating "hopeless romantic + old school" in my mind, like what does that even mean?? flowers and chocolates and kissing you goodnight at your dorm room? does he pull out a chair for you before you sit down? idk, it was such a sweet and genuine answer

tldr i love them all and can we get more teams doing this please? i've never paid attention to d3 in my life but suddenly i need to know more

- @bondedpairs

every time i watch the video i just start laughing so hard, it brings me so much joy and i cannot thank kasper moregraceful enough for bringing it into all of our lives 🥺 *

AND now i get to pitch that i think everybody should watch more college/local hockey to have that type of joy all the time!!! tickets are usually pretty decently priced, you get your narratives right in front of you (my notes app has some. thoughts) and you get the same emotional attachment and watch your guys develop throughout their careers!!! a lot of the time you can find really fun social media for college teams in particularly because of student media programs but if you are not already an ahl watcher: may i recommend stalking their youtube channels. lehigh valley phantoms spelling bee videos are one of my favorite things in the entire world and the milwaukee ads have a lot of fun content too!!

[theyellowestmustard]

Listen I'm a tumblr elder which means I'm still a moodboard girly through and through I can't help myself ok, here's one for a thing I wrote

[fountainpenguin]

"I keep pushin' forward, but he keeps pullin' me backwards... (Don't pick up the phone; don't let him in; don't be his friend...)" (x)

Top 10 Hanahaki Life Hacks (#8 Will Shock You)

Sour Petals AU Guide

❤️ Read on AO3

🧡 M - Ongoing multichapter

💙 Blog Tag - #Sour Petals AU

💚 More MCYT AUs

And she should apologize, but the words that gush out are more like, “You cheated on me,” which isn’t an apology at all. Unless it is (between the lines). Martyn winces, still shaking coffee from his arm. “I was coming back… I just took the wrong subway car. I swear… I was coming back.” No. No, not this again. Cat and yarn; hold the mouse. Cleo’s nails dig into the lines in her palms, scraping out cinnamon flecks. “Martyn, Scott heard it from Pearl’s mouth. Just… Tell me you were drunk or something. At least try to make up a story I’ll believe. Do you even care? Am I just…? Does it even matter to you, what I think?” And with a hasty backpedal, “If she took advantage, you can tell me. You can tell me. She’s Scott’s ex anyway; I’ve got her blocked everywhere I could think of. We never talk.” “It was late and I boarded the wrong subway,” Martyn says again, but he is lying. It’s always an excuse; never an apology.

Martyn coughs up flowers for years after the divorce, making bank as a florist, dye salesman, painter... anything he can put his on-and-off Hanahaki disease to use for.

Cleo just wants to move on.

Double Life SMP & Limited Life SMP-themed Hanahaki AU, set in a modern Hermitcraft universe

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

New Rules

- 🥀 -

Martyn Littlewood started dyeing at age 31.

Every day, 6:15 AM, Cleo stands by the stairs that lead down to the subway, waiting by the window while Martyn rips flowers from his skin. The stems snap off, but the roots remain. They’ve got him so fiercely, tongue-tied and ripped apart, that every time he laughs, he sounds more undead than alive. How many surgeries can a florist afford to get those things removed? Or does he do it all himself? He looks awful sometimes (especially in the summer) when thorny vines wrap his arms and legs. Sometimes his arms hang like limp meat at his sides. The tubes, canes, and chairs he uses look increasingly expensive.

32-year-old Martyn Littlewood runs the flower shop in Aqua Town. Cleo’s stepped through that door to stand among lush, strong-scented plants more times than she’d care to admit. They’re… cordial. At least, Martyn doesn’t seem to hate her. She’s never hated him.

“Well, you’ve made me a rich man. I don’t spend a lick on material. It just comes to me.” He crushes blue petals with a squeeze of his hand. Cleo grips her bag in one hand, gazing back over the rims of her sunglasses. Martyn has stitch marks up and down his face. All over his hands. There’s one right across his forehead. He wears a neck brace now. Or if it’s not a brace, it’s some sort of bandage. All her own marks are zombie-themed tattoos. They fit her zombie aesthetic. The aesthetic came first. He smiles, painfully from behind the counter, and threads baby’s breadth in a bouquet as a filler flower. It’s coming back in style, he says, after a decade of it being overdone. Honestly, Cleo doesn’t get why he even tries selling the flowers; he should stick to dye. Everything is dying here. Except his energy, when he says, “What brought you in here, m’dude? Hot date tonight?”

There’s silk and chocolate in his voice. It catches her through the gut, like she tripped and speared herself on a stalagmite. Uh. Cleo lifts one finger to the window. “You took down your neopronouns sign. I just wanted to ask what’s up; if you’re okay.”

The sign was mangrove wood and cut in the shape of a peony. Martyn flicks his eyes to the place it used to hang, then goes back to work. “Aw, that… Well, flower pronouns aren’t super practical when I’m in the shop. I’m looking for others. Something more versatile. Nothing has that same rush, but I’m not giving up.”

That makes sense. Does that make sense? He doesn’t look at her. “You’re still wearing your wedding ring,” she says without thinking. Martyn stops. His eyes stay pinned on the nearest wilting rose.

“Yeah. Are you not cool with that?”

It’s not a challenge, but she knows he’d shove back if she pushed. It’s easier, running fingers through her hair. “Honestly, it’s fine. Mine’s still on the bathroom counter. I see it every day. Sometimes I still wear it. Mostly when I’m out with Scott or Cub.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Martyn nods. His hands move again, fluffing the tiny flowers from below. “People talk.”

“They do.”

He clears his throat in his fist. Cleo moves away, examining the fridges in the back so he can cough up petals without an ex hovering around him. His coughs are thick and damp. He stands and leaves the room.

- 🌹 -

Martyn’s work often took him away from Hermit Hills. He and his best friend ran a summer camp called Dogwarts out in the flats, in that little piece of rumpled land that sat too near the desert for the local farmers to take an interest. She met Martyn because of that camp, actually, when they were 24 and 25 and he reached out with a little Hey, I love your work and we’re mutual friends with Scott and Pearl email to ask if she’d do a presentation on insects and other forest wildlife for the kids. He said his usual presenter was out tagging eagles that week, and honestly… Where do you even go from that? He and Ren offered good money, too. She could probably type up her research remotely for a few days. A few weeks. Even if she didn’t make as much progress as she’d like, the network opportunity might be worth its weight in diamond blocks.

“You should,” Scott encouraged when she called him up to check if this Martyn guy really was his friend. “Pearl and I are counselors. We can all hang out together! And you can tell the kids about that time you bottle-fed the bear cubs.”

… Yeah, all right. She worked more often with bats, but talking about the bear cubs always turns eyes her way. Wildlife rehabilitation isn’t really a standalone career, and that’s a good thing to prepare kids for at an animal-lovers camp. She could still smell the baby formula blended with blueberries, the cubs with creamy droplets smeared across their muzzles and cheeks.

She took the offer. Three weeks later, there she was… Camp Dogwarts and its insects, poison ivy, and whatever else lay waiting for her. Cleo basked a few last seconds in the bliss of the air conditioning, then switched off the car and stepped into summer sun. Martyn and Ren both shook her hand, beaming. He/him or flower/rose. He/they/it or neopronouns that fit a canine theme. They said it back to back, fluidly and effortless.

Cleo paused. Then, “She/her professionally. I’ve… considered experimenting, but my social life’s been tied to work for so long, I don’t know where to start.” With Scott, obviously, but pronouns sounded like such a big commitment. Ren clasped their hands; if they’d had a tail, it would have wagged. And he probably would have loved that.

“Oh, dude! We have so much to talk about! Can I call you ‘dude?’”

“Sure. That’s fine.”

Martyn gave the tour while Ren and the counselors kept an eye on the kids. The hilltop pergola made a perfect lookout point. Martyn shielded his eyes, then pointed across the field to a second hilltop building in the distance. “Bean Hill. Rrrrright over there, that’s the edge of camp.”

His eyes? Flower’s eyes? She understood the pronouns in theory, though trying to wrap her mind around them left her suddenly aware of everything she didn’t know. She felt like she’d been stripped, her clothes dunked in the lake. “Cozy place,” she replied. “You and Ren built all this?”

“Yes, ma’am! Placed every block with our own four hands.” And they talked about that, soaking in the sunlight, until Cleo asked the itchy question that wouldn’t leave her thoughts alone.

“Real quick… You don’t have to get into it, but how did you find neopronouns that were right for you? Or… how did you decide to take that leap? I imagine people talk. Ask a lot of questions. So, you must be pretty committed to them if you share them openly.”

Martyn gazed out across the hill, sighing through his(?) nose. “I use them at camp. Not so much at home. I don’t dare discuss it with my parents.” Then, leaning rose’s shoulder (was that right?) on the pergola support, flower said, “You know that discourse that goes around every once in awhile about gift giving being a ‘selfish’ love language? Or have you ever heard someone talk about how they’d never be able to stand dating someone who sort of expected gifts throughout the year?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s like that. I’ve always thought gift giving wasn’t so much about what was given as it was about the thought that you exist in someone’s mind even when you’re not there in front of them. Like, they care enough about you, they wanted you to know they saw something and thought of you. When someone puts the thought into my pronouns… it means they thought about me. And the world is better.” Flower bent down and pulled a dandelion from the grass. “Ren says it would probably be called it/its more often if it really did have a werewolf form, and sometimes that feels good and sometimes it’s lonely. I dunno… Everyone’s just out here getting by, I guess. It’s worth having something to smile about every day. Neopronoun use is like that for me. Free smiles in the tip jar.”

“I’m not sure tips are free.”

❤️ Read on AO3

[fourteenfifteen]

hey in the tags what’s your favorite short fanfic. like uhh 4k words max

[em1e]

I sent my girlfriend my fic and told her how proud I was to havhave gotten 4 likes in just an hour of posting it and she said the sweetest mfing thing

'My baby's becoming famous!!'

THAT'S SO CUTE WHAT THE HECK

[nimblermortal]

brb, looking up this AO3 user to check their other bookmarks for recipes...

Here's the potato leek soup recipe (it's in the author's notes, last paragraph)

And here's their other recipe bookmark, including beef & beet borscht, beef bourgignon, pasta carbonara, chicken and dumplings, smoked salmon chowder with dill, bubble & squeak: the feast remix, mac and cheese with pancetta, chicken and swiss chard pasta bake, pork chops ala Hale, peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, cheddar-dill scones, and carrot soup.

It is a beef and beet borscht at the end of a Teen Wolf fic, so I checked whether indigostohelit and neviditelny are the same user, but there's no indication to that effect.

In case either of them find my notes, here's an apology in the form of my favorite bread recipe, which I wrote an Old Guard fic for to have an excuse to write something wtih food.

slightly losing my mind over this bookmark