#rie writes

[blood-mocha-latte]

THE MORNING SUN | 31.5K | RATED E

for @luztoyeweek day one: other historical time periods and love languages

“Believe it or not, there aren't a lot of guys like you.” George said, bit at Joe’s bottom lip as he pulled back, rubbing an open palm over his chest.

Joe just smiled into his mouth, an absent curve of his lips, tracing a few fingertips up and down George’s waist. “There's a hundred of me here.”

“You let me do what I like, and you like it, too.” George said, light and warm, like something worth thought, like a rebuttal. “It’s — I ain’t used to that.”

“Been hanging with the wrong guys, then.” 

“Yeah.” George murmured, pressing his forearms into the mattress on either side of Joe’s head as he sank down to kiss him again. “Every guy that’s not you is the wrong guy.” 

(Bare knuckle boxing, lakes, colleges. What changes in a single summer.) 

READ ON AO3

TAGLIST:

@moghraidhs @ewipandora @disastrouscanasta @spinteresting @junodarling @teheitsasecret @screwby @gorgeousundertow @sachart @chris-the-random @mstiemountainhop @scarecrowmax @luzlylovely @brosreal @gillespiejr @ladyofthebears @dreamingoftzu @zehroni @lamialamia @webgottism @jesslovesboats @pfctipper @secretagentofcaos @quillandink22 @ackackh

[wingsofbadass]

Ranma 1/2 au where Lan Zhan falls into the Spring of the Drowned Girl, except it's a blessing instead of a curse.

With art by @lilkikibat 💖

[riewritten]

How about Erwin just being a gentleman and protective? 🥺

ahah... 4 months before i catered to this req... ahaha... sorry didn't mean that. i was just feeling silly. this is a very general premise tho, so i made the particularities myself!

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. gen neutral!reader x erwin smith 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬. 1.1k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. hurt/comfort, mental health issues & nuances of self-harm, basically erwin smith comforting and protecting you from… tada! yourself! (pretty ppl with ugly demons unite!)

The room is warped with sheer worry on your end while apparent scrutiny on Erwin's end. Only the two of you are in the room, facing each other, with the table separating both of you. He squints his eyes yet again; yours averts elsewhere but his deep stare.

"You've been wearing clothes quite too warm for this summer recently," he starts. "Do you have anything to tell me?"

"What else would I tell you? It's cold for me. Is it my fault that my skin isn't too thick anymore?"

He sighs upon hearing you feign ignorance. You very much know what he's talking about. 

"It's true, Erwin. My skin has been turning thin and fragile recently."

"May I see?"

"No."

"Why?"

You don't answer. Instead, you lower your head from him, lacking confidence for your reasons. Erwin waits, albeit he intentionally puts pressure on the question. After minutes, you finally give in to it, "It's been quite itchy recently."

"And...?"

"So I wear the sweatshirts. It would help ease the cold. It would help ease the itching."

"And?" he presses again, emphasizing the one-word question with utter urgency. Erwin's not one to lose his patience, but he's slowly coming to terms with the situation at hand and it is, indeed, getting quite urgent.

And with the lack of your answer, Erwin finally stands up. Despite its graced and precise sounds, the heel of his shoes is ringing your ear in further trepidation. He kneels when he's in front of you, urging you to look at his face.

He holds onto the tip of your sweater to gesture that he wants to fold it up himself, "May I?"

"Erwin," you mutter. A warning, perhaps.

Nonetheless, his other hand plays on your fingers, running circles on your palm in a calming gesture. He calls your name, "May I?"

You take minutes before getting the courage to nod. Anyone would've lost their patience by now, but Erwin instead responds with a small but sheerly proud smile as if to say: there, there. It wasn't too hard to do, was it?

He slowly folds up the sweater to expose more of your skin, holding precise gentleness as if he's really taking your dilly-dallies into account—that it is indeed fragile, and the sweater you're wearing is to alleviate its fraying.

Then there it goes. The answer is unveiled with the revealed skin. Aggressive and swollen nail scratches stain your skin. It's not something acquired by sharp objects. No, not at all. And that worries Erwin even more. He could easily put you off limits to external objects, but if this is the case, then, "How did you get this?"

You try to swat your hands away, getting irritated and defensive. "I told you, it's itchy."

"So you were scratching it?"

"Obviously? You have so many questions."

This is when his tone goes stern, "Answer me properly."

"I'm getting uncomfortable with this talk. Let me out of the room now."

"The uncomfortable one in this talk is the one causing the wounds."

"I will apply anti-irritant cream later on, okay?"

"And you know well the scratches didn't stem from something physical."

Indeed. You purse your lips tight. Erwin got you. He caught it badly, and his tone clearly shows he won't let it go.

Your itches are coming from anxiousness. The scratches stem from sheer uncomfortability and rattling thoughts. It's all coming from the inside, and thus fraying your skin mayhaps is a way for you to spit it all out.

"That's why I've been wearing sweaters," you say, the defense not so mighty anymore, but when Erwin doesn't answer, your face finally crumbled into guilt—a pang of genuine, reeking guilt. "Are you angry?"

Instead of answering, Erwin holds your fingers again and examines your nails. Then he stands up, goes to the closet, and returns to you.

"Stand up."

Erwin—when slipping into the tone of a commander—isn't someone to mess up with. So you follow suit. You stand up from your chair.

"Sit on the table."

"Eh?"

"Sit," he orders strictly.

Strange enough, you follow suit. Despite the glare and confusion, you hoist yourself up the table and sit. Erwin replaces your spot on the chair and faces you.

"Erwin, what are you doing?"

He holds your hand; the gesture answers your question. The thing he got from his closet was a nail cutter. Snip snaps cover the room. His silent yet resolute stance leaves you no choice but to let him. After all, he's right. The one uncomfortable in this conversation is the one causing the wounds. He's not angry at you per se; he could never be when he's worried. But the facet of you that causes this wound, this anxiousness, is what he wants to go away. This man would swear to protect you from anything and anyone, just as you would do for him. But at the same time, his most brutal rival is you—the hardest thing to do is to protect you from yourself. Not like he could crack your brain open and scoop the voices rattling inside your head.

So instead, he snips the sharp of your nails. Then he gently damps cream to the scratches of your skin, all the while thinking of different alternatives for you to do aside from fraying your skin—perhaps another way for you to spit the overwhelming voices out, something that would not result in wounds hidden by your sweatshirts.

He'd pretty much do everything—everything to protect you, everything to counter your aggressive mind by his sheer gentleness and resolve—precisely what you deserve for everything you had gone through.

"I'm sorry, Erwin," you mutter in guilt, worrying about his silence amidst his huge gestures.

"Does it hurt?"

You nod weakly, "It stings a bit. It didn't bleed, but it seems to be irritated."

"You do know it's not your fault, no?"

"Tch," you huff in mock, "not like someone else caused the skin scratches."

"You wouldn't want to enter a discourse you're certain you'd lose."

"Thank you," you mumble, "for cutting my nails for me."

"This isn't a free service."

"Then how else would I pay you back?"

"Live with me," he interposes, yet he sounds too resolved to ask your opinion. "At least until the itching subsides."

"N-no, I'm okay, really!"

"That was not a question. I'm merely informing you. That's the only way you could pay me back."

"Is this non-negotiable?"

"It is. You have no choice but to follow."

The only response you could come up with is a chuckle.

Erwin chuckles in turn. His sternness has wholly subsided.

The uncomfortably subsides a bit, too; the silence that follows suit no longer feels cold. Perhaps Erwin's presence is akin to the sweatshirt you've used to conceal your frayed skin. If you try to rely on him this time and let him cover you with his warmth, you wouldn't need to persist in the hot weather. Erwin could protect you with his devotion and care without forsaking your comfortability, without the need to resist and hide your vulnerability.

🔖 @frenchdyer @watyousayin @collinnmckinley @aeanya @xiaotopia | SUBSCRIBE TO STORIES

MORE OF SWEET SUBTLETIES SERIES HERE

[caparrucia]

Written wholly and entirely for @garbria who always comes up with the best ideas and enables me terribly.

[thelunarbar]

Know You’re Not Alone - Patience Series Part Six

In which: Mav and Ice would take care of everyone if they could, but they’ll settle for caring for the people they can.

Word count: 3839

A/N - again this came our way longer than I meant for it to, but I’ve been waiting to actively have Jake in the story since I introduced Natasha. So here we are. Still pretty angsty, but with a couple fluffy moments too. And as always no beta we die like goose.

T/W - mentions of abuse, I can’t think of any others, but please lmk if you see any

-/-/-/-/-

The weeks between thanksgiving and Christmas are a whirlwind of activity. They throw a small baby shower for Natasha, they invite Sarah, and Jake(who doesn’t show)and Natasha’s case worker. There’s gifts and cake and a good time is had by all.

Two weeks after thanksgiving Natasha’s father is found guilty of manslaughter and his sentence is extended by six years. Natasha doesn’t say anything when they tell her, just disappears to her room and doesn’t come down until lunchtime the next day. Mav can’t even begin to imagine how devastating it must be to find out your father will miss the birth of your baby and the first five and a half years of his life. Not mention the knowledge that by the time he’s released she’ll have been an adult for three years, nothing stopping her from going out and making her own way in the world, though Mav and Ice have both assured her she can stay as long as she needs. But that doesn’t make the situation any easier.

Shopping for presents is a lengthy undertaking, as they’ve never had this many people to shop for before, wrapping takes even longer. Mav lacks the patience to do it well and Ice rewraps at least half the things Mav does.

Getting decorations and the tree up is an event unlike any other year. They have Christmas music playing louder than they should, everyone talking and laughing while they work. Mickey gets the honor of putting the star on top of the tree, with assistance from Ice.

No one has been able to contact Mickey’s dad yet. Last Mav heard his squadron had been MIA, but he’d been assured they were doing their best to find them and bring Mr. Garcia home. Ice has been using his many contacts to keep updated on the situation.

A week before Christmas they get the call informing them that Bob’s mom is being discharged from the rehabilitation center. She’ll be by in the evening to get Bob.

Mav struggles to be happy about it. He knows it’s a good thing, a great thing. Especially this close to Christmas. Bob will be thrilled. But Mav has grown attached to him, loves him like his own. And if he cries, no one has to know.

-/-/-/-

Laura shows up at seven. Her clothes look too small and her jacket has a hole that showcases the white filler insider. Her hair is shorter than the last time Mav saw her, but she’s smiling when he opens the door.

“Hi.” She says, a little breathless. She glances around, trying to see Bob. Mav smiles and steps to the side so she can come in.

“Hey, Laura.” Mav closes the door behind her, “Bob, buddy, you have a visitor.” He calls. Bob makes his way into the entry, followed by Ice, and grins broadly when he sees his mom.

“Mama!” He throws his arms around her and she kisses his temple, a few tears trailing down her cheeks.

“Hi baby.” She holds him close, running her fingers through his hair. “Ready to go home?” He mutters something into her shoulder and she smiles.

“Hey, Bob, why don’t you get your things while we talk to your mom for a minute?” Mav suggests. Bob nods and runs up the stairs. Mav turns back to Laura, who’s watching Bob with a smile on her face. Ice takes Mav’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “We were wondering if you and Bob would like to spend Christmas with us?” Laura stares at them for several seconds.

“Are you-are you sure?“

“Of course we’re sure!” Mav assures her. “We already bought a few things for him and-”

“We’d like to give you guys a real Christmas, as long as you don’t mind spending it with us.” Ice tells her. She inhales shakily and her eyes get teary.

“Thank you.” She finally says. “I can’t give him anything this year and I can’t even decorate and I���m so afraid of disappointing him more than I already have.” She sniffs and wipes at her eyes, “And I know he’ll be so brave about it, but he shouldn’t have to be.” She pulls Mav into a hug and then Ice.

-/-/-/-

Christmas morning comes quietly in the Kazansky house. None of them are particularly early risers, except Ice, who goes down the stairs and gets breakfast going. Cinnamon rolls, left to proof overnight are popped into the oven beside the turkey, to ensure it’s done by dinner time, and bacon is set frying, coffee drips steadily into the pot and slowly, one by one everyone else straggles in. Breakfast is a pretty quiet affair of bed head and morning breath crowded around their table that is seeming smaller and smaller all the time.

With breakfast consumed they make their way to the living room where they designate spots to each kid, Bradley included, and Mav sinks into Ice’s recliner while Ice plays Santa.

The first few gifts go to Natasha and then Mickey. They managed to find a good balance between things for the baby and things for her and Ice has no qualms about taking all the credit for that despite Mav’s protests. It was hard not to go overboard buying for her baby now that she knows it’s a boy.

For Mickey they found a few toys, some clothes and a couple sensory items they thought he might enjoy.

For Bradley there’s an assortment of practical things they know he needs, a hoodie, a pair of boots, and few more things just for fun, a couple novels, some cds and a large model car building kit.

Laura and Bob show up shortly before noon. Each laden with a small pile of gifts wrapped in newspaper. Laura had knit hats for them all and gave Natasha an IOU for a sweater she’s knitting for the baby.

Ice managed to get his hands on several model planes and Mav wrapped up all the books on planes they had in the house that Bob had flipped through endlessly during his stay, as well as a several new ones. Bob is beyond thrilled to receive them.

They decide to gift Laura some clothes, a feat easier said than done, but with help from Sarah they find some things for her and get a gift card so she can get some things of her own choice.

-/-/-/-

Mav declares Christmas dinner the best feast Ice has ever prepared. And a round of agreements follows. Ice goes pink in the face and Mav kisses him soundly before carving the turkey.

When dinner is consumed Bob and Mickey find a spot near the tree to enjoy their gifts, Natasha takes the landline down to her room, whether to call her dad or Jake, Mav doesn’t know. Ice busies himself packing up leftovers to send with Laura and Bob. And Mav and Laura are standing in the living room watching Bob and Mickey.

“Laura?” Mav asks, gently resting his hand on her shoulder. She turns to him, smiling, hair falling into her face as it’s not quite long enough to stay tucked back, wine glass clasped in both hands.

“Hmm?” He offers her a red envelope. She sets her wine glass down on the end table and takes it, questions floating through her eyes. She opens it and pulls out the card inside, a classic winter picture. She flips the card open and starts to read the note inside, letting the $500 gift card for the local grocery store slide into her hand. She gasps and looks up at him, tears collecting in her eyes again. “This is too much.”

“It’s Christmas, Laura. We want to help you and Bob as much as we can. And if there’s ever anything else we can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call.” She bursts into tears, sobbing into her hand. Mav pulls her into a hug. She continues to sob as he rubs her back gently and it makes him wonder how long it’s been since she’s had someone take care of her.

-/-/-/-/-

When Bob and Laura start pulling themselves together she pulls Mav into a hug and then Ice.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course. Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do to help.” Ice tells her, smiling, arm wrapped around Mav’s shoulders. Laura blinks back tears as she nods. She grabs the bags of gifts and leftovers and takes them out to the car, when the screen door closes behind her Bob wraps his arms around Mav’s waist.

“Thank you.” He says softly. “For the gifts and for being the best family I ever had to stay with.” Mav holds him tight and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s been our pleasure, buddy. We love you and we’ve loved having you here.”

“We’re gonna miss you, kiddo.” Ice tells him, ruffling his hair. “But we’re really glad you get to go home.” Bob pulls away from Mav and pushes his glasses up.

“Me too.” He smiles brightly and gives Ice a hug before following his mom out to the car.

-/-/-/-

Mickey falls asleep beside the tree, his new stuffed lion held to his chest. Bradley is reclining on the couch, dozing, book open on his chest. Natasha is curled up on the other end of the couch flipping through the book of baby names they’d given her and Ice and Mav are sharing Ice’s recliner. They have Christmas music playing softly, an old record spinning on the turntable brought down from Natasha’s room.

“It’s been a great Christmas.” Mav says, resting his cheek against Ice’s head.

“It has.” Ice agrees. Mav stands with a groan and carefully picks Mickey up, deciding to transfer to him to his bed. Ice follows him up and once Mickey is settled they share their first moment alone all day. Standing in their bedroom, arms wrapped around each other they share a kiss.

“You astound me everyday.” Mav says, smiling softly and tangling his fingers in Ice’s hair.

“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I love you with all that I am.”

“Always have to one up me, don’t you?”

“Can’t help it.” Ice grins, showing teeth, “I’m competitive by nature. And if I’m not mistaken that was what brought us together in the first place.” They stand there a little longer, swaying gently until Mav says,

“Wanna go read?” Ice smiles and presses a kiss to Mav temple.

“That sounds like the best end to a great day.” They had back downstairs where Bradley is snoring like a freight train and Natasha has disappeared. No doubt to her room. They wake Bradley and send him up to crash on what used to be Bob’s bed in Mickey’s room. He grumbles and mutters, but drags himself off the couch and up the stairs.

-/-/-/-

It’s nearing ten o’clock, later than they usually stay up, but their book has gotten too good to put down, when there’s a knock on the door. Ice stops reading mid sentence and lowers the book to look at Mav.

“Who the hell would be coming over this late?” Ice asks. The only person who might conceivably visit at this hour is Bradley, but as he’s asleep upstairs they’re both stumped. Ice pushes himself up out of his chair.

“Hmm.” Ice sticks his finger in the book to mark their page and takes it with him as he turns the corner. He flicks on the yard light and pulls the door open. A teenage boy is standing there, a back pack and a trash bag at his feet. Dried blood runs from a cut above his left eyebrow down his face and neck until it disappears into the collar of his coat. A coat that is clearly too short in the sleeves. There’s a very obvious hand print on his cheek and his left eye is definitely starting to swell and bruise. He sniffs and wipes his nose on his sleeve.

“Can I help you?” Ice asks.

“‘M lookin’ for Natasha Trace.” The boy says. “Sir.” He tacks on at the end. “‘M her boyfriend.” Ice’s brows shoot up. Mav had told him a little about Natasha’s boyfriend after he’d taken both him and Natasha to the anatomy scan for their baby, but the image he’d conjured in his mind is very different than the boy at the door.

“Oh. Well, why don’t you come in.” Ice steps aside and let’s the boy in. “I’ll go get Natasha.” Ice turns toward the stairs, leaving Jake in the entry way. As he walks by the living room entry Mav gets his attention.

“Who was it?”

“Natasha’s boyfriend.” Mav clearly has more questions, but Ice waves him off, telling him he has to go get Natasha. Mav rolls his eyes at Ice’s retreating form and hauls himself up off the couch. He steps into the entryway and his heart breaks a little at the sight that greets him.

Jake watches him approach, takes a step back, fight or flight instincts already starting to kick in, while trying desperately to pull his sleeves down and Mav can tell by the way he’s holding himself that his right leg is injured. His back pack and trash bag are sitting on his feet.

“Hey.” Mav says softly. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen? I’ll get you something to eat?” He offers. Jake gives him a scrutinizing look before nodding hesitantly.

Mav leads the way and heads straight for the fridge, pulling out leftovers from their dinner. Turkey and mashed potatoes, as well as assorted sides. He piles a significant portion onto a plate and pops it into the microwave. While it heats he pulls a small gel bead ice pack from the freezer and offers it to Jake who’s standing just inside the kitchen entry, bags held tightly in his hands. When Jake doesn’t make a move to accept it Mav leaves it on the table. Ice reappears with a sleep addled Natasha behind him just as the microwave beeps. Mav puts the plate, a fork and a glass of water on the table beside the ice pack before grabbing Ice and pulling him out of the kitchen so Jake and Natasha can talk.

They’re fully willing to admit, though only to each other, that they try to eavesdrop. They can’t make out any words, only quiet murmuring, followed by the faint thunk of what Mav assumes is Jake’s bags hitting the floor, and then someone crying. Despite how hard Ice tries to stop him, Mav peeks into the kitchen and almost wants to cry himself.

Jake and Natasha are hugging. Jake is clutching her shirt in both hands, face buried in her neck, shoulders shaking as he sobs. Natasha has one one hand in his hair and the other rubbing his back looking on the verge of tears herself.

Ice pulls him back before he gets noticed and can easily read the concern in Mav’s eyes. They return to the living room and sit down together on the couch.

“I don’t know what’s happened, but I’d bet anything he’s going to need somewhere to stay.” Mav tells Ice, holding his hand tightly. Ice hums in agreement.

“For tonight he can sleep on the couch.” Ice says and Mav nods, “Once Bradley leaves tomorrow he can share with Mickey.” Ice lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of Mav’s.

Natasha shuffles in, eyes red rimmed from crying.

“Is it-can he-um-”

“He can stay as long as he needs to.” Ice answers the question she can’t find the words to ask. “He can bunk down on the couch for tonight and we’ll make some space for him upstairs tomorrow.” Natasha smiles just a little and wipes at her eyes.

“Thank you.” She whispers before stepping back into the kitchen.

-/-/-/-

They make up a bed for Jake on the couch and Natasha helps him clean the blood off his face. Mav leaves two Tylenol on the coffee table beside a glass of water and after saying goodnight to both Jake and Natasha he follows Ice up to bed. They hear Natasha come up not long after and when Ice hears Jake follow her awhile later he decides not to worry about it. Clearly the boy needs some comfort, so going off the assumption that they aren’t stupid enough to have sex in his house, and with the knowledge that it’s not like it would really be an issue if they did(so long as they keep it down)seeing as Natasha is already pregnant, Ice rolls over and throws his arm across Mav’s stomach. He presses a kiss to Mav’s temple and murmurs a goodnight even though Mav is already asleep. It doesn’t take long for him to drift off.

-/-/-/-

In the morning Mav is up first and when he enters the living room to find the pillow and blanket exactly as he left them the night before he turns and goes right back upstairs.

The door to Natasha’s room is open just the tiniest bit, so Mav feels better about pushing it open enough to peek in. Jake and Natasha are spooning, Jake with an arm around Natasha’s baby bump. They’re so young and life has dealt them such a shitty hand. It’s unfair. And Mav finds himself completely willing to do anything to help them, to make their lives any easier if he can. If this is what they need, he’ll let them have it. He pulls the door to and leaves them be.

An hour later the kids start straggling into the kitchen in search of breakfast. Bradley’s hair is wild and he keeps yawning between sips of coffee, and Mickey doesn’t even look awake. Natasha comes in next, declining eggs when they’re offered, disgust clear in her features. Mav makes her a piece of toast instead. Jake limps in behind Ice, left eye swollen almost closed and bruised blue and purple. It looks significantly worse than it did the previous night. He has a Pikachu bandaid on his forehead. He’s dressed in jeans that are clearly at least one size too small, maybe two and a stained gray t-shirt thats about three sizes too big and falling off one shoulder.

He drops into the only vacant chair, beside Natasha, and accepts the plate of eggs and sausage Mav offers him, but mostly he just pokes at it with his fork. Natasha nibbles at her toast while holding Jake’s hand and Mav smiles. He and Ice share a look and he knows they’re thinking the same thing. Mav sets a plate in front of Ice and gives him a good morning kiss, briefly threading his fingers through Ice’s salt and pepper hair.

With breakfast consumed Mickey disappears back to his room, no doubt to enjoy his new toys. Bradley collects his things and heads home, ready for a shower and a change of clothes.

“Do you want some painkillers and ice?” Mav asks Jake. Jake won’t look at him, still pushing his food around his plate. Then he glances at Natasha before finally meets Mav’s eyes.

“Please.” He says, softly. Mav starts to stand, but Ice stops him, stands himself, grabs an ice pack from the freezer and hands it to Jake before he leaves the kitchen to find painkillers.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk, but I have to have some answers.” Mav tells them. Jake looks at Natasha again.

“I promise.” She says softly. Jake turns to look at Mav again.

“Got kicked out of my last home. Didn’t know where else to go. Nat said you’re good and you’ve been taking care of her.” Jake mumbles, looking far more tired than someone so young should.

“We’ve trying our best. And we’d be happy to take care of you as long as you need.” Mav assures him. “We have more than enough room.” Jake’s eyes are glassy with tears and he won’t look at Mav anymore. “I promise.” Natasha smiles, leaning over to whisper something in Jake’s ear. Whatever it is makes the first tears fall. Jake pushes his chair back, stands up and starts to leave. Natasha holds his hand loosely until she can’t. He turns the corner and Mav hears Ice offer him Tylenol.

Ice steps into the kitchen, worry etched into his features.

“Is he okay?” It’s a stupid question, really. It’s quite obvious that Jake is not ok. And probably hasn’t been in quite some time. Before Mav can respond Natasha is up and out of the room. She’s starting to waddle now and it’s becoming increasingly obvious her back bothers her.

“No.” Mav replies to Ice’s question. “Not right now.” Ice sighs and starts collecting dishes off the table.

-/-/-/-

Later that afternoon all three kids are in the living room watching a movie and Ice is in his office. Mav slips upstairs and into Natasha’s room. He grabs Jake’s clothes to look at sizes and when he has a rough idea of what’s needed he leaves again, doing his best to make Jake’s things look untouched.

“Hey,” he says, poking his head into Ice’s office, “I have to run some errands. Shouldn’t be more than a couple hours.”

“Ok. I need deodorant.” Ice replies without taking his gaze of the computer.

“Roger. Back in a bit. Love you.”

-/-/-/-/-

Mav comes back about three hours later with a huge armload of bags. Though there are a few things for other people most of the purchases are for Jake. Mav drags everything upstairs and takes the time to fold all the clothes neatly. Jake and Natasha are still in the living room so slips into Natasha’s room and leaves the piles of clothes neatly on the end of bed, alongside two pair of sneakers.

Later that evening Natasha and Jake go up to her room and find the clothes with a note on top in Mav’s neatest handwriting,

Merry Christmas, Jake. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything else.

Jake picks a pullover sweater from the top of the pile. It’s soft and red. He just stands there, rubbing the material between his fingers. He swallows the lump in his throat.

-/-/-/-

“Hey, Mira, it’s Pete Kazansky.” Pete says.

“Oh, Mr. Kazansky! Is Natasha ok?”

“Yes, yes, she’s fine. Ima cruelly calling in regards to Jake Seresin.”

“Do you know where he is?” She asks, urgency filling her voice.

“Yeah, he showed up at our door last night. He told me he got kicked out of his last home and I was wondering if there’s anyway we could be his foster parents.” He can hear the clacking of her keyboard.

“Let me make a call and I’ll get right back to you.” She ends the call and Mav can’t bring himself to anything, but sit and stair at the phone waiting for her to call back.

-/-/-/-/-

Taglist! @pollyna @simplyygabriella @daughter-of-infinity

[riewritten]

CRYING. CYING CRYINNGSNDJGNDNR!!!?!?@#?@ first johan liebert fan art, a MAJESTIC one at that, dedicated to my fic‼😭💘 yOU ARE SUCH A GREAT ARTIST what the hell?!?!?! LIKE THE LINES?!?!? THE SHADING AND COLORING STYLE?? delicious. SUPERB. i will eat ur art 1000/10

now i CAN definitely imagine johan shamelessly huffing a lil cig at YOUR bathroom door (the audacity of this bitch!!!) after removing his anna liebert costume, make up, and all because he's confident not even the stink of cigarette smoke could wake his favorite roommate up 😔✊ he had spent a lot of nights observing you sleep to know that much, after all.

the only con is that he'd have to clean the ashes along with his make up kit among many other things. you see, it's actually quite apparent to notice that someone had smoked inside your bathroom—there would be ashes on the floor, the stinky smell would stick to the tiles, and it would all be piled up with your annoyance to whoever the fuck would break into your house while you're sleeping just to do such an abhorrence.

but johan, this unhinged man, is living off the thrill of being caught, of being noticed and known by you—well, much to his denial of his own existence. he thinks it's just his self-destructive tendencies at work, but deep inside you should know that this fucker is sometimes disgustingly filled with satisfaction during scenario-buildings—an event where you could see him all bare and exposed, a point in time where the monster lays itself bare to the one who interests him most. oh, you'd be so terrified. perhaps your whole world would crumble, even. he sure knows it would—that is in accordance to his will—for the monster, for the first time in his life, wants to have a tumultuous impact towards another living being.

he doesn't know the reason why, though. this is the first time the monster inside him took this type of interest towards someone.

HERE'S THE OIL WELL FIRES FANFIC for those who haven't read it yet btw <333

@riewritten caught johan getting out of drag

kept procrastinating on this cuz i kept nitpicking but i need to work on my perfectionism so i went ahead and tried to finish it instead of throwing it in the WIP dungeon LOL. now go read “oil well fires” by riewritten. genuinely the best johan fic i’ve read and i can’t wait to read the future chapters ���🙏

[eatenthing]

An old one, an old tale

[blood-mocha-latte]

MISTY || 1.8K || RATED T || FOR @disastrouscanasta

“Don’t you go gettin’ sappy on me.” Hoosier warns, smile crooked, eyes still closed. Leckie’s chest squeezes again, just as warm, just as flooding. “I didn’t make it seven years with you for you to break down now.”

Bob can’t help his smile, this time, feels it grow like saplings in a rainy spring before he’s leaning forward again, kissing Hoosier before the other can protest. “I’m happy.” He mumbles, against Bill’s lips.

It’s an abject statement, one of the obvious. Still, Hoosier hums like it’s news, pushes his fingers through Bob’s hair again before tilting upwards in half of a bend, an eloquent curve that ends with pressing his mouth to Leckie’s own, a single coordinated line of drunken warmth that shines like a light of absolution directly into his soul.

(A single scene in Chicago, the last day of 1948.)

READ ON AO3

[wingsofbadass]

fic author self-rec

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers.

Thank you for tagging me, @sassybluee and @wrecklwj, and thus forcing me to let myself be perceived, lol.

1. Keep Me (MDZS, wlw Wangxian, E)

My pride and joy, tbh. My first ever Wangxian, my first ever NaNo win, something I never thought I could accomplish. It falls into one of my favorite tropes in this fandom which is straight boy/girl/whatever wei ying, which is just always such a joy. I really poured myself into his and I feel like I'll never be able to top this one. But also, Lan-er-jiejie made me lose my mind and write 50k of [confused horny noises] so.

2. Like a Knife to the Heart (MDZS, Wangxian, E)

Plot? I don't know her, normally. But I tried my hand at such a thing for last year's Bottomji Big Bang and it was such a fun experience. It was also unexpectedly fun to really lean into the unapologetic romance of historical settings for once and then mix my Wuxia love into it.

3. you bring it out of me (MDZS, wlw Wangxian, E)

Somehow, every Wangxian fic I write is some kind of new experiment for me. This one, written for a Subji event, had me writing the probably niche-iest thing I've ever written, wlw subji with jealousy and exes to lovers and a flavor of bdsm I wouldn't even know how to categorize?? But this was really peak freedom, peak "I do what I want!" to write and I'm so happy with how it turned out.

4. trostlos (SNK, JeanMarco, T)

I wrote this for one of the many JeanMarco Gift Exchanges I was a part of and I think it's my favorite bit of worldbuilding I've done. It's not a very long fic and by now I wonder how I managed to squeeze so much post-apocalypitic angst into 8k, but it's a powerful one, I think. I'm still really proud of it.

5. Only You Build Me, Only You Break Me (VLD, Shallura, E)

I may no longer fuck with this show or fandom, but I do still love some of the nsfw propmt fills I did here, especially the Superhero AU and the Sailor Moon AU. Just looking at it now makes me want to do something similar again for more current obsessions.

I now curse @flecksofpoppy @materassassino @avoidingavoidance @reservoirmonks and @ilip13 with having to expose themselves like this <3

[riewritten]

and the way he could be so experienced yet inexperienced in handling your very giant affection, right?

like he'd start at innocently asking, "are you okay?" whenever you flinch, face flushed, as he languidly examines your arm for vital signs. and you'd just nod at him meekly, still couldn't look him in the eye, screaming in your head "man, have pity on me."

and perhaps your body eventually takes phoebe bridger's waiting room so seriously because you'll start getting sick more often. more reason to come to him! until one time he just tells you with a defeated smile after check up, "eat and sleep well so you won't have to come back here, okay? look at you. you're never been this sickly before!" then he pats your head. he means well, he really does, but it garners nothing but a glare from you.

"then see me outside your clinic room."

tenma's smile turns awkward, "c-come again?"

"go out with me! that way i would stop being sick because my body keeps on finding you!"

tenma slowly retracts his hand on top of your head, and slowly but surely, heat creeps up his face. you run out of his room out of shame even before he could say more such as, "b...but... code of ethics... doctor and patient are not supposed to go out..." oh bullshit. you want to pounce on him. the code of ethics could go fuck itself when you two end up fucking each other.

oh god, how embarrassing. with his handsome face, you just knew he'd have lots of experience with romance, so why is he so shocked and flushed at your remark? as if your body listened to you, you stop getting sick after that encounter, perhaps because your own ailment is utter shame of showing your face to him again.

it was until you saw each other coincidentally at some cafe did your body feel unwell again—head dizzy, stomach churning, knees weak and mouth holding back a squeal—all because of his new haircut. he's already handsome in his poorly maintained straight hair that he couldn't cut because of busy schedule, but now? oh man. oh man. and the way his eyes perk up as soon as it sees you? the way he smiles? the way he calls your name in delight as if you two haven't seen each other for decades? this man is so undeniably hot, but his adorability is what got you wrapped in his pretty (broad and rough) fingers that you want somewhere indecent.

and yet, and yet, and yet! the first thing you blabbered as soon as he reaches you was, "my word, you look so hot in that haircut."

he gets all red again but his fluster is immediately cut off when you slap yourself in the face, hard. "sorry," you mutter weakly afterward.

"thanks," when you look at him again, he's now genuinely smiling. "you look much better now, too. perhaps you don't need to go out with me to feel better, yeah?"

with utter shame you look away, "i think i have this chronic ailment of not thinking of my words before i speak."

"that i can see well," he teasingly adds. "mind sitting with me, then? perhaps we could talk about it and i could come up with a..." he thinks it through, "prognosis."

oh, he's so corny and pathetic. you adore him so much. please stop the urge to pounce on him in public, though.

"sure thing, doctor."

ACTUALLLYYY im kind of in a Tenma mood right now. I want reader trying their best to not look at him disrespectfully, because it feels downright sinful to think of him in that way.

[riewritten]

Child Erwin looks like chucky

indeed!!! but ok hear me out!!!

i acknowledge this official art to be his canon face (like only this official art xksjxjsjs) look how bbg he is tho!

i bet he'd be a cringefail little lover boy and his father would amusingly encourage him in his cringefail escapades because he is just so adorable to watch. you would be the classmate he has a crush on and because our baby doesn't have anything to worry about just yet, all he aims for is your attention! he's still a silly goofy geeky baby here, though, so you'd either be amused with him just as his father is, or perhaps you'd be flustered too because "oh man why is the erwin smith, our smartest in class, in front of me and kissing my hand?!"

now imagine seeing him again years after in his commander physique. you already had an inkling back in childhood that he'd grow up to be a fine young man, but walls be damned, you didn't expect him to be so utterly grim and devoid of light.

nonetheless, seeing you again would remind him of those peaceful times where all he worries for is garnering the affection of his first crush. that's why he'd reenact the scene in a very funny way (or so he thought because bloody hell he looks so charismatic and hot flashing that sweet smirk on you!)

he'd hold back a laugh as he say the cringefail remark, "my lady, i fight for you." then he'd kiss your hand, tipping his head sideward with a smirk, "my legs aren't stubby anymore to trip over it, though. how about that?"

and oh you'd be so whipped. perhaps you'd think that it was your karma for making fun of him way back in childhood because the tables have turned this time around.

(or the turns have tabled?! 🤔 what the hell is wrong with you, couldn't even come up with coherent words just because of a chaste peck on your hand?!)

you almost stutter, smile almost crooked as you quote what you said back then, "w-well, my good knight has no need to fight the whole world for my sake."

then his smile becomes even sweeter, "if that's the case, then perhaps you could indulge with my affection this time around?"

[plrle]

Idk if you still have requests open but if yes can you draw Prieur wearing a choker with a π shaped charm (like this: https://www.amazon.com/necklace-mathematics-jewelry-math-teacher/dp/B01FLW687U) ? 🥺

sorry for the long reply! finally made it to your request :]

it seems that Prieur likes it!!

[dailyreine]

　OC Ask Game ⁺˖⋆

↳ free to reblog + play!

What inspired you when creating them?

Their favourite place and memory there.

Do you have any crackships with them?

Cats or dogs?

What's their go-to drink?

Favourite sitcom and or horror film.

Do they have siblings?

Tell us a secret about their lore!

Their lucky, unlucky, and favourite number.

Which reincarnation of James Bond would they like the best?

A song that plays when they appear.

Pick a Minecraft block for them.

What was their childhood “thing”? (e.g. Pokémon, dinosaurs, princesses...)

Their favourite season of the show they're in (or favourite arc, if they're from some other form of media)

Pick a cereal that you'd put them in a bowl of.

What does their Pinterest look like?

What does their Tumblr look like?

What does their phone case, home and lock screen look like?

Favourite sea animal.

Are they “lalalala” or “okokokok”?

A song you'd like to animate them to!

Name a character from a different fandom they'd get along with.

Give them a sweet fluffy moment to make up for all that trauma you gave them.

Their favourite word?

Random fact!

[riewritten]

two weeks and the urge is still there! I AM HAVING SO MANY THOUGHTS

shall i make it a wholesome fluff? a feasty smut? mixture of both? slow burn? slice-of-life domestic crack of how silly of a dad i imagine erwin to be?

TAGS: DOMESTIC FLUFF, TALKS OF MARRIAGE & CHILDREN

How about a DILF!Erwin who only got a DILF tag because he adopted a child without involving himself into a long-term relationship?

And so... after getting into the relationship, you realized how great of a father he is. If both of you decides to come into agreement to be together for eternity, you'll have to have your own kids, too. You suddenly got jitters thinking about it.

"We're not required to do that."

"N-no, but it seems as if we have irreconcilable differences," you replied, perhaps inkling towards breaking up with him as you believe you would just hold him down.

"Not if one of us compromises."

"I don't think I could."

"I could," he answered, gently but resolutely. "Just not with the involvement of my child."

"Of course," you gave him an understanding smile, "that sweetest loveliest child."

He didn't see it as a mere sympathetic smile from you, though. It was the sweetest smile that he had seen and it flushed his mind with warmth—with overwhelming warmth that the glass containing all of his composure snapped into pieces. You love his child with all of your heart, just like he does even if it's not his own blood.

What were you doing to him, really? To rattle the emotions even he himself had never imagined to have, just how did you manage to let that out? Now he wants nothing but to engulf you with his warmth, wrap himself all over you, and the consideration that he doesn't deserve you—you who still have lots of opportunities ahead, who has been seeking a life not tied inside a measly home of three—dissipated into thin air. He might be undeserving and could even stall you down, but if you run to him this way, being the most precious being ever existed, then you have given yourself over. He'll take you in any way he can.

"See? Then we could work."

And he did—god—he did so very well. Eventually, when you got married and have your bundle of joy growing up further, you realized that you're finally ready.

"Off to school!" the little kid bounced out of the table, gave you the routine goodbye kiss, until both of you are the only ones left in the house.

You gulped, wondering how to go around it. When you turned to him you almost huffed a gasp. He was looking at you sternly with a hand propped to his chin. He sipped his coffee before starting, "Something has been bothering you. We're not going out until you tell me the gist of it."

Oh, fuck it.

You stood up, went on the dishes then said, "I want to have your child."

He spurted out the coffee. As he cleared his throat and wiped his polo shirt, he stared at you, aghast, trying to find a hint all over your face that would say you're just fucking around. That was, indeed, very unlikely of you.

You looked conflicted, though, so he walked towards you and grasped your hand away from the plates, "Repeat that."

Your eyes lurking around his face turned more and more unconfident until you just defeatedly looked down the ground. "Of course, if it's fine with you—"

"Repeat that," he cupped your cheek, lacking patience, and forced you to look at him in the eye.

He has been waiting for it for so long but he still wanted to make sure. The last thing he wants is for you to make such a decision only out of pressure.

"I want to have your child."

"Then why do you look so doubtful?"

"Do you think..." here it is, the million-dollar question, "I'll be a good mother?"

Oh, when Erwin thought you couldn't be more divine as he already deemed you so. He went for a kiss then. The sudden tip of intensity was his answer and you understood that much; you'll be a great mother for your child—no, you're the only one who's going to have his child.

"You already are," Erwin said in between kisses as he slid his hands under your shirt.

"Do you think I'd still be a capable wife after that?"

What kind of question is that? He almost laughed. Of course, he chose not to as he didn't know such insecurity lurks around your mind. If anything, he feels responsible for letting you feel like that.

"How do you want me to answer your question?" he smiled sweetly after ending the intimate kiss with a chaste peck. When you looked down again, he hummed in disagreement. He rather walked you towards the wall and pinned you once and for all. If you want a child, he'll do so in the soonest possible time—just like how willing he is to grant and serve you for the rest of his life, just like how earnest he is to shower his little family with the warmth of his love.

im having the urge to produce a 30k blabber out of this 😭

[lawlietscaramels]

Alcohol ╾ L

Goddamnit, I wrote angst. perhaps I'll elaborate some day.

Warnings: see title. alcohol as a coping mechanism. general angstiness.

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

L drinks.

People think he doesn't, for some reason; their mouths part in surprise when they walk in on the World's Greatest Detective with a glass of red wine.

But perhaps it is precisely because he is the World's Greatest Detective that he should be expected to drink.

They tried to take it away from him, his parents and society and the world had their expectations, and the orphanage hammered them into L when he was young, drilled through his brain and tried to extract the part that was him,

but L is so very human.

Fallible. Weak.

Broken.

Crime and blood and the darkest dredges of humanity flicker over those screens in front of his eyes every day.

“We're not meant to know so much about the world,” a psychologist told him once, “humans were designed to live in small communities, not global ones.”

L sees every part of the world. The worst parts.

Husbands kill wives. Children kill parents.

Lovers cheat and lie.

Everybody cheats. How else could you survive, in a game of life, a game so unbalanced and impossible to win?

Friends take money from friends. Young liars take money from those who worked for it their entire lives.

Money.

Love.

Both are ugly.

And how else do you blind sharp eyes, but through tinted liquor? Salvation is sought in the bottom of the glass.

It's never there.

But L drinks anyway.

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 ˏˋ⋆˖⁺˖⁀➷ 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 + 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

©lawlietscaramels. Do not repost on other sites, claim as your own work, edit, rewrite or “fix,” feed to AI or otherwise use unethically.

[eatenthing]