#the angst story challenge from the both fandoms..if you want to write it

[theidiottoast]

Oi..you! Yeah you! wanna make a lot of angst story' for rcp and octonauts?

Simple! Just type: #theidiottoast angst time week

The rules? Simple just write down an rcp or an octonauts angst story' from your blog and don't forget to type the hashtag! I want to see all your writing skills and read your ehem...each of you comfort and favorite character is sufferi- i mean had a bit of angst muehehehehe...😈😈😈😈

(pls don't kill me lol-)

[rootedinrevisions]

Just...Stay: Part 2

SUMMARY: Tyler has to prove himself and win back your trust after nearly losing you for good. As he tries to commit to building a life together, the past tensions resurface, challenging both of you to confront the insecurities and fears that have kept you apart.

PART 1 HERE

A/N: I tried to write this using some of the ideas that you guys had for where YOU would like to see the story go (ie: a little bit of Tyler groveling, her moving on, and Tyler having to try and win her back! Hope you like it! xx

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst. Fluff.

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists or be tagged for a specific character please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Twisters (Mostly Tyler right now, but possibly others soon)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

You stand on the porch, watching Tyler’s taillights disappear down the long, winding road. The ache in your chest tightens, and you whisper to yourself, He’s gone. This time, for real. You let out a shaky breath, gripping the porch railing as if it can steady the chaos churning inside you. You’ve waited so many times for him to turn around, to decide he wanted you as much as you wanted him. But he’d made his choice, and you can’t keep waiting for him to want you.

With a shaky breath, you went back inside, the echo of his last words still hanging heavy in the air. Your hands trembled as you reached for your phone, already pressing the familiar contact without needing to see the name. When the line connected and your mother answered, you could barely get out a word. But she didn’t need you to; she recognized the silence, the breathless, broken sound of you holding back tears.

“Oh, honey,” she said softly, with that knowing sadness in her voice. “You don’t have to say a thing. I know.”

The crack in her voice brought the tears you’d been fighting up to the surface. The dam broke, and everything you’d been holding in—the hope, the ache, the final goodbye—poured out, leaving you unable to respond as she filled the silence with soft, soothing words.

“I’m coming over,” she assured you. “Just sit tight. I’ll be there soon.”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see you, wiping away tears as you settled back against the counter, feeling like the empty space Tyler left behind was somehow everywhere now, pressing in around you. The quiet house felt so much bigger without him in it, the emptiness swallowing every corner that once held laughter, whispered promises, and the comfort of his steady presence—even if it was always temporary.

Later, you and your mom sit in the living room, the stillness almost too much to bear. She’s wrapped her arms around you, her gentle strength holding you together when you feel like you’re falling apart. You try to hold back the tears, but the weight of everything—of hoping he’d turn around, hoping he’d realize he was making a mistake, hoping he’d come back up those steps to say he was staying—finally breaks.

Your mom rubs small circles on your back, her voice soft and steady. “He made his choice, and someday, he’ll understand what he’s lost,” she murmurs. “You did everything you could, honey. You deserve someone who’s going to put you first.”

You nod, though it doesn’t stop the ache gnawing at you. For the first time, though, you start to let the truth settle in: that you deserve more than the waiting, the hoping. That you deserve someone who chooses you fully, every single day.

Later that night you stand in front of the bathroom mirror, the harsh light making your face look even more worn from the day, you brace yourself for another quiet night. You slip into your pajamas, ready to try and sleep through the ache in your chest, when your phone lights up on the countertop. Tyler’s name stares back at you, as if daring you to pick up.

Your heart thuds painfully, and for a split second, you’re tempted. He’s calling, just like he said he would. But you can’t answer this time. You can’t let him back in, not after everything. So you hit the red button, sending his call to silence.

Thirty seconds later, your phone lights up again—his name filling the screen once more. The resolve you’d tried so hard to build threatens to crumble, but you steady yourself, knowing you need to stay strong. You told him what would happen if he left. You’d made it clear, and this time, you have to stay firm with that.

With a deep breath, you hit “Ignore” again, feeling both the sting of regret and the strength of your own boundaries. It hurts, but you know it’s what you need to do.

You turn your phone face-down on the bed, trying to ignore the nagging pull to check it. But when you do, Tyler’s message is there, waiting.

Tyler: Can we talk? I just want to talk to you.

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of every unsaid word between you. He wants to talk, but he still isn’t saying what you need to hear—no apologies, no acknowledgment of what he’s putting you through, just the same vague promises. Another message appears as you sit, reading it with an ache building in your chest.

Tyler: Please. Talk to me darlin.

You want to answer; some part of you always will. But there’s no real shift in his words, no sign that he understands what you need. It’s just Tyler reaching out like he always does, and leaving you to carry the weight when he pulls away.

So, you let the messages sit. They stare back at you, blue checkmarks confirming that you’ve seen them, leaving him on read for once. It takes everything in you, but you put your phone on silent and push it to the side. This time, you’re standing firm.

* * * *

A few months had come and gone since you’d last heard Tyler’s voice, and while the ache lingered, day by day, you’d felt it dull. The first few weeks had been the hardest—filled with reminders of him in places you hadn’t even thought to look. But with time, you’d found a new rhythm. You packed up his things and stored them in the barn loft, out of sight and mostly out of mind. There’d been a few days when you’d thought he might call again, but each week that passed with no message made it easier to let him go.

Then, just a few nights ago, you’d bumped into Matt at the bar. The quiet, shy boy you remembered from high school was still there, but he’d grown more self-assured, his conversations easy and light. He’d listened intently, asked thoughtful questions, and laughed at your jokes, which was a nice change after months of heartache. When he’d asked if you’d join him for dinner, his eyes hopeful yet calm, you found yourself agreeing without hesitation.

Now, as you finish getting ready, you catch a glimmer of that anticipation you thought you’d lost. It’s a soft, hopeful excitement, different from the wild spark you’d once had for Tyler, but maybe that’s exactly what you need.

As you slip on your shoes and give yourself one last look in the mirror, a strange mixture of nerves and excitement tingles in your stomach. It’s been so long since you let yourself look forward to something like this—putting on a new dress, curling your hair, and swiping on lipstick just to feel a little spark. It feels nice to step into a night that’s full of possibility, even if it’s quieter than the whirlwind you once imagined with Tyler.

Matt isn’t the kind of guy who will leave you on edge, wondering what comes next. That thought is comforting as you smooth the fabric of your dress and check your reflection one last time. He’s steady, warm, and easy to talk to, and when he’d asked you out last week, you’d felt a genuine flicker of excitement—a feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself in ages.

Your phone chimes, breaking the silence of your room. You glance over, expecting it to be a text from Matt saying he’s on his way, but instead, you freeze. 

Tyler’s name flashes across the screen, and for a moment, everything else fades.

Tyler: Hey. I know it’s been a while, but can we talk? I’ve been thinking a lot. Just… if you have a minute.

You stare at the message, feeling a swirl of emotions you thought you’d buried. It’s been weeks since his last message, and each day that passed without one felt like another small step forward. You’ve been letting him go—pushing his things up into the barn loft, moving him out of your thoughts inch by inch. But tonight, of all nights, he’s suddenly there, reaching out again.

The phone chimes again, and another message appears.

Tyler: I’m sorry. I miss you. Just thought you should know.

Your heart clenches, but this time, you feel a new kind of strength holding you back. You let out a shaky breath, reminding yourself that you deserve someone who doesn’t make you wait and wonder, who doesn’t leave just to come back again. Tyler’s voice and his words, tempting as they are, can’t keep pulling you under. Not anymore.

With that, you tuck your phone into your bag, letting his message go unanswered as you grab your keys. Tonight, you’re stepping out into something new, something steady and full of hope—maybe even something that finally lets you move on.

At dinner, you and Matt settle into a cozy booth near the window, the glow of candlelight casting a soft warmth across the table. You offer a smile, and he returns it, looking just as eager and nervous as you feel. The waiter takes your orders, and for a moment, you both fumble with your menus, using them as a buffer against the quiet that settles between you.

“So,” Matt says, clearing his throat, “how’s work been treating you?”

You launch into a polite summary, and he nods along, sharing his own stories from the hardware store, a few of which earn a chuckle. But as you finish, another silence slips in, and you feel that small, familiar tension build in your chest. You drum your fingers lightly on the table, scanning your mind for something—anything—to say. Just as the silence is about to become too much, Matt asks if you’re excited for the weekend, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

You tell yourself it’s probably just nerves, that this is normal. After all, it’s been a couple of years since you’ve been on a real date, and first dates are always a little awkward. But as you lift your glass to take a sip, you can’t help but think back to the times you’d come to this same restaurant with Tyler. How the conversation would flow so easily, sometimes even late into the night. You’d swap stories, share laughs, and talk about everything and nothing all at once. There was never a lull, never a forced smile or the need to fill the quiet.

You catch yourself before the memory sinks any deeper and shake your head, forcing a smile as Matt picks up on a new thread of conversation.

Stepping outside the restaurant after dinner with Matt, you hold the door open just long enough to make sure he’s following when you feel yourself bump into someone headed in. You stumble back, and strong hands instinctively reach out to steady you. You begin to apologize, breathless from the sudden collision, only to look up and freeze. 

Those familiar, green eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything around you blurs. Tyler stands before you, in a red button-up, worn jeans, and that off-white Stetson you know all too well. He murmurs your name, his voice thick with something unreadable as he holds you in place for a heartbeat longer than necessary. 

But before you can react, Matt is by your side, his hand pressing warmly against your lower back, gently pulling you away. 

Tyler releases you, his gaze lingering as Matt asks if you’re okay. You nod, feeling a bit dazed, and allow Matt to guide you toward the street.

Tyler calls your name again, his voice softer, a thread of desperation woven through it. But you glance back only briefly before following Matt down the sidewalk, his arm curling around your shoulders protectively as he continues talking, oblivious to the moment that just passed. 

You try to steady yourself, but the weight of Tyler’s gaze is still on you, even as you walk away.

Watching you leave with someone else beside you, Tyler’s heart twists in a way he didn’t see coming. The sight of Matt’s hand resting comfortably on your shoulder, of you turning away from him so resolutely, strikes deeper than any storm he’s ever chased. It’s in this moment that something cracks, and he realizes with painful clarity just how much he’s let slip through his fingers. The thought of anyone else sharing the moments you once shared together is a weight he can’t shake. As he watches you disappear into the night, Tyler makes a silent vow to win you back, whatever it takes.

Matt drives you home, the quiet hum of the engine filling the comfortable silence between you as you watch the streets blur past. He’s considerate, not pushing for conversation, as though sensing the hints of distraction lingering in your gaze. When he pulls up to your house, he steps out first, hurrying around to open your door. You offer a grateful smile, following him to your porch as you fish for your keys.

Standing under the dim porch light, you both pause, caught in that familiar, tentative moment that usually ends with a goodnight kiss. Matt smiles, leaning in with a softness in his eyes that tells you he’s hoping for more than the simple goodbye you’re about to offer. And though part of you wants to bridge that gap—maybe even craves the closure it could bring—Tyler’s face flashes in your mind, his eyes catching yours across that restaurant entrance, and you can’t shake the thought.

You lean forward, placing a gentle kiss on Matt’s cheek before stepping back, your hand lightly on his arm. He seems to understand, though a hint of disappointment flickers in his eyes. “Goodnight, Matt,” you say softly, your hand dropping back to your side.

“Goodnight,” he replies, a warm smile slipping back into place. He pulls you in for a quick hug, his embrace steady and reassuring, but he doesn’t push for more. 

Watching him walk back to his car, you feel a pang of guilt. Matt’s a good man, and he deserves someone whose heart isn’t scattered across memories and what-ifs.

You let out a slow breath as his car pulls away, whispering into the stillness around you. You know you’re not quite there yet.

Minutes later you are in the kitchen, getting yourself a glass of water when you hear it. When you hear him. The rumble of his truck reaches you before the sight of it does, that familiar low, steady hum breaking the quiet night. You freeze in place, feeling the sound more than hearing it, the way it seems to settle into your bones and send your heart racing. You step over to the kitchen window, barely breathing as you watch him pull up, headlights cutting through the darkness until he shuts the engine off.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, just sits there, his silhouette still and contemplative. You’d know the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders, anywhere. 

Slowly, he climbs out and makes his way up the path, boots crunching on the gravel. With each step he takes your mind races, grasping for words, trying to brace for the conversation you know he’s here to have.

When he reaches the front porch, he pauses, hands on his hips as he lets out a long breath. His eyes flick to the window, and you step back instinctively, as though he might see you. 

You feel a sharp pang in your chest, the past month of silence cracking open like fresh heartbreak. Then he’s knocking, the sound a low, insistent rhythm that echoes through the house, reaching you where you stand, rooted in place.

You take a deep, steadying breath, one hand reaching to your chest as if to calm the beat of your heart. You can’t avoid him now. Whatever he has to say, you need to hear it. Your fingers wrap around the doorknob, twisting it as you remind yourself to stand strong, to keep your heart guarded.

With one last breath, you open the door, meeting Tyler’s gaze—the same gaze that’s held you and let you go too many times to count. Tyler’s eyes find yours, raw and pleading, and his face softens in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. He takes a shaky breath, his words tumbling out in a rush like he’s been holding them back for too long. 

“I know I messed up. I know I’ve given you every reason to walk away,” he begins, his voice low and thick with emotion. “But I can’t lose you. I can’t…not like this.”

His hands run through his hair, and for a second, he looks at the ground, gathering himself. When he looks back up, his eyes glisten, and he steps closer, his words growing more insistent. 

“These last few months, you not talking to me… I can’t even explain how much that hurt. How much I’ve missed you—missed everything we had. I kept thinking, maybe if I left you alone, you’d be better off. But I was wrong, and now I can’t stand not being near you.”

He takes another breath, his voice catching slightly as he adds, “I want to come home. I want to be with you. I want to come back and stay this time…if you’ll have me.”

You feel your heart stutter, your mind racing to process what he’s just said. You’ve wanted to hear those words so many times before, but now…now that he’s here, your defenses come rushing up. 

You try to keep your voice steady, shaking your head as you take a step back. “Tyler…you don’t just get to come back whenever you feel like it. You left. You made that choice, and I—” But you stop, seeing the way he looks at you, eyes shining with the tears he’s trying to keep back.

He’s holding his breath, his chest rising and falling like he’s struggling to hold himself together. The vulnerability in his face hits you like a wave, breaking down the walls you’ve been trying so hard to build.

“Please,” he whispers, voice barely above a breath. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I…I just need you to know that you’re it for me. You’re home. Not just this house or the land…you, darlin’. Anywhere you are, that’s where I want to be. I don’t want to run anymore.”

You feel a knot in your chest tighten, torn between the longing in his words and the pain of what’s happened.

“Tyler,” you begin, voice unsteady, “I can’t do this again. I can’t open myself up just to watch you walk away.”

His hand reaches out, hesitating before he rests it on your arm, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your skin. “I’m not going anywhere this time,” he says softly, his voice trembling. “Not unless you tell me to.”

The look in his eyes tells you he’s here, truly here, every bit of himself laid bare for you. And for the first time, you see a man who’s willing to fight—fight to be with you, fight for a future together, fight to make up for every broken promise.

You cross your arms over your chest, the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air between you. For a second, it almost feels like you can’t breathe. His words are exactly what you’ve wanted to hear, but there’s still a part of you that’s scared—scared to believe him, scared to fall for this all over again. You take a step back, trying to distance yourself from the emotions that have flooded your chest.

“How do I know?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper but carrying the weight of every question you’ve been holding onto. “How do I know this time is going to be different? How do I know you’re not just saying what I want to hear, again?”

He pauses, his face tightening for a brief moment, before his eyes soften, his sincerity cutting through the uncertainty. “All I can do is prove it to you,” he says quietly. His words are steady, but there’s an ache beneath them, something that makes your heart skip. “I can’t change the past, but I can damn sure try to make up for it.”

He glances toward his truck, his hand dropping to the side before he looks back at you. “I brought an extra bag with me this time,” he says, his voice steady with a quiet determination. “I was hoping you’d let me leave it here. Maybe when I come back in a couple weeks I could come back with the rest of my stuff…and that you’ll let me stay.” He looks at you, his eyes open and honest, no pretense, no bravado—just the raw truth of a man who wants nothing more than to rebuild what he lost.

You feel the sharp sting of his words sink into you, and for a moment, you’re speechless. Tyler Owens, the man who once seemed so lost, so unsure of anything but the moment, is telling you he’s ready to plan. You feel the ground beneath you shift as he continues.

“I’ve talked to Boone, Lily, Dexter, and Dani about it,” he says, almost as if it’s something he’s already put in motion. “I’ve been thinking about moving up here, about making it work. I know it’s not just about me anymore. I know what I did, and I know what it’s going to take for you to trust me again. I want to be here, with you. And I’ve already been figuring out how I can make it work with storm chasing. With the team.”

The weight of his words hits you like a freight train. Tyler, who’d never seemed the type to plan, to make a life out of more than just surviving, is telling you that he’s thought ahead. He’s thought about you—about living with you. The logistics of his work, where he’d fit in with the team, how he could make it all work—things he’d never even considered before.

He never once brought up the idea of moving in, of building a future with you, before. Now, he’s here, telling you that he’s ready. And as much as your heart aches with uncertainty, something inside of you can’t help but feel the tiniest thread of hope tugging at you.

You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to find the right words, trying to keep your guard up, even as your heart beats louder with each passing second.

“How do I know this is real?” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly.

Tyler’s eyes are locked on yours, his expression soft and full of sincerity, the words that leave his lips quiet but sure. “You’ll know by what I do. Not by what I say.”

As you stand there, the flickering hope mingling with every guarded part of you, you can’t hold back anymore. You have to ask him, to hear him explain it in a way that might finally make sense.

“Why, Tyler?” you say, your voice laced with hurt and frustration. “Why do you do this? The hot and cold? Coming back and then leaving just when I start to trust that you’ll stay? Why am I never enough for you to choose me?”

Your words hang in the air, heavy, but Tyler doesn’t flinch. He looks at you, and for a moment, you see something raw and vulnerable cross his face—an expression you don’t think you’ve seen before. He takes a shaky breath, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to find the words.

“It’s not that you’re not enough,” he says, his voice soft but resolute. “You’ve always been enough—more than enough. It’s me who hasn’t been enough. I’ve been scared… scared of needing someone the way I need you, of letting myself feel things that deep. I kept convincing myself that I’d be fine on my own, that I didn’t need anyone, but that was never true.”

He pauses, glancing away before he meets your gaze again, his eyes intense and filled with regret.

“Seeing you moving on, watching you with him tonight…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “It made me feel something I never want to feel again. The thought of you with anyone else—it made me sick. It took almost losing you for me to see that I can’t keep doing this. That if I kept running, I was going to lose you, really lose you. And I’d have no one to blame but myself.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers hesitant at first, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away. When you don’t, he takes your hand fully, his grip firm yet gentle.

“I know it doesn’t excuse anything,” he admits, voice heavy with sincerity. “I know I messed up. But being without you, thinking I’d lost you for good… it’s been hell. And if there’s any part of you that can still trust me, even a little, I want to show you that I’m ready to be here for real. To stay. I can’t keep running from the one thing that matters most to me.”

Tyler’s gaze doesn’t waver from yours as he takes a slow step closer, his hands resting at his sides, waiting. He opens his mouth, then closes it, the tension in the air so thick you could almost touch it. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, but you can hear the vulnerability underneath.

"Please, just… give me a chance," he says, his words hanging in the air.

You swallow hard, your heart caught in a war between hope and doubt. You’ve been hurt before, but everything in you is screaming to believe him. You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything that’s happened, everything that’s led to this moment. And then you open your eyes again, meeting his gaze.

"Tyler," you begin, your voice softer now, but still firm. "This is your last chance. If you mess this up, there’s no coming back from it. I can’t keep doing this. I won’t."

He nods immediately, his face lighting up with the smallest hint of relief. "I swear, I won’t. I won’t mess it up." His voice is more confident now, as if something in him has shifted—something that wasn’t there before.

You feel a knot in your chest loosen, though doubt still clings at the edges. But as you stand there, looking at him—really looking at him, all of the pain, the fear, and the uncertainty—starts to fade away. It’s like for the first time in so long, you feel like you can let your guard down, just a little. You give a small nod, the corners of your lips lifting despite the tears threatening to fall.

"I’m trusting you," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t make me regret it."

Tyler doesn’t say a word. Instead, he steps in closer, his hands gently cupping your face, as if he’s scared you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on to you. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, a slow, tender motion. The air between you both feels charged, full of something real, something raw, something that hasn’t been there in so long.

And then, without another word, he leans down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s soft but intense. His mouth moves against yours with such tenderness, like he’s trying to pour everything into it—his apology, his promises, his love—everything he’s been holding back. You melt into the kiss, feeling his warmth, his sincerity, his desire for you.

The kiss deepens slowly, as if testing the waters, but it’s gentle, filled with the kind of care and emotion that you’ve been missing for so long. And in that moment, all of the fear and doubt you’ve been carrying seems to dissolve, replaced by something that feels like home.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both stand there for a few moments, foreheads resting against each other, breathing the same air. Tyler smiles against your skin, and you can feel the weight of everything shifting.

"I won’t mess this up," he whispers again, his voice thick with emotion. And for the first time in a long while, you believe him.

[astralnymphh]

𝐌𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐀 ࣪.⋮ a tlou/arcane writing challenge.

⋮ introducing, mythologica: an autumntime/horror creators challenge dedicated to monsters and lovers!

⋮ in honour of halloween, i’ve created an event for writers/artists to participate in! this will span october and november, so don’t feel fright when the actual celebration darkens our doorsteps. (entires can be posted past october 31st—i know we’re all busy!) everything from fluff, angst, smut and horror is acceptable, but i do encourage everyone to try out that last option. we need more horror in this fandom—hence this challenge existing. ⋮ rules: to join, you must be in the isle of muses discord server! (this is where we assign prompts and keep track of everyone!). your submission must either be a piece of writing, or a piece of art. more directions are listed within the discord. ⋮ if you join, you will be randomly assigned a set of two mythological/folklore creatures/professions. for example: someone may get “write a story/draw a piece about [murderers] and [cowboys]!” while somebody else might get "write a story/draw a piece about [sirens] and [pirates]!" the boxes indicate your randomized choice, and from thereon you can decide a setting. if you do not like one option, or both, we can reroll! (if you're an artist and you only want to draw a character as one of the options/draw the options separately, that's fine too. ellabs enthusiasts might love the two prompts though). the list of options is quite broad, so we do get some surprise banger tropes! (e.g hackers and photographers, scientists and ghosts, and nephilims and mermaids are some people have gotten.) we hope to see you there!

[shinidamachu]

inukag was born to be shipped by me and I was born to ship inukag as well

For ages now I've been meaning to write about the reasons why I ship Inukag as fervently as I do and @inukag-week felt like the perfect opportunity to indulge myself, so here we go.

I want to start with how aesthetically pleasing they are. From their perfect size difference to the complimentary color scheme of their outfits plus contrasting hair and eye colors, Inuyasha and Kagome just look absolutely good together.

Their character design makes it clear from the get go that they're visually a great match. The association is so strong that the audience becomes unable to picture one without the other, as if they're two halves of the same item. Different, yet unequivocally a team, a pair.

Decades ago, they already had that classic quality to them and I bet they'd never get out of style even decades from now. And the rich lore that surrounds the pairing only adds to that aesthetic: the well, the tree, the beads, the robe, the sword, all of it enhances how iconic they are. Even something as ordinary as star gazing becomes uniquelly theirs.

Futhermore, I just absolutely love the entire concept of it. The subvertion of the fairy tale archetype, the idea of a love that transcends time, of soulmates who actually work on building their bond. Loving each other was both inevitable and a choice they made every single day.

Inuyasha and Kagome were just two teenagers from different worlds — literally and figurativelly — discovering together what love was. This made their relationship very compelling, because the excange between them is insanely substancial.

And their overall dynamic is so wholesome. There was a push and pull, a give and take, that made it fluid rather than static. Every single milestone felt organic and kept the audience thirsting for the next one.

Nothing felt forced or rushed. The slow burn was competently written to showcase their relationship being build on a very strong foundation, consistent in intimacy, mutual trust and acceptance — recurring themes for them and for the story — and so the stages of their bond had such a natural pace, it highlighted how genuine and healthy it was.

Consequently, there are so many aspects of their connection to explore. There's a never ending room for angst and for light hearted moments and you can adopt a more mature perspective or go for comical instead: they manage to be versatile without being generic and to embod the best clichés in fiction without becoming one themselves.

It's hard to think of a trope they couldn't pull off or an alternate universe that doesn't work for them. It gives the fandom plenty of freedom to be creative and to have the best time with it.

Plus, their chemistry was off charts. The romantic tension bleed through every single interaction. Their passion is so strong you could feel it even in scenes that had nothing to do with romance. And they didn't even need to kiss to achieve that level of synchrony.

They were also compatible. Inuyasha and Kagome balance each other quite nicely. Even in a relationship, they still keep their individualities and remain interesting both as characters and as a ship.

The very thing that dooms most pairings — opposite personalities — is precisely what keeps them together. Inuyasha and Kagome are completely different from each other, but they're actually extremely similar where it actually matters: their morals and goals.

And they longer they stay together, challenging one another, growing through trials and tribulations, inadvertently learning what each other's needs are and fulfilling them, easing each other's sorrows, covering each other's backs, saving each other's lives in every possible way, learning each other and learning with one another, the more their dichotomy turns into a duality, because they gain a more nuanced perspective of themselves, of each other and of the world.

It's a level of understanding, closeness and respect incredibly difficult to match. And for Inuyasha and Kagome, no one else even came close.

Another thing is that they're not just complementary to each other, but to the story itself. Their romance enhaces the overall plot. It has a structural placement in the wider narrative, strengthening its core themes and fulfilling the characters individual arcs, ultimately resulting in a more compelling journey.

So many romances are disposable to their own story, but Inukag was detrimental to theirs. Inuyasha and Kagome's interactions served as pivotal points of their respective arcs. Taking only the narrative into consideration, their relationship holds a lot of weight and greatly influenced everyone around it and it tied everything together.

That's why their happy ending felt so satisfying: it feels earned because everything went full cycle. All of that symbolism, all of those parallels paid off. Anything different from what we got would simply lack narrative and thematic cohesion.

And even if they didn't end up together, they could never be circumstancial. There was a real reason why they met, a reason why the fell in love and why they had ever lasting impacts on each other's lives regardless. It wasn't just love for love's sake.

This is what makes them, in my opinion, an epic ship.

BONUS: their soundtrack is lit and their quotes are simply legendary.

[dead-dolphins]

Dear Reader,

As the year draws to a close and we step into the season of thanksgiving, I want to take a moment to share my deepest gratitude with my loyal readers. Your constant support has been a guiding light through both the challenges of the first half and the defining moments of the second. And now, as a token of appreciation, I'm excited to spread some holiday cheer with a Christmas Drabble Event!

You might be wondering: what exactly is that? Well, here's the fun part: I’ll be crafting personalized drabbles based on your festive prompts—just a little holiday magic to brighten your feeds! 🎁✨

How It Works:

Who Can Participate? Everyone! Whether you’re a long-time follower or just discovering my page, this event is for you. Feel free to share with your friends so we can spread the Christmas cheer! 🎄

What’s a Drabble? A drabble is a very short story, typically 100-1000 words long, that I’ll write based on your prompt. Think of it as a little holiday treat in story form! 🎉

How to Request a Drabble: To get your drabble, simply:

Send me an ask with the following: Prompt or Idea: Whatever you want but read the rules! Theme/Genre: (Optional) Want fluff, angst, humor, or a touch of holiday magic? Tell me what you're aiming for! Example: Prompt: “Mikasa and Eren are snowed in and arguing over how to decorate the cabin for Christmas.” Theme: Humor, lighthearted banter

Event Rules:

One Request Per Person: To keep it fair for everyone.

Identify Yourself: While anonymous requests are fine, think of a way to identify yourself (e.g., using an emoji or nickname like 'baby anon' or 'clover anon') so I can properly address you when posting.

Be Kind and Respectful: This is all about spreading holiday cheer and sharing the love in our fandom!

Patience Is Key: I’ll work hard to deliver your drabbles as quickly as possible, but keep in mind that it’s a busy season.

Word Limit: Drabbles will typically be 100-1000 words. If you have a preferred length within that range, feel free to note it. Requests exceeding 1k words won’t be accepted. If the event receives a high volume of asks, it will be capped at 15 drabbles.

Important Content Guidelines:

I Will Write:

Any headcanon or scenario you can think up! Whether it’s from AUs on my blog or your original ideas, I'm all in—just make sure the prompt comes from you.

I Won’t Write:

CHB content (the storyline isn’t developed enough for scenario requests).

TPP content set after the story’s conclusion (requests are limited to between the wedding chapter and Lucerys’ birth).

No content of the unreleased fics: Castles Crumbling, Mr. Senator, or Venus in Furs.

I won’t be creating prompts from scratch.

Important Dates:

Drabble Requests Opens: [11/19/2024]

Last Day for Requests: [11/22/2024]

Drabbles Will Be Posted: From December 25th, 2024 to January 6th, 2025!

Thank you in advance for joining in and making this year a bit brighter for me. Your support means the world, and I appreciate you more than words can say.

Much love and gratitude!

Ro.

[chirp-a-chirp]

Flickering Light

Fandom: Ikemen Prince • Character Pairing: Leon Dompteur X OC (OC Named Carla) • Other Characters: Gilbert Von Obsidian, Chevalier Michel • Tags: Established Relationship; Angst; Hurt and Comfort; Angst and Feels; Memory Flashbacks (if stories featuring physical fights/abuse trigger you, don’t read); PTSD; references of slavery and refugees; Leon route spoilers • Word Count: ~2950

Synopsis: The Sunshine prince battles darkness in Obsidian with the help of his fiancé Carla. A crumbling tower triggers childhood flashbacks for Leon he’s tried to forget.

Alternate Synopsis: With the amount of trauma associated with Leon’s childhood, coupled with an inability to discuss it out loud due to circumstance and *insert hero archetype tendencies to not easily admit weakness*, I’m convinced Leon would have some significant PTSD. And memories he’s suppressed. This is a story about how he might deal with that with a loved one.

Want to learn more about Carla and Leon? Check out these stores: Seeker and Simmer

Folks Who (Might?) Appreciate This Story: @reborn-elven-spirit @candied-boys @wistfulwanderingone @x-daedalus-x @ikeprinces-stuff @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @aide-falls @animehusbandharem @the-bird-and-the-flute @sh0jun @5mary5 @queengiuliettafirstlady @sonicsquid3000 @ikemenlibrary @eventinelysplayground @lorei-writes @dear-sciaphilia

…

“A rather bold request. I’d expect nothing less from his lioness.”  

Leon’s arm wrapped protectively around Carla at Gilbert’s needling. She and Leon, along with Yves and King Chevalier, were in an audience room within the Obsidian Castle, serving in Rholodite’s delegation finalizing a cooperative agreement with the nation of soldiers and steel. Carla stared unblinkingly back at the world-wide disaster. “Not really. Rhodolite is about to enter a peace agreement with Obsidian. That agreement is with the country, not just you.”

“But I am Obsidian.” Gilbert tapped his ebony cane on the floor to emphasize his point. “And so are you, little cub. You’re as much Obsidian as the half-mast mongrel there.” Gilbert did not bother to contain his disdain of Yves, whose cheeks flushed irritably. 

“Hey, leave my fiancé’s mother and Yves out of this. Your conversation is with me.”  Leon shot a challenging glance at Gilbert. “And by the way, it’s Carla. My fiancé’s name is Carla. Not little cub.”  

“Ah, so Rhodolite’s lion marks his territory.” The corner of Gilbert’s mouth quirked in amusement. “No need to roar at me.” 

“I can’t really help it. She’s like the sun that I stand beneath.” Leon asserted with pride, the tension in the room lifting temporarily as he looked fondly at Carla. He turned back to Gilbert, his voice warm but with a firm edge. “So, of course I’m gonna have an opinion on how you speak with her.”

“She’d have to stand on a pretty large chair to stand beneath her. Heehee.” Yves bristled at Gilbert’s words. Carla squeezed Leon’s hand reassuringly, refusing to appear ruffled.

“Our agreement allows Rhodolite to visit medical and military facilities. I don’t see how Leon and I touring your southern regions contradicts that agreement.” Carla was taking a risk in asking, but another opportunity to freely explore Obsidian—including areas near the underground network she led for refugees escaping into Rhodolite—would not happen again soon.  

“Access goes through me. Paths to freedom are available because I allow them to be. Including those near the border.” A crimson eye narrowed slightly. “Things can always be worse. Networks…vanish.” Gilbert grinned, as if he hadn’t just hinted at knowing Carla’s secret.   

Who does Rhodolite belong to—the people that live there, those that wish to live there, or both?  That one question from Carla before they had become a couple had expanded Leon’s perspective. And without kingly trappings ensnaring him, Leon felt emboldened to lean into that perspective through unofficial channels. Including the underground network he now helped Carla maintain. The fact that Chevalier, who sat at a nearby table surrounded by paperwork, had not interrupted thus far gave tacit leeway for Leon to continue. “The agreement is between our peoples. As such, Carla and I should get to know your people. Including those outside the Castle. We can’t exactly do that cooped up here.” 

“And what is more important? Me or the people?” 

“The people.” Carla and Leon spoke in unison.   

“A pair as pure as ever. I just might puke.” Gilbert smirked. “A pity you wear black Prince Leon. White suits you and the little cub—ahem, I mean Lady Carla—more. Certainly, more than him.” Gilbert inclined his head towards Chevalier. “I see why you two gravitate towards one another.”

“We are like candles, each lighting the other.” Carla’s voice softened for the first time since talking with Gilbert. Leon’s hand curled towards her waist, pulling her close. “You’re pretty amazing yourself,” Leon whispered.     

“Ridiculous.” A deep sigh penetrated the air. “Can we get on with negotiations?” Chevalier lifted his eyes from the stack of papers.      

“Your beastly king censures you.” Gilbert sneered, tossing a rolled-up piece of parchment in Leon’s direction. “Here’s the map of our southern lands. And passes granting permission to travel there. I’m sure you’re both eager to get going.”

“Just like that?” Leon lifted an eyebrow, catching the parchment. 

“I have more fun things to play with here.” Gilbert gestured to Chevalier and Yves in poorly concealed amusement. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he offered a final comment to Leon. “But remember this: Obsidian is a land known for darkness—even the brightest candles can burn out from what they see.” 

…

A week had passed since Carla and Leon’s meeting with Prince Gilbert. They were well-beyond the neat and orderly confines of the capital. Towns and villages were scattered across the increasingly barren landscape, with poorly maintained roads connecting them. 

The pair traveled by foot on a dusty trail, a smattering of gnarled trees dotting one side of the trail. The path meandered over mostly open land, littered with dead brush and dry grasses matted down from perpetual wind. Carla opened the map as they trekked along, head buried in the folds of paper. With a sudden THUMP, Carla found herself walking straight into the broad back of Leon. 

“Oomph!” Carla rubbed her nose and took a step back. She folded the map, placing it in her travel pack. “You OK?” 

Leon stood silently in the middle of the trail, a solemn gravity emanating from him. His expression was faraway and dark. 

“Is anyone there?”

A tiny hand reached towards the sky. Blistered fingers grasped at the emptiness around him before curling into his dirty palm. His hand fell to his side, brushing against the immoveable boulder he was tasked to transport to the Lord’s tower. The boy’s back flinched in anticipation of the abuse his handler would reap for not moving the rock in time.    

“No,” the boy murmured. “Like that’s gonna happen.” A part of him wanted to scream, but why bother. 

The boy’s world tumbled into darkness. He would always be lost. Trapped. Alone. A piercing voice broke his train of thought, causing him to whip his head around.

“Leon?!”

Warm fingers grasped Leon’s hand, squeezing tightly. The faded blur of that childhood memory scattered as Carla’s fingers twined with his, anchoring him to the present. The heavy, bleaker emotions associated with the memory lingered still—clear, distinct, and real.   

Carla’s eyes followed Leon as he stared intensely at the horizon. In the distance stood a dilapidated tower, crumbling with age and decay. Several sections of the tower were missing, sooty stones tossed about the ground. 

“That tower. I’ve…I’ve been there before.” Leon’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper that faded into the wind.  

Carla’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. They were in a part of Obsidian neither had explored previously in their rescue missions. Most Rhodolite royalty had not been in Obsidian for non-war or espionage related activities for years. There was no way in which Leon could have been near this place before, unless…

Unless as a child. A slave. Carla’s eyes widened, comprehension dawning in rapid alarm. Leon’s hand Carla held became clammy, sticky with sweat. His jaw clenched, tightly ticking in a subconscious attempt to swallow the emotions burning inside. She turned her body, placing herself in front of Leon as if she could block the barrage of horrendous thoughts assaulting him.  

“Leon? Leon!”

He did not hear her. Leon’s body stiffened, his free hand clinching the hem of his traveling cloak to the point that his knuckles turned white. The little boy in rags reaching towards the sky was a memory Leon’s heart refused to let go. It was an incomplete memory—one that had battered him inside for years even as he tried to shut it out. But with the tower in sight, Leon now recalled more. His eyes were distant, as if watching a scene only visible to him.  

“BOY!”

His handler came rushing from the work site, face ruddy, shaking with fury. The workman did not call him by name. A name implied worth and meaning. The boy had none. The boy tried to fix an impassive mask on his features. 

“I’m almost done. See? See!” The boy barely suppressed the rising warble in his voice. 

Don’t show fear. Don’t show weakness. Don’t feel it. Don’t. Don’t.  

The boy pushed with all his might against the boulder, his shoulders and back scraping painfully against hardened jagged edges. The rock, as if mocking him, moved a scant few inches forward before lurching back to its original spot.  

“I see.” His handler rasped, eyes gleaming. “I see a need for motivation.” A massive fist came barreling from the sky. 

Don’t cry out. That’ll make things worse. So, so much worse.     

The boy crouched in a ball, hands covering his face in a feeble attempt to block the blow.

“Leon! Talk to me. Please.”

Carla’s voice was distant, echoing in the far reaches of Leon’s mind. Leon was crouched up against a tree, one of his hands gripping the roots of his hair. Where was he? How did he get here? He shrank into a tighter coil, bracing against an invisible threat. Leon’s golden eyes were dilated, nearly replaced with orbs of black.

“We walked away from the tower. You’re on the outskirts of a nearby forest. You’re safe.” With difficulty, Carla got Leon to a sitting position on the ground, his back leaning against the tree. His shoulders remained hunched, as if trying to make himself a smaller target.   

This…this was not her Leon. Present Leon Carla corrected to herself. The charismatic hero with a ready smile carried hidden darkness that dwelled deep in his mind. She had seen similar scenes play out before with others she had rescued from Obsidian. The most innocuous objects—teapots, riding crops, a lady’s red hat—could induce terror, pull people into harrowing pasts. Carla mentally added crumbling towers to clear blue skies, raw hide whips, and the smell of pine bark as triggers for Leon. 

Carla lowered herself so that she straddled Leon’s lap, her eyes the same level as his. Carla’s hands framed both sides of his face, stilling his movements so that all Leon saw was her. Leon blinked repeatedly, his shallow breathing eventually slowing, his glazed stare re-centering towards his beloved.   

“Carla…”

Her name fell from his lips, half despair, half hope. Not wanting to sink deeper into darkness, Leon reached out and crushed Carla to him. He wanted to drown in her, soak into her being. His hands grasped at her curves, seeking comfort and safety.   

Trauma. It was more visible to Carla than usual. Leon’s anguish was painful to witness. Leon claimed he felt nothing when he reflected on his pre-palace childhood. But Carla had never truly believed he was as numb to those experiences as he acted. His eyes had always clouded over, shadows flickering, with each person she and he helped through their underground network. Especially children. The mightier the hero, the greater the fall. Carla’s eyes watered as she sniffled loudly. Leon stopped his movements, his eyes widening at her expression. 

“Leon…” She pressed her lips against his shoulder, caressing a scar so faded it was nearly invisible. Her hands grazed the contours of his upper back, fingers tracing muscles previously lanced with marks of a whip. “I’m here sweetheart.” 

Emotions beyond language’s ability to express them filled Leon as he clung to her. Carla could feel the thrum of Leon’s pulse against her skin, her lips connected to him in an act as spiritual as it was physical. Her presence was life giving—to the prince he was now and the boy he was then. Carla sighed softly and leaned slightly back. She wrapped her fingers through Leon’s wind-blown locks, attempting to coax him. “Do you want to talk?”

“Of course. It’s you.” 

There was sincerity in Leon’s words. “Don’t worry about me. I was just thinking earlier. That’s all.” His voice was casual, nearly dismissive. Dismissive of himself and the need to unburden his mind. 

“I’m your fiancé. It’s my job to worry about you. You don’t do it enough yourself.” 

The rebuttal that flitted to Leon’s lips vanished under the directness of her gaze. His eyes wavered with emotion. “I’m sorr—”

“If you say I’m sorry for the gift of knowing you—ALL of you—I’m going to have words.” Carla’s vivid blue eyes pierced straight into his soul. A wounded soul that did not know whether it was safe to reveal itself yet. “Your heart cries out even if your eyes don’t.”

Don’t cry out. It’ll be over soon.

The boy uttered not a sound, even as clinched fists and hardened boots collided against his arms and aching ribs. His handler had done this before. He knew it would happen again.

Nothing. He willed himself to feel nothing.      

“You hold back. Stop carrying that weight. Let it out.” Leon flinched reflexively as fingers grazed his ribs. But these touches were light, soothing, did not batter and bash. They lingered on him, as if trying to lance away the pain he held onto.  

Pain. He learned to live with it. Numbness and resilience intersecting into a blur. A blur that had him drowning on dry land. But now he sought air.

Leon let out a shaky breath. “I…I was here.” Another breath. “I looked at the sky. I couldn’t move a rock.” Another breath. “And then…fists came down.” 

Love—an emotion so sweet yet fragile. Something to protect and be protective over. Driven by the force of that emotion, Carla threw her arms around Leon, cradling his head to her as he shook uncontrollably. 

He felt everything. Everything he had suppressed most of his life. Words tumbled out of him, nightmarish memories crowding his mind as rapid fire as fists from the sky. 

“Please. Please. PLEASE. STOP!”

He screamed—for all the times he had not. 

“STOP!” Leon screamed repeatedly into Carla’s shoulder, raw, sharply piercing. The roar of a wounded beast and a terrified boy tangled into one. Leon winced repeatedly, as if struck by repeated blows. Carla curled herself around him, clinging tightly over him, her body shielding him from his handler, the looming tower, everything. He shuddered for what seemed like an eternity, gasping for breath, voice cracking. “STOP…stop…please.” 

And then, startling silence. 

The boy laid down in the mud. The air was empty, devoid of the faintest warmth. The taste of iron trickled down his cheek from a gash near his temple. His handler was gone, having made his point. 

Ache. His body ached. His heart throbbed, whether with pain or resignation he did not know. A loneliness surrounded him that ached even more. 

Another slave, trained in rudimentary medics, eventually came by to treat the boy’s wounds. The boy remained face down in the mud, barely moving.  

“Some people scream so loud anyone can hear’em. Wail like babies even.”  A glob of ointment, thick and gloopy, was roughly rubbed on the boy’s shoulders. “You kid? You scream in silence.”

To know another’s pain, to be allowed to see it and witness its vulnerability was a humbling experience. The air was still, as if recognizing the significance of the moment.

“It’s not OK what happened to you. All of it.” 

A painful pressure squeezed the breath from Leon’s lungs and then released at Carla’s words. He had never heard that—an acknowledgement of what he went through, the wrongness of it all. His brothers now knew of his past, but it was never spoken of—a buried truth, an unofficial price for maintaining his status as fourth prince. The silence of it all was too much. 

The boy was too tired to scream. 

And yet. A faint flicker within his heart refused to die out.

 He lifted his head from the mud.   

“If I were in trouble, what would you do?” The words were barely audible, mumbled into Carla’s shoulder. Leon slowly raised his head. I don’t need fixing his golden eyes seemed to plead; I need…I need…

“I’d help you.”

Understanding. “Regardless of who I am?” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the words escaped him.  

“I love you. All of you: past and present; pauper and prince; perfect and pained.” Her voice flowed with understanding and affection. “You speak as if the boy you were before should be gone, forever erased. The echo of him remains, buried inside, guiding you. And I am grateful that boy is still there wanting to be seen and heard.”

Carla cupped a hand to Leon’s cheek, gently encouraging him to look at her. “That boy has made you who you are. You are a man who has witnessed darkness but carries light for Rhodolite. You have walked out of fire but come back with water for those that are still in flames, seeking help within our underground network. You show compassion because that boy knows what is like to have had none.” 

Her words seeped into his being. Love touched every fractured piece of Leon, mending him back together. “So yes, I’d help you. Because I adore you. And because you’ve looked pain in the eye, and you’ve stared back with love—love for your country, your brothers, your people.”

“And you.” Leon was filled with searing warmth. “Especially you. More than anything.” Amber eyes radiated hope again. 

“I would hope so, considering we’re engaged.” Carla smiled slightly. 

His heart squeezed at her teasing words. “You move me so much Carla, it’s almost absurd.” He clasped her to his chest, squeezing tight. “Thank you.”

A hand reached for the sky. 

Is anyone there? 

“You’re not alone.” Carla’s hand was steady as Leon reached for it. Her fingers grasped his, twining together. An unspoken promise to never let go. 

“We are candles, each lighting the other.” Carla repeated the words she had spoken to Gilbert. “And I will light your way through the dark.”

[pixelatedraindrops]

Hello everyone!! Today I grow a year older :3 (and I hate it lmao) FEEL FREE TO REPLY BIRTHDAY WISHES IF YOU WANT :3

So, over the time I've come back here, I've become pretty confident and proud of my once hidden passion about sick characters, sickfics and sick comfort/whump... 🌡️

And you all have been so supportive and sweet despite my weirdness so I thank you for that. You helped me feel more confident in my otherwise weird fixation <3 So, for my birthday I thought I'd try and make up a little drawing challenge for anyone who wants to give it a try... There are soo many talented artists on this site (and in this fandom)

So... It's your turn to target your faves now. You will see how fun it is and hopefully understand why I love doing it so much. 😈🌡️

(plus it's my birthday and I require some sustenance LMAO JKJK)

But yeah anyone can join in. This is just for fun though! You don't have to if you don't want to! I think its okay to ask for some food on my birthday though...right?? X'D So if you wanna do sth for my birthday...then... 👉👈 💦

CHALLENGE BELOW~

DRAW YOUR FAVE ON A SICK DAY CHALLENGE🌡️😷🥵🤧

~~~~

(Mmmmkay, I am lying to myself when I say this isn't mostly aimed at the RainCode community... X'D Can't help myself. But anyone can join regardless of the fandom!!)

So here's the challenge and the rules!! (featuring my two main lil targets ofc :3)

Regardless of who it is, put your fave through some sickness hell >:3c I'd love to see it! Make em' as miserable as you want!

destroy them 😈 jkjk XD

If you're in the RainCode community you can target anyone, but as you know, my main targets are Yuma and Makoto. If they're also your faves and who you decide to use, that will make me extra happy!

Some tips for anyone new to drawing a sick day scenario art. A few things that make it look convincing are the following:

Pajamas or Loungewear

Messy Bed Hair

Fever flushed face w sweat or at least a red nose

Tired Eye bags

Shivery body

Ice Pack or a Compress on the head

Thermometer sticking from their mouth

LOTS OF BLANKETS

Tissues or medicine surrounding them

Tea or Soup (or both)

Those are just to name some from the top of my head. If you'd like some pointers on how to make a character look ill, check out my Fever Coloring Guide. This is for digital artists but traditional artists can try it too!

You can add injury or angst to the scene but I'd like illness to be the main focus of it.

The scene can be anything you want to, it can be fluffy and wholesome (with a caretaker) it can be angsty, or it can be silly. Its all up to you! Do it for the sake of fluff! Caretaking scenes are the best for any kind of relationship >w<

Either way, have fun with it!! I look forward to see what people make if they decide to give it a try! It doesn't even have to be a full on picture! Doodles and sketches are fine too! Just show me something >w<

(feel free to tag me and say happy b-day and mention my challenge, I am proud to be known for this and would love for many to participate :3) I wanna see you take a go at it :3 Show me your style! :D

~

~~~

(wow look at me misspelling the word writing on text when I did it fine with my own hands lol)

Now, I know not everyone can draw...

Well never fear! I accept writing as well! ✍️✍️✍️

(hi vivia lol sorry for giving you a cold, at least you have an excuse to read and do nothing now haha x3)

Sickfics are one of the biggest things I live for! Any little drabbles or full fics with more than one chapter are welcome! Again target who you want any fandom you want, but I'll def be super happy if you make a RainCode fic. And even happier if you target my faves as well, but again, anything will do! Just make a cute story about your fave being miserable and being tended to! Trust me, it's super fun!

You can add injury or angst to the scene but I'd like illness to be the main focus of it.

Feel free to post your writing here and tag me or mention my AO3!

If you need a start to your fic, look on my blog for illness prompts! Maybe it can help give you a good start or give some inspiration! (thats why I share 'em :3)

I look forward to anything you try to write!

~

That's about all!! I hope you decide to participate! ✨

Good luck, have fun, and godspeed you future whumpers! 😈

(nah jk XD)

AGAIN THIS IS FOR FUN! NO PRRSSURE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO!

[citrus-moonlight]

Salvation is a Deep Dark Well

Chapter 2: Raise Your Chin and Howl

[ Masterlist - Part Two ] -> [ Masterlist - Part One ]

Fandom: MCU - Age of Ultron, Black Panther Pairing: Ulysses Klaue x F! Reader Word count: 9.7K Chapters: 2/6 Rating: Explicit

Summary: The actions of others leads to chaos at the compound, and after Klaue returns to deal with the aftermath you're surprised to learn that his reasons for being upset aren't what you think, and you finally have to admit some things that you've been denying.

Warnings: Explicit!, Mild Age Difference, Reader is Late 30s, Use of Pet Names, Injury, Workplace Injury, Mention of Blood, Reference to Guns, Insecurity (Reader is an Idiot), Light Angst, Smut, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Reference to Masturbation (M), Finger Sucking, Spit Kink, Oral Sex (M receiving), Brief Rough Oral, Cock Worship, Messy Blowjob, Mouth Fucking, Cum Swallowing, Hair Holding/Pulling, Guided Masturbation (F), Mild Size Kink, Soft Dom, Teasing, Praise Kink, Porn With Plot, More Accidental Feelings Oh No

AN: Welcome back, friends! It's been quite a while since I updated this one, but I'm excited to finally bring you so more of these two! it wasn't so much that this one got away from me, but what I wanted (and needed) to do with it was getting more involved, and ultimately I'm happy with how this ended up turning out. Especially since I also accidentally wrote a holiday "interlude" story that comes after this but before what was supposed to be the next chapter (which is now chapter four), which was simultaneously challenging and helpful in finding the right balance in this part as things progress.

As always, thank you for reading and to everyone who has commented or reblogged so far, and I am unendingly grateful to those who have provided encouragement and support through this writing of this story. I hope that you enjoy! 💕

AO3 Link

Title is from "Hands Like Roots" by The Builders and the Butchers

And if thee should die tonight Well it won't be without a sound When your hands move like roots Making their way through the ground

The afternoon is crisp but bright when you step outside, the sun actively working to melt much of the late autumn snow that had fallen overnight. 

You’d only gone out to take a quick inventory of the oxygen and argon stock, but when you make your way past the loading dock to get to the storage cages you see something that makes you pause and do a double take.

On the compound’s property there are three industrial propane tanks that power and heat the facility, and today they were scheduled to be refilled before the snow properly settles in the mountains making the roads difficult to access during winter.

The refilling had already been completed and the tankers should have been long on their way, so you’re surprised when you see what appears to be a fuel transfer being done between the two bobtail trucks, which is illegal except in special circumstances, and making it more concerning they're also uncomfortably close to the loading dock. 

On top of that, as far as you’re aware this compound isn’t licensed to allow truck to truck transfers at all - something that would normally only be done at the refilling plant - making it doubly illegal

And while this might not be a facility where “legality” is necessarily a top concern, that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still dangerous and incredibly stupid. 

“What are you doing?” You blurt out, standing stock-still as you stare at Anatoly, the man who seems to be directing what’s happening. You weren’t necessarily on friendly terms with the Sokovian man, but you had chatted occasionally and he’d seemed to have more sense than this.

“We didn’t want to do it right next to the big tanks.” He gestures across the yard.

You continue to stare, perplexed. 

“Ok, well, you shouldn’t be doing it here at all, but now you’re right next to the building, and the five pound tanks -” 

“It was the only place flat enough for both trucks.”

“- are a lot closer than those big ones.” 

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” He brushes you off, starting to get visibly frustrated that you won’t let it go.

Changing tacks you turn to one of the drivers who’s in conversation with Milo, a welder you recognize from another shift.

“Hey, you know you’re not supposed to be doing this here, right?”

“He doesn’t know how, so I’m doing it for him,” Anatoly replies before the driver can answer himself. “You’re making a big deal from nothing.”

“Why are you doing it at all? Unless there’s an emergency you can’t just -”

“I’ve done it before.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Listen, they both would've had to go back to their plant, but now one can go straight to the next job.”

“So let me get this straight: Doing a favour for someone whose job doesn’t have anything to do with you is a good enough reason to create a potentially dangerous situation here? I don’t think that Klaue will love hearing that.”

“You’re not going to tell him.” His annoyed demeanor quickly shifts, his expression going icy.

“No? Why wouldn’t I? You’re doing something incredibly stupid and I think that he should-”

“So you’re going to snitch on me?” He sneers.

“About this? Yeah, I guess I am. And if you’re concerned about him finding out then you must have at least enough common sense to-”

“I don’t need common sense to know that you- ”

“Jesus Christ, would you let me finish a fucking sentence!”

Your voice surprises you and to Anatoly’s credit he actually shuts up, scowling like a petulant teenager who’s realizing that they’re not going to be able to intimidate their way out of trouble. 

The other workers who had been milling around and watching half-interestedly now straighten up and turn towards the trucks.

“You.” Gesturing at both drivers, pleased that they at least appear to be somewhat chastised. 

“You are supposed to be in control at all times. These trucks are your responsibility from start to finish and you’re letting him do something that’s illegal just to save a bit of time?”

“He offered!” The first one exclaims.

“Which he shouldn’t have, but you should have said no and moved on.”

You turn back to Anatoly whose mouth is downturned in an almost comical grimace. 

“And you may think this is no big deal but I very much doubt that Klaue would appreciate you being so flippant about potentially damaging his operation.”

He looks like he wants to say something else but bites his tongue, his stare still condescending even though he knows you’re right and has no argument left. 

At this point, and while you wouldn’t be surprised to learn it, you’re not yet aware that there’s a crack in the hose near to the end connected to the receiving truck. Before you’d even gone outside propane vapour had been steadily leaking out, the only indication that there was a problem the occasional whiff of mercaptan - faint and not out of the ordinary from a typical delivery.

Normally this wouldn’t be an issue and the vapours would simply disperse since you’re outdoors, but it’s unusually calm today with next to no breeze to move the air, allowing the heavier than air propane molecules to instead pool between the trucks like an invisible low-lying fog.

As it is, you’re relieved when everything is finally disconnected and sealed up, and having abandoned your inventory you turn to make your way back inside to try to get this documented, even if others think that you really are overreacting and Anatoly doesn’t face the consequences you think he should.

“You know, maybe next time you could- ”

You’re cut off again, but instead of a condescending comment this time it's by the sudden percussion of an explosion. 

When the full truck’s engine started up an unknown faulty battery sparked and ignited the vapours that had been collecting, the flashback loud enough that your ears don’t register the sound until you’re already on the ground. 

Fortunately you manage not to hit your head but your shoulder feels like you’re lucky it didn’t dislocate when you landed. Slowly pushing yourself up onto your elbow you look around, blinking until your vision slowly comes back into focus and you realize with a sinking feeling that the truck itself is now burning, flames appearing to emerge from one of the valves at the rear.

“Goddamnit,” you curse, momentarily frozen in place as you watch the flames growing quickly in front of your eyes. 

You know that as the temperature rises the pressure inside the tanker does as well, and it needs to be stopped before the valve can no longer vent faster than the pressure is building, and  you have no way of knowing whether any of the internal mechanisms were damaged in the explosion, so you may have even less time than normal.

Finally you manage to convince your muscles to move. Sucking in a breath you grit your teeth and force yourself to standing, moving as quickly as you can to reach the cabinet that houses the fire extinguishers, and then Milo is suddenly there next to you.

“I’ll take this one,” he offers and you quickly nod your thanks. Maneuvering over to the truck you unspool your hose and get as close as you can until the heat of the flames forces you back.

Stumbling briefly from the recoil when you pull the nozzle’s lever back you grimace at the sudden jolt of pain in your shoulder but manage to recover quickly, widening your stance to better brace yourself and focus the thick white cloud on the brightest part of the fire. 

Thankfully the flames seem to be quickly smothered and you move closer as the heat begins to die down. Occasionally you or Milo alternate your focus on the truck’s own fuel tank, working to extinguish the burning propane while also trying to prevent the diesel from possibly igniting as well. 

You can see Tom in your peripheral now, dimly aware of him barking directions, relieved that someone else was there to take charge, and even when the fire appears to be doused you keep your hoses pointed at the truck until both extinguishers have been completely emptied.

Finally, after what feels like hours but was probably less than fifteen minutes since you had walked outside you take a deep, shaky breath and simply sit down right where you stand in the mess of slush and extinguisher residue.

You can almost feel the adrenaline physically draining out of your system, your jaw involuntarily clenching as you begin to shiver. You’re not sure who’s hand squeezes your shoulder, your mind feels fuzzy as mild shock sets in, and it takes conscious effort to release your grip from the hose that’s still sitting across your lap and slowly stand back up.

You're buzzing wildly between a range of emotions: anger, frustration, relief, a blanket of exhaustion settling over all of it as you waver on unsteady legs, tamping down the thoughts of how much more badly this could have gone.

Two days after the incident with the trucks and the ringing in your ears has nearly stopped, and aside from stiff muscles and a painterly bruise blooming across your shoulder you'd come out of it all more or less unscathed.

Once the chaos had wound down and things could be assessed it was fortunate that damage was minimal and the overall injuries turned out to be minor, mostly cuts and bruises from being knocked over or from the burst of gravel from the initial explosion. Even the alarming amount of blood you'd seen running down Anatoly’s face ended up just being a superficial gash.

There are already at least two versions of what happened circulating through the facility, one casting your actions more favourably and one much less so (no question where that one started), though you’re not particularly concerned which version others decide to believe. Enough people witnessed what actually happened, and regardless you know that what you did was the right thing, and you’re confident that Klaue will see that.

You haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet but he's supposed to be on his way back, abandoning the South African coast early to assess the damage and meet with the kind of investigators that a facility that doesn’t exist in the strictest sense will allow.

Although you have his return to look forward to, you can’t help still feeling on edge as the dregs of adrenaline continue to circulate in your blood, and you regularly have to force yourself to take a deep inhale when you realize that your breathing has gone shallow again.

Fortunately you’ve had a simple job the last couple of days, spending your shift taking apart scrap metal to be sent to a foundry to be melted down. Oxy acetylene cutting can be physically taxing and it's hot as hell but it doesn’t require finesse, and right now you’re happy to simply let muscle memory guide you, focusing only on regulating the flow of gas and keeping the glide of the flame’s sharp tip steady as you work. 

You’re waiting for the disassembled pieces you'd just cut to cool before moving them so that you can start on the next section when there’s a sudden burst of activity at the entrance to the shop, and when you turn towards the disturbance you see that Klaue has just walked in.

His eyes have already found you but the swell of excitement at seeing him unexpectedly is quickly replaced by confusion when you register his dark expression.

“You.” He points, singling you out from the crowd. “Come with me.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise at the anger in his tone, and when you don’t immediately move to follow he raises his eyebrows, impatience clear in the tight set of his jaw.

“Now.” He grits through clenched teeth.

“Ohh, someone’s in trouble.” 

You whip around to find the source of the taunt, the anger and frustration that you haven’t fully processed surging out in a red-hot wave, and the words are out before you can think.

“Shut the fuck up!” 

The idiot is looking at you like he’s made some world-class joke and you're ready to lay into him, but suddenly his focus moves behind you and the smirk drops away as the blood drains from his face.

Slowly turning to follow his eyes you see Klaue standing as still as a steel lathe with his arm extended, but it takes several seconds for you to register that the leather holster on his leg is empty and his gun now aimed at the center of the man's chest.

“Shit.” You gasp. 

All of the oxygen seems to have been sucked out of the room and you're rooted to the spot, your hearing gone muffled and tinny. The joker’s eyes are flashbulb wide, standing with his arms jutting into the air as though that might have any impact on what happens next.

Every inch of Klaue appears calm, you might almost say he was relaxed if it weren't for the weapon in his hand. But the unmistakable fury in his eyes colours them nearly black, an obsidian blade glinting in the shadows simply waiting for an excuse to strike, and though he speaks quietly you know that everyone watching this happen can hear every word clear as day. 

“If you ever speak to her about anything other than this job again...” 

He doesn't finish the sentence, he doesn't have to, the sound of the safety lever being flicked off is deafening. The only movement in the room is the flex of tendons in Klaue's hand as his thumb deftly finds the switch.

You’re not sure whether the man is actually breathing, and even though your own heart is pounding out of your chest you find that you’re not exactly upset about the look of abject fear in his eyes.

“No! I mean I won’t! I didn’t mean anything, I’m sorry I-” he stammers, panicked eyes flicking back and forth between the weapon and Klaue’s face, forcing his hands almost comically high until his biceps are covering his ears. 

No one else speaks.

After several more excruciating seconds you finally hear the click of the safety re-engaging and you let out the breath you’d been holding as he slowly replaces the gun in its holster.

Then he turns back to you and repeats:

“Now.”

You have to work to keep up with Klaue’s brisk pace as you make your way through the warren of hallways, eventually ending up in an area you’d only passed by before. You follow him into a room filled with various pieces of vaguely familiar military equipment, a heavy desk and a bank of monitors against one wall, and in your still flustered state it’s only when he closes the door behind you that you realize that he’s taken you to his office.

He walks over and leans on the desk, weight braced on his knuckles as his shoulders rise and fall, each breath slow and deep.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you - in fact he hasn’t looked at you since he’d turned away expecting you would follow.

“Klaue?”

You think that you note a brief hitch in his breathing, but beyond that he doesn’t respond. 

“Listen, it’s been a long couple of days and I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me what’s going on.”

“What you did was dangerous.” He replies quietly, finally seeming to find his words.

You sigh. You’re not entirely surprised that that’s what this is about but you’re still irritated and your lingering anger is back at the surface, leaving you fighting to keep your response measured. You’re not the one who’d done anything wrong. You thought he’d understand that.

“I did what needed to be done, that whole situation was getting worse by the second.“

“You put yourself in harm's way. There was no need to get that close when there had already been an explosion.”

“So was I just supposed to stand around with my mouth hanging open like almost everyone else? Or walk away and pretend that nothing was happening?”

“You didn’t need to get yourself involved, period. Those men would have dealt with the consequences of their actions.”

You throw your hands up in resignation.

“This is perfect, I was one of the few people actually trying to help, and yet I’m the one you’re taking it out on? That seems par for the course in all of this.”

Finally Klaue turns around to face you.

“I’m not- ”

"What about Milo? Or more importantly the asshole that actually caused the whole fucking mess??" You're close to yelling now, unable to help it as your anger and disappointment finally boil over.

"Do you really think he hasn't already been dealt with?” He replies sharply. “He’s gone, and won't be stepping foot in another shop anywhere, ever again. I'll be making sure of it.”

There's something flat in his eyes that cloaks the usual sharp blue.

“Ok, well…good.” You’re happy to hear it, though you’re still only somewhat placated. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the damage could have been so much worse if that truck had kept burning. I had to do something."

"That shouldn’t be your concern. I would have handled it."

“More people would have gotten injured.”

“I’m aware.”

“Or killed!"

"You could have gotten- "

He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, fists balled tight at his sides. 

He hasn’t raised his voice until now, but it's his tone and the way his words waver that gives you pause. As you watch Klaue collect himself you feel something trying to work its way into your chest - something that’s whispering to you what that clouded look in his eyes might have been. 

Fear.

He’s visibly tense, lips pressed in a thin line as he takes a step toward you, broad shoulders curling inwards in an almost protective posture.

“I know you didn’t have anything to do with the accident, and that you wanted to help. But what you did still wasn't-”

He stops again and it surprises you, normally so certain of his words and not exactly afraid to speak his mind, you instead watch the muscles of his jaw working as his eyes burn into yours.

“This is a risky job.” You finally break the silence, trying to reason with him, taking your own tentative step closer to him. “Even when I’m not working for an arms dealer, by the way. Anywhere in this trade mistakes like that can happen.”

There’s a soft “careful” in the quick tilt of his head, and even now you feel a spark of relief at the flash of that familiar part of him.

“And you got hurt here.” 

You only realize that your hand has been rubbing your bruised shoulder when you notice his eyes have shifted to watch your fingers.

“So did other people! Why am I being singled out? What is the concern about me?” 

A part of him seems to drift from you again, and when he doesn’t respond a vice of cold steel begins to tighten around your chest. Has he discerned the real question that was hidden in your words? Is he angry? Disappointed? Indifferent?

Damnit, you curse yourself. 

You wished you hadn’t said it  but the recent stress has eroded your filters and you couldn’t help but push. Even though you’re not going to get the answer you can barely admit that you want.

“If you had really been hurt. If you had gotten killed..” 

When his eyes focus on you again there’s a coldness in them that you’ve only seen hints of before, but now it’s right there at the surface, clear and sharp and seething.

“That man wouldn’t be gone, he would be dead.” 

Oh.

Klaue’s words are laced with a calm certainty that sets your heart racing, your skin prickling hot under the weight of his gaze as you stand there shocked silent by his admission, unsure how to respond.

Just as suddenly as it appeared the cold begins to melt away, his eyes sweeping over you as if confirming that you’re still there, still whole and standing in front of him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be concerned about you?” He asks, a curious frown knitting his brows.

You’re not sure how to respond to that either and you’re quiet for several long moments, chewing your lower lip while you consider, nervous for a different reason now.

He’s pushing you back, and it’s what you wanted (what you needed), not letting you get away with hiding, because if you’re going to ask the question you need to answer it, too.

But he must know it’s not a simple question, and right now you can’t give him a simple answer.

“I don’t…know what this is.” You start, haltingly. 

The first threads of an admission that there’s something for this to be. 

An admission that although a part of you has known it since the first night he slowly, achingly buried himself inside you, you can no longer pretend that he hasn’t already ruined you.

”Neither do I.” He concedes, slowly closing the last steps that separate you, surprised to find yourself relaxing at his words. It's not an answer, not yet, but still an acknowledgement, that you’re both uncertain but unable to help the way that you’re drawn together. Moths lost in the dark, instinctively picking up on the invisible spark of the other.

His hand reaches up to touch the shoulder that you'd been massaging.

“Let me see.” Klaue rumbles softly as he moves to lift the edge of your shirt, and silently you help him work your arm from the sleeve before he pulls the garment the rest of the way off, leaving you in your sports bra.

“I don’t know that I have to know, but I-” 

You start to speak but then inhale a sharp breath when his palm slides over your shoulder, soothing the bruised warmth, fingers also dance along the scar on your other arm which was fortunately not the side you’d landed on.

“And I don’t know if I can tell you.” His frown deepens as he takes in the angry bloom of purpling skin. “But I haven’t been able to think about anyone else since you’ve been here.” 

You hadn’t assumed anything but you can’t help the sting of relief, even as you fight to hold back the dam of want that’s cracking open beneath your ribs.

But when his hand slides up over your shoulder, your neck, tilting your head so that you meet his eyes, you realize that it's a battle you've already lost.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, the other hand pressing flat against the firm warmth of his chest. 

“I hadn’t been seeing anyone for a while, before Utrech..” You start and then pause, your eyes slipping closed with a sigh as you sink into the sensation of his palm against your cheek. “But even when I was still trying to pretend that I didn’t…since then it hasn’t even occurred to me to think about anyone but you.” 

“Is that right?” Klaue’s voice hums with a pleased timbre though his eyes flick searchingly across your face.

“Yes. There’s no one else. Not now, not-”

Not ever.

“No one has ever come close to making me feel the way you do, Ulysses. And maybe I don’t know what this is, but…I know that I don’t want to stop.” 

The last words come out in a breathless rush, forced out before you can overthink and lock them away again. Finally admitting it as much to yourself as to him.

“I’m not going to stop, darling. Not a fucking chance.” 

You nearly laugh with giddy relief but it’s interrupted when his hand tightens around your jaw, leaning in so that his mouth is hovering over yours as you press your body flush against him, arching into the stiffening ridge of his erection that juts into your hip.

You try to angle your mouth to find the warmth of his lips against yours, but strong hands continue to hold you just there, a breath apart. The air has shifted, a charge growing in the dwindling space between you that leaves your skin tingling from the near contact, and when you feel a faint brush of his lips against yours an audible whine slides from your throat.

“That night, after the bar, I thought about you.” Klaue continues.

“You did?” 

“Yes.” He nearly groans the word. “Thought about how you'd taste when you come.” 

The wet heat that’s been building in your core surges at his words, at the sudden image of him flushed and sweaty, his fist moving in rough strokes over his swollen cock and the thought of you in his head.

One of your hands begins to slide between your bodies, needy fingers plucking at his belt, reaching beneath the waistband and tugging.

“Thought about taking you into the back, finding a quiet corner, having you on your knees in front- in front of me.” His voice hitches and he shudders when you find the now stiff curve of his cock beneath the fabric.

“And then..when you were there, kneeling, I was sure I was dreaming. But you were so much better than my dreams. Such a tease, weren’t you?” He hums, and you can hear the grin even as his voice drops to a rasp of granite and silk. 

“Thinking you could get away with that.”

Klaue’s hips rock into your touch as you squeeze more firmly, sliding your hand along the shape of him, rewarded with a harsh sigh as he pulls back and fixes his eyes fix on yours. You thrill at the heat that you find there, helplessly reaching for the flames that lick against your skin. 

That invite you to burn.

“I didn’t think that for a second. But I already apologized, didn’t I?” 

A flash of him holding you against the door, desperation on your lips as he finally let you fall apart.

“Oh, you thought that was your apology? Getting to come on my fingers?”

“I didn’t, I mean-” You stammer, the movement of your hand faltering even as his admonition sends another wave of heat through your body.

“I’m afraid not, darling. And right now..” Your eyelids flutter and it takes a moment to realize that he’s waiting to make sure he has your attention.

“Y-yes?”

“Maybe I do.”

“You do…what?” Frowning, you try to figure out his meaning through the growing haze of arousal.

“Want to take it out on you.”

Your eyes snap to his, molten sapphire when you meet them.

“And maybe,” Klaue’s thumb swipes across the corner of your lips. “I want to take it out on this mouth of yours.”

His eyes flick down to catch your tongue peeking out as you reflexively lick your lips.

“Because a day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about that sweet promise you made on your knees.” 

His thumb slides against the seam of your lips, smug when they part easily beneath the pressure.

He tsks, but any response you might give is cut off when he pushes past your teeth and your tongue gratefully tastes the calloused skin. But just as you move to take his thumb deeper into your mouth he pulls back, quickly replacing it with his index and middle fingers before you can lament the loss, and you can’t help but moan around the thick digits.

Eagerly you begin to slide your mouth along them, slowly bobbing your head, taking them further until they’re far enough back that your gag reflex triggers and your body stiffens, squeezing your eyes shut as you force yourself to take slow breaths.

Eventually your eyelids flutter open again, your focus coming back to him and the pleased look in his eyes.

Once you catch your breath you increase the suction of your lips to pull his fingers a little deeper, your tongue teasing around and between his two fingers, the texture of his warm skin contrasted with the smooth edges of his ring.

The next time you pull back he takes the opportunity to add a third finger, his other hand reaching up to cup the back of your neck, gently but firmly holding your head in place as he slides them all the way into your mouth again until his thumb and pinky are cradling your jaw.

Klaue’s mouth has dropped open, his breathing gone rough as he watches your lips stretching around his fingers. Both of your hands have moved to grip his shirt, steadying yourself, your eyes beginning to water as your breath comes in quick gasps.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “Just like that.”

His fingers stay where they are until your breathing slows again, nearly wincing at the deep velvet of his gaze on you, soft but inescapable. 

You still feel the instinct to gag, but once your throat relaxes the rest of you follows, and you sigh as he withdraws a little, rubbing gentle circles against your tongue. Your inhibitions are quickly falling away as you become focused only on more, moaning as his fingers continue to move, the thumb of his hand that’s curled around your neck caressing the sensitive skin there.

A heady thrum of desire is growing, settling deep between your thighs as you watch him through heavy-lidded eyes as he alternates between slowly pumping and then pressing deep and holding there, pleased when your breathing evens out more quickly every time.

Watching his expression cloud over with lust it occurs that you’d never really thought about how much he liked this. How watching your lips, and feeling your warm, slick mouth around his fingers as they grow shiny with your spit has him barely hanging on.

“That’s my needy girl.” 

Klaue’s words are a sigh, almost a release, the tension when you had first followed him ebbing from his body, smoothing the set of his shoulders as his fingers continue to move.

You shudder again, unable to hold back the keening sounds from escaping your throat, your center already soaked and aching and you don’t even have his cock in your mouth yet.

“What’s the matter, isn’t this enough?” His words are cut with a smug glint of gold, seeming to guess what you’re thinking about.

And honestly you would let him keep doing this if he wanted, turning you into a mindless mess with just his fingers and only your eyes able to plead wordlessly for more. But he said he was going to fuck your mouth, and the narrowing of your eyes answers his question.

His unoccupied hand releases your neck and takes one of your hands, returning it to the waist of his pants where you quickly work at his belt and zipper, determined though distracted by the continued slip and drag through your lips. 

Eventually you manage to reach beneath the fabric to grip his hard length, your other hand tugging the layers down until you’re able to free his cock. The movement of his fingers falters at your touch but then he’s grinning when your moans become more plaintive, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth as your hand hungrily strokes the intoxicating heat of him.

“Now, don’t swallow.” Klaue murmurs.

You have a split second to frown before he withdraws, realization dawning when you have to quickly close your mouth to keep from drooling.

Unable to reply, you wait a beat before your eyebrows raise in a question.

“On your knees.” His hand drops, slick fingers replacing yours where they’re wrapped around his length.

Your breath catches with anticipation, and unable and unwilling to hide how eager you are now you keep your eyes on his as you sink down slowly until the thick circle of his fist is directly in front of you, the slit already leaking as he strokes himself. 

The sight of it has you aching, desperate for your lips to replace the languid slide of his fingers, to take him deep into your mouth then and nose into the dark, grey-flecked hair that spreads from the base of him.

“Now, spit on my cock, darling.”

Your reverie suddenly broken you look up to see him watching you intently, eyes dark and commanding, his hand now gripping the thick base, holding himself out to you.

Waiting.

Still unable to reply, all you can do - all you want to do - is acquiesce. So you lean forward and slowly let the saliva slide from your parted lips until it drops onto the head of his cock, his palm quickly gathering and dragging your offering down his length, groaning at the slide of it beneath his fingers.

Only when you hear the low timbre of his laugh do you realize that you’re practically pouting as your eyes eagerly follow the movement of his hand.

You lean forward again, glossy lips parting in anticipation, but his other hand quickly reaches to grasp your hair and stops you. 

You’re agonizingly close, not caring how desperate you must look straining against his grip as your tongue flicks out, the sounds of skin on slick skin making you increasingly desperate to taste him as he holds you just out of reach of what you want.

“Look at you.” Klaue croons.“You’re always switched on. You’re strong and I can see how hard you work, and I want you to know how much I appreciate that.”

You flush at his praise, briefly distracted from your conquest.

“But when I use your mouth…then I get to watch you let go. I can tell that you don’t like to do it for yourself, so I’m going to do it for you. Going to empty that head of yours.”

His hips nudge toward you and this time when your lips drop open he lets you move to meet him.

He sucks a hiss through his teeth when you press a wet kiss against the thick head of his cock, chased by a relieved groan as you let your lips smear the glisten of precum that continues to leak there, fresh heat blooming between your legs at the sounds this draws from him.

You keep the muscles of your jaw relaxed and pliant as you press slowly forward. Not sucking yet, simply using the head of his cock to part your lips to slide over the already slick skin, slowly and thoroughly mapping the shape of him with your mouth.

And he's right, of course. You can feel yourself relaxing as you finally taste the musk of his heated skin, humming contentedly as your tongue swirls around the head and drags over the sensitive frenulum, the tension of the last few days finally draining away with every languorous slip of your mouth. 

A different kind of tension quickly swelling deep in your core.

“Jesus.” Klaue sighs above you as you gradually take him deeper, one hand braced on his thigh while the other wraps around him, his cock achingly hard beneath your fingers. 

Still loosely holding your hair he's letting you work him, your own pleased moans slipping from your throat as you lick hungrily over every ridge and vein, savouring the salty tang of his velvet-slick skin warm against your tongue

Pleasure thrums through your body, growing hotter with the attention you’re giving him, but as you take him deeper again, your lips stretching wider, realization flickers in the back of your mind that you haven’t even taken him halfway yet and you’re already growing overwhelmed by how full your mouth is. 

But, god, the ragged sound he makes when you slide down until his cock nudges the back of your throat makes your cunt throb, so you pull back so that you’re holding just the tip of him between your lips and then you do it again, reveling in every inch that you can take.

Slowly you build a steady rhythm until saliva is dripping down your chin, he's continuing to let you control the pace for now, allowing you to breathe and adjust until he’s deeper than when he was on the couch.

Your hunger is growing, though, and soon you're pushing forward with more intention and when your throat spasms you swallow reflexively, your eyes watering when this draws him in further. Klaue’s moans deepen at the ripple of the muscles around his cock but you’re unable to fight it any longer and you gag, even as his drawn out “Fuck” has your hips rocking.

Squeezing your eyes shut you just barely manage to stay where you are, tears dampening your lashes until you finally have to pull back, although you keep him in your mouth, breathing hard through your nose to catch your breath.

“It’s alright,” he rasps. ”Don’t think you’re going to be able to take all of me right now, darling. But you’ll take as much as you can, and when you can swallow every inch of my cock then you’ll get to feel me come down your throat.” 

You can’t help the muffled sound you make that’s equal parts arousal and disappointment.

“Don’t worry, I’m still going to make a pretty mess of your mouth," he teases, his heaving chest and half-lidded eyes betraying his own growing need.

Not that he isn’t doing a fair job of it already, of course, unable to properly swallow, your chin is quickly growing shiny with drool. The pressure of his other hand still cradling the back of your neck firm but soothing as he holds you in place, as the still restrained flex of his hips begins seeking the wet heat of your mouth again, and you sigh at the intoxicating weight of his cock dragging against your tongue.

As you relax your awareness drifts back down to the heat between your legs, the slick press of the seam of your pants against your sex barely relieving the ache there as you squeeze your thighs together. 

After a few more slow thrusts he presses forward into the back of your throat again, and as he holds himself there you take a shaky breath and swallow once, and then again, taking more of him than you have so far. 

“There you go, God-”

You try to hollow your cheeks to pull him in further but you gag again when he bucks suddenly, his words cut off with a growled curse.

“It’s alright,” Klaue soothes, pulling back to give you a moment to recover, though it was more startling than painful. “You’re doing so fucking well.” 

Looking up at him you see that his eyes are screwed shut, head bowed and breathing hard, concentration etched clearly across his face. When he finally opens his them he can only groan at the sight of your tear-damp reverence, his attention is first drawn first to where he's disappearing into your mouth as he starts to move again, but it’s not long before they catch instead on the needy cant of your hips.

“You do love this, don’t you? Have you soaked through your panties already?”

You can only let out a whimpered moan as you attempt to nod.

He hasn’t let you take his cock out of your mouth yet and you can feel the drool that continues to spill from your lips beginning to collect and drip off of your chin, down onto your chest where it slicks the skin between your breasts.

There’s a flicker in the back of your mind, a needling thought that you should feel…ashamed. By the mess, and your neediness, by how much you fucking adore being on your knees for this man. 

But that flicker is quickly snuffed out as Klaue continues to use your mouth, and as you take in the look of awe in his eyes, when you feel his thumb softly stroking over the curve of your cheekbone, you realize that you don’t feel below him. 

That although you're on your knees, it feels like you’re the one being worshiped.

You want to focus on him and you try, really you do, but the heated ache in your cunt is becoming unbearable and you can't  help shifting and squeezing your thighs together, made breathless by your need as much as by the fullness of him in your mouth.

He's has been watching - and clearly enjoying - this increasingly desperate movement of your hips, but finally he seems to take pity on you.

“Do you want to touch yourself, darling? Want to come while you drool all over my cock?” 

Even through his tease you can feel how his own words affect him in the quickening buck of his hips.

“Go on then, feel how wet your pussy is just from this.”

The words are barely past his lips and you’re already moving, but just as you manage to work your hand beneath the waistband of your pants he speaks again.

“Slow.” 

The word is quiet but firm, Klaue's tone softer than before yet shot through with an irresistible command and you pause, glancing back up.

His shoulders and neck are impossibly broad from this vantage, eyes bright but tinged with a smoky darkness that does away with your resistance, and you know with a thrilling certainty that as desperate as you are for relief, in this moment you’d do whatever he asked.

Keeping your eyes locked on his you begin to move again, dipping your hand down - slowly.

“That’s it. Slip your hand into your panties now. Just- just one finger, darling.” His voice is uneven and clipped like he's having to concentrate on forming the words. “Slide it along that pretty slit of yours. Barely need to press to feel it, don’t you? How wet you are.”

You can only whimper in response, the building ache between your thighs only made worse by how close you are to relief, by how you could increase the pressure just slightly and you’d be able to part yourself and find your desperate bundle of nerves.

“You have no idea how delicious that first taste of you is. So fucking sweet.” 

There’s an edge to his words, as though he were jealous of your fingers, that they get to slide and tease between your legs and not his tongue.

There’s barely any friction beneath your index finger, but the soft glide combined with his grunted breaths above you has you clenching and it's near agony to keep your movements slow and controlled, fighting against every instinct in your body not to give in as your sex quivers, pleading for more.

So instead you pull your focus back to his cock and let your mouth move the way you wish your fingers could, quickly and hungrily sliding your lips along his shaft until with a sudden movement you take him into the back of your throat again and keep him there, your hand stroking the part of him you can't take.

“Christ,” he grits through his teeth, your scalp stinging from the quick jerk of his hand in your hair. “Not yet.” 

You can't tell if this is directed at you or himself as he swallows and releases a shuddered breath, his voice strained when he speaks again.

“Slide two fingers over your clit for me, now.” 

Relief ripples up your spine as you eagerly press through your drenched folds, fingers dragging against your swollen bud, unable to let out more than a choked sound as you push forward to keep his cock where it is in your throat, hot tears spilling over.

“Again.” 

Your touch grows rougher, matching his words, feeling the inevitable swell of pleasure growing as you float there, caught in the riptide of his voice.

”Want to go faster, don’t you?” Klaue rasps. “Want to reach down to feel how soaked your needy hole is?” 

You do, trembling fingers unable to help chasing the path of his words as if they were his tongue instead, sliding along your slick cleft and down to gather more of your arousal. 

Pleasure strings tighter when your fingers slide back up and over your clit, cursing  him internally as you gasp short breaths through your nose. You try to relax your throat even as every other muscle in your body draws tight, unsure how much longer you can keep yourself from falling over the edge.

You can’t really tell him, only your eyes can plead, I’m close, I’m so close it feels so good please let me come. 

“So used to begging with that pretty mouth.” He taunts with a breathless growl, reading your desperation, his lips curled in a grin at your half-delirious expression.

“It's alright, I know how good it's making you feel to use your mouth like this instead. Just like I know you’re going to make yourself come now.”

You're so close to lost that it takes a second for you to process his command, but when you do something in you snaps.

Your fingers immediately find a tight rhythm as you chase the swollen edge of pleasure, his fist gripping your hair tight to hold you firmly in place as your movements begin to grow frantic, unable to control any part of you as the blinding heat of your climax finally shocks through you.

The muscles of your throat spasm as your cunt flutters around nothing, desperate sounds caught in your chest as your hips buck and writhe against your fingers. Your other hand is entirely lost to any sense of rhythm and it drops to grasp at the fabric covering his thigh in an attempt to find purchase, and then suddenly his hand not in your hair is there, strong fingers twining tightly with yours, holding on to you as you fall apart.

“That’s it,” Klaue pants, his voice thick with lust and awe. “Choke on my cock while you come.”

You want to curse and cry and plead as ecstasy works its way through you in eddies and purls, and it almost feels like you might be drowning but you’re powerless to want anything else but to drown in him, trembling with relief as your fingers roughly work every pulse of pleasure from your clit.

As the waves begin to soften your other senses gradually filter back in: the ache in your throat and your jaw, the sting in your knees where they press into the floor, and when your body slackens as you start to come down he allows you pull back enough to properly catch your breath. 

Slowly you’re able to focus again, eyes damp and red rimmed as you look up at him, but you only have a brief moment to appreciate his pleased expression before his eyes go storm dark.

“Going to come in your mouth, now.”

Fingers tighten in your hair once more and then he’s moving. His thrusts are rough now with surrendered control as his hips chase a harsh rhythm, a low groan rolling through his chest that's woven together with your name as he finally gives in and takes what you'd promised. 

You attempt to tighten your lips around him as his rasping curses continue above you, but it’s no use, all you can do is kneel and relent to the slide of his cock filling your mouth again and again.

You want to beg him, words that fall so easily from your lips now when you sense that he’s about to let go for you, but you can only whine for it, your plaintive noises slipping messily around his cock until the pattern of his thrusts falters. And then, finally, there's only bliss when you hear his choked gasp as he stiffens, and you feel the first warm spurts of his spend coating your tongue.

With a low, open-mouthed moan he continues to fuck into the wet suck of your mouth, spilling himself across your lips and chin as well as your tongue until pearly ropes of cum are mixing with your drool, the mess of it dripping in slick stands off of your chin.

Then suddenly Klaue pulls out completely for the first time since this started and at first you can only gasp and cough, but when his hand wraps around himself your mouth instinctively drops open. Resting the head of his cock against the offering of your tongue he slowly strokes though the last pulses of his orgasm, making sure to give you every last drop, dragging through the slick mess with slow, sated thrusts until his fist gradually stills.

Eventually he pulls back though not away, panting and heavy lidded as he looks down at you where you kneel, a shining strand strung between his tip and your swollen lips that glisten with the pearly sheen he’s painted them with.

“Now you can swallow, darling.” 

You’re not sure if you should laugh or sob, but fighting both you make sure to keep your eyes on his as you curl your tongue back into your mouth and swallow, before dragging your fingers across your chin to gather the mess he left there, too.

A lazy smile curves his lips as he watches your mouth sliding around your fingers, and once you've cleaned as much as you can your hand drops, both of them resting on the tops of your thighs. 

Gently, the backs of Klaue’s fingers brush at the streaks of tears that are beginning to dry on your cheeks, then one slowly hooks under your chin to tip your head up, not letting you hide, leaving you startled by the affection that vines its way through your ribcage, burrowing into the want that even now burns hot. 

The want that folds into a desperation to please him, to give and take everything until the only thing left is your desire. 

You wish that you could explain it to him, that you could say something coherent, but any words you try to form seem to dissipate before they can reach your mouth, and you’re unsure that you could even articulate your thoughts as you sit in the filmy haze of your afterglow. 

So when you do open your mouth you're nearly as caught off guard by the words that come out as he is, your voice an almost unfamiliar, grateful rasp.

“Thank you.” 

Klaue’s satisfied grin falls away, his lips parting with a groaned sigh and then he’s reaching down, a hand curling around your bicep to pull you up to standing. You waver against the stiffness in your legs but he supports you, his palm again finding its place against your cheek.

He pauses, really taking in the state of you: your dazed expression and cock-swollen lips, standing there bruised and mussed and shirtless and pleased, his large hand brushing across your chin to catch more of the sheen there, words seeming to hover on the tip of his tongue.

The line between his brows deepens with a purse of his lips, a barely perceptible shake of his head. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, klein Mot.”

Then he's pulling you against him, his lips suddenly on yours and he's kissing you deeply, licking hungrily into your mouth and you swiftly grow breathless as he chases the taste of himself on your tongue. But just as you’re sinking into it, he pulls away. 

“Come here.” 

He turns with you, quickly crowding you back against his desk, hands reach down to wrap around your thighs and you quickly brace against the surface as he lifts you until you’re perched on the edge of it.

Your legs fall open easily as he moves forward, his focus coming to rest on you again as his hands slide up to circle your waist.

“You did so fucking well.” A smile tugs at his lips again as thumbs trail soft patterns against your bare skin. “Are you alright?” 

Warmth blooms at his concern, an unexpected contrast with what had just transpired.

“Yes.” You’re still finding your voice, still feeling like you're catching your breath, but you’re good. More than.

“You're sure?”

Leaning forward you slide your arms around his broad waist, hitching your legs up as well, drawing him into you.

“Yes, I promise.” You assure, brushing the ghost of a smile against his lips. “And…I promise that I won’t lie to you if anything is too much.”

“Good.” Klaue pulls back to look at you, a pleased edge of gold glinting in the blue before a more serious expression settles into the creases around eyes. “Because I'm going to keep pushing you.” 

You inhale sharply, a fresh throb of heat blooming in your still slick core as your legs tighten around his hips.

“I want you to, Ulysses,” you hum, slowly arching and rolling your center against him, feeling him still half hard where he'd tucked himself back into his pants. 

“I know, my darling.” His words are knowing and smooth with the edges singed dark, hands roving slowly over the soft flesh of your waist as he continues matter-of-factly. “But right now, you’re going to have some water, and then I’m going to make you come again.”

“Yeah?” You say hopefully as you continue to move against him, chasing the heat he so easily stokes in you with just a few words.

A slow nod and a rumbled confirmation. 

“I’m going to take care of you, now, Mot. I don’t need you to make any decisions today. Except for one.”

“Oh?” 

“Not how many times you’re going to come, that's up to me. But you’re going to tell me how.”

“God, Ulysses.” You’re burning with arousal now, every inch of your skin prickling hot. “That's all?”

“Will it be my fingers?” 

His hands brush further up your waist, thumbs teasing beneath the band of your bra to just brush against the sensitive curve of your breasts before trailing back down.

“Or my mouth?”

Leaning in his lips press against your neck, a silvered shimmer of nerves swirling out from the point where his tongue flicks out to taste your skin, your body swiftly surrendering to the heat of his promise.

“Or perhaps you’d like to straddle my thigh until you’ve made a lovely mess for me.”

A needy sound rends itself from your chest as his thumbs press into the sensitive creases where your hips meet your thighs, but just as you open your mouth to reply, a loud knock sounds on the door.

“Not right now.” Klaue calls out to whoever is in the hall without pulling away from you.

“Yes, now.”

“I’m not ask-”

“It’s a call you’ve been waiting for. There's a problem.”

Jaw clenching, he exhales a sharp breath.

“Just a minute,” he replies.

“You really need to-”

“Just a minute.” Klaue snaps, his head jerking towards the door and you jump, your legs tightening around him.

“Alright, alright.” 

The man’s voice trails off and it sounds like he’s moved down the hallway, at least for now. 

When he looks back at you you’re biting your lip, the look in his eye telling you he must have noticed your reaction to his tone.

“Think about what I asked.” 

You're about to reply that you will, but something occurs to you about the suggestions he’d given you.

“Wait, is.. is your cock not an option?” You give him a coy look through your lashes, intending to tease but still a little nervous that maybe it won't be.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to fuck you, darling. If you’re good.”

A thumb grazes the corner of your mouth, distracting you momentarily from what that means as you unconsciously flick your tongue out to meet it, earning you a knowing grin when you quickly pull away with a sheepish laugh.

“So?” He says, waiting for your confirmation of his request.

“I will. I’ll…think about it.” You're nearly panting now as the rock of your hips grows needier, shocked at how quickly you can feel another orgasm building already, if you just had a few more minutes you could-

“That’s all you’ll be doing, though. Yeah?” 

Strong hands tighten around your hips, pinning their faltering movement against him and you pull back with a frown.

“Are you saying…you want me to think about how I want to come, but I can’t- ”

“Smart girl, you did hear what I said.” His gaze sweeps over your face, and you barely manage not to scoff.

“Yes, I heard you. But I mean, I did already make myself come. I made that decision.”

Klaue tilts his head, mock curiosity knitting his brows.

“Did you?”

You open your mouth to argue but then close it again, pursing your lips together in a pout. He has a point, though: It may have been your fingers, but it was his words guiding you, and you only made yourself come when he told you that you would.

“I decide,” he repeats, and you bite back a whimper when he slowly grinds you against him again. “And I've decided you're going to wait.”

There’s another, more insistent knock at the door.

“Coming.” Suddenly letting go he steps back from you, not hiding his pleasure at your pained expression as he finds and hands you your shirt which you reluctantly put back on.

“I’ll walk you back to the main corridor.” He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and raises a brow, waiting for you to follow.

“Fine. I’ll think about it.” You finally say, pushing yourself off of the desk, not bothering to hide the frustration in your voice.

“I know you will, darling.” His certainty overlaps with a challenge as he opens the door. 

Be good, and you can come on my cock. 

You shudder when his hand quickly presses against your lower back as you move past him, even the brief pressure burns hot through the fabric of your shirt, and then the door clicks shut behind you.

So, you have to wait. Again. And though you’re getting good at it now, and even knowing that it won’t be long, you’re not sure how you’re going to make it, your nerves already on fire as you part and watch him walk away.

AN: As always thank you so much for reading! 🥰 The next chapter will not be nearly as long a wait since about 75% of it was already written before I decided to split this on up! Will it be soon soon? No, but it won't be quite as long as this break as this was! Though to be fair I did write two other fics (and a drabble), flew to London, and dealt with a personal loss, and then the recovery from of all the that plus y'know, life in general. But we're finally here, and I'm glad that I made it and can finally share this with you all!

Full disclosure I am not someone who works with propane, and while much of the information is based what I've been able to find online, the accident itself is based on the events of a real explosion at a propane plant that happened in Canada several years ago. So things are likely not necessarily going to be 100% correct, but there are real variables here that would explain something like this happening.

I also want to mention that there's a line in that that was actually the first (filthy) line of not just this chapter, but also of this entire part two. I was only around halfway through part one and was just realizing there would even be a part two (the line did end up changing a bit as the story evolved, but it's still in here. 😏). Also I wrote it, closed the doc, then opened Instagram and immediately saw that Andy was coming to to Toronto. And instantly panicked. So there's that. 😂

[fandoms-writings]

EVENT CLOSED

Those of you wanting to submit a story for the writing challenge at the end of this post, I'm accepting submissions until the end of the year. I'm a slow writer myself and I want y'all to have as much time as you need to join in <3

Welcome to my neon milestone party!

It’s been a few months since I last did a celebration or writing challenge so why not kick off summer with both! I also hit another small milestone, so thank you so so much to all of you for your support 🤍

You must be 18+ to follow me, so you must be 18+ to participate!

We’re gonna have a summer long sleepover, mood boards, a writing challenge, and my requests are officially open for drabbles! 

The cut off is the last day in August!

Under the cut you’ll find all of the ask games and prompt lists and challenge rules! 

Have fun babes  🤍

💎 Rare gems

- Show some love to your fav fics and their authors by sending in some recommendations!

🗒 Ask the Author

- Ask me anything you want about something I’ve written!

📖 Book talk

- Tell me about your favorite book or what you’ve recently read, and why you enjoy it (or why you don’t)

🤫 Secret admirers

- Anonymously (or not) send a love letter to your favorite tumblr person!

🎶 Karaoke

- Send a song recommendation or I’ll put my liked songs on shuffle and send you which one played first!

🫘 Spill the Beans!

- Anonymously (or not) tell me a secret of yours.

🔍 Clue!

- Send me this emoji and I'll post a wip clue (a picture, emoji, a word, etc) and you guys get to guess what it's about. 

🎩 Top 5!

- Another classic. Send me a category, and I'll tell you my top 5 choices within it. 

🙅🏻‍♀️ Never Have I Ever

- This one's pretty self explanatory I think. 

💌 Love letters (mutuals only) 

- I’ll write you a love letter 🥺

🎰 - Spin the Lottery! (mutuals only)

- send me a lil snippet about you (a hobby, your job, your music taste, etc) and a fandom (or not) I’ll pair you with a character from that fandom🤍

Send me a little something - a song, a character, a trope, a quote - anything to give me an idea, and I’ll make a mood board for you 🤍

If you need one for a story even! I’ll gladly help out 🤍

My requests are open for drabbles! Send me a character (it can be from one of my AUs! or not)  and one or two of the prompts from the list below, and I’ll whip up something small for you! As they get requested, they will be crossed off the list 🤍

Angst: 

"Don't go where I can't follow. . . I thought I lost you." (1/2)

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?"  (2/2)

"You shouldn't be out here by yourself."  (1/2)

"You're a mess"/"I'm not a mess."/"I can tell you've been crying."  (1/2)

"You were supposed to be different. They were supposed to be wrong about you, but they were right. They were so fucking right."  (2/2)

"What are we doing?"/"Why are you doing this?"  (1/2)

"I know you, how else do you think I found you so easily?"   (1/2)

"Choose me."  (2/2)

Fluff:

"You know my door is always open for you, right?"  (2/2)

"Will you taste this? Tell me if I'm missing anything?"  (1/2)

"Let me kiss it better."  (2/2)

"You're exhausted honey. Go back to sleep."  (1/2)

"Can I hold your hand?"  (2/2)

“Is that my shirt?” (2/2)

"Come get me? I miss you."  (2/2)

"You're not as bad as everyone says you are."  (2/2)

Smut:

"stop staring." / "i can't, you're so pretty like this" (2/2)

"Keep your pretty eyes on me."  (2/2)

"You're already wet sweetheart."  (2/2)

"What if someone hears us?"  (0/2)

"Let me hear you make that sound again."  (2/2)

"We shouldn't be doing this."  (1/2)

Characters: (spice it up by adding an au in the ask 🤍)

Bucky Barnes 

Marc Spector / Stephen Grant

Miguel O’Hara

If you don’t see who you’d like me to write for, just ask me about them and I’ll let you know if I’m open to writing for them!

Just have fun with this one and follow the rules below! I'm not really making a theme or anything like that, but if you'd like a prompt from me, just ask and specify what kind of prompt! Also feel free to DM me and bounce around some ideas if you need to!

Rules: 

Use the 'read more' option if what you write is over 500 words. 

Properly list your warnings. 

Your story does not have to contain smut if you don't want it to. 

Dark stories are okay, just no non-con, scat, underage characters involved in sexual activity, DD/LG, bestiality, necrophilia, etc. 

Please use characters that I know, from fandoms I'm in. (If you aren't sure what all is on that list, because I don't post about all of them, just ask!)

Tag me! And use the tag #remisneonparty

Make sure it can be read as a stand alone piece. 

The cut off for this will be the last day of August. I sometimes take forever to write something and want to give you all ample time to submit your stories!

Moodboard and all dividers were made by me, but feel free to use them if you’d like 🤍

Tagging some friends (no pressure!)

@sweetdreamsbuck @shamevillain @pocolatte @perdidosbucky-yyo @treatbuckywkisses @foreverindreamlandd @historygeekfics @barnesafterglow @navybrat817​ @jessybarnes​ @buckysdior​ @honeybloomss​ @banana-cheese-cake​ @sparkledfirecracker​ @sidepartskinnyjeans​ @real-jane​ @archive-obsess​ @mutual-monsters​ @bucksangel​ @thepsychewrites​ @starchildbucky​ @nexusnyx​ @lofaewrites​ @thornsnvultures​ @aquariusbarnes​ @captainsimagines​ @writing-for-marvel​ @heavenlybarnes​ @matchamunson​ @buckybleu​ @boxofbonesfic​ @chloelucia13​ @snugglingbucky​

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter 8: Sister Winter

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: The morning after brings complicated feelings as Ben and Lydia return to their respective families for the holiday season.

Word Count: 7.7k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia is 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots-to-lovers; references to PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; serious self-esteem issues; references to panic attacks and anxiety disorders; references to the holidays; both Ben and Lydia come from families that mark Christmas; angst central.

A/N: The title of this chapter is inspired by Sufjan Stevens' eponymous song, which is one of my go-to Melancholy Winter Tracks. And yes, it was really weird writing Christmas in July.

I'm so grateful for all the love I've had for this story and for this pair. Every comment and reblog and ask is a little lift to my soul!

This chapter introduces Lydia and Ben's extended families. In addition to their chosen and found families, both in work and in their friendship groups, this pair are from closely-knit families of origin - though of course, that brings with it its own challenges.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Cross-posting to AO3.

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

@lunapascal and @julesonrecord - thank you for cheering me on and offering wise and practical advice with this difficult chapter. @tessa-quayle - I am always so touched by your enthusiasm for these idiot dorksicles (a term I am appropriating from Jules).

Taglist:

@lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro, @rhoorl

Ben is a deep sleeper - or maybe he was just completely worn out after your exploits that night. 

Either way, he doesn’t even move a muscle as you shift towards the edge of the mattress, fumbling your way out of bed and carefully tip-toeing across the floor, gathering your underwear and dress as you come across them on the floor.

The panic hit you when you woke around 5am, eyes flicking open suddenly in the dark stillness of Ben’s bedroom. The only sound was his soft, steady breathing, interspersed with the occasional tiny snore. In slumber, he somehow appeared even more handsome, more beautiful, snugly nestled into his pillow and hair sticking up at all angles. Fragments of light peeked around the edges of the blinds, picking out some of his features.

Whereas a couple of hours before his lovely face had felt like a comfort, in the wee small hours of the morning it triggered doubt. Your brain promptly forgot everything he had said about how beautiful he thought you were, how much he’d wanted you. Instead, it struck up a familiar, repetitive chorus.

He couldn’t really want you. He’s so gorgeous. You don’t deserve him. He’s sexy and kind and good and you’re a mess. Even if he thinks he wants you now, eventually he’ll realise he’s made a mistake. 

In the light of day, you might have been able to muster the little tricks you’d learned in therapy to quiet the voice of your inner bully. In the early hours, vulnerable and anxious in Ben’s bed, the chorus simply grew more insistent. 

So you carefully get out of bed and pick up your clothes. You pad out of the bedroom and find the bathroom, hoping that a splash of cold water might reset your thinking. 

Instead, the sight of yourself in the mirror just serves as further evidence for the case against you. Your makeup is smudged, settling into every line and wrinkle. You look jowly and heavy: matronly, even, and certainly not worthy of the handsome, good man whose bed you’d shared. 

You feel the defences around your heart building themselves back up again. 

You shouldn’t have let them down in the first place.

Still, you seem to want to somehow change your own mind. You tip-toe back across the hallway and peer around the door into the bedroom, as if maybe seeing Ben might quell the panic that’s beating a frantic, jolting rhythm in your chest. 

He’s still in the same position, his back to you as you stand at the door. There’s not a lot of him that’s visible, save for the tufts of messy hair and the outline of his broad form under the comforter. 

The panic eases momentarily as you feel a surge of affection and want. For an instant, you allow yourself to remember how good it felt to make love with him, to laugh and kiss and hold and touch and fuck together.

You have to leave in a few months. It would have to end one way or another. You couldn’t face that. You couldn’t go through the pain. And what if you hurt him, too? Better to get out now.

You return to the bathroom to dress quickly and quietly. In the semi-darkness, you pad down the stairs and retrieve your shoes, bag, and coat from the hallway. 

What the fuck are you doing?

“I’m getting out before he has the chance to reject me. Before we get too deep. Before I have to go home. Before it has to end. Before I hurt him.” 

Before I fuck it up, like I always do. I always ruin everything.

You remember from Thanksgiving that there’s a little notepad in the kitchen, for shopping lists and reminders. You think for a few moments before writing a note to Ben, folding it over and affixing it to the front of his fridge with a magnet. 

You know this is going to hurt him.

“Better than really hurting him further down the line, even if I’d never want to. I don’t deserve him.”

You try to block out the memory of the evening before, urgent declarations of want and your bodies pushed together against the hallway wall, as you quietly open the front door and leave. 

His immediate instinct as he blinks awake and stretches his long arms is to reach for you, to find your soft, warm body and pull you to him for another kiss, another cuddle; another chance to feel you, so wet and tight and perfect, as he sinks back into you.

“Mmmmm. Morning, baby.” Nothing.

Ben sits up and realises he’s on his own. He wanders around the upper floor of his home, calling your name, as if he’ll summon you out of the ether by repeating it.

He moves down the stairs and into the hallway, now filled with the crisp morning light of midwinter. Still nothing. 

His final hope is that you’re in the kitchen. Maybe you couldn’t sleep. Maybe you were hungry, or thirsty. 

“Lyddie?”

No you. Just a note.

“What the fuck, Lyddie. What the fuck are you doing?”

He leans back against the countertop, staring at the folded piece of paper - at his name, carefully inscribed in your neat, flowing script.

Dear Ben, 

Thank you for last night - it was great, really. I thought it would be easier if I just headed out. I didn’t want to wake you. Safe travels west. Happy holidays. See you soon. - L.

“Fuck.”

The thing that really drove you out of the safe warmth of Ben Morales’ arms and bed and out into the half-light of a December morning, walking home to your empty apartment alone and afraid, wasn’t your fear of fucking up - at least, not really. It was part of it, true, but what tipped the balance was not just fear, but feelings.

You pack the last of your things for the journey home for the holidays and try to ignore that simple fact. You had kept your defences up so sturdily and so dutifully for a long time, until he came along. Until you had to go catching feelings for a man who lived an entire ocean away from you.

You were frightened of fucking up because what you had - the friendship, whatever situation you entered into when he pressed his lips to yours and took you into his bed - meant the world to you. You were scared of hurting him, and of being hurt, because you cared about him so much. 

It was a strange paradox: you had done something that hurt the two of you now, in order to avoid the potential for greater pain further down the line. You’d always had a natural inclination to run from things that scared or overwhelmed you, after all. In your own, tortured logic, it made sense to run from the sheer force of your feelings for Ben. 

As you checked and double-checked the apartment while waiting for your cab to the airport, you remembered David’s words and felt a little guilty. You’d tried, though. You’d tried to let the light in. You just hadn’t expected it to blind you.

You’ve been avoiding your phone, save for sending a message to your family group chat to let them know you were safely en route to the airport. When your mother’s name pops up, you open the message.

MOM: Good woman, Lyd, you’re there good and early! Time to have a nice coffee and a bite to eat. Can’t wait to see you! 

Your mother was always thrilled when you got to the airport ahead of schedule, knowing your propensity for last-minute panic. You had no idea how to explain to her why you were sitting, red-eyed and heartbroken, in an airside coffee shop three whole hours early. 

You still hadn’t opened the two voice notes from Ben. A missed call on the phone, which you spotted after you got through security, then the two notes. Part of you had hoped that if you just ignored them long enough, they’d go away. Typical Lyd.

You take a deep breath and a sip of your enormous festive coffee, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles and reeking of peppermint syrup. You pop in your earbuds and press play.

The sound of his voice is like a knife to the heart. You’d feared anger, but instead Ben sounds like he’s aching.

“Hi, Lyddie - Lydia. I, uh, I got your note. Um. I guess I thought we were on the same page, about… about last night. Maybe not. Sorry if I got the wrong idea. I… anyway. I guess you’re on your way home now, or about to be. I’ll, um - I’ll talk to you. Happy holidays. Safe travels.”

It’s all you can do not to run out of that airport and hop into a cab back to his place, to hold him, to tell him how sorry you are, to beg him to forgive you for being a fucking idiot.

You’ve fucked it up. Told you you would.

You press play on the second voice note. His voice, still cracking a little, sounds stronger, steadier, more determined.

“Hi, just wanted to say - I don’t regret it. I don’t regret that we spent the night together. I’ll never regret that, no matter what. It meant something to me. I don’t want you to regret it, Lyd. Please.”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you press ‘call’. He doesn’t answer. 

Ben listens to your voice note again while he’s sitting in the departures lounge, a day after you’d passed through. He hasn’t slept very much in the last day and a half. This morning, when he was washing his face and trimming his beard and moustache, he was sure he’d aged a decade in the space of less than 48 hours. The delay to his flight gives him plenty of time to nurse an enormous black coffee, though he wishes it was something even stronger.

“Hi. I’m at the airport. I tried calling, but - I guess you’re busy. Or maybe you just don’t want to talk. I understand why you - listen, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what - I can explain, it’s just - it’s hard not being able to do that face to face. I promise, I can explain. I can. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ben.”

Your voice catches at that point in the voice note, and he can hear you trying not to completely break down. It breaks his heart every time he listens to the message.

“I guess I will see you in the new year, then? I promise I’ll explain then. Safe travels west. Okay, then. Bye.”

Jet lag is a bitch. But you summon the strength and focus to slip in your earbuds in the privacy of your childhood bedroom at home, and press play on the next voice note he sent you. 

You might be imagining it, but his tone is softer. He still sounds hurt, but calmer, somehow. 

“Hey there. I’m just about to fly out. I got your message and - yeah. Probably best to see how things are in January. Maybe it’ll be good to have some space, clear our heads. Anyway.” He pauses, his voice quieter. “It’s good to hear your voice, Lyd.”

Oh, fuck. He wants space. Fuck. That’s not good. 

You take three attempts at your response before you manage to record a coherent message. 

“Hey. I hope the flights are okay, and that you get there safely. Yeah - um, yeah. Space, clear our heads. So, guess I’ll give you your space, until I see you and can explain. And it’s so good to hear your voice, too.”

You press send, your eyes glancing over the little round picture of Ben at the top of the screen. You say the words you’d left unsaid at the end of your message. 

“God, I miss you, darling.”

TJ Morales waits inside the arrivals hall at San Francisco International with his twelve year old twin sons, Dylan and Carlos. There’s only eighteen months between TJ - Thomas Juan, to give him his full name - and his older brother, and despite living on opposite sides of the country for a decade, they’re very close. It’s become an annual tradition, when Ben returns for the holidays, for TJ and the boys to pick him up.

This year, the three are decked out in an array of Star Wars-themed Christmas shirts to welcome Ben home: Dylan’s printed with a pattern of C3PO in a Santa hat, Carlos wearing a shirt emblazoned with Chewbacca wrapped in fairy lights, and their father wearing a pattern rather sweetly titled ‘We Wish You A Merry Sithmas’.

The running joke in the family was that TJ was the ‘cool brother’, a title he’d given himself when they were in middle school, much to the amusement of their parents. In many ways, that dynamic held fast to the present day. TJ, with his laidback personality, his long dark locks and neat beard, his array of plaid shirts, band T-shirts, and casual hoodies, still seemed to embody West Coast cool in a way that his more serious, anxious brother didn’t. His job certainly helped - a sound engineer for a video game studio, the kind of job both boys could have only dreamed of as they hid their shared Game Boy from their younger sister, Teresa.

Even so, as Ana Morales liked to remind people when she spoke about her sons, when she’d asked a three year old TJ what he wanted to be when he grew up, his answer was clear: “I wanna be like Ben.”

The sliding doors open and passengers begin to stream out, excitedly greeted by their families and friends. The two boys keep watch at the barrier, their dark curls bobbing up and down as they compete to spot their beloved tío first.

“Tío Ben!!” 

Carlos wins this year, waving frantically to his uncle as he pushes his luggage trolley through the doors.

Ben grins widely as he wraps an arm around each of his nephews, ruffling their hair as they show off their new holiday shirts. TJ throws his arms around his big brother, embracing him tightly. “Welcome home, hermano. We missed you.”

As he pulls away, TJ notices how tired Ben looks. His smile, genuine as it is, doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“You okay, Ben?” he asks in a low voice as they follow the boys out of the terminal and in the direction of the parking lot.

Ben nods, putting his arm around his brother as they walk. “I’m okay. Just tired. It’s been a long semester. I’m so glad to be home with you guys - it’s been forever.”

“Can I ask you something, Lyd?”

Your younger - only - sibling, Kate, is bouncing her one year old daughter Evie on her lap while Cora, her older girl, dances around the room and sings along to Encanto.

“We don’t talk about Bru- sure, of course. What’s up?”

“Are you alright? You’re normally full of energy when you’re home for the holidays and you just seem - I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like someone’s turned down your brightness.”

You haven’t said anything to Kate about Ben - well, nothing more than acknowledging him as part of the wider group of friends you’d established at Barrow. You certainly haven’t told her about your growing closeness, or what had happened, or - god forbid - your feelings for him.

It wasn’t that you two weren’t close enough for sharing that kind of confidence. You’d been brought even closer together since your ex-partner had cheated and left. You just felt like if you actually articulated the words, it would make it too real. Too much. Too fragile, too likely to disappear like every other crush or love affair you’d ever had.

“I’m just tired, I think. It was a lot in a few months - moving there, adjusting to a new environment, meeting all those new people, doing new classes. You know I’m always wrecked at the end of the semester.”

Kate raises an eyebrow sceptically while Evie chews on a giraffe-shaped teething toy. “There’s something off.”

You exhale, frustrated. “I’m fine.”

“Did you meet someone?”

Your eyes widen. How the FUCK does she know?

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on about. What gives you that idea?”

“You were happy when we’d talk and FaceTime. You were always so excited going out with your new friends. And now you’re back here you’re tired and gloomy. It just makes me wonder, you know - was there more than intellectual stimulation going on over there. If you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Kate.”

“They’re working you too hard, Benjamin. Doesn’t your poor brother look tired, Thomas?”

TJ exhales and takes a sip of his coffee. He was used to the annual routine - their mother fussing over Ben like he’d been thoroughly neglected since the last time he was home. 

“I asked him earlier and he said he was fine. Didn’t you, B?”

Ben nods. “I’m fine, mom.”

Ana Morales does not seem convinced. “Well, you’ve got a couple of weeks now to rest up. We’ll take care of you.”

TJ shoots a look at the twins, who giggle conspiratorially.

The door into the kitchen opens and Lucy, TJ’s wife, staggers in carrying a precarious stack of lilac-coloured cake boxes printed with the logo for Pun in the Oven, her bakery and coffee shop in the city. Ben and TJ immediately stand up to relieve her of the burden, placing the boxes on the kitchen table as Lucy - or as she’s more usually called, Luce - wipes her brow and grins in the direction of her brother-in-law.

“BENJAMIIIIIIIIN!” She grabs Ben and pulls him in for a hug, smiling widely. “Missed you, man!”

Ben smiles softly at her in turn. “You look great, Luce. Any new tattoos since I saw you last?”

Luce arches an eyebrow and holds out her left hand, revealing a simple outline of a heart in purple ink in the space between her index finger and thumb. 

“Hope you don’t mind, dude. Took some inspiration from your bullseye for this one, just because I always thought the placement was cool.”

Ben spreads the fingers on his left hand, flexing his thumb slightly as he looks at the small bullseye tattoo he had done during his junior year abroad. 

“I’m honoured. Any chance your husband might get a matching one, eh?” 

Luce giggles and wraps an arm around TJ. “You know he hates needles. He got our initials done, that was enough for me. He was so brave.” She plants a kiss to TJ’s cheek, triggering dry-heaving noises from their sons.

Ana surveys the stack of cake boxes on her table. “You didn’t need to, Luce. This is far too much.”

Luce shakes her head and holds up her hands. “Nonsense. Just a couple of the leftovers from today and a few extra batches of the holiday specials I threw in this morning. Plus, for the homecoming…”

She lifts the lid on one of the boxes and pushes it in Ben’s direction.

“Coffee and walnut - your favourite.”

Ben’s eyes light up and he hugs his sister-in-law. “This is the best gift I could ask for. Thanks, Luce.”

“Don’t you think he looks tired, Luce? He needs to rest, poor boy.” Ana tilts her head at Ben, who is already searching for a knife to cut a slice of the cake.

Luce does think Ben looks tired, but there’s something else that’s just not quite right. A sadness, somewhere, or a resurgence of his anxiety. You can see it in his eyes. Maybe her husband knows more.

“We’ll look after him.” 

There’s always been something special about Christmas Eve. As a child it was the anticipation and excitement for the day to come, desperate to go to bed but too excited to sleep. As an adult, drafted in to help prep the food for the next day’s dinner, you peeled potatoes, sliced carrots, and monitored the turkey slowly cooking in the oven while listening to carols and Christmas songs on the radio. 

More than that, there was something in the air - maybe not ‘magic’, contrary to the message pushed in every TV ad since November. But possibility: of transformation, of newness, of togetherness, whether with blood family, found family, or whatever community you chose for yourself.

Or, just maybe, you’d completely internalised A Christmas Carol. Never mind Charles Dickens, that was mostly the Muppets’ fault.

The arrival of your little nieces in recent years has brought back some of the old traditions from your own childhood. You’d been followed around for most of the day by Cora, who had turned three a few months before.

“How does Santa bring all the things, Auntie Lyd?”

You smile and continue peeling potatoes. “I think he has some magic that lets him have a really big sleigh that just carries all the toys for everyone.”

“But then it’s too big and won’t fly.”

“No, it will. Because it’s magic.”

“But then he has’ta come down the chimley.” She gazes up at you, narrowing her eyes. “Should just use the magic to put the presents down.”

You’re stuck there. Thankfully, your brother-in-law Marc arrives in search of another slice of cake, and you palm her off on her daddy. 

With Cora and Evie safely in bed and asleep, you and your parents help your sister and her husband set up the living room, carefully setting out the Santa gifts and filling the little stockings embroidered with each girl’s name. 

Marc takes a careful bite out of the slice of cake and drains the glass of port left at the fireplace. “I don’t know how he isn’t absolutely rat-arsed, with all the port and whiskey and that being left out for him. No wonder he’s falling down chimneys.”

With your parents gone to bed, and Marc watching Die Hard on a random movie channel, you and your sister unwind for a bit with tea and Christmas cookies. She eyes you up, as if steeling herself to make a confession. Or, as it turns out, to encourage you to make one.

“So, who is he?” Kate poses the question at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around her gigantic Christmas mug of tea.

You put down your own mug and sigh.

One of Cora’s favourite questions about Santa Claus is how he does it all in one night. Apart from magic, which even at three she seems sceptical about, you tend to cite time zones as an explanation.

After all, how else could Cora and Evie be already starting to wake up to their gifts on one side of the world, while Santa hasn’t yet visited the extended Morales clan on the other?

With Luce and TJ hosting Christmas this year, they extended an invitation to Ben and Ana to stay with them on Christmas Eve. In truth, they hoped being roped in for an 80s Christmas movie marathon with his nephews would help distract Ben a little. Maybe even get him in the holiday mood. 

By 11pm, Lucy has finished the prep for tomorrow’s meal and is shooing her sons to their beds. Their grandmother retired a couple of hours before to the guest bedroom, carrying a dog-eared copy of A Christmas Carol - she likes to read the last couple of chapters every Christmas Eve, even if Tiny Tim always makes her cry.

“I’m going to head up, babe - don’t stay up too late. You have all the stuff for the sofa bed, Ben?”

Ben turns to acknowledge his sister-in-law, nodding. “All here. Thanks, Luce, it’s really nice spending Christmas Eve with you guys.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s our pleasure. Teej, I’ll see you in a bit? G’night, Ben. Merry Christmas.”

The Morales boys are sitting on TJ’s couch, each drinking a beer while Scrooged plays, quietly, on the TV. 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” TJ runs a finger along the condensation on his bottle of beer, sleeves rolled up on his blue flannel. 

Ben fiddles with the cuff of his own, pine-green checked shirt. “As in…?”

His younger brother fixes him with a glare.

“As in what - or should I say, who’s - on your mind?”

“He’s called Ben. He’s a literature professor at Barrow.”

“Her name is Lyddie - I mean, Lydia. She’s a visiting professor. I’m sure I’ve mentioned her?”

“I met him on the very first day. He was my - what did he call himself? - my ‘welcome wagon’.”

“We went to dinner, as we normally do with the visiting people. And we just…man. Clicked. As friends.” 

“I mean, I made a Big Night reference and he got it? Honestly, I hadn’t had such a good time in…I can’t remember. I told him about what happened - the shit hitting the fan, and all that.”

“I guess we just started hanging out. Having coffee, talking - just friendly stuff, you know? She was new, we had a lot in common. I - I liked having her around.”

“He was so sweet to me when I was settling in. Like, I have made some really good friends over there. But sometimes he’d bring me coffee in the afternoon, and - I dunno, I started to look forward to it.”

“She’s unbelievably smart, TJ. Doesn’t think it. Always puts herself down. Same as when you try to tell her she’s pretty. But she’s so fucking bright, I swear to god. And she has the best taste in movies and music. And she is pretty. More than pretty.”

“And he’s so kind and giving. He’s running this whole diversity programme to try to make Barrow less white and wealthy and he’s had so much shit about it from fucking dickheads who think Ben’s not as good as them because he’s Latino and because his parents had to fucking work hard for a living. Assholes. All that and he’s really goddamn handsome.”

“And she’s a bit of a firecracker when she wants to be. You know that culture war idiot Lacroix? She just went for him at the away day because he was giving me shit.”

“He’s so fucking funny. The biggest dork you’ve ever seen. Actually did a ‘reeling you in’ dance at my birthday drinks to get me on the dancefloor. Once, he laughed so hard in my office that his glasses flew off his face. Hanging out with him is - was - so great.”

“She’s got this knack of knowing how to lift my spirits. I said to her one day that I’ve never laughed as much in work before - I meant before her.”

“I was the only person to get who he’d dressed up as for Halloween. That was a fun night - at Evan’s. You know Evan. You’re mutuals with Evan on Instagram, right? We were a little bit merry. Well, a lot merry. It sounds so fucking dumb but we touched and I swear I could feel electricity going off in my brain, and I…I hadn’t experienced that in years. Years.”

“Had her on my lap on the ride home from Evan’s. I put it down to being a bit drunk on Spooky Margs but honestly, I didn’t want to let her go when we got to her place. I’ll explain the Spooky Marg another time, man, you do not want to know.”

“We do - did - a lot of movie nerding out together. Did I show you the gifts he got me for my birthday? And the card? He got me a Hitchhiker’s Guide card. Y’know, because -”

“42. The answer to the ultimate question. She’s 42. I don’t think I said that to you. I guess I should have known there was something there the day I ordered that card, huh.”

“I knew there was something there on my birthday, for sure. And dancing with him, to that song - fuck. For a couple of minutes I just let myself pretend, you know? But he never did anything more, not that night.”

“I wasn’t drinking when we went out for her birthday, but she was. So I didn’t want to make a move, in case she wasn’t interested and felt I was trying to take advantage. But I wish I had.”

“He ended up alone in Barrow for Thanksgiving, so he invited me to come over. I’m sure I told you about this? The parade, the movie? Well, it was - it was really nice. God, that’s such a shit way of explaining it. It was just -”

“Mom did a video call, remember? And she saw her and she was all nice as pie and then she was giving me shit about whether Lydia was my girlfriend, and why wasn’t she my girlfriend because she was so pretty and so funny, and - god. You know what she’s like.”

“And all day I kept thinking ‘I wish I could tell you how I feel’, and then I’d remember I was just fucking visiting. I’m temporary. It’s temporary, by default. And he couldn’t want someone like me. And you know I can’t go through that hurt again. You know, Kate. You saw me at my lowest.”

“I did think about asking her out that evening, TJ. I did. But she’d said some stuff about being ‘good friends’ or something, and I just thought it was safer not to. I didn’t want to ruin what we already had. You know? She probably wasn’t interested, that’s what I thought.”

“I went to give him a kiss on the cheek to say thank you.”

“I turned to meet her. I wanted it, wanted to kiss her.”

“And we kissed, accidentally. For a couple of seconds. At least, I thought it was accidental. Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t long.”

“I wasn’t brave enough to kiss her like she ought to be kissed. She panicked and I thought she didn’t want it.”

“I should have kept kissing him.”

“We didn’t see each other for a couple of weeks, between conferences and travel. And fuck it, I missed her.”

“We messaged all the time and I still missed him. We didn’t talk about Thanksgiving. Not until - well.”

“So I told her I meant it. Meant to kiss her.”

“I don’t know what it is but tying a man’s tie is so intimate and so hot and - yep. We kissed properly.”

“We ended up back at my place the night before she went home.”

“We…we were together, the night before I came back over here.”

“I’m not being ‘coy’, TJ. I - okay, we slept together. Happy now?”

“Yes, okay, yes, we slept together that night, at his place.”

“And I asked her to stay. I wanted her to stay over. I was ready to drive her home and get her stuff. I would have gone to the fucking airport with her. Anything.”

“I woke up in the early hours and I just - fuck. I just lost it. I flipped. All the dark shit just came roaring back up.”

“She left a note. I couldn’t believe it.”

“The sex was not bad, fuck off! I can’t believe I’m about to say these words to my baby sister but - best sex I’ve ever had. Four times. Four fucking times.”

“I know I’m blushing, dude. It was really, really fucking good. Really good.”

“Who am I, Kate? A fucking cliché? I left him a fucking note? All because I couldn’t handle having real fucking feelings, because I knew I’d fuck it up. Like I always do. And oh look - SHE FUCKED IT UP. Again.”

“I really thought we were on the same page, you know?”

“He left me a voice note. Here, listen.”

“I tried calling her, but she was already at the airport.”

“I called him back. No answer.”

“I don’t think I would have been able to speak to her. She left me a voice note, too.”

“It would be easier to explain in person, right? Wouldn’t it?” 

“Maybe we needed the space and time apart, anyway. Especially if she regrets it.”

“He said we could do with the space. He said he hopes I don’t regret it. How could I ever regret that, with him? I’ve fucked it up, Kate. I know it would have been pointless anyway with the temporary visiting stupid situation, but - still. I ruined everything.”

Kate reaches over to pat the back of your hand, her festive, red and green manicure glittering as the light bounces off her nails.

“You probably didn’t, love. You always think you did. Can I - can I see a picture of him, if you have one? Want to see this nerdy sex god for myself.”

You open your phone and swipe through your pictures, finding one you’d taken of Ben on Thanksgiving. He’s holding his plate stacked with blueberry pancakes, smiling and bespectacled on the couch as you watch the Macy’s parade.

“Here he is.”

Kate studies the image carefully, eyebrows raised. She zooms in and out a couple of times.

“Well, hello, gorgeous! He’s handsome. Really handsome. Look at that smile, whew. And those eyes!” She zooms in and out again. 

“May I remind you that you are a married mother of two?”

“I can look and appreciate, can’t I?” She swats the air as if brushing your comment away.  “Fuck, it’s like someone engineered him in a lab for you. He even kinda looks like a mature version of those imaginary boyfriends you used to draw in your diary when you were thirteen.”

“He is fucking handsome, isn’t he? He’s so - wait, what? How did you know about those?”

Your sister rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Bitch, I read that thing cover to cover. You were so dramatic. Still are. You got any of the two of you together?”

You open your photos and pull up the photos Ani took of you and Ben dancing the night of your birthday drinks. “These are probably the best.”

Kate’s expression changes when she swipes through the set of pictures, zooming in every so often to look at your and Ben’s expressions more carefully. She looks up at you, hands you back the phone, and looks like she might cry.

“You okay?”

“Fucking hell, Lyd, you’ve got it bad. Both of you - I mean, look at the two of you! I know they’re just pictures but on top of everything you’ve said? I don’t think he’s just got a ‘thing’ for you, I think he’s really into you.” She chews on a cookie. “Remind me what you said in the note again.”

You recount the contents of the missive. 

“It’s just… you clearly have serious feelings for him. You’ve told me all these things about this wonderful guy. You told me it was the best sex you’ve ever had. And then you say ‘it was great’ to him in a shitty note?! I can understand why he’s pissed off.”

“I screwed this up, didn’t I?”

Kate throws her head back in frustration. “Still dramatic. You screwed it up a bit, but - surely he’s not that much of an asshole that he wouldn’t hear you out?” She drains the last of her tea from the mug. “Admittedly if it wasn’t Christmas, I’d be putting you on a flight to San Fran. However - talk when you get back. Explain face to face. Don’t assume the worst. I don’t think he can turn off his feelings that easily.”

“You don’t know that she regrets it. You don’t even know why she left without saying goodbye. You said she’d had some rough shit in the last couple of years. She said the night together was great in the note, didn’t she? And she’s been in touch, so… I dunno, man. I wouldn’t write her off.”

TJ takes the last swig from his bottle of beer and slaps his brother on the thigh.

“Can I see a photo of this Lydia, then?”

Ben sighs and digs around in his jeans pocket for his phone. He chooses the one he’d taken of you on Thanksgiving, sitting in the diner with your grilled cheese sandwich and basket of fries. You’re still wearing your glasses after the movie, smiling at him in your thick cable-knit sweater.

“That’s Lyddie - I mean, Lydia on Thanksgiving. She made that sweater herself, you know. She’s a talented woman.”

TJ smiles as he studies your features, zooming in a little on your bright, happy face.

“She’s a pretty woman, too. Beautiful smile, gorgeous eyes - kind-looking, and you just know she’s smart and funny as hell.” He turns to his older brother, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.” 

Ben smiles and huffs a laugh at the reference. “Quoting The Way We Were at me? Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Ana Morales has good taste in movies! Remember the VHS copy she always used to put on and cry at?”

Ben smiles at the memory. He turns to TJ, eyes full of emotion - worry, sadness, and affection. For his little brother, of course - but for you, too.

“I mean it, Ben. She is lovely. She sounds lovely - disappearing act aside, of course. And the way she’s looking at you in that picture - fuck, man. You can just see how much she likes you. You’ve every right to be hurt and angry, but - maybe don’t give up on her. You’re both too fucking old to let a chance like this slide, bro. Don’t let her go.”

Christmas Day is a chaotic whirlwind of overexcited nieces, a family dinner delivered like a military operation, and fighting over what to watch on TV. Same as it ever was. 

It’s nice. It’s comforting. But you’re impossibly lonely, embrace of a loving (if stress-inducing) family unit aside.

Since you’d cut and run a few days before, the steady stream of communication back and forth between you and Ben had essentially ceased, save for the voice notes. It’s become such second nature to you, the constant contact, and the rupture is all the more brutal as a result.

In the early hours of Christmas morning, lying wide awake in your old bed, you remember that during the Apollo missions to the moon they had a thing called LOS, or Loss of Signal. When orbit took the craft to the dark side of the moon, all communication between Mission Control and the astronauts became impossible for a time. 

LOS was nerve-wracking, particularly in the first attempts at lunar orbit. What if they never re-established contact? What if something happened on the dark side, leaving the crew lost forever while the rest of the world carried on? You have heard the recordings, the hiss of static fraying the nerves of those on the ground awaiting the return of the signal, the sound of a voice spinning through the vastness of space.

You’re in extended LOS, you realise. In spite of yourself, you smile, thinking how in any other circumstances Ben - with his Saturn V model and his Apollo 11 sweatshirt - would love the analogy.

“Did you send him a happy Christmas message yet?”

Kate doesn’t even look at you as she says it, all casual. She’s too busy scraping the remains of the Christmas dinner off the plates before stacking them in the dishwasher.

“The fuck?” Her ability to read your mind is starting to become disturbing. 

She swivels. “Did you send Ben a message wishing him a happy Christmas? If I was you I’d take a nice picture and send it. You look cute in that dress.”

“Do you think he wants a Christmas message from me? I doubt it. He wants space.”

Kate closes the dishwasher and presses the start button.

“I don’t think he knows what he wants, probably. Other than you. I’m sure he wants you, going on the way he looked at you in those pictures.”

You make a whining noise. “That was before.”

“You and your apocalyptic thinking. Unfortunately, Lyd, if you want to fix this you’re going to have to be the one leading the fixing. Start with a message.”

She sidles over to the kitchen counter, where your phone is safely tucked away to avoid doom-scrolling, picking it up and waving it menacingly. 

“If you don’t, I will.”

“FINE. But I’m not sending him a cute selfie, that’s ludicrous.”

You retreat to your room. It takes you a full half-hour to pick a photo and compose a message.

A notification appears at the top of your screen.

KATE: SEND THAT FUCKING MESSAGE

Breathe. Send. Run away.

Ben sneaks another buñuelo from the pile made by his mother earlier that Christmas morning. The sweet, spicy kick of the cinnamon sugar with the fried dough lifts his spirits - as does the sight of his three niblings side by side on the couch, engrossed in a game on Dylan and Carlos’s Nintendo Switch. A twin sits on either side of their youngest cousin, Julia - Jules to all - and helps her manoeuvre the controller and work her way through the game.

Newly-turned seven, and the daughter of Teresa Morales and her Irish husband Pádraig, Jules might be the youngest in the family but is a tiny force of nature. Though he didn’t have favourites among the three, Ben had a special connection with Jules, who routinely mailed him letters and drawings every couple of weeks. He would diligently respond with a hand-written letter, usually enclosing a couple of packs of stickers or a new book for her to read.

“I’M BORED NOW.” Jules hops off the couch and saunters over to her tío Ben, who’s sitting at the table in the dining room off Luce and TJ’s living room. “Can I have a buñuelo?” 

He brushes cinnamon sugar out of his moustache and off his dark red sweater, and looks over at his sister, who rolls her eyes and nods in resignation. “Your mom says yes, so…” He holds out the plate. 

Jules scrunches her nose up in delight as she takes a bite, then cocks her head as she studies her uncle. “I think you might be sad.”

This is a perceptive kid, Ben thinks. 

“I’m okay, Jules. Just a little tired.”

She chews another bite of her snack and shakes her head. “No. I think you’re sad. I can make you happy, though!” She makes a serious face. “Wait here, okay?”

She returns carrying a bundle of brightly-coloured hair clips and what looks suspiciously like a couple of bottles of nail polish. 

“Mama always says she feels happier when she gets her hair done. And has her pretty nails.” 

The little girl perches herself on a chair, sets out her equipment, and gets to work, tongue peeking out as she concentrates on painting Ben’s nails (she adds a glittery topcoat for extra effect) and carefully placing hair clips in his hair. 

“Everyone, tell tío he looks pretty!”

The rest of the extended Morales clan turn to look at Ben. Dylan and Carlos immediately grab their phones to take photos. TJ raises his eyebrows and nods approvingly. 

“That makeover stays put for the rest of the day, Ben.” Teresa is deadly serious, not wanting her little girl to see her handiwork undone. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you, Jules. I feel much better.”

You allow yourself a glance at your phone later that evening, a glass of champagne lending you some extra courage.

Still nothing.

You cast a glance at the contents of the little gift box Ben had left for you before leaving Barrow. A beautiful, dark red notebook, subtly personalised with your initials in embossed lettering - and a set of Nouvelle Vague-themed film button badges.

“Stupendous as always, Luce!” 

Ben and TJ carry stacks of empty dinner plates into the kitchen, the family well-fed and content after their Christmas meal of beef and a seemingly endless selection of side dishes. 

Lucy is preparing dessert, which mostly consists of the cakes and cookies left over at Pun in the Oven when they closed for the holiday the day before, served with ice cream and fresh fruit.

“Your mom did a lot of the work, guys. Can’t take all the credit. Hey, TJ, can you carry this cake stand in with you? Thanks, babe.”

She notices that Ben has a somewhat wistful expression on his face as he sorts out the dirty dishes.

“Hey, I just wanted to say - I asked TJ if he knew what was going on with you, and…”

Ben nods and smiles. “He told you.”

“I’m with him, Benjamin. From what you told TJ, I think this is worth fighting for. Or at least, it’s worth giving her a chance to explain properly.” 

He casts his gaze downwards. “You know, when I saw those photos the boys took of my ‘makeover’, the first thing that popped into my mind was ‘I better send these to Lyd’.”

“You miss her.” Luce pats him on the back. “So why don’t you? Send them, I mean.”

Ben turns to her in astonishment. “Seriously? We said we were giving each other space, time… and I’m still not sure what she wants.”

His sister-in-law rolls her eyes. “If you don’t send her a happy holidays message with one of those pictures - I will. And you know I don’t fuck around.”

He stands with one hand on his hip, bringing the other up to cover his face. “I know you don’t. Shit. Okay. I’ll do it. But only so you - or worse, TJ - don’t.”

Luce does a tiny dance for joy as Ben turns to leave. She spots - and recognises - a baby pink no-crease hair clip sticking out of his dark hair at the back of his head.

“JULES, have you been in our room??”

Ben settles himself at the desk in his brother’s home office, where he’d deliberately left his phone all day. He’s still not convinced that Luce is right about sending this, but she’s a woman of her word. 

He holds your gift to him, unopened, in his hands. He unwraps it quickly.

A pair of brightly-coloured socks, patterned with books and pens. And a soft, hand-knitted, merino watchcap in a Prussian blue, with a little tag stitched inside: Hand Knitted by Me.

He didn’t expect your name to be there, waiting for him, when he turned over his phone.

You had chosen a slightly chaotic photo of yourself that your brother-in-law had taken, of Cora bopping you in the face while trying to stick a huge bow on you. It would at least, you hoped, make him smile.

Happy Christmas, Ben. I was injured in a gifting incident earlier today. - L.

He selects a photo of himself showing off his painted nails, his hair festooned with coloured clips, while Jules beams in the background at her handiwork.

Merry Christmas, Lyd. I got a holiday makeover courtesy of Jules. - B.

You each hope that the other will somehow be able to read, in the gaps, the words left invisible:

I’m so sorry.

I don’t know why you did it.

I care so much about you.

I really miss you.

I think about you all the time.

I want you.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: TJ's 'Your girl's lovely, Hubbell' is, of course, a reference to The Way We Were.

[rambheemficrecs]

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Fic Recs

Content Guidelines

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to find other indian movies free and legal to stream see @indianmovielinks.

and, to watch rrr in full, free and legal, in the original telugu and with english subtitles, go here:

[hollowfaith]

「 GET TO KNOW YOUR RP PARTNER! 」

( repost, please don’t reblog )

「BASICS」

▐ NAME: – Lethe ▐ PRONOUNS: – she/her ▐ SEXUALITY: – cute boys ▐ TAKEN OR SINGLE: – omg married u///u ▐ FIVE FACTS:

i unironically love mobile gaming b/c it's about the only type i have time to play (besides ffxiv) all while carrying it around in my pocket. (p.s. 9 days until wuthering waves releases come play!!)

i have a love for miniatures. to curb that i only collect ones for my BJDs now and hunt for them via lucky finds in antique shops.

i do chinese > english fan translation for novels and series i like. update times are sporadic, however (cough these days most of my writing is just RP stuff)

my favorite genre of YouTube videos are 1) gossip/review channels for cdrama land, 2) horror let's plays from ManlyBad*ssHero, 3) real life disaster stories (ScaryInteresting is very thorough & the cave diving ones are super freaky). i like listening to them while doing the dishes/laundry

i can sleep sitting up on long plane and bus rides! women envy me men hate me etc etc.

「EXPERIENCE」

▐ HOW LONG (YEARS/MONTHS): – it's gotta be close to 10~12 years by now

▐ PLATFORMS USED: – tumblr, but ezboard (forum RP) made up a good chunk of my early RP days

▐ BEST EXPERIENCE: – a lot, but any time characters from different fandoms just kinda connected and became friends/enemies/lovers whatever after a thread. the crossover interactions are always magical in a mfrp group

「MUSE PREFERENCES」

▐ MALE/FEMALE/OTHER: – hansum dudes

▐ FAVORITE FACECLAIM: – i change it up every now and then but besides girl up front i was really into this guy for a while b/c he was cute:

▐ FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT: – where's the crack + comedy but okay fluff and angst are both rad, smut im like an amateur at lolol but i'll try

i also want to try more action RPs like fight scenes, they seem challenging but the potential for coolness tempts me every time ▐ PLOTS OR MEMES: – plots are great but i'm more of a "have vague outline throw self in threads" kinda RPer. things tend to change as you RP since it's such an action/reaction cycle between you and the other mun so it's nice to keep things flexible between the start and your end goal? i also think some of the best plots can happen out of a random meme response tbh ▐ LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: – length doesn't matter to me as long as it addresses stuff in the other reply. i've had threads with long and short replies within the same RP session and that's fine, whatever fits the flow. wordcount only matters for rank up hahah ▐ BEST TIME TO WRITE: – apparently in the PM during breaks in work or late at night. mornings i'm too busy....most of the time (or still asleep) ▐ ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSES: – i wanna say i'm 25% mary sue (the muse, not the trope) god we will never stop crushing on cute guys or wearing cute dresses when we can get away with it

[beyondxmeasure]

My collection of fics written for the Fellow Travelers fandom, most recent listed first. Subscribe here for new fic & chapter updates!

✨ Thanks for reading! ✨

♾️ Spaces Between Us

Fic Post

T | 3K | Hawk/Tim | Canon Divergence | Late Night Conversations | Fire Island | 1970s Era

Hawk finally opens up about Jackson, and Tim gives him a bit of tough love advice. A canon-divergent exploration of the late-night poolside conversation.

🔥 Part One of Fire Island After Ever

♾️ Promises Broken, Words Left Unspoken

Fic Post

NR | 750 | Hawk/Tim | Angst & Feels | 1950s Era

One simple request and the emotional toll it takes on Hawk.

Or, the heartbreaking clock tower conversation before Tim goes off to bootcamp.

♾️ Don’t Pull Your Love Out

Fic Post

E | 5K | Hawk/Tim | Alternating POVs | Prison Visits | Flashbacks | Dominant Tim Laughlin | Masturbation/Mutual Masturbation | 1950s Era/1960s Era

Hawk visits Tim in prison, and it stirs up a lot of feelings, and a lot of memories.

♾️ Happy Birthday, Mr. Laughlin

Fic Post

E | 1K | Hawk/Tim | Rehoboth Beach Missing Scene | Blow Jobs/69 | 1950s Era

Hawk tries to make it up to Tim for missing his birthday. Tim's only wish is a gift they can both enjoy.

A missing scene, of sorts, of the Rehoboth Beach weekend getaway.

♾️ I Have You

Fic Post

NR | 2K | Hawk/Tim | Canon Divergent | Fire Island | Tim POV | 1970s Era

After receiving a cryptic postcard, and hearing from Lucy that Hawk's in trouble, Tim takes a trip back east to find out for himself.

A different version of the events that unfold in Fire Island, told from Tim's perspective.

♾️ Darkness Before the Dawn

Fic Post

NR | 1K | Hawk & Marcus | Origin Story | Post-World War II AU | PTSD/Trauma | 1940s Era

It’s June 1944, following the US offensive against the German-led Caesar line that tore through a small squad of the 141st Regiment, killing two men and wounding others, along with Sergeant Hawkins Fuller. Following the blast of the Nazi’s K5 railway gun, he underwent surgery to repair sustained shrapnel damage and is now recovering in the Army’s 32nd Evac Hospital. In the bed next to him lies Corporal Marcus Gaines from the 85th Infantry Division, also wounded in action.

This is the story of how they met.

♾️ Sunday Drabbles & Snippets

NR | 2K | Various Pairings | Snippets & Drabbbles | Multi-Eras

A Collection of my snippets, drabbles and ficlets using prompts from the writing games and challenges in the FT Talk Hub Drabble Sunday.

♾️ Let Me Shower You With My Love

Fic Post

Mature | 7K | Hawk/Tim | Canon Divergence | Angst, Fluff & Smut | 1980s Era

Hawk helps Tim in the shower.

A 1986 canon divergent fix-it.

♾️ I Belong to You

Fic Post

Explicit | 2K | Hawk/Tim | Spanking | Light Bondage | Dom/sub Undertones | Canon Divergence | 1950s Era

This isn’t even close to how he saw their night ending, but here they are, and if Tim wants it rough, who is Hawk to deny him?

Or, the ‘Hit me.’ scene… but a little different. In which Hawk still hits Tim, just not where you think.

♾️ Pretty Weeds

Fic Post

Teen+ | 7K | Hawk/Tim | Tim & Rafael | Hawk & Rafael | Conversations | 1970s Era

Hawk has really put Tim through the emotional wringer this weekend, and he seems far too nice to deserve any of it. Rafael tries his best to give his new friend a warm send-off and a few words of wisdom.

Or, the walk to the ferry from Rafael's POV. Chapter Two: Rafael gives Hawk some tough love after he returns from seeing Tim off on the ferry. 🔥Part Two of Fire Island Ever After

♾️ To Wrap Your Love Around Me

Fic Post

Teen+ | 5K | Hawk/ Tim | Canon Divergence | Introspection | Hurt/Comfort | 1980s Era

Waking up in Tim’s apartment, Hawk discovers Skippy’s old robe, the same one from years ago, and the memories all come flooding back.

♾️ there is no sin in what you & I just did

Fic Post

Mature | 250 words | Hawk/Tim | First Time Encounters | Religious Conflict | Internal Dialogue | Tim POV | 1950s Era

The burden of guilt weighs heavily on Tim for what he’s about to do, but for now, he sets aside any conflicting feelings where God and Hawkins Fuller are concerned, along with the cross around his neck.

[fushiglow]

i saw this fa and immediately thought of over the threshold!! tsumiki would totally be so loved by the audience on produce ahahah (and ofc by her family ❤️) if tsumiki was in this story, what would that look like? :D

i also wanted to ask about the audience’s reaction to satoru dedicating a song to suguru at his concert!!! as someone who is in kpop fandoms (which is also why this fic is so dear to me, the parallels with the challenges and pressures they face;;) i can just imagine all the takes fans would immediately have about the whole thing AHAHA also makes me go aww that suguru couldn’t fully enjoy the performance but sksjddj i loved the angst sm

i also have sm questions about satoru’s past but that’s spoilers LOL and i love learning alongside suguru about the layers satoru has… there’s so much to unpack i’m so excited to see how both stsg’s pasts unfold…!! including megumi and gojo’s past AAAAA their bond in every universe is really everything to meeeee and gojo being a support for the next generation criiiies *plays snooze by agust d* AND CHOSO AND GETO? what went onnnnnnnnn i also did not get the sugar-ooh until geto did and it was such a fun revelation my jaw literally DROPPED LOOOOL

i find the way you write stsg so so fascinating too how they bring out different sides to each other like when satoru speaks quieter and sincerely and suguru (and us readers) is hit with realizing again and again that there’s so much he doesn’t know and hasn’t figured out yet about satoru which makes this even more compelling [big heart] ah i love this fic so much and i’m so happy to have found your writing (i will never ever ever ever get over rivers crossed mountains scaled omg) and am veryyyyy much looking forward to what comes next for them!!!

also so sorry this was long and a mix of questions and comments skdkdk for future reference do u prefer these via tumblr or ao3?

OHHHH I love you so much for dropping this in my inbox 😭

So, Tsumiki is definitely present in the Threshold universe! Gojo didn't mention her by name when he was telling Megumi's story, but when he said Megumi didn't want the Zen'in fortune because he's "stubborn as hell", he was talking about Tsumiki.

It's a parallel to canon basically. The Zen'in — obsessed with bloodlines as they are — seriously underestimated the strength of the Fushiguro siblings' bond when they refused to factor Tsumiki into their discussions with Megumi. Hence, he followed Gojo into music rather than rely on their dirty money. That's why the Zen'in blame Gojo, even though it's really just because Megumi's a spiteful little so-and-so! 😏

Because of the parallels with canon, Megumi would try to keep Tsumiki away from the toxicity of the music industry as much as possible — hence why she wasn't at the album launch. However, I like to think that her career is adjacent to Megumi's in some capacity! As much as I love writing about the Fushiguro siblings' relationship with Gojo, the inclusion of that story served more to give Suguru a look into the real Gojo Satoru, so she's unlikely to feature in this fic. I think continuing their story would require a sequel — which I'm not even gonna think about until Threshold is finished... I'm not, I'm not thinking about it!

As for Gojo's dedication at the concert, he spoke in Japanese so Suguru would understand him, so most of the audience wouldn't have known what he was saying immediately. However, I'm sure the online reactions once the videos were translated and passed around were very interesting! Having said that, it's hard to communicate the nuances of the Japanese language in an English language fic. To most English speakers, "this was the first song I played for them" seems like a deliberate omission of gender, but that's not the case in Japanese. So, I imagined Gojo using his native tongue very responsibly in that moment, sticking to language that sounds purely professional — but that wouldn't stop fans from speculating 👀

I'm not planning to explore Gojo's past in *too* much detail because it's mostly his present and his future that are relevant to the story. Meanwhile, it's Suguru with the big fat question mark over his past... 🫠 So, if you want to ask questions, go ahead and I will simply avoid sharing spoilers! As for where to ask questions, Tumblr lends itself to longer answers so if you enjoyed this response, probably best to ask here! However, AO3 comments feed my body and soul so feel free to leave those too... It's whatever you prefer really 🥰

Megumi and Gojo's relationship is everything to me tooooo, no one can stop me from shoehorning it into every damn fic I write! So happy you're enjoying SatoSugu's dynamic in this story — and that you enjoyed Rivers Crossed so much! Thank you so so much for all your kind words, and your interest in the fic! I loved answering this soooo much ♥

[kae-karo]

2023 fic roundup

phew!!! i wrote for four different fandoms this year, which is utterly wild to me given that most years i am writing for one or maybe two...but no, this year we went wild - bnha, genshin, trigun, and blue lock

so without further ado, my faves from each month:

jan 2023: i've made mistakes (but you were not one) - chaeya, i really hit my chaeya stride by this point and frankly i ADORED writing this fic, which was my first t4t chaeya fic !!!!

feb 2023: everything i ask for (and so much more) - chiluc, based on a scenario that my mom said she 'always wanted to see happen at a wedding' which rly made me laugh and thus i had to write it !!!

mar 2023: don't rush - kaeluc (and dilucest?), i just really enjoyed stretching my skills on this one in the vibes and also just. the mechanics of everything?

apr 2023: oh gods, there's two of them - cynonaribedo, which was just SO much fun after that event to consider how they'd interact and what shenanigans they'd get up to. also the smut was a fun challenge lmao

may 2023: don't be too good to me - vashwood, my first canon-universe fic for these silly guys that let me really explore the angst and also some of the lightheartedness

jun 2023: in your dreams - kaisagi !!!!! my first bllk fic!!! these two idiots make me feral !!!! they're so angsty and silly and i love them so much, i had a blast trying my hand at them!!

jul 2023: dark blue - kaisae, my last-minute final fic for kaisae july and the one that i reread and think about regularly lmao. one of my rare 2nd person pov fics, i had so much fun with teasing out all the imagery and emotions

aug 2023: but i'm losing blood and you're warm - bachisagi, currently my only bcis fic but my god was it SO fun to write, i loved getting to play in the horror genre a little and mixing that with romance and just UGH definitely up there as a fave

sept 2023: consumption - kaisagi, like what can i say except (pun intended) this premise consumed me so bad that i wrote it out of order bc i was so hooked on one particular scene. this whole story rly had me in a chokehold in the best way

oct 2023: pink light - ryusae, this is rly my favorite ryusae fic i've written to date. something about the premise and the gentleness and the second chances of it all just really got to me, i loved writing this so much

nov 2023: KNOCK.ME.OUT - ryurin, oh my god this fic....i reread this fic like every couple days for WEEKS after i finished writing it. more than i've reread any other fic, and purely out of a desire to just. live inside the story again. i loved it so much. up there with pink light as a fave for sure

dec 2023: tie me down (fuck me up) - saesagi, which like i feel like i went on a whole Journey abt saesagi within my brain and this is what came out. i rly enjoyed trying my hand at a new dynamic and taking sae out of his place of control for once !!!!

other stats + honorable mentions below the cut!

452,082 words posted this year across 58 fics, 24 ships, and, as mentioned, four fandoms. ended up around 8.7k kudos + 81k hits

some honorable mention fics:

good directions - vashwood, and a fic concept i've been dying to write for ages, which just happened to work incredibly well with vashwood

kinda complicated - plantwood, which was really just an excuse to write so much porn for them lmao but i had a great time both with that and the complex dynamics between the three of them

a tentative ellipsis - kaisae, cause i can't say EVERY kaisae july fic, but this one also was such fun to think about and write, just like. the premise and the execution were so [shakes them in a pickle jar]

we both got stories (but they're not the same) - kaisae, this premise rly cracked me up i had SUCH fun writing it and getting a little silly with it lskdjfklsdjf especially with kaiser and all his denial

make me love like i want to - kaisae/ryusae, which honestly all manifested out of like. the one scene in the fic where sae writes not dead on his arm. and that ballooned into an entire almost 30k story about soulmates that ended up being unexpectedly cathartic

sometimes i wish she was you - tabieita, idk this one really got me??? i had a blast writing karasu's point of view and his manipulative little shit attitude lmao

[aristocratic-otter]

Trope Grading

I've not been on Tumblr much, so this missed me, and it looks like a lot of fun. So thank you, @bazzybelle for the tag, I'm gonna give it a shot!

I'm not picky either, though I've got a few hard nos. But I can even put those aside for a really compelling story. For example, I'm driven away generally by MCD, but my two favorite fics right now, What's Left by @cutestkilla and The Mirrors that Hold Us by @artsyunderstudy both involve MCD, so clearly I don't hold to my principles that hard 😂

Rules: How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic?

-10 -> very dissuaded

0 - don’t care either way

+10 -> very enticed

nope -> if it’s a hard no and you’d never click on a fic with that tag or or you even have the tag blocked or you’d insta click out of the fic if it wasn’t tagged

Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it’s conditional.

Age gap: +6

Not my favorite, but one of my favorite previous ships was Grissom/Sara from CSI, which is a twenty year age gap, so clearly I'm not that bothered by it.

Codependency: +5

This doesn't bother me precisely, other than you see it a lot in fluff fics and established relationship fics, and neither of those is my jam.

Obsession/Possessiveness, jealousy: +7

I like this generally, though if there's a power imbalance in the relationship it can be squicky. But if it's SnowBaz, it's a guaranteed angst-bringer, and I love the angst.

Opposites (grumpy/sunshine etc): +8

I don't need this in my fics, but I do like it. Exploring how people are different from each other is fun!

Enemies to lovers, Enemies with benefits: +10

Fuck yes

Friends with benefits: +8

This is lower because (especially with SnowBaz), I feel like it's unrealistic. They're so deep into each other that I don't feel like they'd ever settle for friendship. There are a few fics that have done it well, but it's just not as angsty, so I don't like it as much.

Sex to feelings: +10

It's hot, 'nuff said. And often angsty, which is brilliant. If you disagree, I challenge you to read Someone Wicked by @artsyunderstudy

Fake dating/relationship: +8

This can be good if it's handled in a fun way. I truly loved The Wedding Bet by @facewithoutheart and How To Avoid a Scandal by @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

Friends to lovers: +8

Just like Friends with benefits, I may enjoy this when it's done well, but I find it less exciting and realistic than enemies to lovers (at least in the Simon Snow fandom)

Found Family: +8

I like this, but not if it's the only point of the fic, because then it verges on fluff, which I don't enjoy.

Hurt/Comfort: +5

I don't mind this, but not if it's the whole point of the fic. I prefer more depth to the stories I read. But I never mind it being an aspect of a fic that has more than just that!

Love Triangle: +5

I don't feel one way or the other about this, but I'm guilty of using it to ramp up the angst when I write. I've liked plenty of fics with this trope though, and written quite a few myself!

Poly, open relationships: -5

This is my only negative! I think because I'm ace, and I can't imagine wanting MORE than one lover, I find it off-putting when I read it. I'll make an exception when the point is pure smut, but I prefer monogamy in my serious fics.

Mistaken/hidden identity: +5

This can be very good when it's done well, but mostly I find it's hard to do it in an original way.

Monsterfucking: +10

Duh.

Pregnancy: +10

So, this requires a little background. From the time I was a child, I'd tell myself stories to help me fall asleep at night. And without fail, sooner or later, a baby would happen in those stories. I don't know what deep psychology explains it, but I can say I love seeing how couples deal with the unexpected, and an unplanned but desired pregnancy fic is great for exploring that. So yes, given I'm entrenched in the Carry On fandom right now, I'm a diehard mpreg fan.

Second Chance: +0

My only zero, and this is because I fall solidly on the fence here. I love a fic where Simon and Baz never got together, but connect later on and fall in love. It's one of my favorite things. But I hate a fic where Simon and Baz were together, fell apart and then get back together. I guess it's because I can't handle break-up fics.

Slowburn: +10

I love angst and what's more frustrating and angsty than a slowburn?

Soulmates: +10

Odd as it seems for my science mind, I'm unapologetic when it comes to soulmate AUs. I love them all.

Tagging (again, haven't been on Tumblr much, so feel free to ignore if you've done this): @artsyunderstudy, @annabellelux, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @facewithoutheart, @giishu, @hushed-chorus, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @ileadacharmedlife, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @krisrix, @larkral, @messofthejess, @moodandmist, @prettylightsbigcity, @penpanoply, @raenestee, @theearlgreymage, @stardustasincocaine, @tea-brigade, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe