#this has been living in my wip folder for a while....

[kashmimo]

Pokemon x Urusei Yatsura ✨

[bi-bats]

for the prompt ask game— 41 for JayTim?

Oh gosh. A year and a half later 😂 hi Livvy!! Thank you for the ask 💚

I found a bunch of these drabble prompts when I was organizing my WIP folder and some of them were almost finished - since you write like your hand is on fire, I wanted to come back with your prompt first. You're an incredible writer and the way you just go for it is inspiring, so thank you for sharing your works. And in return, here's an answer to your prompt:

41 - "You did all this for me?"

You can read it here on Ao3 or below the cut here on tumblr. Thanks for waiting so patiently 💚

Tim’s bag drops to the floor with a thunk. If he could be, he would probably be worried about whether or not he just broke the screen of his laptop, but he doesn’t have it in him. He’s had a long fucking day.

His pile of shoes are lined up by the wall, neat and tidy, and it’s not a surprise. It’s a signature move of Jason’s. But the tornado that his living room had been — well, it looks like another tornado spun through in reverse and put everything back where it belongs. It smells incredible, too — sweet and salty and cheesy and oh — grilled cheese and tomato soup.

There are blankets and pillows piled high on the couch and the TV has his favorite episode of the Next Generation pulled up — the one where Q loses his powers and tries to join Starfleet — and the lights are dimmer than he remembers, some of the harsh white bulbs swapped out for warmer yellow ones. He’s surprised how much more comfortable it makes his space. 

All of this is surprising, actually. But the most surprising thing is that in front of a steaming pot on his stove and a plate with two grilled cheeses on it, Jason is standing there, looking like Alfred just caught him sneaking into the manor. 

“Shit,” Jason says, but it doesn’t seem like he quite meant to say it. 

Tim raises an eyebrow and Jason’s cheeks flush. That panicked look doesn’t go away.

“You’re home early,” Jason says, like that clears anything up.

Tim opens his mouth to answer, because his body seems to know he should do that. His brain hasn’t quite caught up, though, so he just sort of stands there with his mouth open while Jason’s blush spreads down his neck.

By the time he manages to get his brain to start working again, Jason has stopped blinking at him and started moving. The only reason he doesn’t make it out the door is because Tim grabs his arm when he tries to walk past him. 

“You… did all this for me?”

Jason’s eyes latch onto the door like maybe if he focuses hard enough, he’ll find himself on the other side of it. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Jason says, and it sounds like he’s been repeating that one to himself for a while.

“You swapped out my lightbulbs.” 

“They were white LED bulbs. It was oppressive.” 

“I know, I complained about it a few weeks ago.” 

A muscle in the side of Jason’s jaw pulses. He still won’t look at Tim. 

Shit. Shit. 

“We need to talk,” Tim declares, because he knows what happens after this if they don’t . 

Jason disappears for a little while, with a hastily written and thinly veiled excuse for pulling away. He answers Tim’s messages, but he can’t take calls, and then eventually Tim stops messaging, because he wants to give him space if he needs it. And then one day, Tim’s swinging over a street or sneaking through a building or catching his breath after a fight, and he spots a glint of red. And even though he knows he should know better, even though it isn’t the first or fifth or fifteenth time this has happened, even though his gut clenches with something angry — his heart beats a little faster in his chest. 

And a few days later, he inevitably flicks on the lights in his apartment and sees that his shoes are lined up by the wall. Or he pulls into one of his garages and finds Jason’s bike parked in his spot. Or he turns a corner and nearly slams into Jason’s chest, has to wrestle his anger with one fist and his excitement with the other, while Jason snickers and he tries to get his heart to stop pounding.

And then Jason makes it up to him. 

Then things are good for a while. Easy. Everything is backup in the field and tech projects — Jason’s always got something that could use a little work, something with low enough stakes that it doesn’t keep him awake but high enough importance that it isn’t a waste of time — and showering the grime off together and wringing an orgasm out of each other, and then eventually it’s waking up next to each other and home cooked meals and waiting to watch the new episode of whatever they’re watching and all the things that would make Jason run if Tim called it what it was: domestic. 

But he doesn’t have to call it that, because inevitably they run into something too domestic for Jason’s comfort anyways, and suddenly Tim’s throwing out spoiled vegetables and piling paperwork all over the counters and chucking his shoes into a pile at the door again.

And that’s what’s about to happen, unless Tim forces some words past the knot in his throat.

“We don’t need to talk,” Jason says.

“Can we?” 

“Why? There’s nothing to talk about. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m not asking to talk because it’s a big deal, Jason.” 

“Then why do we need to talk?” 

Tim grits his teeth. He knows what Jason’s doing. Trying to wind him up, piss him off. Get him to snap at him so they can have a fight and call it, and then Tim won’t even try to get in touch with him while he fucks off to wherever he really goes when he’s decided he doesn’t want to play house anymore, and then he’ll come back in a few weeks, once there are lines for him to cross again. 

“Because we never talk about it. We never talk about anything!” 

“It’s—” 

Tim interrupts him, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you say it’s not a big deal one more time, I’m going to make it a big deal. So if you don’t want that, bite back your snarky asshole attitude for one goddamn second, please.” 

He hears a little frustrated-resigned huff and opens his eyes, looking around the apartment. This is… it’s a love letter, isn’t it? Jason is all acts of service, Tim knows that, and he doesn’t say anything because if Jason knew he’d noticed, he would have stopped. 

Tim’s eyes lock on the steam floating off the pot on the stove, and he makes himself say something he’s thought about saying a million times, but never really considered admitting. 

God, he hopes he’s right.

“I fucking hate it when you leave,” he mutters.

The muscles of Jason’s bicep tense under his fingers, and he sees Jason freeze from the corner of his eye. His heart starts pounding harder with every word tumbling out of his mouth. 

“I just… I like pissing you off with my inability to cook and I like getting annoyed when you flaunt your height over me and I really like fucking you, and I really, really like spending time with you.”

He spots Jason’s throat working from the corner of his eye, feels his own face heating up.

“It’s just frustrating! Because then you turn back up and we start fucking around again and it takes forever for things to go back to normal, and then they finally do for just long enough that I think maybe I don’t have to worry about you disappearing again, until one day you do something that gives you cold feet, and you run off again. And I just… I really don’t want that day to be today.”

Tim finally forces his eyes off the tomato soup and onto Jason’s, his gut clenching tight with uncertainty.

He was expecting to see panic, considering Jason’s been looking panicked since he walked in, but he wasn’t expecting to see fear, and shit, maybe he did miscalculate somewhere. 

“I’m just tired of you playing with my feelings,” he mumbles, already bracing himself to hear what he didn’t want to hear. His eyes skate back to the pot — at least he’ll have some solid comfort food for the night of wallowing he’s about to have.

“I—” Jason starts, his voice cracking on the word. He has to swallow before trying again. “I’m not playing with your feelings.” 

At the look on Tim’s face, Jason keeps talking. “Nonono, I didn’t mean — fuck. I’m listening. I just didn’t know you had feelings. Not like — not at all ! Just. You know. Like that. For — me?” he says like a question, his eyes seeking confirmation in Tim’s. 

Tim flushes.

“Look, if you want to do the fucking around thing and that’s it, then fine. We can do that. But if you’re going to do stuff like this, I can’t… I really need you to be clear with me about what you want. Please.” 

There are only so many seconds of silence he can bear staring at the pot of soup, so he lets his eyes skip back to Jason’s, finding them wide and scared and so goddamn green. His throat keeps working, like he’s trying to get some words out, and god, Tim was stupid for trying to get Jason to talk to him. If he’s ready to talk about something, he’s fine with communicating, but if you beat him to the punch? 

The pounding of his heart marks the passing time as they stare at each other, as the fear pools in Jason’s eyes, as the vice of his jaw clicks tighter shut, and finally, Tim can’t take it anymore. 

“Look, I’ll make this easy for you. Thank you for doing all this for me, it’s… it’s really kind. I’m going to pour myself some of that soup and turn on that episode of Star Trek, and if you want to join me, I would really like that, but I am going to read into it that this is not just fucking. And if you’re not comfortable with that, if you want to go, you can go ahead, and we can keep fucking around if you want, but stuff like this has to stop. We’re either fucking, or we’re more, and I can’t keep guessing. It’s not fair. So I’m going to let go of your arm, and you… do whatever you want,” Tim sighs, not quite sure that he managed not to sound bitter about the last few words. 

What’s the point of even saying them? Jason always does whatever he wants. 

Tim lets go of his arm, watches Jason’s pupils dilate as he feels the cool air against his fingers. Then he steps around him and pushes up his sleeves as he heads to the stove. 

A cacophony of thoughts whirs in his head too loud for him to pick any one of them out as he ladles his Campbell's into the bowl Jason pulled out. He can barely hear the sound of Jason’s tight, shallow breathing, and even though he hasn’t looked, he knows Jason hasn’t moved. 

Wait , he thinks as he picks up the plate and brings his food to the living room. Wait , he thinks as he kicks up his feet onto the coffee table and tracks down the remote. Wait and see , he thinks as he clicks play and picks up a grilled cheese. 

The sounds of the Enterprise filter in through the speakers, and Tim makes it a little quieter. He picks up his sandwich and is about to dip it into the soup when he hears it — the creak of the linoleum floor of his kitchen. 

His breath catches as he listens, hearing sharpening until as he waits to find out if he’s about to hear the front door or not. 

That’s not what he hears. What he hears is Jason’s footsteps getting closer, and the sound of his breathing, shallow and quick. He comes around the couch and hesitates, his gaze palpable on Tim. 

Tim keeps waiting, refusing to let himself react one way or the other. Jason could still turn around and leave, after all. So Tim holds the sandwich and stares at the screen and waits, and waits, and waits, until the show has made it to the goddamn intro and he can’t take it anymore. 

He drops the sandwich back on the plate and grabs the remote, pauses, and turns to Jason. 

“Look, I’m not asking for—” and then he stops, because the look on Jason’s face isn’t what he was expecting. He doesn’t look panicked anymore. He doesn’t look frightened, or awkward. 

No, the look on his face is a mixture of determination and longing and — there’s something else he can’t place.

“Tim,” Jason says, and his voice is thick and gruff and low, heavy with something that Tim’s never heard in it before.

“Yeah?” His collar is too tight and his feet are hot and he’s gripping the remote too tightly and Jason is staring at him, intensity rippling out of his gaze.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Tim’s gut seizes, all the nerves he’s been trying to ignore suddenly reaching up and grasping tight around his stomach. Of course, he thinks. Of course, of course, of course, you absolute moron. Who wouldn’t?

His mouth opens to say yes, and it snares on something in his throat. It’s funny, how even though he just demanded the same thing of Jason, even though he can see how much Jason cares for him in all the things he does, he can’t get the words out.

The last thing in Jason’s expression falls into place; it’s suspicion. And suddenly it clicks — Jason’s been putting love in everything he does. It’s in the shoes and it’s in the sandwich and it’s in the fucking sheets. 

And Tim doesn’t know how to do that. He doesn’t know how to write his feelings into the moments of a day. He doesn’t know how to scatter the evidence, the proof, for Jason to find. He doesn’t know how to cook it into a sandwich, how to wipe the counters with it, how to make the bed with it. 

He swallows and holds Jason’s gaze. 

“Yes. I want you to stay.”

There’s a brief moment where even though Tim knows he’s right to admit it — he couldn’t give you an exact calculation but he knows he wouldn’t take the risk if it wasn’t well over 90% in his favor — his gut still clenches again, his brain screaming that he fucked up and Jason’s going to leave after all and it’ll be all his fault that he lost the one thing in his life that made things easier — 

And then Jason’s stepping forward. He drops down onto the couch, right next to Tim, gravity displacing the cushion and making him bounce slightly. Jason reaches to pluck the remote from his hands, but he grimaces once he’s holding it. 

“Ugh, you got it all greasy.” He stands again, reaches across the table for a paper towel, and wipes it off. Then he presses play and drops it back on the couch next to him as Picard’s speech floats between them. His arm falls behind Tim’s shoulders and he stares at the screen, watching the intro scene that they’ve seen over a hundred times like it’s brand new. 

“Stop staring at me,” Jason says without looking away from the screen. 

“Sorry,” Tim says, his eyes shifting to the screen. “Are you… staying?” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jason asks, lifting his hand up in a little ‘see?’ gesture, before he drops it back on Tim’s shoulder. 

Relief floods through him, the tension in his muscles relaxing as he melts into the couch, into Jason’s hold.

“It’s not a big deal,” Jason says, and Tim knows that out of the two of them, he isn’t the one that Jason’s trying to convince.

“Okay,” Tim agrees, forcing himself not to grin like an idiot. But he feels pleased, content, relaxed in a way he hasn’t in months, since before the first time Jason left. 

He leans into Jason’s shoulder and tucks himself into the space there, letting Jason wrap around him. 

“Did you buy wonder bread for this?” Tim asks, right before he picks up a sandwich half and swipes it through the soup, takes a bite. It’s crispy and buttery and warm and it tastes like comfort. His eyes water, and he tells himself nostalgia has nothing to do with it. The food’s just hot.

“And Kraft slices.”

A short, sharp laugh squeezes past the lump in Tim’s throat, easing it a little. “Wow, you do like me.” 

“Shut up,” Jason says, blush creeping down his neck, and now Tim can’t help grinning like an idiot. “ You like me .”

“Of course I do. Look at all this,” Tim says, waving around the apartment at all the things Jason did. “You swapped out my lightbulbs. You bought me that cheese you hate because you know I like it. You do that thing with your tongue. You’re boyfriend material.” 

Now Jason’s blushing all the way up to his ears, and Tim grins wide.

“It’s not cheese, it’s cheese product , ” Jason says, and Tim lets it go. They can worry about the labels another night. Jason probably still needs some time to think before he’s ready to talk about it, and that’s fine — Tim will wait.

“You’re not even a little curious about the tongue thing that I’m referring to?” 

“No. Maybe. No, we’re still on the cheese product,” Jason says, but he’s smirking, because he does, in fact, know exactly what thing Tim’s referring to. 

“It’s delicious.”

“It’s nostalgic. There’s a difference,” Jason argues, rekindling their argument from last week. He grins, his gaze going soft when Tim lets out an exasperated sigh and launches into the same speech as he did last time, and yeah, as long as Jason keeps looking at him like that, Tim’s happy to wait.

[greenleaf4stuff]

Of Convenience 3

(all previous parts of "Of Convenience")

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 3rd snippet. Officiator found, Adar and Celebrimbor get right down to business and get wed in the uruk camp. However, there is an unforseen hurdle. Celebrimbor ends up being the voice of reason this time around – with unexpectedly nice consequences. (aka, a kiss)

I feel like my muse has lured me in with candy (the political marriage AU idea) and is now holding me captive (making me write more snippets). Not like I have like. 20 ideas in my ideas folder and two other WIPs open or anything like that. Nuh-uh. I feel like I have gotten completely blindsided but – I am having an absolute blast so far?! Let’s see how far this wave will carry me, shall we?

(Also a big huge Thank You to everyone who has commented and liked and reblogged and sent me messages about these snippets, it’s been an absolute delight and I partly credit your lovely encouragement with why I have gotten so invested in this.)

They got through the 'ceremony' much better than Celebrimbor had expected. Between Galadriel's lingering reluctance and their shared lack of in-depth knowledge on how elven marriages were to be officiated, it had taken them a while to work out all the details (Adar had helped out in that regard, to both Celebrimbor’s and Galadriel’s surprise) – and then one of the uruk had demanded the two husbands-to-be add some words that included Adar's children and the marriage's legitimacy among them into the vows.

Safe to say, trying to get Galadriel and the uruk - Glug, if Celebrimbor was not mistaken - to settle down after this had been a bit of a hassle.

But still, they got through it - without cussing, without bloodshed, without attempts on one of the grooms' lives (Celebrimbor was considering Galadriel with newfound respect as he acknowledged that particular feat), and so the smith would count the proceedings as a victory. He'd had very few of those in the last few weeks, and would take it for what it was.

However, when it came to the end of the wedding ceremony, another problem arose:

"No," Adar flatly stated. It caused Celebrimbor to blink in surprise, and Galadriel to glare at the uruk from where she stood next to the two future husbands. Adar's face had hardened into a grimace of disapproval. "There must be a way to circumvent this."

What he was talking about was, of course, the part during which he and Celebrimbor were meant to kiss to seal the marriage. It was a common practice, not just among elves but men and dwarves as well. That Adar either hadn't anticipated it, or would now make such a fuss about it after having championed a political marriage as their primary option of cooperation, was baffling, to say the least.

Celebrimbor knit his eyebrows in confusion, even as Galadriel spoke. "Orc- Uruk. You pushed for this to take place, you cannot possibly think to stop now when we have almost reached an accord and bound the two of you-"

"I will not kiss him," Adar replied. This time, there was steel in his voice. "He accepted a political marriage, not one of passion. He clearly does not want to kiss me. I will not force him into it."

Judging by Galadriel's resulting look, she was taken just as off-guard by Adar's words and the smith was.

Coupled with Adar's strained expression, Celebrimbor couldn't help but feel warm at the other's objections.

The uruk had told him he wouldn't touch Celebrimbor without permission, that he would not force him. This had clearly been important to him, even before he'd fetched Galadriel. That it went so far as to include a kiss to seal their arrangement was doing something to Celebrimbor's stomach, and made him feel unexpectedly safe. Confident, even.

He could see that Galadriel and Adar were ready to get into yet another spat, so the smith stepped forward and slowly – very slowly – raised his hands to Adar's face.

The uruk briefly startled, surprised at the elf's brazen gesture, and it took him some obvious effort to untense again. Still, when Celebrimbor brought his hands up to the his cheeks, the uruk did not withdraw.

The feel of Adar's rough, scarred skin under Celebrimbor's fingertips sent a shock through the smith. The other was warmer than he had expected.

Up this close, Adar had green-blue eyes. And they were so completely focused on the smith that it almost stole his the air from his lungs.

"Adar," he tried, and could have sworn that the other had sucked in a breath as he spoke the uruk's name. "You were right, this arrangement is our best chance to avoid a bloody, gruesome war that would claim the lives of countless people – those of my fellow elves, and your children," he spoke back the uruk's words at him, as if reminding him.

"I trust you not to betray this alliance, and I trust you not to hurt me. You haven't so far. I allow you to-," it wouldn't help his case if his words failed him now. "To kiss me. It is part of the ceremony. It will take but a moment. I am allowing you to do this. Maybe neither of us has a desire for it, but, it is no hardship if done for a lasting peace."

Adar looked torn, mouth pinched and eyebrows furrowed, as he stared at Celebrimbor.

The smith tried again. "If you are holding back only for my sake, you do not have to. Truly. Though if it is because you are having second thoughts-"

"That is not it," the uruk spoke, voice brash, and he needed a moment reign himself in again. Celebrimbor waited with bated breath – his fingers still rested on Adar's cheeks, and the uruk hadn't even made an attempt to grab them or shake them away from his body. "I said I would not force you."

"You are not forcing me," Celebrimbor disputed, and leant closer. He could see Adar's eyes widen as he almost touched their foreheads together. The way the uruk’s mouth unconsciously opened made Celebrimbor feel even warmer, and he pressed forward with his words. "I could imagine far worse choices for a marriage, or even a kiss. You needn't fear for my comfort."

Granted, not exactly the most elegant thing to say to a man who would soon be bound to his side and commandeer a huge, deadly army straight towards Ost-In-Edhil, but it was the best Celebrimbor could come up with – without obviously lying, or giving away how the the thought of kissing Adar did in fact at least stirr something within him. A little.

He'd never just been interested in elves as potential partners, but he'd never thought he'd find himself in the position of kissing an orc- er, uruk.

Nor that he'd be even remotely interested in wanting to.

It was, indeed, a very strange day.

Maybe some of his thoughts had shown on his face, or perhaps his shoddy attempt of making Adar feel at peace had done some good after all, but the uruk eventually dropped his strained expression and exchanged it for a slightly guarded, but more relieved one. He nodded. "If you are sure."

"Surest I will be, considering the circumstances," Celebrimbor said with a tiny laugh, before he sobered again. "Apologies. But yes, I am sure. You may kiss me. Let us do this."

Somehow, his words did the trick, because when the smith leant forward, Adar did the same.

At the edge of his awareness, Celebrimbor could hear Galadriel gasp and the uruk guards make noises of disgust as they – very loudly – turned away from the proceedings.

But all that seemed to fall away when compared to the feeling of touching his lips to Adar's. It was a chaste kiss, just a press of lips really, but it was...surprisingly nice. Adar's lips were softer than Celebrimbor had expected, slightly parted and as warm as his cheeks.

Their noses brushed as the two moved closer together, and after a moment, there was a gauntleted hand on Celebrimbor's shoulder as Adar tried to balance himself. And soon after that, a second hand – slow and cautious – grasped his elbow.

Physical contact, yes, but it was done in such a considerate and respectful way that Celebrimbor hadn't seen it coming. He felt his belly quiver once more, this time more strongly than when he'd first considered what touching Adar might be like. It was hard, not to lean fully into the kiss – into the uruk – and just sink into the touch like he would into a hot bath.

When Adar drew away from the kiss, Celebrimbor realized with a start that he'd closed his eyes some time during it. Judging by how Adar had to reorient himself, he'd likely had the same happen as well.

'Huh,' the smith thought, and followed Adar's example as they untangled their hands from each other. Adar even brushed down the smith's robe before he retracted his hand from Celebrimbor’s elbow, while the elf couldn't help letting his hand touch Adar's hair as he dropped his arms.

It, too, was unexpectedly soft.

Flustered, he turned to Galadriel, ready to have her announce the marriage as officiated.

And felt the need to avert his gaze at the near scandalized, wide-eyed way Galadriel was looking at him, mouth open and all.

'Why isn't Elrond here to witness this? I thought there was absolutely no way to turn Galadriel of the Golden House of Finarfin speechless. He surely won't believe me when I tell him,' Celebrimbor thought, just a touch hysterical.

"That should be it, right? The wedding has been performed," Adar stated. He was once again standing next to the large table in the center of the tent, ready to down another glass of wine. Celebrimbor couldn't help thinking that so much wine before a battle could not be a good idea, but who knew what kind of a tolerance the uruk had.

Truth be told, Celebrimbor could probably use a glass himself, all things considered.

When Adar offered him one unexpectedly a moment later, the smith took it with a surprised but pleased expression, and thanked the other for it. Adar dismissed it, though not unkindly.

Finally, Galadriel found her voice again. Not without a sputter at first, however.

"You are right. You are now bound together. It...it is done."

"Well then. Cheers," was Celebrimbor’s reply to that, stated drily, before he downed his glass. Not the kind of wedding he'd imagined for himself, but well. At least he didn't have to invite Thranduil. That had to count for something, right?

[abarbaricyalp]

Hi, "kissing away tears" pretty please?

So the funny thing about you sending this prompt is that there has been an "emotional pwp"/ "character study hidden in pwp"/ "crying during sex" wip sitting in my folder for a couple of weeks. Definitely used this as an excuse to finish it ❤️‍🔥🌠

Finished work is on AO3

The Cold of a Dying Star

Sam had considered that Barnes may be touch shy after so many years of nothing but torture and abuse.

Sam had not considered that he, himself, would be touch shy after years of mourning and isolating. He hadn't paid attention to the way he flinched away from every set of hands that reached for his hips or every mouth that tried to touch his neck or every gaze that stared at his eyes for too long. He hadn't considered how physical the internal ache had become. Didn't realize every soft spot of him was bruise sore and raw.

He knew every part of his body came with an embedded story. A hundred kisses. A thousand caresses. He knew there'd be no excavating and removing all of the memories buried beneath civvies and sand and sweat and the gentle, constant press of another body as familiar as his own.

But he hadn't been thinking about any of that when Barnes showed up at his door twenty minutes after Steve and Nat had left from their short, unhelpful debrief over everything they were doing separately. He had Sam's favorite take out and his hair was washed and there was this stupid, shy smile playing at his lips as drawled, "You gonna let a fella in, Wilson? Or does he have to beg to get your attention?"

They'd been circling around this thing. This electric crackle that charged the air between them as soon as they could see each other. It's why Sam had been thinking about whether Barnes would even want something physical with him, why he was wondering how slow to take it, why he hadn't flinched away from the way Bucky always had to put a hand on his side to step behind him, or tuck his head against Sam's shoulder while he dozed through a movie, or tease his fingers over the back of Sam's hand while Sam focused on something that wasn't him.

"A man could beg a little more," Sam had answered, even as he stepped back to let Bucky into the house. He could chide him about being so bold in a city full of cameras looking for him, but Bucky wouldn't listen. He hadn't listened in that French village, or on that island near Chile, or in any of Sam's rooms between the two.

They'd eaten in companionable quiet, Bucky flipping through news stations to cover the fact that he was reading over Sam's shoulder, Sam pretending like he didn't know that.

And then Bucky had stood, facing Sam on the couch, and tilted Sam's face up with two fingers under his chin.

Sam's whole body felt electric. This is what Whitman was talking about, in that poem from senior year, he was sure. He looked up at Bucky, then slowly stood as well until they were nearly chest to chest in Sam's living room. The fan spun lazily overhead, cutting through the dim light and passing shadows across their faces with every turn.

"Sam, can I--" Bucky had started to ask, desperation making his voice tight, pitching it up near a whine. His eyes were wide with want and focus, pupils hiding that ridiculous, wonderful blue.

And Sam had practically crashed into him, fingers slipping into Bucky's hair to pull him closer. Bucky's hands falling to Sam's waist, the small of his back, his shoulder blades wherever he could get purchase and hold on.

The world exploded outwards into a million flares of light and debris, then condensed all right back in, settling behind Sam's ribs, a supernova star falling into a blackhole, taking  up space beside his heart.

Bucky picked him up like it was nothing at all, held him by the back of the thighs as Sam wrapped his legs around Bucky's waist. They made it to the bedroom but not inside. Bucky pressed Sam back against the doorframe. Sam rolled his hips against Bucky's stomach, desperate for more touch, for less air between them. He wasn't sure if he still existed if he couldn't feel his body through Bucky's.

Bucky broke from kissing his mouth to lave hot, wet kisses down Sam's neck instead. Sam whined, couldn't help himself, and held his head down. His pulse was wild beneath Bucky's lips. It was giving everything away, giving him away. The want, the desperation, the nervous energy. The supernova roared in his chest.

One of them pushed away from the doorframe–Sam probably–and they stumbled to the bed instead. Bucky hit his shins on the frame, but he put Sam down gently, reverently, face open and a little unsure. Sam kept kissing him until it hurt his ribs to sit up at that angle.

This is what it had all been for. The uncertainty, the chasing, the stolen moments where they talked and laughed and bitched and ran away together. It all meant Sam was scrambling to unzip his jeans and Bucky was standing between his legs at the side of the bed, staring at him like he was planning exactly how to eat Sam whole.

Bucky didn’t move like a man who was touch shy. He tossed his shirt aside and Sam only got a second of staring at his chest–the hair that had started to come in along his pectorals, the cut of his ribs now that he had a little more meat on him, the fluttering of his stomach when his breath stuttered for a half a second–before he was climbing over Sam and resting his weight against Sam’s hips and thighs.

It made something deep in Sam’s chest ache so fiercely, he felt it against his lungs. He hadn’t been with anyone since Riley had died. Hell, he’d spent too long flinching away from any contact from people. Had been clinging to the memories of Riley’s touch on him. Felt like it would wash away if someone else held his hand or hugged him the way Riley always did. Then he’d have nothing left. Not even phantom touches.

And Bucky had straddled him the same way Riley always did, eager and solid, was cupping his face like Riley did as he kissed him and made soft little sounds against his mouth. Sam pushed Bucky back, flipped them over, shook away the feeling of a ghost in his lap. Bucky, not touch shy, not unsure, grinned up at him, hair a wild mess against Sam’s sheets.

“Hey,” he said, gaze fixed on Sam with the kind of adoring attention Sam had forgotten. 

“Hi,” Sam said. He dragged his hands down Bucky’s chest, chuckled when Bucky’s breath caught again and one of those sweet little whines escaped his throat.

“Sorry it took me so long to get here. You gonna take off your clothes anytime soon?”

“I’m thinking about it.” Sam swiped a thumb over Bucky’s nipple, then down the center line of his chest. “Did take you a while. I should make you wait more.”

Bucky was slowly relaxing beneath him, frantic energy easing away. He had his left arm tucked behind his head, using his right hand stroking along Sam’s arm. It kept sending tingles through Sam’s body, like he was sixteen, making out with someone for the first time.

“You know, I’ve got secret spy shit to get back to,” Bucky warned, teasing and light.

“Uh-huh,” Sam agreed. “That why you’re in the city?”

“Yeah. Gotta pay off a few senators.”

Sam rolled his eyes and leaned down to kiss Bucky again, traveling from his mouth to his jaw to his neck, while Bucky hiked up Sam’s shirt until Sam finally relented and helped him get it off. Then Bucky’s hands were all over his chest. In an instant, their positions were flipped again. This time, Bucky didn’t put his weight on Sam. He was on his knees and his forearms so he could kiss across Sam’s chest.

Sam had forgotten how this felt too. Every brush of Bucky’s lips, a little chapped, beard a little rough, was sending zings of pleasure through Sam’s body that were lighting up every nerve in him. He pushed his fingers in Bucky’s hair to keep him close, not that that seemed to be a problem.

“You are so fuckin’ hot,” Bucky breathed against a birthmark on Sam’s ribs.

And it made Sam laugh, one sharp burst. “Hot? You’re all old-timey and that’s the best you can do?”

“Lookin’ at you? It’s the truth. God, you make me dizzy, Sam. You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands to myself. I’ve wanted to know what you feel like for months.” He licked a stripe along the birthmark and then resumed his nearly biting kisses.

Sam arched into the touch. He didn’t want this part to end. He could live in this moment, the rasp of Bucky’s mouth and the building pleasure low in his stomach, until it got to be too much. Even then, he’d still ask for more.

The kisses traveled from his birthmark to his stomach, to the open spread of his jeans. Then Bucky was back up by his neck, hiding his face behind Sam’s jaw as he nearly begged, “Sam, please, can I?”

Sam nodded helplessly, desperately. The star death explosion was filling in the spaces between his ribs, chasing after Bucky’s kisses, his touch. It needed to go somewhere else. He let go of Bucky’s hair and the spot on his waist he’d been clutching, so he could shove his jeans down out of the way, kick them off his ankles.

Bucky followed, their hands tangling as they both tried to work pants that were honestly too tight over tense muscle past trembling desire.

“You know what you’re doing, Barnes?” Sam asked a little drily, to hide his own nervous energy. The star was sparking his stomach, sending fiery butterflies skittering along him.

Bucky kind of cocked his head and twitched an eyebrow. He’d sat up a little, putting weight back on his knees as he looked at Sam. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, not that much’s changed.”

Read the rest on ao3

[galactic-knightmare]

Posting my old Sonic art Part 1

mm tasty tasty poll numbers lmao

Anyway lets start this off with the AU that I still haven't finished! (I might finish it later but we'll see)(Ya'll get to see the deformed squids that used to be how I drew hands lmao...)

Unfortunately I never finished Rouge's bio thingy, but now that like, ya know, I'm hyperfixating again I might end up redoing all this.(We'll see)

All of these are back before I decided on my preferred name, so their all signed Fidget or Fluffeh-Shiba instead. like shit, I'm not sure I even knew I was ace yet back then lmao (I figured that out when I was in the middle of making my Lifesize shadow plushie, so maybe inbetween the classic drawings and the bios?) its still the exact same style of signature though, with the white letters and magenta outer glow. (some of this older art in the folder has the super old signature on it though, from before I started dating my art lmao)

ANYWAY since I just threw a bunch of AU art at ya'll, lemme explain some bits of it! Its a swap au (obvs) with mainly Team Sonic and Team Dark, but also with a lot of other characters that I never got around to drawing the stuff for. Essentially, Sonic and Shadow were both on the Ark, with Shadow having just been created (he was a smol babums) and Sonic just living on the ark/being adopted by the scientists. the Ark raid still happened, and like in Canon Maria got Shadow to an escape pod thing, but, ya know, died. Sonic this time was the one traumatized, and GUN, thinking he was the ultimate lifeform (he wasn't) put him in the stasis chamber, eventually leading to SA2 (my favorite game not even gonna lie- not my first game though, that was Sonic Forces) the lifepod for whatever reason had stasis stuff too (Plot convenience!) and the baby was in there for fifty years until it's systems started failing, waking him up. Vanilla, while out in the forest, heard the angy baby noises and investigated, finding said baby and decided "Oh hey, free baby!" and Cream ends up with an older brother when she's born. the original idea was that Vanilla dies at some point, thus making the two orphans like how Sonic and Tails canon are (or at least not around parents? dunno if their actually orphans. the basic idea is that fuck no Vanilla would not want her kids doing dangerous shit so I had to get her out of the picture) but tbh I might be able to think of something else? I can't just pull a disney and kill everyone's parents... (not to mention I like Vanilla and Cream...) eventually the big bad (not Egg) pops in. everything is business as usual (baby Shadow running deliveries for people) and Cream ends up coming across a Chaos Ruby (phantom ruby swapped). the big bad, who I had only called The Traveller so far (I know who it is obvs I just never said it cause baby me wanted to be like OHO REVEAL TIME BITCHES) ended up kidnapping her because he wanted the ruby, thus starting the regular sonic storylines. Rouge and Knuckles are also swapped obvs. Rouge is the last of a bat tribe that lived on Angel island and protected the Master Ruby. She's still obsessed with treasure, she just tends to be guarding the ruby so it's not as obvious. Knuckles is a GUN agent and owns a bar, later ending up with two impulsive blue hedgehogs for a team (Sonic and Metal, who's swapped with Omega.) Theres more obvs, like how the Superforms are silver now instead of gold and such. (I think Blaze and Amy were swapped???) Eggman was kidnapped by The Traveller somewhere at the start before eventually being rescued (probably somewhere around SA2/Heroes) and ended up being the adopted Uncle of Team Shadow (He's a semi-responsible adult. responsible enough to be concerned and all but Eggman-enough to be like "hmm teenagers in dangerous situations fighting demons? thats normal.") Anywhere theres more but like, I'm tired of typing this out honestly and my attention span is failing again LMAO so here have the WiP of my Shadow design in the new style I'm trying out

Shadow with three eyes my beloved (I still haven't seen the third movie or played the new generations...)

[futurewdclandonorris]

Lap Dance | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: basically smut, lots of babygirl I guess

A/N: decided to try myself in this writing stuff and this has been sitting in my wips folder since January. I have a lot more for Lando and Pierre written so let me know if you'd want them. Also, English is not my first language :)

It was close to midnight and George and you were just coming back from the restaurant where you celebrated your two years anniversary. You both were a little tipsy; George struggled a bit with unlocking the door of your apartment and you just stood giggling beside him. Finally, the key clicked and he let you inside first.

"You looked absolutely gorgeous tonight." he said, looking you from up and down as he turned to face you. He walked up to you, grabbing you into his embrace and resting his hands on your hips.

"You looked good too." you whispered, looking up at him and pulling him by his suit jacket.

"Oh yeah?" he inquired, your noses brushing against each other.

You nodded and let him kiss you there in the hallway. Shortly, your kiss turned into a full make out session and you had to stop him when he reached underneath your red dress because you already had something else planned in mind.

"George," you breathed, your eyes closed, as he traced kisses down your neck. "I have something for you."

"Mhm, I'm sure you do..." he mumbled as he tried to kiss you again, but you placed your hands on his chest giving him a little push. He groaned, making you chuckle, but obliged.

"Come with me. But first, let's get you out of this jacket." he raised his eyebrows in wonder, but let you slid your hands down his arms to undress him.

You took his hand and led him to the living room where you sat him down on the couch. He looked up at you with his big eyes. You pressed a finger against his lips, disabling him from any words of protest.

"Now, be a good boy and wait for me to get ready." he quickly nodded his head looking up at you and not even blinking.

You smiled and ran a finger across his jawline. You went to the bathroom where you had already prepared a set of lacy lingerie and a robe. You touched upon your hair and makeup real quick before going back to the living room and played some sensual music to set the mood. Since you were coming from behind him, the sudden noise caused him to snap his head to the right. You walked over to him, placing your hands on his shoulders.

"It's me." you whispered into his neck before planting a soft kiss. You felt him tense, smiling satisfactorily to yourself.

You walked around the couch in front of him to see that he has also gotten comfortable. He was sitting back on the couch with his dress shirt half undone and arms and legs spread open. You bit hard on your lower lip. Shit, you should be the one in charge here, but seeing him on display like that made you want to commit to him instantly. You tried not to let that distract you from what you have planned to do. With regained confidence, you walked forward a bit. His eyes scanned you from head to toe and you noticed his breath deepening.

"You look amazing, babygirl." he breathed, his eyes lingering on your figure.

You started playing with the rope that was loosely keeping your robe together while walking even closer to him.

"You think so?" you asked, voice low, as you stood in between his legs now, towering over him with your robe fully open.

"Y-yes." his eyes fell from your face to your chest.

"Good." you smirked, straightening yourself and walking away from him.

You took the robe off of your shoulders and looked over at him, back still facing him. Shimmying your way out of the rest of it, you tossed it away and turned to fully face him. His breath hitched now that you were standing half exposed in front of him.

"Now," you started as you slowly made your way back to him "we are going to set some ground rules."

"Mhm," he licked his lips "and what are those, babygirl?" he reached to touch you and bring you closer to him, but you stopped him halfway.

"First one is," you said as you got a hold of his wrists "you can look, but you can't touch." you pinned his hands on each side of him. "And the second," you leaned closer to his face and brought a knee up to his crotch and started working it. "you can't get hard."

"You're making some impossible rules, honey." he let out a shaky laugh.

"If you do, I'll stop." you stopped moving your knee just to make the point even more clear. He gulped and nodded. "Good boy." George loved praise, you could see his eyes rolling back.

You let go of his hands and walked away from him once more. He adjusted himself on the couch, spreading his arms on the back of it as if to say come and get me.

Oh, and I will George Russell, you just wait.

You unclasped your bra and put a hand over one cup to keep it in place while slowly removing the straps off your shoulders. George's gaze darkened as you stood there with your bra being loosely supported with just your hands. You shimmied a bit, moving only your upper body, before you let the bra just fall off. He took a deep breath in, his eyes travelling all over your naked torso as if he's seeing it for the first time. His fingertips started dancing on the couch surface and you knew he was itching to touch you.

You flashed him a smile and took your time walking back to him, one foot in front of the other. Once you were near him, you looked at him with intention. His lips were slightly apart and his chest visibly moving up and down. Your eyes roamed around his body for a bit before you looked into his eyes again with a smirk. You crouched down in front of him, placing your hands on each of his knees. You moved your hand up, caressing his thighs, feeling his muscles twitch under your palms, over his stomach and up his chest to his shoulders. You straightened up and placed your legs on each of his sides, straddling him, but not sitting on his lap. He licked his lips and you felt his breath hit your chest.

"Please..." he looked at you with hooded eyes.

"Please what baby?" you slowly swayed your hips, playing with his collar and teasing him.

"Please, let me kiss you." he breathed, closing his eyes.

You leaned your face forward and he was ready, ready to capture your lips with his, but in the last moment you changed direction, grazing over his cheek with your lips to his earlobe.

"No can do, babe." you whispered and noticed he was gripping the sofa rest which made you chuckle in his ear.

As quickly as you got on, you got off him. You walked away unbothered, but not as far as before. You took your time, sensually moving your body to the rhythm of the music, giving him something to look at. You played with the ends of your thongs before you bent down and took them off completely without previous warning. You could hear him take a sharp breath in.

"Shit, baby..." he gasped at the sight in front of him.

You gave him a quick glance over my shoulder, your body still bent down. You stepped out of your panties, gave him a little bit more of a slow dance before you made your way backwards to him. You sat on the couch in between his legs with your back still turned to him. You started working your hips against him, leaning back over his chest and feeling his breath on your neck. Soon, you could feel something hard pressing on your lower back. You stopped moving and got up.

"No, come back..." he pleaded.

You turned around and looked at him. He was in desperate state, his head hanging back and unable to control himself any longer.

"You broke the rule, baby. I told you I would stop."

"I know, I'm sorry..." he was almost panting. "I'll try to behave, just please..." he was completely at your mercy now.

You pretended to give it a thought when you already knew what you were going to do next. You went back to him, straddled him, but still not sitting fully on his lap.

"That's all nice to hear, but I still think I'll have to punish you, baby." you whispered in his ear.

"Yes," he started rapidly nodding his head. "you can punish me. You can do whatever you want with me. Please." his breathing was heavy.

And then finally, you sat your ass on his lap. He did soften a little.

"Oh my god..." he groaned and you guessed that was a sigh of relief.

You started grinding your hips against him. You knew he wouldn't last much longer and it didn't matter anymore.

"Shit, baby, I don't know how much longer I can put it off..." he started squirming like he was trying to get away from you. You stopped moving to let him catch some breath.

"It's okay, George. It doesn't matter anymore." you caressed a side of his face.

"It doesn't?" he looked at you in wonder.

You shook your head, cupped his face and kissed him. His body prompted up, but then stood still unsure should he move or not.

"It's okay, George, you can touch me now." you smiled against his lips.

"I-I can?" he stuttered and you nodded your head. "Wow, I, uh, I don't know where to start." he nervously laughed.

"Let me help you a bit." you chuckled and took his hands. "You can start here." you placed them on your waist and his fingers curled around your warm skin. His palms started moving up your sides, over your boobs and around your neck. "It's your reward for doing so good. You've been so good to me, George." you said, feeding his praise kink and losing yourself in sensation his touch was giving you.

"You are so perfect, babygirl." he whispered against your lips before closing the gap between you.

Soon you started making out and your hips thrusted on their own. His hands were all over your body, grabbing your boobs, pinching your nipples, squeezing and slapping your ass. He placed kisses down your jaw and neck, over your chest to your boobs. He sucked and nibbed on your nipples while you were going crazy on top of him. You could even feel him grow again from under you.

"George..." you breathed, your fingers lost in his hair. He parted from you and licked his lips.

"Should we move this to the bedroom?" he looked up at you.

Unable to speak, you just nodded your head. He wrapped his arms around you firmly and lifted you up. Your legs immediately curled around his waist and he carried you to the bedroom. He softly put you down on the bed, towering over and admiring you.

"I've waited all night for this." his hands caressed your body. "And you had some nerve teasing me." he smirked.

"Was it worth it?" you asked.

"It was so worth it, babygirl. You were so good for me." he started leaving pepper kisses down your body as he spoke. "You were so good, babygirl, it would be a shame not to reward you." he kissed down your stomach, sinking lower and lower.

You gulped. He put his hands on your knees and spread them open. He begun kissing his way in on one leg and then the other. You gasped when you felt him suck on the skin of your inner thigh. He knew you loved marks and hickeys. He pulled away, admiring his work.

"It's gonna look so beautiful in the morning, babe." he then moved his attention to your core. "Ooh, babygirl, you don't even need much preparing. All this wetness just for me?" he chuckled and slid his fingers over your center.

You moaned at the contact. He proceeded to circle his fingertips around your clit, drawing figure eights, going slow then faster until you were a whining mess.

"Oh, George, please..." you panted.

"Please what, babygirl?" he perked up.

"Please... Finger me, please." you barely choked out.

"If that's what my babygirl wants, my babygirl gets." he pushed one finger inside of you and your eyes rolled back. He fingerfucked you with one hand and teased your clit with the other. You were only able to moan his name at that point.

"More," you uttered somehow.

"What? What was that?" he urged you to repeat yourself.

"More, George, please..." you cried.

"Oh, my babygirl is ready for more." he smirked as he slid another finger inside. You let out a moan and arched your back. He was so good with his fingers. "I think you're ready." before you could ask him what he meant by that, you already felt the warmth of his mouth closing in on you.

You squirmed and your legs automatically shut he needed his arm to keep them open. He sucked and lapped his tongue around you, his fingers picking up the pace. He knew you were reaching your climax as your moans grew louder and louder.

"Are you going to be a good girl and come for me, babygirl?" he asked in between licks.

"Yes..." you gritted, pulling on his hair, your hips uncontrollably going up and down, grinding on his face.

"Then do it." he commanded and you released. You came all over his fingers. "Oh, baby, look at the mess you made." he said, removing out and showing you his dripping fingers. You could only pant and look at him in your bliss. "You did so good. I'm so proud of you." he leaned forward to kiss you.

You kissed for a while and you took that to your advantage. You flipped you over, where now you were on top and had him crucified under you. He laughed, loving the way you played the dom. You circled your hips just to see how he was doing down there, but there was no need. You could already feel him. You unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, tossing it behind and attacking his torso with kisses until you reached his waistband. You palmed his bulge with one hand and undid the button with the other. You took the zipper between your teeth and pulled it down, keeping eye contact. That had George roll his eyes back and rest his head on the mattress. In quick motion, you had both his pants and boxers pulled down and his member standing straight in front of you.

Even after two years, his size continues to surprise you. You took it in your hands, giving it a few pumps before you licked him all the way from the shaft to the tip. George threw his head back once again, moaning. You circled your tongue around his tip before fully taking it in your mouth. He audibly gasped. His fingers quickly removed your hair that fell forward, giving you more access. You bobbed your head up and down, still warming up to take him all the way in while George was gripping your hair and giving praises left and right. You looked up at him through your lashes. The boy was in another dimension right now. Well, you were about to send him to another one. You took a deep breath in, preparing yourself for what is about to come, and sank your head down all the way to his balls. He moaned so loud you thought neighbors from the building across the street could hear him. He held your head in place for a few moments before letting you lift your head up. You took a much needed breath before you could start working on him again, but he stopped you.

"No, no, no," he whined and cupped your face "if you do that again I'll be coming down your throat in five seconds. And I want to fuck you." he kissed you. "I need to fuck you. I need to feel you. Now." he kissed you again.

You nodded and reached for the nightstand drawer. You pulled out a condom, ripped it open with your mouth and rolled it onto George's dick. You positioned yourself above him and slowly slid down. You both let out a shaky breath when the tip disappeared inside of you. He held your hips, guiding you further down.

"There we go, baby, all the way in. You're taking it so well." he moaned when you fully sat on him.

You rocked your hips back and forth before you started bouncing up and down. You took George's hands and made him hold your boobs while you rode him. Your movements started to slow down a little and he noticed, making you lay on his chest while he took over. He thrusted into you until you could no longer even form moans. Your mouth just silently hung open. Soon that pit in your stomach started forming again as you were reaching your second orgasm of the night. You dig your nails into George's shoulder.

"You close?" he breathed. You could only nod your head in response. "I feel it, you're clenching around me." he hissed and fastened his movements. "On three?" you nodded your head again and he kissed your temple as he begun to countdown.

On three you both finished at the same time. You plopped down on George's chest with your full weight, catching your breath. He caressed your hair, his cock still twitching inside of you.

"You did so good, baby." he kissed the top of your head. "Thank you for tonight."

You prompted yourself up just enough to face him. "No, thank you. You've been amazing the whole day today. Sending flowers to my work place and the gift waiting for me in the apartment." you traced your finger across his face.

"I try to give you everything, babygirl." he kissed the back of your hand.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Now, let's get cleaned up and go to bed, okay?" he removed a strand of your hair and kissed you quickly.

You giggled and nodded your head. He picked you up in his arms once again and carried you to the bathroom.

[oros-ash3s]

WIP Folder Tag ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

This was requested by @theink-stainedfolk <3 Thanks for the wait and thanks for being so curious about my WIPS ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა

“(Not so cursed) Cursed Polycule” is not a WIP to a drabble or chapter of mine, but instead a doc I was working on to figure out Odesa, Ryuji, and Dior’s relationship inside Metamorphosis.

I felt it had begun to feel a little plain and neglected, so I wanted to figure out how they interact with each other and why they get along so well.

Here’s a little excerpt on their backstory:

Dior arrived at the Sector shortly after. Ryuji and Odesa were both 13 by then, the bestest of friends, and had well-adapted to their lives at the headquarters. Ryuji had been spending his time working alongside his mother, Ophelia, in the infirmary, when a particular new recruit caught his eye. 

Dior, upon arriving at the base, was terrified. Everything was so bright and new, so very unlike the constraints of the basement that they had come to know. Stuck inside the infirmary, the other doctors scared them. Although at first they were soft, with sweet as honey promises and reassurances, when their tactics did not alleviate the child’s stress, their patience very quickly grew short. Someone who was so scared of a place like the infirmary meant they had no chance surviving inside the Division, a place built upon blood and war.

But Ryuji was unlike the others inside the infirmary. Younger and with a softer, unburdened heart, due to his youth, he was slow with Dior. He did not push or prod, helping keep them both calm yet doing what was needed to improve their condition.

He quickly earned their trust, leading Dior to utter the first words they’d spoken in a long time. As the months passed on in the infirmary, the two began to become fast friends, growing immensely close despite their differences. It was a nice change, to the two lonely souls.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Me when they have childhood rivalry” is a part two to this WIP, and basically was a fic idea I head for Ryuji and Odesa’s backstory.

It takes place when they’re both around 9 or 10, and shows how their relationship started off kind of rocky. Personally I love it because in canon (due to Yara being the narrator most of the time), you don’t get to see Ryuji’s softer, more caring side.

Ryuji does not know what exactly compels him to do this. He shouldn’t have to. Anyone else would leave, abandon her here. This isn’t any of his business, shouldn’t ever be any of his business. Odesa Alves has made his life a living hell since the moment she stepped into his classroom so many months ago, why should he ever offer her grace and do something so vulnerable as comfort her?

But Ryuji finds himself sitting next to her anyway. Maybe a part of him knows he doesn’t really believe that, when Odesa has not truly ever hurt him, not in the ways that count.

And maybe it’s the fact that she is not so different from him after all. He knows how she is feeling right know, the humiliation and shame an emotion that has followed him around for too many years to count. He knows what it’s like, and he knows that as annoying as Odesa can be, nobody deserves this.

Odesa does not look up at him, even when he scoots into the alcove beside her. They are squished close, something Ryuji rarely allows, even with Aster. There is something different about this time though, this change in the air — the silence in his head. He doesn’t mind the feel of her clothes against his, doesn’t mind the shake of her sobs. He wonders if she feels the same.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Meet Ryuji” is a WIP from Metamorphosis that I actually already posted a snippet of a little while back. You can read that HERE.

It takes place when Aster and Yara first come to the Seventh Sector, and serves as Ryuji’s proper introduction. (Though he may perhaps show up beforehand….)

Here’s a new excerpt to that:

“Ryuji!”

“I said to shut the fuck—“ The boy whipped over in their direction, expression twisted up into a snarl, rage lingering beneath his features. A dark swirling eye then landed on Aster, standing with his usual wide smile, Yara cowering behind him, and his face softened. “Oh.” He mumbled, appearing to be almost sheepish. “It’s you.”

Aster laughed hard, eyes brightening. “Man, don’t try and sound too happy to see me.” He skipped over to the boy, opening his arms wide. “Where’s my hug at?”

Ryuji rolled his eyes. “Don’t you start.” He huffed, leaning over his paperwork once more.

Aster just laughed, taking no offence to his clipped, and rather harsh, tone. He clapped the taller boy on the back, laughing good-naturedly. There was a certain excitement inside his eyes, gleaming within the gold, that Yara had never seen present before. She wondered how he could’ve known this mystery boy. And why he’d never mentioned him before. “C’mon, I know you missed me.”

“You wish.” Ryuji grumbled, scribbling something down onto one of his array of papers. “Oh, don’t be like that, you old grump.” Aster flicked him absent-mindedly, turning back to Yara with a smile and waving her over.

“Yara, come on in!” He called, grinning. “We don’t bite— or at least, I don’t.” He added with a snicker, moving to lay his body weight against Ryuji, causing the boy to stumble. He shot Aster a quick glare, jabbing him in the ribs. “Quit.”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Aster whispered in a sing-songy tone, laughing again. He turned his attention back towards Yara, still not forgetting about her despite his excitement. “Yara, this is Ryuji,” he said, mussing up the boy’s already dishevelled mop of hair. “My baby brother.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Run Boy Run” is a WIP from What Lies Below. It’s an idea I had for a to-be chapter two of the story, and takes place in the past, offering exposition and backstory for the events that took place in the prior chapter.

It would centre around Crow, the second primary main character of the story. It’s about his life on the run as a teen, and how he came to this live in his tiny little apartment downtown.

Here’s an excerpt of that:

December, 1987–

The boy was always good at running.

He couldn’t recall a time when he hadn’t been fast, flighty. It seemed from birth this very notion had been written into his bones, coded into his very genes. He was good at running, good at escaping. To a boy born with a target on his back, he had to be. There was no other way of survival.

Running had kept him alive up until now. Against all odds, it was the thing that had his back, through it all. In the face of betrayal and hatred, he would always depend on it. For it had protected him, sheltered him. Kept him safe.

He was not built for a life of luxuries, of relaxation. He had made his peace with that. For a split second he was almost fooled by the idea of shelter and warmth, but he understands now. The days of sleeping, of home-cooked foods and soft smiles under the sunlit mornings: Those are times he can never return to.

But shivering in the cold, hiding in a corner clouded deep in black shadows, the boy could still not stop himself from dreaming, for wishing. A different time, of youth and freedom. A time where he had somewhere to call his own.

Death would have been a more merciful fate than this.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Felix and Reagan save me” is a fic idea I had for my WIP Saudade. If you’ve never heard about it before don’t worry because I’ve only vague-posted about it once.

The story is about two siblings, Felix and Reagan Rodriguez. From the outside, their life is seemingly normal, despite the hardships the two young people have had to face since the passing of their parents. A dedicated older sister doing her best to raise her baby brother and get through her online classes. And a rambunctious but good-hearted teen, with an eye for photography and sports.

But as the two move yet again, and Felix starts to make friends, it becomes suddenly very apparent to the other folks in their town: Not everything is as normal as it appears on the surface.

Felix and Reagan have a secret. And it may threaten to put the lives of everyone around them in danger.

The snippet takes place near the end of the story:

Not a day has passed where Reagan hasn’t thought of Felix.

She has not seen him in years. Years that have not been kind to either him or her, nights spent searching for a boy who did not want to be saved wearing both of them down. They are not close to who they were at the start of this, before the rumours and the gossip fully caught up to them. She fears they’ll never be those naive kids again, stuck in the belief that they’ll really make it in this world that is so set against them.

Reagan wonders if they would’ve ended up right here now, if things had been different. She wonders, for a split second, where they’d be. If she was stronger. If she was an easier person to love, a better parent. A proper sister. She wonders—

Would he have stayed?

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Toxic yaoi” was a fic idea I had for my (more neglected) WIP Golden Veins. Without giving away too many spoilers, it’s a scene between one of the main villains, Rex, and one of the primary protagonists, Arcturus. I actually posted a snippet of it HERE for WIP Wednesday a while back.

In the scene Rex appears in Arcturus’ room, offering him a proposition for something that may well change everything Arcturus had thought his life to be.

Here’s an excerpt of that:

But the one thing, out of them all, that Arcturus didn’t think he’d ever be able to get over, even after months of them all, was the boy’s appearance. Unlike the prim and proper facade that he had grown to know the boy to be, his appearance now was the clear opposite of that.

A burst of electric blue hair, almost like a flame sitting atop his head, scarred brown skin the most ethereal shade of copper, and sharp, pointed features. Most noticeable out of them all, though, were his eyes. Silver and narrowed, eyeing Arcturus not if he was a person but instead a piece of meat, a meal for the boy to enjoy. It never failed to send a shiver down his back.

“What do you want?”

It has been weeks of this. This game the two seem to be trapped inside. This illusion they have been building, neither acknowledging it out loud. It is the first time that Arcturus has attempted to break the spell, spitting with a kind of terrified desperation the very words that the boy has been waiting to hear.

He grins, eyes flicking back towards Arcturus’ face. He has trapped him, even if the other does not know it yet. This was a game of wits, a cat and mouse chase, and to someone so blissfully ignorant, Arcturus never had a chance of winning.

“Oh, so he finally speaks.” He smiles, thin-lipped. The piercing wrapped around his bottom lip glints, sparkling underneath the violet hues of midnight. He has already won, and he knows it.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Icarus fell” also has to do with Arcturus! Although fairly rough due to me losing interest in it, the scene was supposed to showcase Arcturus’ downfall through the lens of his sister Evangeline.

The context for it is pretty spoilery so I won’t give too much away, just know that Arcturus is definitely an “Icarus” kind of character. Also, he originally had wings, like in the myth with Icarus.

Evangeline is stopped in her tracks.

Throughout all her years on this job, of all the horror and gore and terror she has witnessed, this is the first thing to truly scare her. Anything else she can lock in a compartment in the back of her mind, quickly pushing it to the side. Out of sight, out of mind.

But this? This is something entirely different. Something that Evangeline isn’t sure she’ll be able to stomach. Something that she is not even sure is reality, appearing before her very eyes.

Because only mere feet away, standing with a kind of reverence radiating off of him, stands her newly-deceased brother.

And he is hanging off of the arm of the very man that had ripped the two apart.

taglist \\ @ohagiwrites @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords

[sparklee-gem]

Oh bee tee double u,

@kaitheenbydoesthings tagged me in a Heads up, Seven Up tag game but I somehow totally missed it until now

Im guessing I just post a current snippet; in typical Lee fashion I am late to posting my Mobium Work, SO I’ve been grinding out that

But since I’ve been sharing that a lot lately, and to make up for never posting anything and responding to this late, I’ll be posting a few from different works I’ve been meaning to get back to after this project is done… if any peak your interest lemme know 🤔

Snippet from “House Party” WIP

On the other side of the main living area, Atem is scrambling to find and melt back into his friend group.

As soon as he’s out of Yugi’s sight, Atem had practically thrown himself down the stairs to get away. As calm and cool as he managed to appear before Yugi, it was an absolute bluff; he had no idea where that boldness of his came from and while it was incredibly enjoyable, he doesn't want to deal with the aftermath of that heated encounter. Nothing was going to come from this, so he didn’t see the point in embarrassing himself by lingering around.

He finds his friends by the entrance thankfully, but when he rushes out “alright, I think it’s time to go” they feel the need to question. Honestly, they’re awful getaway accomplices.

Snippet from “Two Player” WIP

Yugi leans in and kisses Atem’s shoulder, moves an inch closer to his neck and repeats the action, then pauses to study Atem’s face.

Atem keeps his attention on the game, clearly receptive enough to the small affections that he doesn’t pull away, but he isn’t engaging further than allowing what Yugi’s doing.

Yugi checks just to be sure. “You don’t wanna..?”

“Partner, if I’m allowed to be perfectly honest, I would love to,” But. “but I would really like to keep playing here.” He lifts up the screen so Yugi can see, but Yugi doesn’t look, too focused on Atem’s gorgeous eyes that finally looked up and made eye contact. “See, I’m at the final dungeon.”

Snippet from “Android Fragment AU” WIP

Yuugi was about to panic, scream probably, before he caught sight of a minor detail: a part of the person’s face exposed metal; not flesh. He let out a shaky exhale, immediately feeling drained from the sudden rush of adrenaline. Knowing there wasn’t a human corpse in front of him, he leaned in again to properly inspect the discarded android in front of him.

And lastly here’s a snippet from Porcelain, a multi chapter WIP

At this he frowns. “I’m not a babysitter, Kaiba.”

“He’s your age, you know.”

That shocks Atem into a full stop. “That can’t be true.”

Kaiba picks up and opens a folder he had at the corner of his desk. It has the Domino Criminal Department logo on it, meaning he probably paid one of his guys in the system to pull it up and send it to him.

“Mutou Yuugi, age 25, born and raised in Domino City,” he recites. “Age 16 at the time of his disappearance, has not been seen since. No criminal behavior previously recorded, and his family and friends were distraught at his sudden disappearance. Determined uncharacteristic for him to have left of his own accord. Authorities suspect he was trafficked by or into underground circles. Case dropped after no further leads.” Kaiba glances up from the file, looking bored.

And many many more in the WIP Vault 😭

(no pressure) Tagging @daisytealeaves @radioapple-heathen and @omecat for a fic snippet you may wanna share!

And of course I invite any mutuals who haven’t done this yet to share a snippet of whatever you’re working on!

[sorrygotthesesacks]

I was just thinking of older sebek and silver as malleus’s knights but dating/married. Them working together, training together, living together. Nothing changed too much from when they were at NRC. They still argue a bit, Sebek still tries to best Silver in fights, and Silver still uses Sebek as his personal pillow, but anyone who knows them well knows they are even more inseperable than they were before.

I like to imagine if/when they got married their rings are reminiscent of each other: Sebek’s ring is silver with an iridescent gem while Silver’s is gold with a green jewel. I also feel like Silver would be ready to get married earlier but Sebek would be apprehensive about it because of their duties and Silver would never try to force him. Sebek eventually realizes (after seeing his parent’s love for each other as his dad grows older) that Silver is the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

idk these two occupy my brain too much and I blame your fics for the brainrot 😂. I love silbek/sebesil fluff

I absolutely believe this is how they end up, and I tried to show a tiny sneak peek of this sort of thing in my "sorta kinda Christmas Carol AU" fic with the glimpse of Solstice Yet To Come.

I think that after all they have been through together, they will never find anyone else who is exactly the person they want and who they need. They just get each other. And nothing really changes (except for the kissing and physical intimacy - both of which also tend to be competitive, but they both enjoy it).

One of the things I think about when I think of these two is that they are that couple who is "dating but doesn't know it" because they do spend a lot of time together. They are both working toward the same goal; they both have the same dedication toward Malleus - except that Sebek also expresses it much more openly and fiercely.

Sebek views Malleus as the ideal, the perfect fae, the one he admires above all - but Silver is the one by his side, understanding that (even if he has to tell Sebek to tamp down his emotional outbursts).

I think of Sebek's birthday jacket vignette, when he is asked who he would choose to be on a deserted island with - but it can't be someone from his dorm. When he laments not being able to choose from his dorm, it's because he can't pick Silver, someone who will hasten his ability to return to Malleus' side. He doesn't think of being stranded on this island with Malleus himself!

So when they both graduate, and they are in the Royal Guards together, they will end up married at some point. Is their first kiss when they see each other in their official Briar Valley guard uniforms? Is it when Lilia and Malleus leave NRC and Silver and Sebek take over the roles of housewarden and vice housewarden? When Silver is leaving for his internship? When Sebek graduates? One day when they have just finished training, and they just look at each other, gravitate toward each other?

Regardless of when it happens, and if anything changes after their first kiss, I think that they already picture themselves together as guards, and that they cannot pictures themselves with anyone else. That what they feel for each other is more than admiration.

Sebek has the benefit of seeing the love between his parents, but he is more prone to being in denial than Silver. Silver is one of action, but I think that Sebek would find it within himself to write his own vows, or to find it within himself to profess his love (he would totally write Silver a missive! And he probably does, when Silver is on his internship which is a whole other WiP in my folder.)

I love the idea of their rings being reminiscent of each other. It's a subtle, romantic thing. If they can't wear them on their fingers while on duty, they would wear them on their belts or somewhere practical - a symbol that they don't need, to show that they are committed to each other, but one that they enjoy having.

I am more than happy to be responsible for the brainrot! I just cannot see them with anyone else because no one else will ever live up to each other's expectations or understand one another so perfectly.

Thanks for the ask and for the mental image of Silver and Sebek wearing their wedding rings!

(Also because I am all about the fluff, I work out machinations in my head that either Sebek ages as a normal human, since he has so far aged as one, or that, if he does have a longer lifespan, so does Silver, as some sort of lingering effect of the spell he's under. Angst, begone! 😉)

[djarins-cyare]

Jem, my beautiful wife-sister

I've just come around to your WIP folder post and let's just say there are a few titles that absolutely intrigue me.

5 Accidental Innuendoes + 1 Oblivious Bounty Hunter

I have a sneaking suspicion this is about our husband Din 'lives under a rock' Djarin

also the evil clone thing has me curious tbh.

Pleaaase tell me more

Love you

Wolke, my love! I’m so sorry it took me forever to reply to your ask; please accept this humble answer addressing both WIP Folder entries you were interested in as an act of contrition for my tardiness!

Okay, for the first WIP…

5 Accidental Innuendoes + 1 Oblivious Bounty Hunter

I haven’t written much of this yet, but I have plotted out the dialogue for each of the 5 innuendoes, so I thought I’d share that with you. It reads like a script at the moment, but I’ll be adding prose later on.

Basically, AFAB Reader joins Din for some missions, and you’re totally right in that our adorably naïve husband seems to have absolutely no idea what’s going on whenever he inadvertently says something that could be misconstrued and Reader turns it into something flirty…

Reader: You walked here? Din: I came in my ship. Reader: *snorts* I hope you cleaned up after. Din: What? Reader: Never mind.

Reader: What’s Nal Hutta like? Din: You won’t like it. Reader: Why? Din: It’s very… moist. Reader: *snorts* How do you know I won’t like somewhere moist? Din: Do you? Reader: Do you like moist places, Mando? Din: Why are you saying it like that? Reader: Saying what like what? Din [mimicking suggestive emphasis]: …Moist. Reader: *falls about laughing*

Din: I’m gonna need you to blow it. Reader: You need it, do you? Din: Yeah, can you? Reader: Can I blow it? Din: Yeah. Reader: Oh Mando, I’m the best at blowing. You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced how well I can blow something when asked nicely. Din: So… that’s a yes? Reader: Only if you say please. Din: …Please. Reader: *gestures for the whole sentence* Din: *sighs* Please will you blow it? Reader: My pleasure.

Din: There are three positioned along the shaft. I’ll take them from behind one-by-one. Reader: *snorts* You can handle all three? Din: I’ve taken on more simultaneously and come out on top. Reader: You’re totally fucking with me now, right? Din: *stares in helmetese* We practised with multiple partners in the fighting corps – I’ve been able to take at least four at once since I was a teenager. Reader: Someone’s got a big ego. Din: It’s not the size of my ego that makes me an expert at this. Reader: Now that I can believe.

Din [on comms]: It’s tight… I think I’m too big. Reader: Alright, big boy, stop showing off. Din [on comms]: I’m serious, I don’t think I’ll fit inside. Reader: *muffled laughs* Maybe if you lube yourself up a bit…? Din [on comms]: With what? There’s nothing I can use. Reader: Well, a bit of dirty talk usually gets me going… Din [on comms]: This is a stealth mission; they’ll hear me if I talk too loudly into the vent. And how would that help me fit inside? Reader: *outright guffawing* Mando, are you really so naïve that you’re not picking up on all this sexual innuendo? *awkward silence* Reader: Sorry, I shouldn’t have— Din [on comms as if he’s had an epiphany]: …Dirty talk, huh? Reader: Mm-hmm, especially through a modulator. Really gets me… moist. Din [on comms, low and sexy as fuck]: Good. Head to my location now – it should take you about three minutes. I’m gonna talk to you while you walk, and by the time you get here, I want your pussy so slick you can lube up my armour and help me fit into this vent. If you’re a good girl and do as I say, I’ll fuck you as a reward. Reader: *scrambles to exit the ship*

(Now you’re gonna wonder whether he honestly didn’t pick up on any innuendoes, or whether he did but was playing dumb because he couldn’t tell if it was genuine flirting or cruel teasing.)

And now for the second WIP…

Evil Clone Din Shitshow

I’m pleased you asked about this… it’s probably the most bonkers one on my list, but I’m not sure how much I can reveal because it’s full of twists and turns and I don’t want to spoil too much.

It started as a list of all the things I feared would happen in season 4 (when there was still a season 4), as well as the suspicion that in season 3 episode 2, The Mines of Mandalore, the cyborg mech that captured Din only drew his blood because it was programmed to by Gideon. Since Gideon was, of course, already on Mandalore at the time (unbeknownst to Din), he could’ve put many traps in place, and we know he (a) did lots of cloning experiments and (b) had a penchant for extracting blood from those he captured. As far as I can tell, there’s no particular reason for a cyborg to want Din’s blood for itself, so that being Gideon’s programming seems pretty logical to me.

The idea for the story is that Gideon didn’t only clone himself; once he realised it was Din’s blood he had, he cloned Din too. Those troopers in the white beskar armour that the Mandalorians battled in the final two episodes of season 3? Clones of Din. And yes, that means Din clones were the ones who forced Din to his knees and that he killed a load of his own doppelgängers in the hallway scene.

But they were all killed when Axe crashed the cruiser into the base, right? Yeah. All but one. One Evil Clone Din remains – he was offworld at the time, having been sent to retrieve the reconditioned Dr Pershing after Elia Cane smuggled him off Coruscant.

And yes, in true Star Trek TOS ‘Evil Spock’ fashion, Evil Din needs to have a proper goatee beard to distinguish him from Real Din. Evil Din takes his helmet off a whole lot more than Real Din. I love the fact that the Gideon we saw at the end of season 3 didn’t have a moustache like he did in seasons 1 and 2, which I’m choosing to take as a hint that he was a clone himself. So the real moustachioed Gideon is still alive and at large (but without a base), and his next nefarious plan is to use his last remaining Evil Din Clone to infiltrate the new Mandalorian society.

And this is easy to do because Real Din is currently living on Nevarro and taking Grogu on his ‘trials’ around the galaxy, AKA conveniently out of the way.

Now, I don’t want to give too much away, so I’ll just say the rest of the story involves elements of the following… but also, I might be purposely misinforming you about certain things to protect my secrets 😈:

There will be multiple OCs in this, and the story will be told from lots of different people’s perspectives, including known characters. Maybe several of them have feelings for Din (both Real and Evil versions).

Perhaps Evil Din gets romantic with Bo-Katan in order to infiltrate the new society at its highest level (I’m not a DinBo shipper, but I’m down for Din getting his rocks off occasionally, and bearing in mind this story grew from things I was thinking could happen in season 4, maybe this could be a way for the creators to satisfy DinBo stans while not tarnishing the reputation of Real Din in the eyes of those who dislike that pairing).

Perhaps Evil Din summons Real Din to Mandalore pretending to be Bo, and when Real Din knocks on her door, Evil Din answers (let’s say half naked… yeah, we’d like to see that), shoots Din, then gets in Real Din’s N1 (where Grogu is waiting for his dad) and flies off with the kid, leaving Bo to find Real Din (whom she assumes is the man she was just in bed with) dead in her doorway. She concludes the person who came to the door is the one who shot him, not the other way around.

Perhaps Evil Din delivers Grogu to Dr Pershing so he can continue the whole Project Necromancer banthashit and make it so Palpatine can eventually “somehow” return.

Grogu’s a smart kid, though, so perhaps he knows it’s not his dad who came back to the N1. Maybe there’s some scope for the kid saving the day in this…

And maybe there’ll be room for a debate on nature vs nurture and what makes someone ‘evil’…

Okay, that’s all you’re getting! Love you 🧡💜

[olath124]

WIP Wednesday whenever

@chevvy-ryder tagged me with this! Thank you berry much, it's been a while!

Tagging my sweet fellas! @ouroboros-hideout @barghest-ripperdoc @blackrevell @dustymagpie @sofia-in-nc

@kdval @streetkid-named-desire

What am I working on.... Nothing? Ok, I'm kidding. I kinda am doing a few pose packs... Too bad that when I have to get into the retargetting I loose every wish to live and kinda ughhh... So they'll probably stay in my unfinished mod's folder forevaaaaahhhhh!

But there are a few previews:

Much vintage, such drama.

Elroy is puking a little.

And the other weird and silly idea that I love sooooo much is the Corgi love package.

Yes. I found a rigged Corgi. Yes I'm giving Vlad the pet he deserves. And this is gonna be a male/female package only so maybe there's gonna be the a slight chance I'm gonna finish it some day. LOL don't fall for that.

On the Vio/NPV side... still tinkering with her. But I've finally managed to lock in the color and the hairstyles I wanted, thanks to Revé!

And also thanks to Rève (yes the accent is gonna change everytime) I've kinda learned to make garments! So the lady finally has the thorn bracelet she deserves!

And Roy will have his I love my daughter ring soon. Soon. (Now I'm puking a little.)

Fiction wise...

We are at CHAPTER 23 of Violad stuff...

Of course I barely published 1 chapter (I WRITE FAST AND TAKE MY SWEET SWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET TIME WITH EDITING, OK?). Maybe the second one will come up this week. Maybe. I'm kidding it will. Or not.

But here is where we are at right now:

“How do you feel?” She whispers while her hand slowly caresses his hair. He closes his eyes, as his arms tighten around her waist: “I'm fine.” Violet nods against his skin:  “Will you tell me about Gazelle one day?” Her voice is low and comforting.  Her words are stabs. “She's nothing.” His voice hardens. “She doesn't matter.” “Yet I'm probably not like her, in the slightest, right?” There's silence in his head. And the sudden silence he'd find comforting in another moment now leaves him helpless.  “Right.”  Violet detangles from his embrace and stands up. The voices should help him manage this. Spin the whole situation in the right direction. But there's still, only, silence. Only Violet's steps, as she reaches the door. Stops, almost turning to him for a moment.  Then simply leaves. 

Such two emos... (Yet love them so much ç_ç)

[aoxue]

For the WIP Folder Ask Game, I'm so curious about "Better run king!", Combs and "I Should Live in Salt", wait and also "Last Words of a Shooting Star". Feed me scraps plz :)

WIP Ask Game

Gladly! You already saw me talk a bit about the WIP known as Better run king! but I'll share another little excerpt:

Xiao Xingchen’s jaw clenched, and his grip on his sword tightened. He didn’t like any of this. He didn’t like Xue Yang running loose under the eye of the great sects. He didn’t like what the blood on his face suggested, or the fact that Xue Yang had evidently been looking for Xiao Xingchen, and found him. He didn’t like the feeling of standing in the middle of some unknown, baited trap, all while Xue Yang tried to divert him with his typical pseudo-friendly banter and easy, wicked grin. He didn’t like the sound of Song Lan’s name in that mouth.

Combs

This one and "I Should Live in Salt" are both post-Yi City songxiao, where Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing (alive) and Song Lan (a fierce corpse) have made it out and are at different stages of moving on with their lives. The unnamed comb story is newer and has less written, but it runs with the comb-giving practice introduced in CQL and featured with chengqing! Our trio are all reasonably well-adjusted a good while (a few years?) after Yi City, and Xiao Xingchen is in a place where he feels like he can focus on his developing romantic relationship with Song Lan. For all his progressive ideas and unorthodox existence, Song Lan is still a man who places some value on tradition in some ways, and Xiao Xingchen decides to put his woodcarving skills to work.

Xiao Xingchen pulls the little bundle of soft fabric out from inside his robes. “I care for you, Zichen. And I like you quite a lot. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you.” He finds Song Lan’s open hand, and he places the bundle in it. A hesitant moment passes before he hears the faint rustle of the fabric as Song Lan unwraps the comb within. Dead silence follows. Song Lan is no longer breathing. Face turning warm, Xiao Xingchen pushes on before he loses his nerve. “I wish to court you, Song Zichen. Properly, this time. As I should have from the start.”

I Should Live in Salt

This, meanwhile, takes place maybe a few months after leaving Yi City. None of the characters are in crisis mode, but everyone's still struggling, to some degree or another. Xiao Xingchen is still wrestling with a lot of quiet guilt around Song Lan's death and revival, and he and Song Lan are still trying to learn how to be around each other again -- they look after each other, there's a physical closeness, but they're never quite in sync the way they used to be. This is a hurt/comfort WIP where songxiao get to address some of the distance between them and bridge it. Featuring: letting your bestie examine the murder wounds he inflicted on you.

He finds what he's been looking for: the incision from which the cold curls out in blooming spirals, directly over Song Lan's heart. It's a short, thin puncture in the skin, little more than a sliver; Xiao Xingchen knows a twin mark kisses Song Lan's upper back. The cuts are unassuming, but they pulse with resentful energy. Xiao Xingchen can practically feel the sluggish, writhing darkness that has messily knit the muscle and sinew back together. Still, the cuts themselves are clean. They're exact, created expertly with a cold, emotionless precision. It makes Xiao Xingchen sick to his stomach.

Last Words of a Shooting Star

Another song title! Thank you, Mitski. This is actually almost ready to post. It's also possibly one of the meanest things I've written, so I keep hesitating. I'm personally of the opinion that Xiao Xingchen dealt with some pretty severe depression, including active suicidal ideation, for a while after the Baixue massacre. Like, years. His actual suicide wasn't completely of the blue, in my heart. This WIP is basically a character study looking at Xiao Xingchen through that particular lens. Bearing all that in mind, I'm keeping this excerpt on the less-heavy side with an A-Qing feature!

But then A-Qing had come along. Despite his protests, she invited herself into his life and nestled in like she belonged there and always had. Suddenly, there was someone who expected him to be there for her. Someone whom he could help, someone who would not be better off in another person’s care because there was no one else. A-Qing was a survivor, quick and wickedly clever, but that also occasionally led her into trouble. And she insisted that she needed him, whether or not Xiao Xingchen could believe that himself. But it was something more to hold onto and pull him through the bad days. She was something more. She still is.

[nicnacsnonsense]

Went into my WIP folder and found this, which I have zero recollection of writing and no idea where I was going with it other than that it was obviously intended to be some kind of reunion fic written before ofmd s2 came out. No way am I going to finish it, but I kind of like the vibe of it still, so here.

*~*

It should have been explosive, their reunion. Good explosive or bad explosive, fighting or fucking, crying, screaming, kissing, something, it should have been explosive.

It was awkward.

"I like your beard," Ed offers.

He does not. It's fine as far as beards go, but it's not... it doesn't feel like Stede. It feels pirate, in all the ways that Stede never was, in all the ways that Ed didn't want to be anymore. But Ed shaved his beard and Stede left. And now Stede is back with a beard all his own. Ed hates the beard. But he can live with it.

*~*

Stede's face itches. It itches all the time now, he feels like he's only ever scratching and scratching and scratching at his face. At his beard. The beard Ed had said he liked.

It hadn't itched before. Back when Stede and his crew had still been trying to find their way back to the Revenge he'd barely even noticed the thing growing in at all. He'd been too busy to take the time to shave. But then Ed said he'd liked it and Stede kept thinking about the last time he'd told Ed no, that he didn't like what Ed was doing and Ed had left. He'd come back to save them all from the English, yes, but Stede couldn't expect Ed to keep setting aside his wants and preferences to save Stede from his own stupid mistakes forever. Stede has never been any good at shaping himself to other people's expectations, but he could do this one little thing, he could keep the beard for Ed.

Stede's face still itches.

*~*

There's no sofa in the captain's quarters anymore. Stede smiles and says he doesn't mind sleeping up on deck with the crew. Ed smiles back and asks if he's sure. Stede smiles some more and says he is.

Neither of them sleep well.

*~*

This is their second raid this week. Ed's pretty sure that two a week is the right number. Enough to be fearsome Blackbeard, but not too many. Stede hasn't complained about it yet, so two a week has to be right, right?

Ed looks over at Stede. He has a sword and is using it reasonably effectively. He's not deadly and graceful, not even good enough to go on the attack really, just good enough to competently defend himself, but he's not awkward and clumsy and needing to resort to clever tricks like gunpowder in the eyes to save himself any more either. He's got a little fleck of blood in his beard.

*~*

Ed still doesn't kill ever. Stede doesn't care if Ed kills people, not really. He would mind cruelty, but just killing in general is often a part of a pirate life. But Stede does care that Ed still cares. That as much as he's decided to go back to being Blackbeard, there's still that line there. He's still Ed. Stede doesn't know how to ask him about the rest, about not wanting to go back to that life, about wanting to do what makes Ed happy. He can't risk implying that he doesn't like the person Ed is lately.

Stede’s fingers nervously fiddle with the ends of his mustache. Ed likes Stede's beard. Stede thinks it looks weird.

*~*

The atmosphere aboard the Revenge is very pleasant. All the time, it's very, very pleasant. Every day and night, during meal times and while swabbing the deck, in the midst stormy seas and on becalmed waters, at story time and even while in the middle of raids, it's always very, very pleasant.

The crew watches and waits and hopes that when the tension finally breaks, no necks end up snapping along with it.

*~*

*~*

It's a day, just a day, like any other, and yet... The skies are clear, but there's something of a storm in the air.

[general--winter]

Howdy 🤠👋🏽 ! Hope your doing well!

Can I request a Shisui x Reader fic where she feels/knows his clan doesn’t like her because she isn’t one of them/is a normal shinobi and that makes her think she isn’t good enough for him but Shisui finds out about this after an unexpected encounter between her and one of the clan members and he does something about it. Angst to fluff if you can and I’m so sorry if this is oddly detailed 😭 if your not comfy with it it’s okay ! Thank you ���🏽

Author's Note: Howdy!!! Just gonna not address the, once again, lengthy absence. I think it'll be better if I just don't acknowledge it and write when I want. Anyways, I went back into my inbox and saw this request that mirrors a WIP I had in my folder, so I figured it would be a first good post back (again). I hope that the anon who requested this sees this post. It's not what I would call my best work, but I hope it's up to snuff. Thank you to my readers. :) Also, has anyone else gotten the Marvel bug from playing Rivals? I've been watching all of the movies and reading comics, I'm probably going to add it to my fandoms list.

Rating: Teen

Warnings/TW: Canon-typical violence, reader is bound, gagged, and blindfolded, reader is buried alive

Fandom: Naruto

Pairing: Uchiha Shisui x gn!Reader

Word Count: 1534

Summary: Your history in helping Itachi and Shisui stand up to the Uchihas is not appreciated by the clan.

You knew something would happen.

The gossip, the whispers, the blatant disgust. But never this.

It was something you wanted to stave off - you just wanted a chance to live in your little fairy tale for a little while longer.

One of the biggest unspoken rules in the shinobi world was clan above all. This statement never resonated with you, a shinobi from a poor and unnotable family in Konohagakure. Who and who not to interact with, what clothes to wear, your career path, and so much more… What was the point, you wondered? It was something you understood logically, even when you went against the strongest clan in Konoha, but the depth of loyalty was something you would never understand.

It was the simpler times of naivety from your genin and chunin years, making friends without a care in the world, that you clung onto as you groaned in a musty, humid pocket under the ground, eyes covered, a gag shoved and tied into your mouth, and hands and ankles bound tight.

This is what you get for fucking with the Uchiha.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know it was dangerous to have and hold feelings for your team mate and one of the clan’s most prized members, Shisui Uchiha. In school it was alright to nurse a crush - everyone did for him, boys and girls alike. How could they not? He was the popular boy. Endlessly kind, yet one could tell at even such a young age there was something mysterious about him. As you two aged, however, your crush only intensified. Through being placed on the same team as Shisui and his best friend, his family’s hardships, and your fellow team mate and Shisui’s best friend perishing violently during a routine mission while still genin. Through the death of your parents to the attack of the Nine-Tailed Fox, your grueling training at the hands of ANBU instructors, and your involvement with Shisui and Itachi to stop the Uchiha uprising all those years ago, saving both of their lives and exposing both the plans of the clan and Danzo. It wasn't the most graceful way to go about it, and made you a lot of enemies.

To be honest, the violence and hatred surprised you. You, a strong outsider and clanless shinobi, seen to have supported two of the most promising Uchiha shinobi into betraying their clan, must have been at the top of their “kill” list, though. It was a lapse of judgement to forget this and not consider the hatred harbored for your public humiliation of the clan. You did understand the Uchiha, or at least you tried to. Blatantly and falsely accused of the attack that slaughtered countless civilians and shinobi indiscriminately. You didn’t blame them, couldn’t blame them, especially when you came to know of the open secrets regarding the workings of the village elders and the continued oppression of Konoha’s oldest existing clan. But that doesn’t mean you could stand by and watch your village be torn apart.

And all of those choices led to your being buried alive.

While thinking, your breathing through the ragged cloth slowed to a whisper, and you regained focus on your situation. The group of Uchiha shinobi had caught you by surprise during a moment of vulnerability at the memorial you keep of your parents at the lake they used to take you to play at. Your senses were turned off and they silently pounced, swiftly getting you into this situation.

Now, though, you were in mission mode. By the length of time you fell, the hole you were in must have been created by an earth-release jutsu. Digging this deep and cleanly while leaving a pocket for you to suffocate slowly in was certainly the work of a shinobi. Thankfully, you realized as you began to wiggle through the pitch-black, your fingers could still move. It would be possible to escape.

Forming the signs with one hand, you channeled your chakra to your knuckles and struck a devastating blow on the plug of earth. Rocks and gravel scattered around you performed the technique again. This time, the compacted dirt shifted and gave way, rocketing into the air. The force of your strike tugged and ripped the binds at your wrists and they burst apart like a rubber band put under too much tension. With your free hands, you ripped away the gag and blindfold, keeping your head low and eyes squinted against the light while you undid the ties at your ankles.

As your senses recalibrated, you could hear screams and yells up above. Had you blown away the watch? They would all know you got out after your dramatic exit - your battle senses were turned to eleven and rising as you jumped out of the hole.

The fight was, however, over. About twenty or so shinobi bearing the clan symbol of the Uchiha were littered around the crater you emerged from. All subdued, but still breathing and alive, their chakra signatures bearing strong life force. In the center of the fight, was one of the only other people you would have ever expected to come to your aid, shoulders heaving for breath and covered in scrapes, bruises, and ripped clothes.

“Shisui.” You muttered, hackles lowering. He was here. He came for you. How did he know what happened?

He called your name, his voice calm on the surface. But the raw emotion underneath cracked your own shell too.

“I could have handled myself,” you said with a smirk as you both approached each other, attempting to diffuse the situation. You didn't expect the vice-grip hug that Shisui gave you, though. It was bone-crushing yet comforting.

“I'm sorry,” Shisui sighed, head resting on your shoulder. “I am so sorry.”

“You saved me,” you said incredulously. “Why are you apologizing?”

You could feel his heart rate keep at its erratic pace as you wrapped your arms around his torso and the rumbling of his chest as he spoke. “I'm the reason this happened.”

“No,” you scolded, wrenching yourself out of his grasp. It was something always unsaid until recently. That Shisui thought he was the one putting you in danger purely by being your friend. Though it never came from his mouth, you knew he blamed himself.

“But they want you dead because of me. This was the worst one.” Shisui bit his lip in that infuriatingly cute way he always does (only you would be thinking about how your not-partner looks quite handsome scuffed up and distraught over your safety). “I just want to keep you safe, yeah? You helped me and Itachi so much and it feels like the least I could do for my team mate.”

“Would you keep me safe at the cost of losing me?” You questioned, looking into his kind brown eyes as they shifted and darkened. “Maybe I don't want that answer. I'd rather stay in danger like this than lose you.”

Shisui sighed and looked up at the sky, but re-trained his gaze on you and let you continue.

In a rare moment of emotional vulnerability (in hindsight, probably because you had just escaped being buried alive and saved from an ambush afterwards by the man you loved), you grabbed Shisui’s face and let the words come out.

“I quite frankly don't care what your clan thinks of me. They can keep trying to kill me for what I've done with you and Itachi, but they and their judgement and hatred will never, ever stop me from being with my friends. From…” You faltered, gulping down the saliva in your mouth and steeling yourself to put words to your feelings.

“From the man I love. You, Shisui.”

Your heart thrummed with anxiety, ironically even more so than when you were in your supposed-to-be tomb. Thoughts rushed through your head as your hands fell to your sides and you glanced away. I shouldn't have said that. I just ruined it. Why am I-

A firm grip took your chin and made you look back up. Your eyes were met with raw emotion before you felt Shisui’s lips crashing into yours. It was a breathtaking, desperate kiss. One you would share with your lover before parting. But this… you got the impression immediately that your anxiety was unwarranted. That this was just the beginning.

“After all of these years, I never thought you felt the same,” he whispered. “I thought it was foolish to imagine myself with you.”

At that, you burst into laughter, hugging Shisui again while shaking with mirth. “You couldn't tell? I have been so into you since school!”

The mood was shifted so harshly, but you two went along with it.

“Take this seriously!” Shisui admonished lightly before giggling, embracing you much more gently this time.

After what felt like an eternity in his arms, he brought his mouth to your ear and spoke.

“I love you too.”

You couldn't lie to yourself. You put on a tough face during missions, and it wasn't unearned. You were able to handle even the most precarious and violent battles. But once in a while, it felt good to rely on someone else, too.

[alatariel-gildaen]

Looking through some of these is Relic and original story? Or Winged Rose. I’m interested in hearing more, even if they aren’t. They’re intriguing 👀

Of all the ones you could have picked, you've chosen a Jonathan Strange one funnily enough! Relic has been sat in my WIP folder for several years now, because every time I try to finish it I literally end up bawling my eyes out and having to step away.

Basically, the story of it is that once the Tower of Darkness disperses, and Strange & Norrell return to England, loads of time has passed, and Arabella is now dead. It's the middle of the first world war, not knowing what to do, Strange joins the war effort, and he meets and falls in love with a nurse, who he is convinced is Arabella reincarnated. Then when the war is over, she admits that she didn't expect either of them to survive, and she's already promised to someone else, which drives Strange crazy - here's a little snippet from it that absolutely killed me to write

"I cannot stay here knowing that she is to live with another man. That will destroy me."

"Do not be so dramatic. Or so hasty." Norrell took a tentative step closer. He looked as if he wanted to say something comforting, but was unsure how to proceed. After a protracted pause, he gently placed his hand on Strange's forearm, and said, "A magician has no place marrying. Look at all we accomplished together in the darkness without the distraction of women. By your own admission, the greatest feats of magic you ever performed were with me in Faerie, or while you were away at war, without your wife to tempt you away from your studies."

Strange shrugged Norrell's hand away and did not answer him, but instead glowered darkly.

"You should be grateful that she will be happy," added Norrell.

It was this last sentence which finally roused Strange into speech. "But what of me? I love her, Norrell. I. Love. Her."

Mr Norrell waved his hand dismissively. "That does not matter. Let us instead focus on the future."

"The future..." said Strange in a low tone, as a half-formed idea came to him. He hurried towards the mirror hanging above the fireplace and gazed into it. "Her soul had returned to Earth. Perhaps it may do so again in another time...."

"Jonathan?"

The use of his Christian name gave him pause, and he looked up towards his tutor. There was a fearful desperation in his eyes.

"I know you think you love this woman, but—"

"Do not talk to me of love, Norrell! What do you know of it? Nothing!"

Mr Norrell's eyes shone briefly before he turned away. "I may not have your experience, sir. I may not have your passion or romanticism. But to suggest I know nothing of love? That is a cruel thing indeed."

Strange had hurt his tutor, that was obvious, but he took a vicious pleasure in it, as if hurting the heart of his only friend would somehow alleviate the pain in his own. "What would you have me do, Norrell? Stay here with you, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives? You want us to grow old together, to allow my contempt for you to fester as it withers and hardens my heart to match yours? I think not!"

"Please, Jonathan," Norrell said, his voice as timid and frail as Strange had ever heard it. "Do not be reckless. It has always been your greatest weakness."

"Reckless?" laughed Strange bitterly. "I shall show you reckless."

And before he could utter another word, Strange opened a gateway into Faerie from the nearest mirror and stepped through, closing the gateway on his master without a backwards glance.

He does find Arabella again in future, but more tragedy, and gah. This one does not have a happy ending, hence why I keep putting it off 😭

The Winged Rose is the final part of a Caryl/Hunger Games crossover - I've already got the first two parts up - the premise of that one is that when Snow told Katniss and Peeta to 'convince me,' they did, and the rebellion never happened, the Victors weren't sent back into the arena for the third quarter quell, and the games continued. So Carol was the Victor of the third quarter quell, and for the 100th games, the rules are that there are no age limits, and the tributes will be reaped from everyone, so Daryl gets sent in, along with Carol's daughter.

I'm struggling with this final one because I don't want it to be a rip off of Mockingjay, but finding a way for them to overthrow the Capitol without following that plan is tricky to say the least! But here's a little Haymitch/Daryl interaction :)

It was a completely different world up there. The oppressive, glittering lights of the Capitol stretched out far below, but here, on the rooftop, the air was softer, cooler—carried on a gentle breeze that whispered through the foliage. Twisting vines, heavy with flowers, clung to trellises that framed the pathways. The blooms—vivid and unnatural in their bright blues, reds, and purples—glowed faintly in the moonlight. Towering trees with silver bark cast long, dappled shadows across the ground, their branches swaying lazily overhead. The soft hum of Capitol technology lingered in the background, keeping the gardens pristine, the temperature perfect, despite the late hour.

Daryl slowly made his way through the maze-like paths, trying to look to anyone who may be watching as though he had come up here merely to enjoy the peace. As he turned a corner, he spotted Haymitch standing at the edge of the balcony, gazing out at the glittering sprawl of the Capitol below. A half-empty glass of something strong dangled loosely in his hand, catching the light.

Daryl slowly wandered over as casually as possible, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he took his place beside Haymitch. The silence between them stretched. Daryl lit a cigarette, the flicker of the flame momentarily lighting his face before the glowing ember became his focus. He inhaled deeply, waiting for Haymitch to be the one to break the silence.

When he did, the words cut him like a knife.

“We won’t be able to save all the kids,” Haymitch said, his voice rough and unflinching. No soft lead-in, no attempt to cushion the blow.  “You need to get that in your head now. The rest of us—” He paused, eyes still fixed on the city. “We’ve had our fair share of it. You haven’t. And let me tell you, it’s not the same as watching it from back home. It’s not even the same as being in the arena yourself. When you lose one of your own, it hits you in ways you’re not ready for. And it will hit hard.”

Daryl stared ahead, his gaze unfocused as cigarette smoke curled lazily through the air, dissolving into the silence around them. He focused on the sharpness in his lungs, using it to anchor himself as the world around spiraled out of control.   

“At some point during the games,” continued Haymitch, his voice low and steady, “Blake is going to be up in the control tower with the gamesmakers. He usually watches the bloodbath at home, cozy with his wife and daughter—”

Daryl let out a sharp bitter laugh, his disgust cutting through the smoke haze. The President's idea of a wholesome family activity made his stomach churn.

“—So if you want your tributes to have a chance, tell them to run. Don't let them go anywhere near that Cornucopia. When Blake arrives at the control tower, that's when we attack.”

Thanks for the ask lovely!

[brat-tamer-nicki]

Holy shit your wip folder is STACKED!! PLEASE danstat high heel fetish, louis balcony pining, nickistat gender fight and ricardo and amadeo!!

ive been here too long this fandom is my purgatory help

all of these wips are based on book canon where that's relevant. i got most of my wip ideas before the show started airing when i was rereading the series

the high heel one is transmasc lestat and cis daniel. theyre hanging out hunting together while loumand are away and end up getting drunk and lestat confesses hes always had a thing for heels and daniel puts some on then it turns into foot worship that leads to sex or smth idk this one isnt super fleshed out

balcony pining is louis thinking about Lestat after a fight with Armand in the post-claudia years, when louis doesnt know if lestat is alive or dead. he starts talking out loud to lestat as if hes there and it turns into louis venting his frustration, saying things he didnt get a chance to say, eventually devolves into just saying how much he misses him/loves him/etc

nickistat gender fight is transmasc Lestat realizing during an argument that Nicki might be transfem and doesnt know it. i want to explore this one from the angle of Nicki getting frustrated with Lestat's gender presentation and the added risks and problems it brings into their lives but deep down its because she's jealous of how free he feels to be himself when she doesnt feel like she has the same option. like no one questions transmasc Lestat even if he does look very feminine or young or whatever and Nicki doesnt think she could pass well enough to do the same

lastly Riccardo and Amadeo! this is going to be riccardo comforting and caring for Amadeo after one of his first nights with Marius in Venice. Amadeo is nonverbal at this point so its things like Riccardo trying to figure out if he has a different name he'd prefer to be called when they're alone and trying to find a soothing activity to help him regulate, just them bonding in general and forming trust. their friendship is probably the most wholesome dynamic in the series imo i love them so so much </3