#Anyway as said that list is not exhaustive so feel free to try any fandom you want

[pasiphile]

I have a day off tomorrow which I sorta intend to spend on writing, possibly some short things just to get back in the saddle rather than risk getting overwhelmed by my Big Boys, so...

Anyone have a ficlet prompt?

Fandoms I'm willing to write for include but are not limited to: Discworld, The Untamed, Attack on Titan, Ace Attorney, The Locked Tomb, Doctor Who, Merlin, Black Sails, Sherlock, buffy the vampire slayer, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Good Omens (strictly the book, not the TV series)

No promises, given that my writing skills have been in hibernation for almost a full year, but yknow. Send me a fandom, pairing or character and prompt and things may happen.

[murkycran]

Staticmoth/Voxval Fic Rec List

Welcome to my Staticmoth/Voxval Fic Rec List! :D

I will keep updating this periodically as I read more fics, so feel free to check back every once and a while! I'll reblog it when I update it, plus make a note with the date at the top. Trust me, this is by no means a complete list; there's fics I still want to add to this that I just haven't gotten to yet. I just decided to go ahead and post it anyways, because if I kept waiting until I ran out of fics to rec I'd probably be working on this forever.

These are not in any particular order; I'm going by both my Bookmarks list on AO3 and my memory of fics I forgot to bookmark. I also tried to make notes on what fics were written before season 1 released, but I might have missed some, so keep that in mind.

Please let me know if any links don't work!

✨Before you proceed:✨ read the tags on these fics if you decide to read them. Many of them have heavy material - no surprise given the fandom, but still, felt like this needed said. On that note, there's also fics with explicit material and some fics are straight up PWP. Again, read at your own risk/heed the tags.

Fic Rec List Masterpost

Radiostatic Fic Rec List

Misc. Vox Fic Rec List

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Freak-A-Zoid by Femalefonzie

Summary: A shortage of suppressants in Hell means that Vox is going to be enduring a heat for the first time in years. Who better than the Vees' resident pimp to help him through it? Afterall, the last thing they need is for someone to complicate the situation with "feelings" and Val was the best at keeping love and lust separate. Until now.

TLDR; Valentino plays himself.

Notes: SO FUCKING FUNNY. Cannot read this in public bc I laughed too much. Val and Vox are both idiots. Perhaps the most human depiction of them that I've seen, especially during sex. Neither of them are suave or coordinated, but by god are they trying.

system takeover by Subedarling

Summary: Velvette has never been the type to play hero. But when a mysterious new player enacts a dangerous plot to usurp the Vees' power, taking her two idiots hostage in the process, that's exactly where she finds herself. Now she has no choice but to go on an impromptu rescue mission, maintain the facade that everything is fine to the outside world, and prove why she's the backbone of the Vees—and she hasn't even had her morning coffee yet.

Vox and Val are going to owe her so hard after this.

Notes: Technically Velvette-centric but I'm including it anyway bc it does have Staticmoth; found family. She's so badass in this, I love it. The Staticmoth is very sweet. :3

even if i quit there's not a chance in hell i'd stop by Subedarling

Summary: Valentino stretches his arms over his head as he enters the kitchen, yawning. His robe is hanging loosely around him, and God, if Vox were to run his hand down his chest he could probably count all his ribs. He stops short when he sees the plates waiting for him on the counter. His eyes narrow. “The hell is this?”

“You know, most people would say thank you when their partner makes them breakfast,” Vox says dryly.

Notes: Very tender. A good kind of hurt. Deals with ED.

Parvulus by Heliosolar

Summary: Vox woke up to something... unusual. Terrifying, even. He calls Valentino, desperate for the help.

Valentino is, of course, irresponsible, and Vox is exhausted.

He just wanted to get through the day like normal, why did this have to happen?

Notes: Written before season 1. The art of Tiny Vox is not linked, but I've seen it before and it is SO CUTE. If anyone has a link, please share with me so I can link it here!

A Wager of Desire by Heliosolar

Summary: Valentino and Vox have a small dispute over something meaningless, so they make a bet.

Vox has to last an entire dinner while at Valentino's mercy.

What could go wrong?

Notes: Written before season 1 release. One of the first Staticmoth fics I read. :)

Venenum by Heliosolar

Summary: During an uneventful meeting, Vox makes the mistake of stealing a drink from Valentino.

Notes: Written before season 1 release.

Getting Railed (By Child Support) by Charnel_Goat, spappest

Summary: The female of several species can store sperm for many years prior to using it to fertilize her eggs. As it turns out, spider trains do this too.

Decades after their romantic fallout, Overlord Choo Choo Charles is knocking on Val's door to demand he take responsibility for the results. By way of kidnapping his boyfriend to lure him to his den.

Notes: One of the crackiest fics I've ever read. Vox is an idiot with a horrible sense of self-preservation and Val fucks a spider train without birth control. Just...read it, okay? I literally cannot think about this fic without giggling like an idiot every time.

Beautiful Monster by IceBlueButterfly

Summary: “You’re late,” is the first thing that comes out of Vox’s mouth.

That sharp smile somehow grows wider.

“I believe the term is ‘fashionably late’ baby,” a smooth voice with a light Spanish accent replies.

Which… okay if Vox is being honest, is kind of hot.

Screen heating up a little more, Vox shoots a bored look.

“Or just late,” he snips back. “Oh well,” he claps his hands. “Doesn’t matter, you ready to get down to business?”

“Oh baby,” a bright gleam in even brighter eyes, “I’m always ready to get down.”

Vox is already regretting this decision.

OR Moments in time throughout Vox and Val's relationship. Vox may have no idea what the moth demon will bring to his life, but neither does Val.

Notes: A very nice exploration of how Vox and Valentino's relationship evolves.

Only a Shadow by passthevoxcord

Summary: Vox shows up on the hotel’s doorstep with no memory of how he got there or who he is. They agree to house and heal him, and slowly but surely he finds joy in becoming better. Then Valentino shows up and is forced to choose between self-altering addiction and the closest he’s ever come to love.

Meanwhile, Velvette has a new potion brewing, one that will grant her more power than the Vees ever had. Only Vox and Val can stop her, but will goodness really overcome evil? Or will they be only a shadow of their former selves?

Notes: The Voxval is currently toxic and only just now being touched on in Chapter 9 of the fic; I say 'currently' because the author explains in the AN of the first chapter that both Vox and Val will go through some "self-discovery and healing". Seriously, just read it. It's very good!!

You Found Me by passthevoxcord

Summary: Long before Velvette came along, it was just them. Vox and Valentino. Valentino and Vox.

Notes: Includes some interesting headcanons for Vox and Val.

Virtual Reality by passthevoxcord

Summary: Vox gets tired of his cybernetic biology being a barrier to his sex life, so he starts a new project to fuck Valentino in VR. Val will try anything once, but he has something else in mind.

Notes: Surprisingly sweet. ^_^

Muted by passthevoxcord

Summary: Val helps a nonverbal Vox deal with sensory overload.

Notes: Sweet and tender. :)

Freaky Friday by passthevoxcord

Summary: Vox and Val wake up stuck in the other’s body, but it’s no big deal because they both know how easy the other has it. Right?

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Sweet take on the different challenges Vox and Val face in their daily lives.

Something Akin To Love Series by Awesome_Possum

Summary: Vox's taste in partners is delightfully self-destructive and that's an itch Valentino is more than happy to scratch.

It's not safe or sane, and whether or not it's technically consensual is heavily up to interpretation, but what they have is probably something akin to love.

A collection of StaticMoth fics set in generally the same continuity.

Valentino is awful and Vox is unfortunately really really into that because a control freak in the streets is a masochist in the sheets.

Notes: Has 2 parts, both very much worth reading. Very funny, lol. Vox is in a hell of his own making but enjoying it at the same time.

Update Prescription by innerfray

Summary: Vox tricks Valentino into getting his eyes checked. They're forced to confront the nature of their partnership.

Notes: One of my favorite Staticmoth oneshots. Felt like an interesting take on Val's blindness. Angst so good...

Like Moth to a Flame (Or to a Bright Blue Screen) by datweirdo

Summary: Valentino is a moth after all

Notes: Cute and funny!!! "You fucking murdered him" lmao

30 Decibels by Shortsighted_Owl

Summary: Somewhere, under the low humming of the monitors, the quiet gurgling of replacement coolant being piped into Vox body, a new noise - dry, yet somehow viscerally wet, and so very soft - made itself known, but only just.

And Valentino almost missed it. - After a fight with Alastor, Valentino watches vigil over Vox’s broken form.

(What if Vox still has organic vocal cords, and after a fight with Alastor, the synthesiser he uses to amplify his voice is destroyed. What if Valentino hears Vox’s real voice for the first time?)

Notes: Heed the tags, there is in fact body horror lol. Sweet but mildly horrific. <3

Priest, mailman, cruise captain or chef? by Destabilize

Summary: Inspired by Vox's outfits in Stayed Gone - Val and Vox try out some kinky stuff with a priest outfit, to mixed success.

Ah ha!” Val squealed with delight, wine glass drained and thrown on a sofa, “This!” Val was standing proudly by the wardrobe holding up a long red robe with a hat and some kind of sash. Vox scowled, “Is that a fucking priest outfit?”

“Si! Isn’t it fun- it’s in your colors too!”

“You wanna be a priest?”

“No baby! You be a priest and I can,” Val sidled up and leaned down, puffing some smoke in Vox’s face, snaking an arm around his waist, “lead you astray...”

Notes: Surprisingly cute and funny! Vox fails epically at roleplay and it is hilarious.

riding out the drop by spoondrifts

Summary: Like he’d said before, killing Alastor was Vox’s kink, not his. He had been prepared to sit back and enjoy the temporary chaos until Vox got over himself.

What he hadn’t accounted for was the possibility that Vox was exactly as obsessive, bitter, and desperate for Alastor’s acknowledgement now as he had been seven years ago. Distance hadn’t made the heart grow fonder: distance had made a highly detailed revenge scrapbook complete with a conspiracy corkboard done up in red string.

Or: Valentino gets fed up with Vox's fixation on the radio demon. They fuck about it.

Notes: Features (sex favorable) asexual!Vox! :D (I lowkey headcanon him as ace ever since the "better than sex" comment)

Featherstone by spoondrifts

Summary: “To me,” Vox told the baby, “it seems like bad parenting to leave your helpless kid for a whole month with two unstable psychopaths and their parole officer. But hey. Who am I to judge.”

No intelligent reply was forthcoming.

Or: not-so accidental baby acquisition, starring the three least responsible idiots this side of the Pentagram.

Notes: Big Vees as family vibes. Wish so desperately this was canon.

vark attack by tarltonnnnn

Summary: Valentino has to petsit Vark for a day. Chaos ensues.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Vark is a big dumb (and very cute) baby.

Unplugged by pinkpunchy

Summary: Vox looks like he’s going to vomit. Valentino frowns.

“For the one who suggested this, you’re being a real pussy.”

“Fuck you! Just give me a sec.” Vox spits out, muttering darkly as he adjusts his shoulders on the pillows, trying to arrange his body for the moment he loses all function. Valentino, despite his impulsive nature, waits patiently. His manicured nails drag along the spot where cable and port connect, thumb smoothing up and down the flat surface surrounding it. Vox’s breath is coming faster now, not slower, something Valentino is tuned into as naturally as his own breathing.

“Hey.”

A large hand grasps a corner of Vox’s screen, tilting it up and putting an immediate stop to his fidgeting. Valentino smiles, red eyes narrowed to slits.

“Do you trust me?”

Notes: Sex as a...trust exercise? Lol I'm joking, but seriously. Sweet and hot at the same time.

Electric Desires: Lust, Power, and Unspoken Longings in Hell by Dani69696969

Summary: Vox is starting to get fed up with Angel Dust being the only thing Val talks about when Vox is right there, ripe for the taking. Inspired by Vox looking happy that Angel might have quit in Episode 2.

Notes: Very sweet. Plot with porn. :)

The Art of Pimping by MarenRose

Summary: Desperate to close a deal with one of the most lucrative investors in Pride, Vox does the unthinkable and pimps out Valentino for a one-time date. What could go wrong?

Notes: Vox's jealousy and possessiveness really brings out his stalker side in this lmao. Vox is a little pathetic and that makes his jealousy all the more funny to me. :D

Welcome to VoxTek Enterprises! by MarenRose

Summary: Subsequently, Valentino, of all people, has become the office’s saving grace.

(A series of VoxVal ficlets through the eyes of Vox’s assistant)

Notes: Pretty funny! Vox's assistants are really going through it. One of the tags is "Imagine being happy to see Valentino" lol.

(Fic rec list to be continued)

[ao3commentoftheday]

Yay, I finally managed to catch you with the ask box open! (Don’t get me wrong, I totally understand why that is, and I’m in awe of how much work you put into running this blog.)

Anyway, this has probably been asked about a hundred times in slightly different ways, but here I go again. How do I make myself write more? I love writing and I’m never running out of ideas, but I write very sparsely (like I’m lucky to hit 1k every two months or something if I’m not particularly inspired). I blame the stress of studying, but it’s not like I don’t have any time to relax - more that I spend that time watching tv or reading rather than writing. I consider myself a rather disciplined person when it comes to school, but for some reason I have a harder time pushing myself in my free time. A little pushing would be nice, however, since I really do want to write more. I’m open to any advice, thanks!

[note: the ask box is not open. this question was sent in months ago]

If you love writing and you have lots of ideas, then there must be something else that's stopping you from doing it. I suggest trying to identify what that thing is. Here are some possibilities, but this is by no means an exhaustive list:

the time when you're free to write and the time when you're at your most creative do not line up

you've created a rule for yourself where you can only write after you've done something else first - and you rarely do that thing

you think that your idea will require you to write a lot of context or backstory first and you don't enjoy that part of writing and so it feels more like homework than like fun, and you've already got enough homework to deal with

something about your writing set up isn't working for you - perhaps you normally write fic on a phone but would have an easier time typing on a full keyboard. Maybe you always write at a desk, but you'd enjoy it more if you wrote while sitting on your couch, etc

there's something in your fandom experiences that makes you think that posting your stories would be bad for you in some way (negative comments, or a lack of response that you would take to heart)

It very well could just be like you said - that you're stressed out and overwhelmed in your day to day life - in which case taking care of yourself still needs to come first ❤

Instead of "making yourself" write more, try to look at your current situation and think "what would make writing easier to do?" If you can identify some of those things and remove those barriers, you might just find yourself getting more writing done because there aren't as many things stopping you anymore.

[unoriginalmess]

Untitled Feralnette Fic Ch. 1

Hiya there anyone who happens upon this first chapter of this fic. I would like to start out by saying that this is my first fanfic ever. I've been wanting to write a fic for the miraculous fandom for a while but I haven't had any inspiration until I stumbled upon this glorious AU created by @bigfatbreak. I highly suggest checking out all of their posts about this au because they are hilarious and genius and about 100 other amazing adjectives that could be used to describe them and their posts. Anyways enough with my rant and let's get on with the fic. ⚠️Slight angst⚠️ ⚠️Swearing⚠️

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When Marinette got home after her and Luka's breakup, all she could do was cry. She wanted to be with him, but her Ladybug duties came first. If lying is a deal breaker for him, then maybe it was best that they ended it now while their relationship was still in its early stages. Still, she couldn't help but feel the loss of her first relationship. She ended up crying for a whole entire day. She just hoped that Hawkmoth(or Shadowmoth or whatever the fuck he wanted to be referred to as this week) wasn't feeling particularly akuma-y today, because she didn't know if she could bottle up all these feelings, even though the world is relying on her ability to do so.

Ugggghhh!! It has been exhausting having to be "happy and perfect Marinette" and "happy and perfect Ladybug" All. The. Time. She's also pretty sure that Hawkmoth had discovered the similarities in her personality as Marinette to Ladybug, and that's why she's been targeted by multiple akumas lately. She has had to have her emotions under control even more than usual. If only there was a way to get Hawkmoth to stop targeting her. Maybe she should just not give a fuck anymore. Haha as if! It couldn't be that easy! Could it?

The more she thinks about it the more it starts to make sense. If she just let herself go completely crazy as Marinette, she would be killing like 10 birds with one stone. She would get hawkmoth off of her trail, she wouldn't have to deal with having to hide her emotions all of the time, she wouldn't have to deal with the added stress of maintaining her perfect persona, she wouldn't have to deal with the stress of Lila's lies taking her friends away if she didn't have friends in the first place, and so much more stress would be taken off of her plate! It was perfect! It might hurt a little at first, but it's for the best in the end. She spent that night planning out her outfit for tomorrow, doing her homework, and going to sleep knowing that, in the morning, François Dupont isn't gonna know what hit them.

....

Adrien Agreste had been having a rough week. He had been abandoned on patrol by ladybug, been broken up with by his girlfriend, and was feeling completely and utterly alone. He knows that his lady has been feeling overwhelmed by her guardian duties lately, and that he 100% deserved that verbal lasting that kagami had given him but he couldn't help but feel this way. He was also feeling guilty about lying to kagami and leading her on for so long. After she broke up with him he took some time to assess his feelings for her and realized that he had more of an admiration for her than an infatuation. He definitely didn't feel the same way about her that she felt about him. She told him that she LOVED HIM, and he was so distracted (blinded) by ladybug that he didn't even process her confession. So, he was looking forward to Sunday morning. He cleared his schedule and on that beautiful Sunday morning, he did what he is only allowed to do on very rare occasions: sleep in. Or at least... thats what he had planned on doing.

When Nathalie had knocked on his door that morning Adrien was not in a good mood. He vaguely heard her say something about father wanting him downstairs in some amount of time for something involving a business partners child and some other robotic sounding words that his half asleep brain couldn't process completely.

"I have a cleared schedule this morning, Nathalie. What could father possibly want me for that is more important than my precious sleep?" He asked snappily.

"Your father wants you downstairs to welcome the new guest that will be living in the house for the rest of the school year. You have 15 minutes to make yourself look presentable and I suggest leaving the attitude upstairs," she half informed/half reprimanded him. As she walked away, Adrien reluctantly rose from his nice warm bed and went to go get ready with only one thought racing through his mind: Who could possibly be staying with them?

....

Felix Culpa was not looking forward to living at the Agreste mansion for the rest of the school year, but for their parents' sake they would do what they had to. It wasn't all for their parents either, they were also concerned about the strange "dissapearance" of Emilie (who was his aunt in all ways except blood relation) and about the treatment of Adrien since said "disappearance".

You see, Felix Culpa is the heir to the Culpa Fabric Empire. The Culpas have been the sole fabric supplier of the Agreste brand since the very beginning. Felix's mom Diana was best friends with Emilie since their college days. Diana and Emilie made the deal with the two brands because as best friends who are both involved in the same industry, it just made sense to have a business relationship with each other. Diana never really cared for Gabriel as a person, but she could tell that he loved Emilie more than anyone else in the world so she could tolerate him for the sake of her best friend.

When Emilie went missing, Diana was absolutely devastated and tried anything she could to find her. She invested in missing person ads as large as billboards, organized search teams, tried to aid the police in their search for her in any way she could, but there was no leads, no legitimate calls to the number on the billboards, and the search team came up empty handed. While she was doing all of this to try to find her, she couldn't help but be furious over the fact that Gabriel was doing nothing to help in the search. All he did was hole himself up in his oversized mansion and call it a day.

The last straw for Diana was when Gabriel tried to use the "grieving my wife" excuse to try to abuse their business arrangement. That day, she told him that the Culpa brand would no longer be associated with the Agreste brand and that after the new collection is released, he would need to find a new fabric supplier. She knew that the Agreste brand would take a huge hit from having sub-par fabric, but she never thought that Gabriel would try to make up for that fact by using Adrien as a walking mannequin and locking him up in the desolate prison that he calls a home. As soon as she realized that he was doing this she scrambled to find a solution.

That is how Felix ended up here, standing in front of the mansion they would be living in for the next 9 months in exchange for Gabriel getting back into the Culpa brand's good graces. Don't get them wrong, they were excited about being able to be in Paris, home of the most innovative fashion pieces in the world, and about being able to see their honorary cousin Adrien (who wasn't half bad to be around despite him having no backbone whatsoever when it came to anything involving his father) but dealing with Mr. Agreste was definitely one of the low points of this arrangement.

They decided to just get it over with and knocked on the door. It was opened by the man that their cousin affectionately referred to as Gorilla. They nodded a thank you to the man, remembering that he was a man of few words, and proceeded to the bottom of the staircase. Mr. Agreste stood at the top with a very tired looking Adrien a few steps down. Felix wasn't even slightly surprised that this is where he chooses to welcome his guests, looking down on people must give him some sort of power trip or something. It's almost as if he heard the phrase "It's over, Anakin, I have the high ground," and made that his own personal motto. Whatever, let him have the feeling of false power if he wanted it, Felix knows that they have all the power in this situation and they're sure that Gabriel knows it as well.

"Hello Felix," Mr. Agreste greeted them with the same amount of warmth in his voice as liquid nitrogen, "while you are staying in this house you will abide by my rules. Adrien will inform you of them and show you to your room. You will attend school with him in the morning and I'm sure that you already know that you must represent not only the Culpa brand, but also the Agreste as well. I will be in my office working, do not disturb me. Contact Nathalie with any questions that cannot be answered by Adrien." He finished his spiel and left to what Felix assumed was his office space.

"Hello Felix!" Adrien greeted him with as much enthusiasm as he could muster in his sleepy state. "Come with me and I'll show you to your room."

Adrien led Felix to their room and listed all of the rules of the household that they were expected to follow. And... wow. Felix could not believe that their cousin had to live like this. The only social interaction this kid gets is at school and fencing? Pre-approved outings only with people determined socially acceptable by Gabriel? And if he gets even one "B" he isn't even going to be allowed to go to school at all? Felix knew that the living situation was bad for Adrien but know the only question running through their head was: What did they get themselves into??

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And... thats it for chapter 1! Mostly background info at this point, but next chapter will be the class' reaction to feralnette and felinette meeting for the first time. I just want to say thanks again to @bigfatbreak for giving me the inspiration to write a fic for the first time ever. Feel free to leave constructive criticism, I'm always looking to improve, especially at writing since this is my first time posting anything I've written online, so I want to get better so that I can make better content for you guys, gals, and non-binary pals. If anyone wants to be tagged just let me know and I'll make a tag list for ya. :)

[lululawrence]

Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments

when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???

but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.

firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.

secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:

writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.

in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.

because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.

but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.

the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.

now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.

now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!

add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.

now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.

then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.

sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.

but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.

and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.

for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.

so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.

if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.

[amlovelies]

are we there yet?

this is another one of those deleted prompts from January that I am just now filling. better late than never right? Sidestep days, post nanosurge hurt/comfort. some mild spoilers for the public demo

big thanks to everyone on discord for all your help and feedback with this 💜

12. things you said while you thought I was asleep from this prompt list

fandom: fhr pairing: Julia Ortega/f!sidestep (Cynthia Basri) rating: T mention of mental trauma, migraines, nosebleeds, and cursing words: 2.7k read on ao3

              It’s not until you hear Ortega’s voice that you realize the pounding isn’t just your migraine, but rather her fists against your front door.

               “Cynthia, I swear to God I will break this door down!”

               Part of you just wants to try and call her bluff and roll back over, try to lose yourself to the state of semi-consciousness you’ve been floating in for God knows how long. The other part of you knows she’ll do it. There’s thunder in her voice; she’s reached the end of her patience. Breaking it down wouldn’t even phase her, and the last thing you need right now is to deal with that mess. 

               “Don’t you dare,” you try to yell, but your voice just cracks from lack of use and dehydration.

               It’s too fucking bright outside, even with Ortega looming in your doorway blocking most of the light. She’s tense, brow furrowed and her lips turned down in a frown. You’re too tired for this. Too tired for whatever confrontation she wants. You don’t bother with a greeting; it’s not like you invited her here. Leaving the door open, you trudge back to your bed and bury your face in the pillow.

               You hear her close the door as she walks into your small studio. “I guess this explains why you weren’t answering your phone.”

               You peek up to see her kneeling next to the shattered device. You’d thrown it when it wouldn’t stop ringing. You had tried to turn it off, but the buttons were too small, too difficult to manipulate. You just needed the noise to end. There was already so much chaos in your head, bouncing and rebounding off the sides of your skull, pooling behind your eyes, settling between your teeth. You were so desperate for some semblance of peace.

               Was that two days ago or three? You can’t remember. Time has stretched and blurred, too many days in pain. Too many days with your brain full to bursting. You’re no stranger to pain, no stranger to migraines, but it’s never been like this. The first few days you’d been able to keep going, to swallow the pills, to swallow the pain and keep moving. It’s not like your comfort had ever mattered, but the pain hadn’t stopped. Two weeks now and you are tired, so tired.

               “Somebody wouldn’t quit calling,” you say with a glare which just bounces off her. “I’m not dead, so you can quit worrying and go home.” The words slur on your tongue. It’s difficult to make it move the way you want to, but you get your point across just the same.

               “Like hell I will.” Stubborn. “I’m not leaving you here like this.” So damn stubborn and arrogant. What does she think she can do to fix this?

               “Please, just leave me the fuck alone, Julia.” It’s hard to keep your eyes open. Crystals dance in the edges making everything blur and twist.  

               “Not a chance.” You feel the bed dip as she sits down next to you and places a soothing hand on your forehead.

               You whimper at the contact. The press of her hand alleviating some of the throbbing in your temple, making it a little more bearable. After a few minutes she gets up, and you groan at the loss of her touch. You almost call her back, ask her not to leave, not to stop touching you, but that would be too much. You can hear her rummaging around the apartment. You should probably care, probably worry about the invasion of privacy, but it’s too much effort.

               Besides, you are the most incriminating thing she could find.

               When she comes back to sit on the bed, she gives you a choice: the hospital or the ranch. She’s already packed your bag, and her mouth is a firm line. There’s no way out of this. She is more than capable of carrying you out of here against your will.

               You take the lesser evil. Not that you are thrilled by the thought of spending hours in the car, not with the havoc the migraine has wrecked on your ability to keep any food down. When was the last time you ate anything besides dry toast? If you get sick in her car it’ll serve her right for meddling.

               By some miracle the traffic isn’t terrible. Ortega is driving fast, reckless, but that’s Ortega. Los Diablos disappears behind you and the relief is immense. The roar of too many souls in too little space fades away.  You can still feel the drivers around you. Blips of impressions, emotions, frustrations, occasionally the lyrics of a favorite song, but they’re gone too fast to stick, too fast to hurt. They can’t touch you.

               Ortega helps too. The static nothing of her thoughts like a cool compress to your fevered brain. A maze to get lost in, to try and shut everything away. Not that you’d ever tell her that. It would just give her another reason to stick around every time you get hurt.

               Shields had been your first lesson. The most important thing in a telepath’s arsenal, it’s too easy to be overwhelmed otherwise, to lose yourself in the howling around you. So many thoughts and feelings and emotions. Shields were your savior.

               Your shields are gone.

               Maybe the nanovores devoured them. A small price to pay when you compare it to the flesh missing from Ortega’s arm, to so many people just gone, to so much loss. What was your sanity in the face of that?

               Maybe you are broken. It’s never taken you this long to recover before. It’s never been so hard to get your shields back. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. She’ll force you to the hospital if this continues much longer, and you won’t be able to run. Even at your best she’s always been faster and stronger than you. Right now, you doubt you could dodge a single blow, doubt that you could throw a punch or misdirect a mind.

               It’s not like the doctors could do anything for you anyway. Not the ones in Los Diablos at least. There were other doctors, specialists who loved nothing more than taking you apart and seeing what made you tick, how to make it better, how to make it stronger. What would they think about what you had done?

               How would they try to use you because of it?

               It’s too easy to remember. Too easy to remember rough hands and cold instruments. Fluorescent lights reflecting on exposed tattoos as you ran the drill again, again, again. Failure was not an option. Especially not when she was watching.

               Your mouth tastes like copper and it’s too familiar.

                “Jesus, Cyn,” Ortega’s voice breaks through your thoughts, “your nose.”

               Fuck. Looking down you can see where the blood has already dripped onto your flannel.

               Shields don’t just protect you from what’s outside. There are things inside you thought you’d locked away too.

               “Don’t worry. I didn’t bleed on your seat.” You’d meant the words to bite, to set her at ease, but you just sound exhausted. Weak. She keeps glancing over at you, her brow wrinkled.

               The shirt is already fucked; you might as well use the sleeve to sop up the mess. You’re almost grateful for the nose bleed. It’s better than the memories you were lost in. There’s pain and then there’s pain. “I’m fine. Just keep your eyes on the road, idiot.”

               A huff, but she turns her attention back to the highway.

               Good.

               “I thought you said the nosebleeds had stopped.” Her voice is tight and you can see the tension where her hand grips the gear shift. Sparks dancing over knuckles.

               “I did,” you say as you let your head rest against the window. It feels cool against your forehead and you sigh in relief. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s better than it was.” It is. The first few days after the nanosurge, it felt like the nosebleeds were happening every couple of hours.

               Minutes pass in silence, and for a moment you think that maybe she’ll just let it go. That hope is dashed as you feel the car begin to slow down. You’re still an hour at least from the ranch. Still climbing the grapevine up into the mountains. You haven’t even reached the toll roads that sprung up to replace the damaged five following the big one. Not that Ortega would have to pay, the shiny Rangers decal on her windshield a free pass almost anywhere in the FEZ. You’re nowhere near the central valley, and you feel a stab of fear at the thought that maybe she’s changed her mind. Maybe she is taking away your choice, and she’ll turn the car around and drive you to the hospital.

               Should you bail out now? Run while she least expects it? The hillsides are sparse and desolate following last season’s wildfires. The twisted layers and striations of the rocks are a stark reminder of the violent potential of the land. There’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere that she couldn’t find you, couldn’t catch you. Still, it would be better to die of exposure or thirst in the mountains than to return to that place.

               “What are you doing?” you ask, trying to hide the panic in your voice.

               She doesn’t answer as she brings the car to a stop off the side of the road and gets out. Not turning around then. You breathe a sigh of relief as you hear her rummaging around in the trunk, a thud accompanied by a soft curse, and then she is pulling open your door. You repeat your question.

               “Do you expect me to just ignore it? Just keep driving like everything is fine?” she asks as she opens a bottle of water and begins to dampen a napkin with it.

               “Yes? It’s not like you’ve never seen me with a bloody nose before. Fuck, you’ve given me one.”

                She shushes you before pushing your hand out of the way and gently dabbing under your nose with the wet napkin. “That’s training. It’s different.”

               “Not really,” you say with a shrug. “Blood is blood.”

               “At least it’s stopped,” she says with a frown as she finishes wiping away the evidence.

               “See I told you it’s nothing to worry about, idiot.”

               Her hand cups your face, eyes staring into yours and you can’t bear it. You have to look away. You’ve helped bandage her up more than once, plugged in her mods, wrapped her cracked ribs, but you’ve rarely let her return the favor. Always dancing away from her hands, finding a way to slip away in the crowd before she can pull you to the medical tent. Too many secrets too easily revealed that way.

               There’s nothing for her to stitch or wrap or heal now, just you and your broken brain and blood on your shirt, but she is here, so present. Her thumb is rubbing along your cheek, along your scar, her hand so often finding its way there.

               A kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering as if she could have any effect on the damage underneath the surface.

               You don’t argue when she tells you to drink some water. Swallow the pill she offers you. It’ll be stronger than anything you have access to. You’re thankful for the clean shirt she offers you. The last thing you need is to give Tía Elena another reason to worry and fuss after you. Julia leans against the hood of the car as you light up a cigarette.  Just one, and then you are pulling back onto the road.

               Maybe it’s the nicotine, or the painkiller, or just being away from the city, but you can feel the pressure behind your eyes lifting.

                 You drift in and out of consciousness. Ortega chats with herself, a running commentary of complaints, about paperwork and the media team. The stupid outfits they wanted her to wear for a photo shoot. Never comfortable with silence, she always wants to fill the space with words or actions. Can’t pace when she’s in the car, so words it is.

               You don’t really sleep, not really. Just drift in and out. There’s a lot less traffic on the roads this far from the city center, and it’s peaceful. Your head still feels tight, unpleasant, but the painkillers Ortega gave you were no joke. Guess she wasn’t kidding about the Ranger’s health plan being second to none.

               “Cyn?” your name draws your focus, but you’re too tired to respond. “Are you asleep?” A pause as she waits for you to respond, and when you don’t, she keeps talking anyway. “Still wish you’d let me take you to the hospital. Stubborn idiot.” A soft chuckle, and she continues, “I know, I know, pot kettle but still, at least I let the doctors look me over before I ignore their advice.”

               She keeps talking, her voice quieter than before, barely a whisper in the empty air of the car. “I hate it, you know--” she takes a deep breath and her voice is brittle when she begins speaking again-- “watching you slink off after a fight. Not knowing how badly you’ve been hurt.”

               It’s nothing she hasn’t said before, but usually with shouted words and frustrated huffs, not whatever this is. If you didn’t know better, you’d say she sounds fearful, or maybe that’s just you. Fearful of where Julia might be going with this.  She stops speaking, but you can hear her fingers tapping against the wheel, as if continuing the conversation in her own head.                  

               You want to pretend to wake up, to save yourself from her concern, but you feel frozen. It’s like listening from underwater. The combination of the lingering pain and exhaustion and the numbing effect of the painkillers keeps you submerged, unable to surface.  

               “I worry about you. I just wish . . .” her voice trails off. ”I guess that doesn’t really matter.”

               Her fingers keep tapping against the wheel. You wish you hadn’t told her to turn off the radio. Her singing would be preferable to the anxiety you’re feeling now.

               You don’t want to know what else she might say.  You desperately want to hear what else she might say.

               “Cynthia, I—" Her voice cracks and it feels like a blow, quick and painful in your chest —  “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” There’s a desperate edge to her voice which you don’t understand. You’re the one who almost lost her, not the other way around. Why else would you shatter yourself, except to save her?

               For a moment you had thought she was going to say something else. You should be relieved. Relieved that she didn’t say it.

               You’re being fucking stupid. Drugged and stupid and wishing for things you can’t have. It’s always been an unsteady thing, this spark between the two of you. She’d push and you’d pull away. She’d give up, and go out.

               Photos in the tabloids screaming out at you from the newsstands.

               Who has Charge been seen with now? What sharp jawed man has had his arm around her waist?

               She never denied it, and why should she?

               You said it yourself. It was just fun.

               There’s a tightness in your chest making it difficult to breath.

               It doesn’t matter how much you want to hear those words. It doesn’t matter how much you wish you could reveal the truth to her. You belong hidden. In the darkness. Any attempt to expose you to the light will leave you shriveled and burned away. Exposed for the fraud that you are.

                You jump in surprise as fingers tuck a strand of hair gently behind your ear

               “Sorry,” she says as she pulls her hand back. She gives a small embarrassed laugh as she rubs the back of her neck and adds, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

               “Whatever,” you grumble and avoid looking at her. Reaching forward you turn on the radio. It takes a minute or two to find a station, but once you do you settle back into your seat in relief. The noise is a much more controllable pain. “Are we there yet?”

               “Not quite.”

[randomfandomimagine]

hi Trish! can I request prompts 33 “And I love you, don’t you know?” + 39 “I’ll keep them safe” with Steve Rogers? These are some beautiful lyrics that will go well with your beautiful writing! Thank you so much!

Clara!! Aaah, thank you so much for requesting! I’m so excited to write stuff with this new prompt list! And a Steve Rogers request is awesome, I had been hoping to get some love for Cap 😍 I hope you like this, sweetie 🥰

Steve Rogers x Gender Neutral Reader

The world was in peril. Again. Steve was gathering his stuff, planning to go on a mission he might not return from. Despite it all, you couldn’t lift your gaze to look at him. A sudden exhaustion had washed over you and the only thing you could do was sit there and focus your energy on pushing away bad thoughts.

“I’m finished” Steve announced, carrying a small bag with his Captain America suit and holding his shield in his free hand. “Y/N?” 

“Bye...” You muttered, playing with your hands and refusing to look at him still. Steve knew you well, and one glance would be enough for him to see the unease in your features. You didn’t want to worry him.

“What’s wrong?” In the end, he realized something bothered you anyway.

You shrugged, but he wasn’t having it. Steve carefully put the bag and shield down and slowly approached you. His eyes never once left you. 

“Talk to me, Y/N” He placed his hands over yours and held the, trying to keep you from playing with them.

“I’m worried...” You finally looked up at him, finding an attentive expression in his features and a loving look in his eyes. “This battle seems the most dangerous one yet, and the Avengers and the civilians and all the people and...”

“I’ll keep them safe” Steve promised, speaking softly as he kissed your knuckles.

“And who will keep you safe?”

“You, my angel. I have you watching over me, even when we’re apart”

“Steve...”

He only smiled at you, so sweetly that you could melt. Not needing to say any words, Steve only tugged at your hands to pull you to your feet. Once you both were standing up, you melted in an urgent yet tender embrace.

“We have each other’s backs” Steve muttered, pausing to kiss your head. “It will be okay” 

“Do you promise to be careful?” 

“I swear” 

You sighed, feeling the weight of concern dying down significantly. Nuzzling his shoulder, you tried to engrave those words into your memory. They would be okay. He would be back.

Needing to look into his beautiful eyes again, you pulled away from the embrace just enough to see his face. His strong arms lingered around you as he peered at you as well.

“I love you” You whispered, caressing his cheek.

“And I love you, don’t you know?” Steve smiled at you again, leaning down to kiss you.

Something told you it would be okay, that he would return safe and sound. Despite it all, you two met in a passionate kiss in which you said all those things you had left to say. Before he left. While he returned.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @musicallisto / @xionroxas / @dancewaterdance02 / @spilled-almond-milk / @elllie-does-the-posts / @c-taylor-wanna-be-a-glader / @fortheloveofbenyandtom / @suenami3 / @caswinchester2000 / @bitchingpretty / @lookinsidemyhead / @danietoww04 / @x-joie-x / @alienoresimagines / @locke-writes / @trunks-kiwi / @andreasworlsboring101 / @goldenhoney-cas / @sinister-sleep / @lxncelot / @its-just-kit / @anxiouslyreckless / @qtmeryr / @captainshazamerica / @24-stilinski / @okay-j-hannah / @under-the-clouds / @bluerose512 / @everyday-imfangirling / @timeladygallifrey / @swanimagines // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! // Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[tsarisfanfiction]

Small Things

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil

More self indulgent Scott&Gordon fluff because I can and because this scene’s been living in my head rent-free for the past week or so.  Might be the last thing I write for a while, because uni’s just decided to let me know I need to do 390 hours of independent study for a single module with the deadline in eight weeks, and if you’re any good at maths you’ll realise there’s a problem there (alternatively, stress might drive me to writing loads like January; we’ll see).  There are implications of some level of depression in here, so watch out for that.

When an injury leaves Scott unable to do even the most simple things for himself and accordingly frustrated, it takes a brother who understands what it’s like to halt the slippery slope.

Scott was no stranger to injuries, or the frustration of the recovery period.  He’d broken bones, torn open skin, and endured worse still, but that never made it easier – and definitely not this time.  This time, he was arguably mostly intact, and yet found himself helpless nonetheless.

Burnt palms – both of them, and fingers to boot – meant he couldn’t do even the simplest of tasks by himself.  Couldn’t dress himself, couldn’t eat, couldn’t do anything except wait for them to heal as he watched his brothers keep going out on rescues without him.

His family did what they could, Virgil in particular weathering the storm of his frustrations when they spilled over, but no matter how many little gadgets Brains designed to try and give him at least some independence, the fact still remained that he was useless and helpless.

Virgil was conked out on the couch, dead to the world despite his attempts to stave off exhaustion with caffeine in order to keep Scott company as he watched yet another movie – the only activity he seemed to be able to do without help. He’d wake up later, apologetic for passing out as though he hadn’t been on back-to-back rescues with any downtime swallowed up by fussing over his currently-helpless big brother, but for the moment, Scott was more than happy to let him sleep.

Not only did he need it, but the constant smothering was wearing thin.  Scott was active, self-reliant and tireless.  Even the most well-meaning assistance from Virgil – the one that helped him dress, cut his food, and all the other mundane tasks suddenly beyond his capabilities – was grating.  He’d already snapped at him a few times, the most recent of which had been in response to a suggestion he did his hair, moments before John had called in another rescue and Virgil had had to leave before Scott could swallow down the ire, leaving him wallowing in guilt for several hours until he’d returned, dirty and exhausted but still patiently trying to help.

It was an honest relief to see his brother sleeping, even if it left Scott balled up on his own couch, trying to ignore the bandages wrapped around his hands and focus on the movie. He was failing miserably, all too aware that the healing process was still in the early stages and that it would be several more days before he could even think of using his hands. Even with the regularly-applied gel, they still hurt.

The movie was, in theory, one of his favourites.  Virgil’s choice, after he’d huffed when asked if he wanted to choose.  Right then, he just wanted to turn it off and-

The holoprojection paused, right in the middle of one of his normally-favourite scenes, and he blinked. That hadn’t been his doing. Despite Brains’ best efforts, telekinesis was still eluding him.

“Hey, Scott.”  He turned his head to see Gordon jump down into the den. “Reckon you can do something for me?”

Scott held up his hands, in case Gordon had somehow forgotten.  “No.  Get Alan to help you with whatever it is.”

“Gotta be you, bro,” Gordon insisted, catching his wrists and tugging insistently.  “You don’t need your hands for this.”

Despite himself, Scott found that he was intrigued.  The promise of being able to do something was a powerful allure.  “What is it?”

“C’mon,” Gordon insisted in leu of answering, and warning bells rang even as his younger brother successfully pulled him to his feet.  Agreeing to help before hearing the details was always a no with this particular brother.  His appetite for pranks was insatiable, and sometimes his timing left something to be desired. Scott couldn’t handle a prank. Not right now.

“Gordon, what are you doing?”

“Trust me,” his brother replied.  Two words that often came with warning bells.  Scott knew Gordon, though.  Knew when trust me meant imminent pranking and warned that he should be running, and when he could genuinely trust whatever plan his brother had concocted. This was the latter, full sincerity with a hint of a plea behind it.

Trust was important in their family.  It had to be, for International Rescue to work.  Gordon knew that as well as any of them, and when he used that voice, it was always true.  Whatever he had planned, he believed it wouldn’t negatively impact Scott.

He sighed, and let his shoulders sag, feeling the tension start to seep away.  “Where are we going?”

Gordon’s hand was steady at the small of his back, guiding him gently through the house.  Towards the bedrooms, and Scott stumbled to a halt when Gordon stopped outside his room.  Of all the places he expected, his own bedroom was near the bottom of the list. “Gordon?”

“Come on, bro,” Gordon coaxed, opening the door and nudging him through it.  Scott let him, still confused, and found himself guided to his bed.  “Sit.”

Eyeing his brother, and still completely lost as to what he was planning, Scott obeyed.  His bandaged, useless, hands rested in his lap, and he glared down at them before glancing back up to see that Gordon had left his side and was rummaging around in his bathroom.

“Hey!”  What was he doing?

“Easy, Scott,” Gordon called back, turning around and returning.  In his hands were Scott’s comb and hair gel, two items that hadn’t seen the light of day since his hands got burnt so badly they couldn’t hold either.

Scott didn’t appreciate the reminder that, despite Virgil’s pleading, his hair was a sorry mess.

“What are you doing with those?” he demanded, starting to stand.  A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he found himself looking up into compassionate amber eyes.  Gordon gave him a small smile, barely a twitch of his lips but in that moment, it hit harder than his usual exaggerated expressions.

“Relax,” he said, clambering onto the bed and settling somewhere behind Scott.  Attempts to turn his head were prevented by gentle hands, keeping him facing forwards.  “I’ve got you.”

Scott’s mind was scrambling to work out what his brother had planned, and how this came into him doing anything for Gordon, but before he could finish putting the facts together there were gentle fingers in his hair, carding through softly and pulling wayward strands back from his face.

His immediate instinct was to pull away – he let his brothers do a lot, but his hair had always been off-limits, in no small part because it was an obvious target for Gordon and dye, but also just because it was.  Even now, he’d refused to let Virgil touch it.

“Gordon-” he started, and the fingers retreated, only for arms to wrap around his shoulders from behind. Soft, comforting, and a far cry from the crushing squid hugs his water-loving brother loved to dish out. A weight against his back, and then a cheek pressed against his.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw strawberry blond hair, and amber eyes looking at him.

“Let me do this?” his brother asked, in that exact same tone he’d used earlier for trust me. Sincere, but a little pleading.

“Why?”  His voice cracked, an unexpected show of weakness, and he flinched.  Gordon didn’t acknowledge it, seemingly content to let him pretend it didn’t happen.

“I think it’ll help,” he murmured instead.  “Please?”

Help who?

Scott didn’t see how letting Gordon do his hair would help anyone.  It wouldn’t heal the burns any faster, wouldn’t give him back his independence any sooner.

But he’d never been able to say no to a brother when they asked like that, all quiet and sincere.

“Don’t mess it up,” he caved, looking away.  He felt Gordon’s smile against his cheek anyway.

“Thanks, Scott.”

The arms retracted slowly, the cheek also leaving his, and he felt the mattress dip as Gordon shuffled back into position behind him.

Then the fingers were back in his hair, teasing out the tangles and knots that had formed with infinite patience and care.  The motions were soothing in their repetitiveness, Gordon’s fingers dexterous and nimble as they preened out the worst of the mess, and despite himself Scott felt a little more tension bleed away.

Fingertips found his scalp and dragged across lightly, almost a massage, for a few brief moments, before retreating entirely.

Then it was the teeth of his comb, running through strands slowly but steadily and pausing whenever they nudged a tangle Gordon’s fingers hadn’t completely erased.  Those, the comb bit into lightly, coaxing and cajoling the strands and never once tugging at his scalp.

Scott had no idea where Gordon had learnt to be so gentle with hair.

There was no mirror in view from where he was sat, but Scott didn’t need one to feel the weight of his hair slowly shifting, leaving its unkempt and chaotic tragedy and falling into the familiar style he favoured.  Without gel, the strands at the front attempted to flop forwards, over his forehead, and he resisted the instinct to swipe them back.

His hands wouldn’t thank him, and the hair would inevitably get tangled in the bandages, but what actually stopped him was the sensation of Gordon interchanging comb with fingers as he continued to smooth the hair back until it fell just right.  Gordon had asked to do this, and despite his initial misgivings, Scott found he was enjoying it.  No-one had done his hair for him since he was a kid, Mom fussing and asserting her right as his mother to do so.  Not like this.

Distracted by sudden memories, he missed the moment the comb left his hair for good, and startled slightly when the cool sensation of gel seeped through his hair.  Gordon had returned to using his fingers, smoothing his hair into position with a precision no doubt born of seeing it so many times, and Scott closed his eyes.

The touches steadily grew lighter, lingering for longer and ghosting over what were presumably stray strands that needed a little more gel to keep in place, until they left all together.

He opened his eyes as the mattress shifted, turning his head to see Gordon slipping off the bed, rubbing his hands with a towel to get the gel off his fingers.  Amber eyes surveyed his hair sharply, before Gordon gave another small, tender smile.

“Come on, bro.”  Hands cradled his wrists, carefully away from the bandages, and drew him to his feet.  “Now you get to judge my work.”

Scott let Gordon lead him to his bathroom, where the mirror hung above the sink.  It was something he’d avoided looking at for the past few days, aware of his deteriorating hair yet unable to fix it and unwilling to let anyone else until Gordon wormed his way in with softly pleading sincerity, but a light nudge over the threshold had him reluctantly facing his reflection.

He looked like himself.

There were still bags under his eyes from the sleepless nights, and his skin was still pale and a little haunted, but his hair was gelled back just the way he liked it – the way he laboured over it every day even when he forwent other aspects of self-care because he didn’t have time – and while it was only one thing, it was enough to banish the unkempt shadow he’d become and replace it with something blessedly familiar.  Blessedly normal.

Unconsciously, his back straightened, leaving him standing tall once again.

Gordon’s reflection joined his, standing alongside him as a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Any better?” his brother asked, worry in his eyes.  Scott tore himself away from his reflection to look down at the flesh-and-blood young man next to him.

“Yeah,” he admitted.  “Gords- what-?”

“When everything goes to hell, it’s the small things that make the difference,” Gordon said.  The reminder was bittersweet – Gordon, too, had once been unable to do even the most basic of tasks unaided.  “It helped me.  I thought it was worth a try for you.”

A sense of normality amongst an ocean of uncertainty.  Something to hold onto when he had nothing else.

Scott raised his arm, resting it lightly around Gordon’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking back at the mirror where the man that looked much more like himself stood, arm around his little brother.  In hindsight, it was obvious; a lack of self-care was a slippery slope – one he’d seen Gordon fight before.

“I know you’d rather do it yourself,” Gordon continued.  “But remember, we’re here to help you.”  The hand on his shoulder squeezed for a brief moment.  “You just have to let us.”

Gordon looked relieved, Scott realised.  He hadn’t noticed how worried his younger brother had been until it was gone, but the story was there, behind smiling eyes and a steadily growing grin on his face.

“Thanks,” he said again. There was nothing else he could say.  Nothing that properly appreciated what his brother had done for him.  Was offering to keep doing, if Scott was reading him right.

He was usually pretty accurate when it came to reading his brothers.

“Could-” he started, mouth ahead of his brain.  “Could you-” He couldn’t quite get the words out, instincts still rebelling against asking for help – asking for this – despite it being freely offered.

“Keep doing it for you until you can do it yourself again?”  Luckily – in this particular instance – Gordon could read him, too.  Scott nodded jerkily.  “Of course.”

The hand on his shoulder moved, arm reaching around him until Gordon had him in a half-embrace.

“Welcome back, big bro.”

If Virgil had any thoughts about Scott letting Gordon help when he’d been refused at every offer, he kept them firmly to himself when he was woken by the pair of them returning to finish the movie.  Scott did, however, find himself subject to a bear hug, and relieved brown eyes looking him over.

In hindsight, it was obvious Virgil had seen what was happening all along, and Scott regretted getting snappy with him about it.  Virgil waved off his apologies, but did consent to go and get some proper sleep in his bed as long as Gordon promised not to leave him alone while he did.

The insinuation that he needed a minder should have grated.  Would have grated, half an hour before, when he was still a miserable mess curled up in the corner of a couch.  But as Gordon promised, solemn sincerity that Virgil could trust, and settled more comfortably on the couch with his arm around his shoulders, Scott just found himself thankful for how much his brothers cared.

[commander-diomika]

Wild What the Heart Wants

Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~4000 Additional Tags: Somnophilia, Drugged Sex, Rope Bondage, Japanese Rope Bondage, Frottage, Dubious Consent, Magic Made Them Do It, (sort of), pining Summary: "It was hour three, or thirty three, when Zolf heard clunking sounds.

Turning to look, he saw Wilde, his scruffy hair and shoulders of his furred jacket, emerging from the hatch a few feet behind the helm.

“Wilde?” Zolf asked, peering over his shoulder.

Wilde didn’t respond and continued to rise from the hatch with a very unnatural movement. It took careful consideration for Zolf to make sense of it, glancing repeatedly back over his shoulder. Wilde wasn’t climbing out of the hatch; he was wrapped in a thick length of rope, unconscious, and was being dragged up out of the hold.

The ship had been quietly tacking itself for some time now, but this was new."

Read on Ao3

OR

Zolf had lost track of time.

The shifting phases and ribbons of the borealis were hypnotic. It was like a heat haze inside his mind, contrasting with the chill air on his cheeks. The ship seemed to respond eagerly to his every touch, anticipating and giving Zolf exactly what he wanted. He didn’t know if he should be fighting it, or simply accepting his good fortune.

He shook his head as if to clear it, for the hundredth time that hour, for the tenth time in as many minutes, for some fractions of moments of time. He could hear nothing but the gentle chimes for what seemed like an eternity, or a brief moment. He could still see the inky black sky and stars above if he strained.

It was hour three, or thirty three, when he heard some clunking sounds.

Turning to look, he saw Wilde, his scruffy hair and shoulders of his big, furred jacket, emerging from the hatch a few feet behind the helm.

“Wilde?” Zolf asked, peering over his shoulder, not taking his hands off the wheel. “Everythin’ alright?” He couldn’t quite process what he was seeing through the haze.

Wilde didn’t respond and continued to rise from the hatch with a very unnatural movement. It took careful consideration for Zolf to make sense of it, glancing repeatedly back over his shoulder. Wilde wasn’t climbing out of the hatch; he was wrapped in a thick length of rope, unconscious, and was being dragged up.

The ship had been quietly tacking itself for some time now, but this was new.

“Wilde?” Zolf asked again, pitched a little higher than last time. The bundled form that was Wilde fully emerged, and was carefully deposited on the deck, flat on his back, for all appearances looking like he was being moved by a giant, gentle hand.

Zolf looked back at his instruments grimly. “Maybe it just thought I'd like some company.”

He took a scant moment to assess the situation. As much as Zolf had been apprehensive of what the borealis had to throw at them, so far it had been not much of anything except extremely unsettling… and exhausting. He locked the wheel and spun to check on Wilde.

The man was unconscious, bundled from hips to shoulders in rope, arms pinned, in a way that looked to Zolf’s eye quite comfortable. Zolf knelt and checked him over; there didn’t appear to be anything wrong with him, aside from the fact that he was fast asleep.

Sleeping in a way that kept on, even as he was being dragged up out of the hold. Zolf thought, lips pursed. If being hauled about hadn’t woken him, Zolf doubted anything he could do might change the situation, but he tried anyway.

“Wilde,” Zolf said again, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him, taking care not to knock his head against the deck. Nothing. No response.

“Oi!” Zolf shouted down into the hold. “Anyone alive down there? Cel? Azu!”

No sound of movement. No sounds at all except for the bright ringing in his ears.

He took a quick glace up at the bow, as a particularly lurid ribbon of colour wafted past his eyes. Nothing needed his immediate attention, but Zolf’s instincts were rattling. This could be a trap. A distraction. Why else would the magic have brought him Wilde? Of all the people it could have hauled up here, why Oscar bloody Wilde?

He repeated Wilde’s name, leaning down to speak almost conspiratorially into an ear. “Wilde, I hate your hair.” Still nothing.

Steeling himself, and wondering why this felt so wrong, when once upon a time he’d dreamed of doing just this, he moved to crack a hard slap across Wilde’s face. Zolf felt like his hand moved through water, sluggish and thick, but the impact went as planned, as if there was no resistance in the air at all. Wilde’s head jolted to the side, overly long hair flopping into his face, but no response. Zolf was stuck there in that moment, watching as the impact slowly brought up a red outline on Wilde’s cheek.

He was much more attractive when he wasn’t talking.

Zolf knelt up on his haunches, nonplussed and shaking off the fugue for the umpteenth time. No kind of magical sleep he was familiar with would hold up after that, which was deeply worrying, but not surprising. With another quick glance over the supine man, Zolf decided this wasn’t an immediate problem. Hell, maybe it was better that Wilde was unconscious, because at least he didn’t have to listen to the man talk.

He did need to keep an eye on him, however. Lacing his hands into the rope at Wilde’s collarbone and waist, he easily hefted the sleeping body up and forward on the deck, toward the nook at the prow where the crew had taken to socialising of an evening. Again, taking care not to knock Wilde’s head about, he wedged Wilde in a spot where he would hopefully be secure. The ropes were now still, but when Zolf went looking for an tail end or a knot, they slithered eerily, keeping any point of ingress away from Zolf’s searching hands. There was something teasing in the movement, as though the ropes were laughing at his attempts.

“Ok, you want him, you can keep him.” Zolf shrugged bemusedly and returned to the helm.

The travelling was smooth. Smoother than it was outside the borealis. The glide of the Vengeance through the air was unnervingly even, with none of the wafts of turbulence that normally shook the vessel. Even the chimes were soothing. The ship barely needed him anymore, rolling itself through the sky with a will of its own, a will that so far, perfectly matched Zolf’s. He lost himself in it, keeping his gaze steady on where he guessed the horizon might be through all the colours.

He was brought back by sounds of shuffling movement. He glanced over to Wilde and noted the rope had unspooled itself. For a heartbeat Zolf thought that maybe this dreamscape was coming to an end. Then the ropes started tendrilling their way into Wilde’s clothes. They travelled a slalom through the line of buttons down his coat. Zolf watched, still feeling dreamy and distant.

He snapped back to himself when the wiggling rope started to work the buttons open.

“Hey!” He yelled. He gave the instruments a rushed glance, snapped a look out to the imagined horizon. In the time it took for that quick check, the rope had completely opened the jacket and was working on the line of buttons of Wilde’s ivory undershirt, bizarrely fast in comparison to the dreamy quality of evening air.

“Oi! It’s cold out here!” was the first thing that popped out of mouth. He had no idea why that was his first thought. He couldn’t think about the deeply surreal situation he was in. He was yelling at a rope which was undressing his, friend, on an airship flying through the most peaceful of storms, and every other living creature on the ship had slipped into an impossible sleep. He didn’t know what he was doing and this was beyond the pale. The rope had finished its work on the soft undershirt and was moving toward the clasp of Wilde’s trousers, and Zolf’s cheekbones felt high and hot against the gentle touch of the passing wind.

He let go of the wheel and rushed over.

In the process of the rope unspooling from around Wilde’s torso, he’d gradually been laid flat on the deck, in the lee of some crates. Both layers on his upper body had been efficiently unbuttoned, baring a line of skin from clavicle to stomach. Zolf’s eyes drew unthinkingly to the soft line of dark hair that ran from Wilde’s navel to the top button of his trousers, which a rope was just starting to experimentally pluck at.

Zolf dropped to his knees next to the sleeping Wilde, reaching for the moving rope. It seemed to predict his movements, slipping and sliding away from his hands. Zolf’s fingertips brushed over the skin of Wilde’s stomach and he yanked the hand back as if burned. One rope-end wound out of the busy mess and waggled, like a scolding finger saying no no, none of that, just let us do this for you.

With stunning dexterity, the rope dodged Zolf’s grasp again, and popped the first button on Wilde’s slacks.

Zolf frantically ran through his mental list of spells and tools. He cast Dispel Magic with a wave, and for the briefest of moments the searching ropes stilled. He had time for one relieved exhale before they twitched back to life. Of course. The whole bloody ship was marinating in the borealis, there was no way he was going to win this fight going toe-to-toe magically.

“Arrgh! Stop it!” he cried, once again trying to get a hold of the ropes and failing. “What d’you think you’re doin’?”

He knew it was bonkers, completely unhinged, to feel like the ropes were replying to him, but somehow the waggling end reappeared and with a little shrug-like wave, he knew it was saying we’re helping.

“You’re not- do you- do you think you’re doing me a favour?!” The ropes had briefly lost their hold on Wilde’s fly and instead now were working on shimmying his arms free of his shirt and jacket. The effect was nauseating to watch.

The ropes didn’t deign to respond to his comment, and Zolf, utterly poleaxed, sat back on his haunches again. It was a good thing that the ship was taking care of itself, because Zolf Smith was not currently in any position to help.

Wilde, still peaceful despite this flurry of activity around his body, gave a small sigh. A contented, pleasured sound, and Zolf realised with dawning horror that even though Wilde was out for the count, his body was still responding. Ropes, now weaved and wiggling through the trouser buttons, shifted slightly from the pressure of Wilde’s erection.

“Oh no no, shit,” he moaned, and ran his hands through his hair.

Pop pop pop, the last three button’s on Wilde’s fly gave and Zolf made a sudden decision. This right here? Was just not something he had to deal with. He also decided that he wasn’t curious, that he wasn’t thinking about the soft press of his lips against Wilde’s cheek, and that he had more important things to be doing than watching this perverse unwrapping.

On the few steps back to the helm, a thought coalesced. It was the thought that this whole situation was responding to something that he had asked for, had yearned for. Then the thought wafted away like one of the incandescent and ephemeral light streamers passing through his body.

He stared, dead ahead across the wheel, glancing at the instruments but not taking anything in.

The chimes seemed softer now, as thought he was hearing them in his mind and not with his ears, and the whispered noises of cloth and rope on skin pressed in on him. He ignored the insistent part of his mind, begging him to dip his eyes slightly left and see… whatever the animate ropes were up to now. He tried to slip back into that dreamy, relaxed state that had typified the journey through the aurora before Wilde had been dragged up here.

“I don’t want this. I didn’t ask for this,” he said to himself, to the magic around him and passing through him, his eyes locked on the prow slicing silently through the night.

The passage of time slipped through his grasp like water. The chimes seemed to draw nearer in waves then form eddies that he swore he could feel tickling his sensitive ears.

He had no memory of the rustling of clothes ceasing. He didn’t remember leaving the wheel to stand over Wilde’s sleeping body.

The ropes had finished their task of stripping him naked. He lay bare atop the cushioning of his furs, and the ropes had wrapped themselves artfully, carefully, over the body. A row of expert knots walked a line over his smattering of chest hair, from the hollow of his throat to his navel, lines of rope radiating out to loop around his ribs, back, twine together and spiral around his arms, holding them to his side. The radiating diamond shapes continued down his legs to the anti-magic cuffs in impressively complex patterns.

Now, Zolf was good with knots, and he’d seen Wilde naked, but he’d never seen anything like this before.

His legs felt heavy as he dropped to his knees with a metallic clank. He noted a detail that had been missed with the first sweep of his eyes; low on Wilde’s stomach, just above his half-hard cock, the ropes came together to make an absurd bow.

Like a present.

Zolf slapped himself in the face, ground his teeth together, and stood. He half turned with the intention of getting a blanket, because aside from the hot embarrassment churning in his stomach, the deck of an airship flying through the Northern Wastes was no place to be naked. As he turned, however, he noticed that he wasn't actually cold. The closer he came to this small lee on the bow, the warmer he felt, and not just from the heat in his face and ears. If he squinted, he could even see that the wafts of the visible spectrum of the wild magic seemed to have taken on a warmer hue.

“Ok,” he muttered. “I get it. At least you’re not tryin’ to kill him.”

The trailing ends of the bow undulated, as if to say We know! Didn’t we do a good job?

Zolf sighed, and slumped down next to Wilde. He’d lost it. He’d completely lost the plot somewhere in this borealis and this was all a nightmare of the most ghoulish and punishing kind. He’d been expecting strange, even dangerous. He hadn’t been expecting targeted.

Defeated, he looked at Wilde’s sleeping face. The man looked… peaceful in a way that Zolf rarely saw these days. No frown adorned his forehead, no smirk on his lips. Even the scar dragging at his mouth seemed less tight, less painful in sleep.

Instinctively, Zolf leant down and pressed a closed kiss to Wilde’s lips. They were soft, much plusher than Zolf’s ever had been. The sleeping man didn’t kiss back of course, but Zolf was overwhelmed by the vision of what that might feel like, to have Wilde part his lips into the kiss, to have him wind his long-fingered, delicate human hands into Zolf’s hair.

He sat back up quickly. It wasn’t like that, of course. Or if it was like that, he couldn’t hope to have that desire reciprocated. It was laughable that someone like Oscar Wilde, practically a professional libertine, would ever… anyway.

Zolf cast heavy eyes over the ship. He’d given up trying to give the ship orders. If he tried to work against his own instincts for the sailing, the ship simply read his mind and continued on the optimal path anyway. If the Vengeance decided to sail itself into the side of a mountain, there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. And he was so tired.

The now-familiar sound of rope moving on skin started up again, breaking Zolf out of a moment of reverie. The ropes around Wilde’s legs were shifting again, pulling and sliding over themselves in a complicated series of hitches, and Wilde’s knees bent and started to lift away from the deck.

Zolf stared, tired and numb for a moment, before he guessed where his new hempen friends were going with this.

“Oh gods, no!” Zolf said, and quicker and nimbler than he generally was, surged up from seated to straddle Wilde’s thighs, flattening them back to the deck. The ropes, however, were insistent that Wilde’s legs continue to bend, wanting him to bring his knees up into his chest.

The ropes were strong, strong enough to drag someone wholesale from below deck. As they fought to enact their vision, against the pressure of the dwarf straddling Wilde’s thighs, they started to restrict, pressing hard into the pale skin of Wilde’s legs, digging into his hips

“Stop it!” Zolf yelled. The fact that he was now just unabashedly arguing with a rope was a piece of lunacy he’d stopped questioning. “You’re hurting him!”

That… didn’t exactly seem to be true. It was clear that Wilde didn’t mind the sensations of the rope constricting his flesh, dragging on his skin. There was now a flush high in his cheeks, and his breath was catching into small, pleasurable whimpers. Glancing down before he could stop himself, Zolf noted Wilde was as hard as he could be, cock flushed and pulled tight against the plane of his lower stomach.

Zolf swallowed.

In a last-ditch effort, the ropes yanked, and Zolf’s arse slid forward, his upper body pitching, hands flung wide to catch himself before he faceplanted into Wilde’s sternum. He breathed out, hard.

Zolf had no memory of his own erection swelling. Had it been the kiss? Had it been the feel of Wilde’s thighs, trembling beneath his? The sound of rope sliding on skin? Had he been hard, throbbing, since the ropes started to shamelessly pluck open Wilde’s slacks?

He hadn’t been aware of it, but he was aware of it now, the laces of his trousers tight, pressed flush to the base of Wilde’s prick. Foggy, blurry, he lent weight into his hands and ground down, eliciting another whimper from Wilde. Arousal and shame were heavy in Zolf’s stomach, sick pleasure shooting up his spine from the contact. He sat up, the movement pushing their crotches together again.

“Don’t,” he whispered. To himself? To the borealis? To Wilde, as though he had somehow asked for this, the way that something inside Zolf had? To whomever he spoke made no difference, as Zolf unlaced his trousers. Wilde’s cock was unbearably warm as Zolf slid his fingers under it. He pressed the underside of Wilde’s shaft to his own, breath hitching, mind blank, and wrapped both hands around the two of them.

Wilde was achingly, pathetically hard, wetness caught in the hair on his stomach where the head of his cock had rested, and when Zolf firmed his hands, a moan escaped Wilde’s sleeping lips. Zolf pumped his hands, slowly, breath ragged. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back and just felt the heat of them together.

Wilde was whimpering, breathy, and Zolf opened his eyes to look again.

Wilde looked utterly fucking gorgeous. Zolf paused a moment, ignoring the sick swoop of shame in his stomach, and gave a practised, long wet lick of one hand. He returned them to let his saliva mingle with the slick of pre-come, and increased the pace, now unable to tear his eyes from Wilde’s face. The dreamlike quality of the borealis intensified, as though satisfied, and everything seemed to narrow down to wet slide of their cocks, and the sleepy whimpers escaping Wilde’s soft mouth.

When Zolf had imagined what it might be like, and he had, on late nights on the border between wakefulness and sleep, Wilde hadn’t been like this. In those nascent fantasies he was always perfectly in control, smirking, calculated. Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought of Oscar like this, helpless and desperate and softly whining under his hands.

Wilde’s eyelids fluttered. Zolf’s heart swooped in panic at the sight, but he quickly realised what was happening, as Wilde’s stomach tensed, and he came with a relieved-sounding sigh. Adrenaline mixed with desperate arousal smashed into Zolf as he felt Wilde’s cock pulse against his, a line of slick running onto his hands. Zolfs orgasm tore through him, and he let out a frayed moan.

He jumped up as though electrified. Hands shaking as he laced his trousers, he noticed the borealis abating. Almost as though it had been waiting for them to finish.

Zolf stared down Wilde, naked and splashed with their combined spend. A perverse thought flitted through his mind, that even if he didn’t have time to clean this up, it probably wouldn’t be the first time Wilde had awoken in such a state.

“… Fuck.” He whispered. Before he could panic or whirl back to the helm, a bucket and wash cloth scraped its way into his line of sight. As Zolf cleaned up, he noticed Wilde’s clothes themselves starting to move, something sheepish in their demeanor as they started to wind their way back onto their owner’s body. Ropes unknotted themselves and started to help and to tidy. A loose end gave a jaunty gesture that could only be interpreted as a thumbs up.

A slightly hysterical laugh broke from Zolf’s mouth. At least this particular problem was handling itself. Zolf shook off his laughter and dashed back to the helm. If the magic was abating, the ship was going to come to rights, that was, to lose the sentience that it had displayed during their time in the borealis.

Blessedly, Wilde was fully dressed by the time he came to. If he had questions about why he was on the deck when he’d started this adventure in the anti-magic chamber, he didn’t have time to ask them in the ensuing chaos, as the crew woke and discovered their bodies were no longer their own.

--

It was very easy to avoid being alone with someone on a ship the size of the Vengeance with a crew of eighteen. Especially if you are the first mate. Always things to do. Hell, you could even avoid talking to someone at all if you were as busy and important as Zolf made sure he was.

So it wasn’t until days later, as the crew drank and made merry on the night of the Grande Opening of the Bow Bar, that Wilde managed to ruin Zolf’s streak by catching a quiet moment and sitting down next to him.

“I feel like I had the strangest dream through the borealis,” Wilde began, looking sidelong at Zolf with an uncharacteristically impassive gaze.

Zolf’s stomach dropped. He went to speak, found his throat locked, and took a swig of his stout. He was hoping that Wilde would continue, but it seemed he was content to let Zolf stew. “You… you remember much of it?” Zolf rasped.

“Bits and pieces,” Wilde replied. “Combined with where and how I awoke, it certainly paints an… interesting picture.”

Zolf stared down into his drink, unable to meet Wilde’s eyes. “Listen. You know I gotta see this through but, after… after Svalbard and whatever happens next, I’ll leave. You’ll never have to speak to me again.” Zolf’s stomach hurt. That it would end like this… it was unbearable. “I- I’m sorry.”

Wilde sighed, deep and world-weary. Zolf glanced up and to his confusion, there was a familiar, indulgent smirk on Wilde’s lips. Zolf was expecting disgust, disdain, and yet.

“Zolf… The ship was flying itself, and from what I can tell, it was leading us to where we all wanted to go. You can be so… wilfully blind. Stubborn, too.”

Zolf’s jaw hung open, as Wilde stood and clasped his shoulder with a warmth that Zolf didn’t deserve. Dropping his voice a touch to prevent the other merry-makers overhearing, Wilde continued. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll be awake next time. The rope probably not so much, but I’ve seen how good you are with knots.”

Wilde smiled winningly, let go of Zolf’s shoulder, and returned to the party.

[snickiebear]

Hi bby! 1, 2, 3, 6, 16, 27, 29, 33, 35! 🖤

mittens!!! loml!!

1. From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

oh goodness... um, i’d say a 4?? yeah, that sounds about right, only because i often make so many tense mistakes and even when i edit there’s always something to fix. and just,,, im still learning a lot (aren’t we all). plus, sometimes the stuff i put out needs so much more work (see: my recent shisaku fic... i want to tear it up and put it back together.. ugh.. also wt&r, just everything)

2. Why do you write fanfiction?

OH GOODIE! i just... well, i wrote a lot when i was twelve-fourteenish, then kind of on and off through the years. never really had anything to ground me and get me to take writing seriously. and then i found naruto and sakura who has so much unused potential and it just made me so angry to see her treated that way. 

point being, the naruto fandom (more specifically the sakura fandom) rooted me down and allowed me be able to grow as a writer even though i’ve only been posting since january my writing style has changed so much, and i can physically feel myself becoming a better writer. 

plus, i just love it. the thrill of being able to use these characters and pairings and do what i want with them?? i drink it up, i love it!!! its so freeing and such a great way to really dig deep within writing itself. 

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

i think its just the way i word things, you and a lot of others call it poetry but meh i just call it fancy words or word vomit from my brain AHAHHAHA

also, my thing is God Killers, God Eaters, and Angry Wrathful Women at this point, so maybe thats another thing?

but honestly,,, i have no clue... you’d have to ask my lovely readers, im so thankful for them 😭

6. What element of writing do you find comes easily?

plot probably. this changes often though. usually when i have an idea, the rest comes to mind and i jot it down and come back and change things and stuff, so thats usually pretty easy tbh... at least for now LMAO

and inner dialogue, inner struggles, showing the entire internal thing. its fun writing that angsty part of a story, the small insights into a character’s mind, how miserable and alone they feel. or, perhaps how happy they are, overjoyed and at peace. 

OH AND WORLD BUILDING. i pride myself so much on my world building. i honestly think thats one of the better things im good at! just weaving small details into the text, and subtly building a world within your mind, oh i love it so much!!!!

16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

mmmm nothing really comes to mind? men simping for women who could kick their ass? tho idk if thats really a guilty pleasure....am very fond of same age aus, sometimes mafia aus too... ummm,, yeah

(probably big dick tenzo tbh... and the fact that kakashi’s face is a legal weapon AHAHAHA,,, and broken, vunreble men. also, shattered, all consuming women.)

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

oh god... i cannot chose! you, ele, al, and hika leave the kindest comments, and literally any comment on the things i write just make me so so so so so HAPPY. i just them more than kudos tbh. 

but! one comment on the intimacy of being understood i always come back to. it was left by GuardianMars and they wrote that the fic was like a “love letter to the pairing.” and that well. i think about that comment all the time. 

there have been so many others comments that have utterly touched my heart and that i will go to read on terrible, horrible days and i value ALL comments. especially those who say “i’m rereading this again” or “i’ll read anything you put out” that just. there is something so intimate about that, that utter faith and loyalty that i do not know what to do with. 

its so touching and makes me truly believe in the good of the world. 

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

yes! i am attempting to get better at writing smut because ol&w is going to have some fucking in it so i experimented in that shisaku fic and just..... yeah idk man. idk... its something i do want to get better at cause, meh why not? and i want to write some good porn for my readers damnit! HAHAHA 

33. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

hmmm,,, probably that i stress so much and yet so little at the same time? allow me to elaborate! i stress so much about whether my writing is actually good or if people are just being nice LMAO and also posting, i get cold sweats and a thumping heart and yiKES

but also, i enjoy writing so its like “fuck you (jk ily guys) imma write what i wanna!”...do you see my issue? HAHAHA

also, im a planner. most of the time, and a lot of the details in my more serious fics (ol&w) are blink and miss details but they’re important and i LOVE foreshadowing!!!! like yes, i will vaguely mention something and itll simply come back with a vengeance! 

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

aaaaaa okokok thank you for this ask LMAO i just love talking about writing and rambling (as i often do,, im a long winded person, im very sorry)! 

but anyways! my summer semester just started up and i’m taking three purely online classes and the college im attending (im a dual enrollment student; meaning a high school and college kid,, taking advantage of the system!) fucked up my schedule so! im taking two TWELVE WEEK CLASSES that will end in AUGUST???? and then my fall sem starts five days later so... no summer break for nadia! yay...

writing will be very slow and updates will be too, which i am so sad and frustrated about because i’ve finally hit a paved road and now we’re driving into the forest! all bumps and bruises damnit! BUT worry not! i (as i said above, am i severe planner. every day has a plan, i am also an avid lover of lists also. i have lists for EVERYTHING) am working out a schedule so that i can get all my school shit done as soon as i can (while not failing) and write while hopefully not burning myself out.  

ol&w is such an intricate fic and im truly trying to give it the justice it deserves,,, im just hoping that my dear readers can bear with me HAHAHAHA there is honestly so much going on in that fic; shikamaru’s development, the underlying plot, the hate to love build up, the world building, and then laying down the foundations for the next fic (because yes, this is supposed to be a trilogy.. question is; will i be able to write it?) (answer: maybe. hopefully. i desperately want to but it might take some time.)

BUT ASLO i have so many oneshots i want to write! kisame week! kakashi week! kibasaku long fic! and not to mention my og work that i plan on rewriting and putting up on ao3 because a few people showed some interest. there is just so much to do and write and i am itching to do it all! but. well, but school, and the exhaustion of insomnia, and the weight of stress, sigh. 

shit sucks, it is what it is. but writing is like my safe haven and i just love pouring all myself into my fics and then baring my soul to you all and you take a peek and decide to keep looking. that is my favorite part of this little pocket of tumblr. 

this was not really... fic related? more like a dump of issues! so sorry about that AHAHAHAH 

anyways! thank you so much mittens! :)))))))))

pick my brain!

[sentient-stove]

DiGiornos, Delivery and Desperate Measures:(SnowDice’s Cuffed Universe.)

So @snowdice has a comfort series of mine and so I wrote fanfic for it.  Here’s an AO3 link to the original series. (x)

Anyway, there’s a running gag that Logan and Remus are the reason why Virgil keeps getting fired from deadend jobs.  So I wrote a bit with it.  Enjoy! 

Fandom: Sanders Sides, SnowDice’s Cuffed Universe.

Characters: Virgil, Logan, Remus

Relationships: Platonic(?) Virgil/Logan/Remus

Additional Tags: Food mentions, locking someone in a closet, Sexual jokes

Word Count: 1421

Summary: Virgil delivers pizza to the wrong house.  Everything from there goes downhill from there.

AO3

Virgil honestly had lost count at this point at how many jobs Logan and Remus had indirectly made him lose.  Or directly in the case of the art shop and Target.

But nothing could go wrong with delivering pizzas for Dominos.  Nothing.  He’d been doing this for two weeks now and nothing had gone wrong, which was a bit of a record at this point and so when Virgil got a delivery slip for some place on the other side of the city, he thought it was weird, why order from this location when there was another Domino’s closer, but whatever.

Yeah, he was really wrong on that part.

…

Virgil rang the doorbell, as per the instructions on the receipt and when the door opened, he was greeted by a confused man.

“Dominos for Hatcher?”

The man blinked and Virgil sighed.  “There was a pizza asked to be delivered here, can you just take them and sign the paper?  They’ve already been paid for.”

“I think you have the wrong address.”

“Fuck.” Virgil turned away and the man’s hand clamped down on his shoulder before he could move away.

“Maybe you should come inside.”

“I’d rather fucking not.”  Virgil responded as the man tugged him back.

He probably would have gotten away if he hadn’t been holding three pizzas.  Unfortunately for Virgil, he was dragged inside and the door was slammed shut.

…

From the car that he had been in for the past day, Remus cursed.  Virgil really had the worst case of luck.  He’d been watching this house to hopefully see a deal go down, after all, he’d been following this trail for a few weeks now, but now he had to add abducted pizza deliverer to the list.

…

 Logan was pulling DiGiorno's out of his hideout’s oven after the first pizza that he ordered hadn’t shown up, which was aggravating, but he shouldn’t have trusted Dominos.  Either way it didn’t matter, because he was heading out tomorrow morning to the next job he had.   He didn’t have any plates here, so he opted to fold some paper towels and use that.

He was on his second slice when the doorbell rang.  Logan got up with his pizza slice and meandered to the door, idly wondering if it was the Dominos order.

He opened the door.

“Remus.  You said a forty two hour truce.  I still have fourteen hours.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not here to arrest you, scoot.” Remus pushed past him and entered the bare house, Logan closing the door as the officer made his way to the kitchen and stole a slice of pizza.

“Why are you here?”

“I was on a stakeout, mostly waiting out the truce time and I saw your dumbass of a ex boyfriend get pegged.”

Logan blinked.  “I’ve never had an ex.  Why are you watching porn at work?”

Remus sighed.  “Oh my god, how are you somehow the smartest and the dumbest person I know?  I was doing a stakeout, and I saw Virgil trying to do his job- he delivers pizzas now- and the person who ordered it dragged him inside and he’s probably still in there.”

Logan’s eye twitched.  “Okay.”

“Wanna help me get him back?”  Remus took a bite of Logan’s pizza and nodded.  “This is good.”

“Why don’t you just arrest them?” “They technically haven’t done anything illegal yet, that’s why I was watching the place.”

“I can’t even come up with the words to describe what I want to do with you.”

“Kinky.”

“Nevermind, I want to acquaint your face with a chair.  Repeatedly.”  Logan muttered.

“Still kinky.”

…

“If I had a nickel for everytime I got tied up and locked in a closet, I’d have two nickels.”  Virgil said cheekily as the nameless dude handcuffed him to a shelving unit.

“Shut up.”

“I mean like, you really didn’t have to drag me in here.  I’m really tired of people getting me fired for doing my job.”

“I will not hesitate to gag you.”

Virgil shrugged.  “You would not be the first.”

“Looks like I’ll be the first to make sure you don’t get out.”

Virgil froze.  “Woah, hold up.  I’ve been through some shit, please just let me go at the end.  I’d really rather not die in a dusty closet. I won’t snitch.”

The man said nothing, but he shoved a handkerchief in Virgil’s mouth and then tied a rope around his head, effectively making it so he couldn’t work out the gag.

Remus would probably find this hot.   Virgil thought miserably as the guy left, shutting the door and throwing him into darkness.

…

When Remus and Logan pulled up a few houses away from the one that Virgil was apparently in, Logan sighed.

“Are you serious?”

“What?”

“I had a job over here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”  Remus thunked his head against the steering wheel.  “I swear if we get Virgil fired again…”

“Our current problem is that we need to make sure that he’s fine.  Minimum wage jobs aside, I move that we wait for them to leave, see if they take him with them and if not, we go in and search to see if he’s still there.  If they take him, you can charge them with abduction and my job will be done.”  Logan pulled out his most recent laptop as Remus looked at him incredulously.

“Aren’t you worried they’ll kill him, they’re drug dealers.”

Logan didn’t bother to look up.  “No.  I’ve been tapping money from these guys for a while, they usually just leave people behind to die of natural causes.”

“What.”

“I make sure they’re found before they die.  I’m a criminal, not a monster Remus.”  Logan snapped.

…

Virgil lost track of time, but he was dead exhausted by the time the closet door opened and he looked up to see Logan.

“Remus, found him!”  Logan called out the door before turning and crouching in front of him.  “Are you okay?”

Virgil glared and Logan blinked a few times before realizing why he couldn’t speak.

“Sorry.  One moment.”  he untied the rope and Virgil spat out the handkerchief.

“Why is it always you two?”  He hissed out and Logan sighed.

“I am sorry that you keep getting caught up in our escapades.”

“I’m tired Logan.  Really, really tired.  Can you guys just unlock me and leave so I can go get fired again and also sleep.  I don’t know how long I’ve been stuck here.”

“About a day.”  Remus’ voice interrupted before Logan could answer as he crammed himself into the closet to crouch next to Logan.  “Nice place you got here.”

“Remus.”

“What Lo?  It’s better than some of the other places we’ve left and found Pizza Man.”

All three of them shuddered.

Remus reached forward with some sort of key, unlocking Virgil’s handcuffs and freeing him from the shelving.   Virgil rubbed at his wrists and shook his arms to get some of the feeling back.   

“I didn’t even see either of you this time, how the fuck did this happen?” “Logan was stalking them.”

“Remus, you were here first.  And to be honest, neither of us directly had a part in this.  You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Virgil sighed and rested the back of his head against the shelf that he had been handcuffed to.  “God, kill me.”

“I’d rather not.  Do you need to be carried out?”  Logan gently asked as he brushed a bit of Virgil’s hair from his face.

“Nah, I may be exhausted, but I should probably drive the Dominos car back to the place before I get charged with theft.”  Virgil waved his hand, prompting Logan and Remus to stand and take a few steps back so he could get off the ground.

“I didn’t really like the blue anyway, but I’m not really ecstatic to have to go job searching again.  I’m starting to run out of places that’ll hire me.”

And with that, he pushed past Logan and Remus, exiting the house and leaving the pair to stare at each other.

Remus scuffed at the floor with a toe.  “So, uh… I’ll give you fourteen hours?”

Logan shrugged.  “Sure.  I’m going to make sure that Virgil gets home without falling asleep.”

“Okay.  See you next time we inevitably cross paths and get Virgil fired again.”

Logan nodded, took a half step towards Remus, decided against whatever he was going to do and turned, leaving the officer to close the closet door.

[bucky-iss-bae]

Blind Date (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

A/N: Hey heyy, so I’ve not posted anything in a while. Been living in a shit storm, and my mental health is at a real low right now, but on the bright side, I’m watching a lot more TV and having ‘me’ time, or so I say. I just want to fix myself up, and become the woman I aspite to be. Buttt.... got a few ideas for the next few days so hopefully will be writing more xoxo 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Fandom: MCU/Marvel

Summary: Reader has loads of dating fails so Sam sets her up 

Warnings: None - just idiot guys I guess. 

Word count: 1200

Masterlist Fandom List

Being in your mid to late twenties, the pressure of having to find a life partner was more daunting than ever. All around you, your childhood friends, colleagues, family friends were all either getting married, getting engaged, having children, or buying houses, yet you were stuck. In that department anyway, work was good for you, working with The Avengers was an amazing job to have, living in the Avengers Compound was amazing, a luxury not many had. You lived with some of your collegues that you saw as family, and it kept people that you didn’t need to bump into the city at bay. Knowing if you had a little overpriced apartment, you would constantly have people inviting themselves over, being nosey in your life. The problems of coming from a big family.

But the problem you had right now was the fact you were single, nearly everyone around you were most definitely not single, constantly getting calls from your mother, grandmother, and aunts asking when you were ready to settle down.

You had nearly enough of online dating, Tinder, a massive fail, the amount of scumbags you came across was horrible, Hinge, you thought had potential to then realise after several failed dates, it was not a potential, the same with Bumble.

You had just gotten back from another failed date, although you didn’t have any specific taste, they all seemed to be the same. Cocky pricks who spoke down to you, you understood why they were single.

The man you had just seen tried to mansplain about Starks technology, he said he worked within a massive software company and tried to explain how things you deal with on a day to day basis worked.

It was a waste of makeup, a waste of a cute outfit, and a waste of time. Instead you knew the person you wanted to go on dates with, but that said person sees you as a friend, that person is the one who encouraged you to try online dating.

“You look happy” Sam commented as you walked through the living area to get to your room,

You rolled your eyes at that comment, “Don’t even get me started. I’ve got a question, a serious question, why do men like to mansplain to women, to make them feel so tiny and inferior, I nearly threw hands with this guy. I’m actually so, so sick of dating. It’s exhausting, and I feel like it’s the same jerk every time just with a mask on. Like Sam, I give up”

He stared at you, amusement clearly written all over his face, Steve was also sat behind him looking amused, Sam, he msut’ve understood my pain because he was dealing with the same thing. But he was charming, he didn’t want to settle down, instead he done a lot of dating, a lot of being a player. But Steve was in a happy and healthy relationship,

“I’m telling you. Online dating, a disaster waiting to happen. Back in my day…” Steve started but soon trailed off. 

“No gramps, we will not go back in your day” Sam said pointing at him, “I quite enjoy having an easy hook up through online dating”

“Sam, shh. Steve carry on, back in your day… tell me the secret please, we don’t care about Sam and his hook ups”

“Oh, you’d have to ask Buck, he always set me up. They never worked, well for him sure, but not for me.”

“Well… do either of you have friends you could set me up with? Wait no, that’s a joke. Nat once set me up with a guy, and he was trash.”

The two of them exchanged a look, Sam had a smirk on his face and this smirk never meant something good.

“What if… I set you up with a friend of mine. An old buddy… he’s a vet as well”

I rose my eyebrows at him, “What if it doesn’t go well and then it���ll be awkward?”

“Oh no. I know you’ll like this friend. I’m sure of it. And if not… then I’ll take you on a date. Completely platonic of course, just a reminder of how you should be treated” He winked,

I snorted at that, “Steve, what do you think? Should I give Sam this power?”

“Oh definitely not. But sure, how bad could it be compared to your past dates. The guy might be a charmer”

You caved in and agreed, Sam said he would deal with the details, and gave you a where and when.

That where and when was a few days later, he told you there was a reservation in a cute independent café, one that you had raved to him about before because of their most perfect chocolate cake. So you dressed up, not sure what to wear so decided on a cute outfit, you let your hair fall naturally, and decided on going with a natural makeup look, not sure how you would find todays date, so you didn’t want to get your hope up too much.

You were sat in your favourite café, you were facing the door so you had no idea who this mystery man was, nor when he would get here. You just hope that he wouldn’t stand you up.

“This seat free sweetheart?” You heard an awfully familiar voice ask from behind you,

You looked up, shocked to see someone who was most definitely a friend of Sam’s, someone who was also a vet, and hypothetically speaking, he was old.

“Bucky… what… what are you, wait, are you my blind date, or were you… what?” you asked confused.

Bucky took the seat opposite you, a shy grin on his face, “I may or may not be. Sam said he had a date for me. I had no other choice, I would love it, and I would know who as soon as I got there”

You smiled at Bucky while your heart was hammering away in your chest, “Sam really played us huh?” you asked,

“Well sweetheart, considering I’ve wanted to ask you on a date for god knows how long, I don’t care how Sam played us, I’m just grateful he finally got it done”

You stared at him in shock at, “You’ve really wanted to ask me on a date? Steve said you were the one who knew how to get dates back when you were both young”

Bucky snorted at that, “Times have changed, and I’m not the same man I once was. And it’s entirely different asking someone out that you’ve liked for a while now. Especially if that someone has the same living quarters as you do”

I shook my head, “Well, I’m glad we’re finally here then” you said covering his hand with your own, “Although Bucky, you could’ve saved me a lot of bad dates”

“Oh trust me, there won’t be any bad dates for you. Not as long as I’m around” His blue eyes were twinkling slightly,

“I take your word for that Bucky, now, you can finally have a slice of that chocolate cake I’ve been raving about”

The smile wouldn’t leave your face as he stared at you, his own grin matching yours, you and Bucky were finally on a date, and you were finally able to delete all your dating apps, instead you were holding the man of your dreams hand in front of you with no intention of letting him go.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyedddd, I know it’s not the best, lets hope it’s not the worst though. 

[pumpkinpaix]

Hello! and PSA

*waves* hi everyone! so uh, I’ve kind of had a bit of a surge in followers recently, and I thought I would make a bit of a PSA/intro post with a bit more targeted info than my about page.

anyways, I’m cyan! statistically speaking, you are probably here for one of the following reasons:

my fic

my meta

my gifs

my translation

all of the above

this is pretty much an mdzs blog on main these days, but I also rb a lot of other misc things because I have never been good at keeping my interests separate. it’s also my personal blog, so expect some of that? i am very all or nothing ahaha. my opinions change very quickly as I process new information, so like, something I said last week or yesterday might be different now! I’ve seen several people going through some of my older posts, and I’m just like oh dear, I said a lot of things six months ago that I no longer vibe with. /o\ please keep that in mind as you go diving in my blog!

i don’t have a BYF or DNI policy, but I reserve the right to block anyone for any reason because this is a personal blog first and foremost, and I do need to be better about setting my boundaries and curating my own online space! on that same token, you are free to follow, unfollow, block, whatever, even if we’re mutuals. <3

you’re free to come talk to me in my inbox or dms, but please be aware that there’s a very high chance I will never get back to you /o\ it isn’t personal!! I am just very mentally ill and have many difficulties with keeping up social interactions or talking to people.

in the interest of trying to be more open about myself, my brain, and what that means for me in an online/fandom space, I’m gonna do a boatload of mental health talk under the cut (or, if you’re looking at this on my blog proper or somewhere where the cut doesn’t display, it starts right after this paragraph), including mentions of self-harm/thoughts of specific self-harm etc, just so you are warned! I’ve been thinking recently that it’s good to try and take steps towards being more open about my issues, both for my own sake and others’. It’s long, because one of the fun things about my mental illness is that I am hyperverbal ahahaha (if that... wasn’t already obvious orz)

so if you’ve read pfmmpd, you can kind of get a sense of what I’m working with. a lot of how i wrote lwj was drawn directly from shit happening in my own brain, but like? dial that up from the specific issues that lwj had in that fic and apply it unilaterally across the board to almost anything you can think of.

I hesitate to describe my OCD as debilitating, but only because my specific cocktail of compulsions and anxieties and triggers push me to be hyperachieving and hyperfunctional. I consider myself pretty fortunate (?) in that regard. on paper, you could never tell how absolutely batshit my internal landscape is! which is very good for me practically in that I can hold down a job, keep scholarships, graduate with honors, have good prospects for my future, hold onto relationships (usually yikes) etc. but the fact of the matter is, I’m like. oh boy.

to give you a peek, here’s a non-exhaustive list of things that have triggered me to varying degrees of severity within the last like, week or so:

my dog

a chinese folk song

my mother reading a chinese haiku to me written by a young gay man

a chinese reader of my fic lovingly and gently giving me a history lesson on china and on mdzs while praising me

stepping on a piece of snow that didn’t collapse in the precise way i expected it to

writing meta

reading meta

ruminating on my triggers (honestly, I played myself)

seeing a twitter thread going around tumblr with decent information but the OP is someone who was exceedingly cruel to a good friend of mine

visiting my grandmother’s grave

deciding to visit my grandmother’s grave

discussing the concept of cuddling my partner whom i love and have been with for four years

self-harming (truly the height of irony, being triggered into self-harm and then getting triggered by the result of the self-harm hahahahahaha)

dropping off a package

trying to explain queer-coding to my parents

talking about stressors in my life related to covid19

having a very pleasant conversation with a person i admire

editing my translation

the fact that the “close” button on my accessibility sidebar on the translation website is the wrong color

choosing between eating all the shiitake mushrooms in my soup and purposefully giving myself a bad reaction or throwing one out and wasting food

thinking about playing a fun game with my partner and a mutual friend

my mom asking me to take a photo of some tea for her

my mom asking my opinion on a photo she was photoshopping

animal crossing

writing this fucking post HAHAHAHA

like!! it goes on!! endlessly! obviously, these triggers are not simply “bad” things. the chinese folk song and the haiku were both really beautiful and i love them! but I did spend a good amount of time curled up on my floor in the dark sobbing as i played the song on repeat. the haiku was one of the last straws that ended up with me screaming and crying and hurting myself. the snow??? like wtf the snow thing. I stepped on the snow and it felt wrong and my brain just started screaming SMASH YOUR KNEECAP. ???? (I didn’t, for the record, and I would never.) I love my partner very much! I love my friends very much, and my mother, and my grandmother etc. my triggers are infinite, unpredictable, and bizarre.

I’m saying all of this because I want to be clear that MDZS/CQL fandom specifically triggers me on a daily basis, sometimes very very badly. this is just a fact! it is no one’s fault! I have decided it is worth it for me to stay anyways. it is impossible for me to request people tag for certain things because I myself have no idea what my triggers are until I encounter them. It’s like a fun mystery boss encounter! sometimes it’s low level and i’m well-equipped to handle it. other times it’s a one-hit KO. We just don’t know! there are lots of very cool content creators in this fandom that I can’t follow because it would make my dash that much more high stakes. the original source canon material triggers me! all the events leading up to Lotus Cove massacre? I was shaking at work for three hours after consuming it for the first time.

Meta specifically is something I know a lot of people like me for, but it’s 100% the most triggering activity I participate in for this fandom. like, that suibian meta post I wrote that’s currently going around? Probably took me four or five hours of concentrated effort to write because I was compulsively panicking and rewriting and editing and panicking more and qualifying and editing and qualifying some more and then debating whether I should post it or not and then fighting with myself about my wording and then immediately regretting it and then every time someone commented on it (regardless of positive or negative!) my anxiety spiked. I started a reply to a response on that post and had to stop after a few minutes because I was already starting to trigger myself over it.

this is actually a pretty good outcome when it comes to meta! I recognized that I was hurting myself before I got any further, and I only spent like, five hours on it! it was good exposure therapy for me! the bad outcome is. well. bad, as you might imagine lmao.

I like writing meta. I like talking to people about it too! I like participating in fandom, I like writing, I like translating, I like all of these things. they’re just also really hard for me! there’s a couple meta requests sitting in my inbox right now that I want to get to, but it might take me like. a long time because of. you know! *gestures* Everything takes me a long time. that first chapter of the translation took me literally five months from beginning the project to posting a final edited version. It’s just over 1k words. D8

I try really hard to be chill and kind in public and I largely think I succeed on the kind part (I hope!). If you thought I had even an ounce of chill before this, perhaps I have disabused of that notion entirely now lmao. I’m not saying this for pity, but like? just so we all know what we’re dealing with here. I don’t want anyone to get hurt when I don’t engage with them or feel snubbed if I never reply to them. and also like, hey, if someone relates it’s like hooray, high fave, solidarity! we’re not alone in this world! or maybe this will help someone understand OCD a little better! I don’t know. I hope this post is a positive thing. BUT! I’ve spent three hours on it already, and i’m definitely starting to compulsively spiral, so instead of going back and editing it over and over, I’m just going to post it. thank you everyone for your understanding! I hope you enjoy your time on my blog! (*´▽`*)

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

TLC

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Hideyoshi Toyotomi x Naiya (female OC) x Masamune Date

Word count: 4,507

Warning: Pampering, Fluff and sprinkle of spice.

Written by: darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts

Tagging @umbralaperture​ for this commissioned piece.

Masterlist 

---

TLC

This was getting beyond a joke. Every breath was agony, something clawing at her throat and pulling on her lungs like they were a set of bagpipes. Lack of oxygen meant every minor ache and pain suddenly sparked throughout her body a thousand times worse.

She tried to move only to be hit with a blinding pressure pain buried somewhere behind her eyes making her wonder who planted an axe there. Sleep was desired and never came. Endless exhaustion added to the melee of things that now just made up a list as long as she was tall for what was wrong.

Duvets, blankets and pillows clung around her like a nest. Somehow, she had managed to crawl into bed. Medication hadn’t worked the way it should, it hadn’t worked at all. She groaned against the faint light creeping into the bedroom from the curtains and became aware of something loud enough to shake the gates of Hell.

“Ugh… not now.” She grumbled and tried to bunch the pillows up around her ears but the hammering didn’t stop. “Fine, not like I can sleep anyway.”

She peeled back the layers of comfort and dragged her body as close to vertical as she could muster. Using the wall to steady herself, as well as any furniture along the way, she slowly made it to the front door. Her fingers fumbled against the lock. The bolt slid back and the door cracked open.

“This had better be good. I put off dying to be here.” Before she could even focus on who had come to call on her, the door was pushed wide. A set of strong arms wrapped her up in a bone-crushing hug driving what little air she had in her body out along with her ability to stand under her own strength. “Oof!”

“Naiya! Thank god you answered I was this close to kicking in the door.” The familiar comforting voice of one of her usually level-headed boyfriends sounded muffled from her position against his broad chest.

“Yoshi mate, you might want to ease up on the whole bear hug before you really have a need to worry.” Masa reached out with one hand ruffling her hair as he reminded Hideyoshi of a human’s requirement to breathe. “Sorry Lass. I brought food.”

Masa held up two bags he had in his free hand giving them a light shake before brushing past her and Hideyoshi to get into the house.

“I can see that. I thought you guys had a key for here anyway?” She couldn’t really focus on what was happening but was really trying to follow along.

“We do but someone left it in the bowl back at ours.” Masa called out from the kitchen. She could hear the bags being emptied along with the thud and clink of produce being laid out on the counter.

“If you hadn't distracted me before we left, I wouldn’t have forgotten to grab it from the bowl in the first place.” Hideyoshi grumbled his arms releasing their tight hold as he chided Masa.

“How was I distracting you? I was trying to think of things to get from the store on the way over. It was your idea to get the key bowl anyway.” Masa appeared again a teasing grin on his face before changing his voice to give his best impersonation of Hideyoshi. “Can’t just have keys hanging around we need some order in the place.”

“You kept asking if I thought today was a cheat day or not. And I do not sound like that!” Hideyoshi sounded exasperated and a little embarrassed. He was normally the reliable one so forgetting something like the key to their girlfriend’s house proved he was worried.

“Well, it makes a difference to Kitten.” Masa chirped back.

“Hey guys as much as I enjoy the Saturday night live experience, I’m just gonna let you do your things and crawl back into my pit.” She tried to remove herself from the loud, all be it amusing, interaction. It was taking a lot more strength than first imagined to remain upright and she didn’t want to worry them anymore.

“Hold up.” Hideyoshi reached out and grabbed her as she swayed on her feet. Apparently urging herself to try to move forward had failed. His attention left Masa and was now completely focused on her. One of his large hands swept back her bangs as he inspected her. “I knew it, you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. I am perfectly healthy for a bag of infested, cursed… you know what? I can’t even be bothered finishing that.” Hideyoshi’s hand felt cool against her face which was enough to tell her she was probably running a slight temperature. Great if there was one thing I don’t need right now; it’s my whole system shutting down with some weird bug.

Naiya silently hoped that whatever was happening was just a result of her failed meds. A nasty side effect from inhalers or something not clearing her airways.

“You really look pale, Lass.” Masa came to join them. His piercing blue eye peered out from under his hair and began to rove over every inch of exposed skin she had.

Hideyoshi’s inspection was one thing. It made you feel like you were being wrapped up as he softly moved over you. Masa’s inspection was just as caring but wilder in its execution. If one man was good at making her feel bound, the other was good at making her feel exposed. Between one kind of smothering and the other, it was impossible to hide anything from these two.

“You haven’t been looking after yourself, have you? I told you not to work too hard.” Hideyoshi huffed, the furrow of his brow becoming deeper as if he were the one suffering a splitting headache and not her.

Sensing the start of one of the dreaded lectures on observing better self-care Naiya wriggled in Hideyoshi’s grip freeing herself. She then attempted to sidestep Masa who had moved in a pincer movement to keep her in place without touching.

“It’s not a question of working too hard Yoshi. Its allergy season and my damn meds are useless. With everything going on I can’t go into work, I got told to rest.” In her flurry of explanations designed to defend herself, she could feel whatever little energy she had failing her with every word.

The room felt like it was spinning and she ended up finding herself steadied with a strong arm from Masa as he wrapped it around her waist.

“So naturally you didn’t.” Masamune was still smiling but she could tell by his tone even he was concerned. His gaze really was stripping away at her masks. As fast as she put one in place, he was there to remove it piece by piece.

“Hey what is this gang up on the sick person?” She batted at Masa’s chest that was ever so slightly visible under his black shirt. In a moment of clearer breathing, the smell of his own natural scent mixed with the spices and soap he used at work hit her stronger than they normally would.

“You just said you weren’t sick.” Hideyoshi pointed out the flaw in her exasperated argument.

“I’m changing my mind if it means I got two fussing mother types crowding me.” She didn’t so much manage to break free of Masa’s grip as he backed her up against the sofa and allowed gravity to work its magic. Her legs gave out with very little effort and she bounced on the cushioned seating feeling the lurch of her body reacting in a sickening wake up call.

“Right here’s how its gonna work Kitten.” Masa said as he crouched down at her side and held her hand. Making sure she was focused on what he was about to say before continuing. “I’m gonna go in the kitchen and cook dinner for three. You are gonna eat however much of it you can and I’ll turn the leftovers into meals you can eat over the next few days. I’ll even make a big pot of chicken soup for you.”

“With dumplings?” She knew she sounded like a child right now but dammit if someone else cooking meals for her and preparing them so she just had to reheat them later didn’t sound like a slice of Heaven.

“Sure, with dumplings if that’s what you want.” Masamune chuckled and began to ruffle up her hair. She hated to think how bad it looked but it felt nice to feel his touch.

“While that is happening. I’m going to run you a nice refreshing bath and you will soak in there while I tidy up a bit.” Hideyoshi said as he bent down to pick something up off the floor and she could already tell from the way he was looking around the room that he was silently appraising the lack of housekeeping.

“Hey just so you know I haven’t been home much and—”

“You said you weren’t going into work!” Hideyoshi pivoted on the spot, discarded magazines and papers in hand making him look like he had begun to sprout wings.

“Oops.” She became defensive and inadvertently put her foot right in it.

“Don’t ‘Oops’ me, Madam. I was right to be worried about you. When we hadn’t heard from you in the last couple of days I just knew --.”

“Hahaha, you tell her Bud.” Masa applauded with a slow clap as he laughed.

Masa had been practically vibrating attempting to hold back the laughter while watching Hideyoshi as he flapped around. It didn’t take a genius to work out why. The papers in his arms really did look like feathers when he moved.

“Masa you are not helpful.” Naiya was struggling to hold back a fit of giggles as well. His laughter was contagious and it didn’t help that Hideyoshi seemed to have transformed into the mother hen he was always teased of being.

“Little kittens that are as weak as you at the minute can’t complain. Now go along with Yoshi and his mothering while I go sort out food. I’ll even help with the housework while it's heating up.” Masa dragged her forward on the sofa so he could plant a loud kiss on her forehead before leaving the room again to vanish into the kitchen.

“Fine.”

*

It took the entire time the bath was running for Hideyoshi to finally calm down enough to take in what had been happening without butting in with ‘I told you so’ or ‘Why didn’t you call me?’. He checked the meds she had taken and called someone who sounded grumpy enough to be Ieyasu.

Steam, taking time out and sleep. That was what he ordered alongside the bath to get cleaned up and generally try to relax in. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already heard from others and sleep was harder to come by than they all made it sound. Logically she knew they were right, if she could sleep some of what she felt would clear but her lungs we against it.

The water was just the right temperature with clusters of candles lit around the bathroom and fragrant bubbles popping against her skin. Too bad her nose was so blocked in the humid atmosphere she couldn’t really enjoy the whole sensory experience.

Laying there submerged in the hot water she heard the two men moving around her home. She wasn’t worried they were both so good at domestic stuff it put her to shame more often than not. She was only feeling guilty that she had caused them to worry so much.

As she breathed in and out, she willed her lungs to stop that rasping rattle she had come to associate with trying to live. Asthma, allergies… what were you supposed to do if most of the environment you lived it was hell-bent on killing you?

After about 10 minutes soaking it felt like some humanity had started to return to her. She wasn’t magically fixed but the warmth of the water had managed to regulate her own internal thermostat and she was at least a normal temperature again.

She slipped down so her shoulders went under the waterline and tilted her head back to get her hair wet. While her head was under the water, her ears picked up a muffled noise and pulled herself up just in time to see a panicked Hideyoshi rushing to her side from the now open bathroom door.

“Naiya, are you alright? I knew I shouldn’t have left you for so long in the bath when you are not well.” His hands brushed back her wet hair from her face and she was thankful for the bubbles in the tub giving her a veil of decency.

“I’m fine. I was just getting my hair wet.”

As she scrambled to grab the bottle of shampoo it was plucked from her wet grip.

“I’ll wash it for you.” Hideyoshi didn’t sound as if he were treating this like a chore. Still, it felt a little strange to have this happening and she found herself naturally trying to decline the offer.

“You don’t have too I’m fine.”

“You just gave me a mini heart attack. Let me.”

The cap popping open felt like it was echoing in the room. She watched the viscous liquid pour from the bottle and coat his hands.  His hands softly covered the crown of her head and she closed her eyes against the heavenly sensation of his fingers working in circles and patterns over her scalp. The sound of foam squelched near her ears sending a tingle up her spine.

Callused fingers, softened by the warm water, brushed softly over the shell of her ears. Following her hairline to her nape and then returning back up to the crown again. He lightly rinsed his hands in the water before easing her lower, carefully supporting her head on one arm as he rinsed her hair free of the soap with a small jug.

Naiya’s eyes opened to see her dreamy, blissed-out expression reflected in his soft caramel gaze.

“There now all better?” He asked while kneeling at the side of the bath. The last of the suds from her hair ran freely over his bare arms highlighting the lines of toned muscle.

“Y-yes.” She stuttered. She had been sure her temperature had returned to normal until her overactive imagination began to take over. Drawing lines and connections in a game of dot to dot with little encouragement that only served to fuel a fire in her cheeks.

“That’s my girl. I left your towels here but if you want, I can help you get out?” He got up and paused at the door waiting for her reply.

“No, I should be fine.” The bubbles in the bath were nearly depleted as they fought against the soap of the shampoo. She was becoming aware again of her own vulnerability.

“Ok. I’ll just be the other side of the door so don’t struggle if you can’t manage.” He was still worrying.

“I’m feeling a bit better I can…” She trailed off. Acting tough was not going to work when he had already seen her looking rough as hell. She forced herself to meet his eyes and nod. “Fine, I’ll call if I need you.”

“Good girl. Take your time.” Hideyoshi either didn’t notice the budding embarrassment or he was being too much of a gentleman to call her on it.

She was thankful to the bath for giving her skin an all-over flush, masking a lot of her give away blushing response to him. The door shut and she could hear Masamune shout up the stairs.

“Grubs up!”

*

She pushed herself a little too much to get dressed quickly so as not to keep them both waiting. When she returned downstairs. She was wheezing and trying to hide the fact she was once more in pain with her lungs rattling in her ears.

“Here Lass sit down before you fall down.” Masa joked but he was clearly trying to care for her without making it into a big thing.

Her back sunk into the sofa cushions as her eyes fell on the spread of food that was laid out on the coffee table. She hated her nose right now because if looks were anything to go by the food would have smelt divine.

“What is all this?”

“Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner… Supper.” Masa indicated all the different dishes like he was on a game show before giving a shrug as if to say it was all no big deal.

“If you were gonna cook all this why bother asking if today was a cheat day or not?” Hideyoshi came in carrying a big jug of water, slices of orange and lemon floating under a layer of ice. Placing it on a side table where some glasses were and took a seat next to her on the sofa.

“Hey, Cheat days are Cheat days only when you are healthy enough to be on a diet. When you are sick you should eat whatever you can and whatever you feel like so you can get strong again and continue to fight those pesky calorie demons.” Masa defended his cooking taking a seat on the other side of her.

“Haha, I like your logic there, Master Chef.” She giggled even more at Masa’s comments because of the huffy look that was now gracing Hideyoshi’s face. She shouldn’t take joy in him being put out but she didn’t have the energy to tell herself that.

“Why thank you.” Masa bumped shoulders with her grinning.

She once more found her mind wandering in a fog of fantasy as she registered the fact, she was the filling to this comforting boyfriend sandwich. As distractions from ill-health went it could have been a lot worse.

“However flawed it may be.” A tall tumbler of iced water appeared like a cold wedge between them as Hideyoshi passed out drinks.

“Yeah well, I’m sure the whole idea of wrapping Kitten up in bubble wrap thing is also a flawless plan.” Masa accepted the glass giving a teasing side-eye to the sandy-haired worrywart.

“Alright enough of that. Let’s eat before all this good stuff goes to waste eh?” Aware that something was about to kick off Naiya raised her voice to prevent Hideyoshi snapping back with what was no doubt going to be the start of something very witty that meant the friendly disagreement would continue till all the food was stone cold.

She regretted her words quickly as now both men had shut up and started a silent war. They pressed closer to her than necessary the feeling of being in a comfortable sandwich was becoming a distant memory. She wasn’t allowed to plate anything for herself and found her own dish filling up with bits of everything as the silent battle of caregiving continued.

Her body objected to the sudden influx of food and her stomach lurched. Eyes should not be allowed to pass judgement on what you put in your belly. As hungry as she had been it was also a while since she had eaten anything in this volume. She wanted to curse her upbringing for conditioning her to the fact that it was both rude to the cook and a waste of food to call it quits in the middle of a meal.

Sensing something was wrong with her both men stopped serving more of the dishes. Their intonations of ‘if you eat that you have to have this with it’ and ‘a balanced meal is important if you wish to get healthy’ died as they both exchanged glances over her.

“You alright Kitten?” Masa quietly asked his hand touching hers.

“Yeah.” Naiya nodded and regretted moving her head at all. She slipped her hand from Masa’s and without sparing the men a glance she left the room headed straight for the bathroom.

*

Naiya returned to the living room after freshening up. The harshness of the mint in the toothpaste felt a little sharp against her tongue but it was better than leaving things as they were.

The room had been completely cleared of any signs of the meal. Candles had been lit which meant the bright light from any lightbulbs was not going to cause her any issues. The DVD player had also been set up to play a movie.

All of the cushions had been dragged from the sofa to the floor making it look like a mattress had landed on the rug.  The coffee table was missing but it did look like all her blankets and duvet had been artfully arranged so her previous nest now looked like a luxurious retreat.

“You’re back.” Hideyoshi came in carrying two cups with Masa trailing close at his heels with a third cup of steaming liquid and a plate of something sweet.

“Here Lass try sipping this it will help.” The warmth of ginger spread through her mouth rounded out by calming honey. “Sorry kinda went a little far before.”

He didn’t avoid her eyes but the sincerity in his voice warmed her more than the drink.

“It’s fine I should have said no but I just couldn’t when everything was so good.”

“Careful there Kitten, you’re gonna start giving a fella ideas talking all seductive like.” Masa’s voice was a low purr against her ear, his wild chestnut brown hair brushed against her cheek igniting her blush further.

He brought one of the sweet treats from the plate to her mouth the softness of the dough melted against her tongue replacing the mint and ginger with a buttery sugar spice.

“Churros?”

“Masa we agreed.” Hideyoshi reprimanded.

Masa pulled back with a playful smile as he licked his own lips. He had a way of looking like a hungry predator ready to pounce and nothing seemed to trigger that more than watching her enjoying his food.  

“Yeah, Yeah. C’mere Kitten we got something special for you.” He took her by the hand leading her to the spread of cushions carefully taking her cup from her while she settled into position and then handed it back.

“You have a way of making things sound dirty even if they aren’t. I do wonder if you haven’t been hanging around a certain white-haired friend too long.” She smirked taking another sip of her drink.

Her spirited tease had a thrill that was short-lived. She could feel Hideyoshi move in behind her and sit on the frame of the cushionless sofa.  Her shoulders became encased in the space between his legs as he planted a foot either side of her.

Before she could ask what he was doing, his hands wrapped over her shoulders his fingers moving in circles. The flexing pressure of his grip as the heel of his hand came into play smoothing out the knots, he found almost had her drop her cup.

“Oops! Careful there Kitten, you are already sick you don’t want to get burnt on top of all that.”

The cup was once more liberated from her failing grip while soft sighs and little moans crept out of her mouth. Masa positioned himself at her feet taking one in his hands and began copying Hideyoshi’s movements as he focused on massaging her feet.

Every now and then her leg was raised just enough to let Masa’s fingers travel past the point of her ankle and find the tension trapped in her legs. Every time she felt the release of the stressful tension, he brought his lips to the spot and trailed kisses along it.

She gasped each time he did this. His upturned blue eye was dilated to the point of stormy and his chuckle left vibrations against her skin. The pressure on her shoulders and neck tightened in her response. Hideyoshi was not to be outdone or ignored at times like this. His gentleness could be torture when used correctly and this man was a master at that.

Hideyoshi’s hands slipped to her arms before moving back to her neck and travelling down her spine until they found that sweet spot in her lower back. The one that caused her to arch against his palm as her body reacted instinctively to the pleasure of his touch.

Attacked from two sides at once the little moans became louder as she felt her body begin to hum with affection being lavished on her. Tension, aches, pains they all seemed to melt right out of her as her body temperature rose to a comfortable heat.

They only stopped when she looked as if she were on the verge of breathlessness. It felt like she had just been the victim of a huge tease but it was clear that this was the line neither men were going to cross until she was stronger.

Her body became the filling once more in a boyfriend sandwich. Masa’s arm draped around her shoulders his hand landing on Hideyoshi’s shoulder where it began to play with the gap between his shirt and bare flesh. Hideyoshi cast a glance his way but said nothing to put an end to it.

Dropping her head onto Hideyoshi’s chest Naiya could hear his heartbeat pattering out a private salsa in his body. She smiled knowing that the two guys had made up after their silly little spat.

“Ready for the movie now Princess?” Hideyoshi clicked play on the remote and the opening sequence for Nightmare Before Christmas started.

“Oh my—you got me another copy!?” Naiya snapped back up between the two men eyes sparkling as she watched the screen.

Whether she knew it or not she was moving her body ever so slightly in time with the music which only made her boyfriends chuckle behind her.

“Couldn’t have you without your beloved movie, now could we?” Masa smiled as his hand was removed from Hideyoshi’s neck.

“If we couldn’t do at least this much we aren’t really living up to the title of your men, now are we?” Hideyoshi laced his fingers with Masa's, planting a biting kiss to the back of his hand before releasing it.

The teasing going on behind her did little to break her concentration on the movie. Each man reached out with one hand to drag her back down into the space between them.

Hideyoshi’s long legs stretched out on the cushions, his feet wrapping with Masamune’s while her shorter legs balanced over the top of both of them.

It wasn’t a miraculous cure and she knew that all she had been feeling would at some point find her again. Right now though she was content. Wrapped up in the arms of two of her greatest loves, Naiya’s eyes fluttered shut. The warmth from both men seeping into her with the music on the DVD acting as a lullaby. That was when the sleep she craved finally took her.

---

[kaiunkaiku]

Catch me writing self-indulgent 8059 fanfiction in 2020.

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Summary: “He has water in his eyes so his vision is somewhat impaired, but he thinks Hayato is shivering.”

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, referenced past suicide attempt, a bunch of mental health issues, unhealthy coping mechanisms, some miscommunication, a good helping of angst

Ao3

Enjoy!

Takeshi knew Tsuna would be waiting for him, and he's not surprised to see Squalo leaning on a tree ten or so meters behind. Tsuna is his best friend and Takeshi is his Rain Guardian, after all, and Tsuna tries to be there for all of his battles. And Squalo, well, Squalo is his teacher, and they are currently in Italy, so Takeshi chalks it up to him wanting to observe his progress.

One thing he was not expecting is Hayato. 

It’s raining outside – pouring, really –  and it’s uncharacteristically cold for the spring months in southern Italy. Takeshi himself is dripping water, along with sweat and blood, Tsuna and Hayato are both standing under umbrellas. Squalo isn’t, but Takeshi is fairly sure Squalo feels more at home when he’s soaking wet anyway. 

Exhaustion is settling in, now that Takeshi is done fighting. He doesn't like spilling blood, but sometimes he’s forced to – after all, the world is full of people who crave the title of the Sword Emperor, and Takeshi is fairly high on the list of people to defeat in order to pave the way to the final fight against Squalo. His clothes are stained, but most of the blood isn’t his. There’s a gash on the side of his chin that’s bleeding far more profusely that it has any right to, and he’s littered with smaller scratches and bruises all over, but most of the blood on him used to be inside the poor bastard who’s now bleeding in a clearing in the forest he just emerged from. 

He has water in his eyes so his vision is somewhat impaired, but he thinks Hayato is shivering. It’s hard to tell in the rain and with how Hayato is hugging himself under the umbrella that’s doing a semi-adequate job at best. Takeshi wants to run to him, wrap his arms around him, drag him to the car that he knows is waiting, but Hayato wouldn’t stand for that. He has to remind himself that using his sword falls nearly always strictly under Vongola business, and this situation is no different – his status as a swordsman is neatly tied to his status as Tsuna’s Rain Guardian, and although Tsuna is far from strict and formal as the Boss, proper conduct dictates he’s the one Takeshi is reporting to first. 

Tsuna sighs in relief when Takeshi relays to him the information that he left his opponent alive, even if in dire need of medical attention. He goes through the list of his own injuries quick – the gash on his chin seems to be the worst, and he will probably be sore as hell tomorrow – and casts another glance at Hayato. Squalo has already managed to slip out, apparently satisfied, but Hayato isn’t here for the battle; Hayato is here for the aftermath.

It’s not the first time, but Takeshi still finds himself wishing Hayato would stay home. He’s still so profoundly terrified of losing those closest to him that Takeshi just doesn’t want him seeing him hurt, no matter how little. Especially now that Hayato really should be in bedrest, him being here is helping no one. They’ve had multiple conversations about this, some of them actually productive and others ending in screaming and tears, not to mention one particularly terrible instance last year when Takeshi had to drag Hayato to the infirmary because he could not calm down.

(That happened two days after Bianchi had almost died. She was still in intensive care. Takeshi takes full responsibility for the outcome of that attempted conversation.)

According to Hayato, being present helps him deal with Takeshi getting hurt. Takeshi still doesn’t think it’s healthy, but he lets it slide time and time again. If he’s being honest, he would rather see Hayato immediately after having to get violent for no purpose at all besides a title that doesn’t even belong to him than have to wait until he gets home, because seeing Hayato makes him feel better. But it can’t be good for Hayato. 

Sometimes he thinks they should just sit down with a marriage counselor to talk about this ridiculous cycle where they both feel guilty about the exact same thing when there’s nothing to feel guilty about, even if they’re not officially married. 

(Yet.)

In the meantime, though, he will continue to feel guilty about making Hayato sad and anxious, and Hayato will continue to feel guilty about making him feel guilty, and… yeah. 

Right now Takeshi is also feeling guilty about the fact that Hayato, who is barely recovering after collapsing just four days ago and could barely stand up yesterday, is standing in the rain waiting for him. He’s sure Tsuna tried to talk him out of it, and he’s equally as sure Hayato said “please” exactly once in a really exhausted tone, and Tsuna didn’t have the heart to argue with him about this. 

Tsuna doesn’t keep him long, just enough to get the general idea of what happened and what needs to happen. Takeshi is grateful for it; Hayato stands just few paces behind Tsuna, and he’s itching to sink his face into silver hair and then get home. 

Takeshi faintly registers Tsuna pull out a phone, but he doesn’t pay much attention to that. The moment their brief conversation is over, Hayato takes a determined step forward just as Takeshi does the same, and they come face to face under Hayato’s umbrella. Takeshi tries to wipe at least some water off his face, but his hand is also wet and his jacket is soaked through. His hair is dripping more water on his face.

Whatever. At least he no longer has to blink droplets off his lashes from obscuring his vision. 

Hayato raises a careful hand to his face, avoiding the generously bleeding cut. His hand is freezing cold and a little shaky. Takeshi mirrors the gesture, thumb coming to rest just below the frame of Hayato’s glasses. He’s only mildly surprised he’s wearing them. 

“Are you okay?” Hayato’s voice sounds rough, though it’s barely audible. There’s a demanding undertone, or maybe desperate. His eyes reflect that, for the brief moment they make eye contact. Then his gaze wanders to all the blood and already-forming bruises, and the hand on Takeshi’s cheek tenses. 

“I am,” Takeshi answers, matching Hayato’s volume. He raises his free hand to cover Hayato’s trembling one, lacing their fingers softly; puts just enough force in to bend Hayato’s wrist so he can press a kiss to his palm. “Most of this isn’t mine, anyway,” he offers with a crooked attempt of a smile. 

Hayato doesn’t look relieved. If anything, his brows furrow and the corners of his mouth take a more intentional downturn. Takeshi takes a moment to observe his face, from the subtle tension in his jaw to the bruises under his eyes, and suddenly wishes for more light. It’s quite dark, however, with the late hour and pouring rain, so discerning whether Hayato’s complexion is still the same paper-white pallor it’s been the past few days is nigh impossible. 

It doesn’t matter. The fact is that Hayato is shivering, and Takeshi is starting to feel the chill settle into his bones, too, now that he’s not moving anymore. 

Moving his hand from Hayato’s cheek to the back of his neck, sliding his fingers under his hair, Takeshi gently pulls Hayato’s head to his chest. Hayato doesn’t protest; his own hand moves in accordance, and Takeshi lets go of it. Lets his arm fall. 

Hayato’s hair is soft. It’s damp, and hasn’t been styled, and if Takeshi closes his eyes and tries to forget about everything else, pressing his face to the top of Hayato’s head and inhaling almost feels like a slow morning after a shower. 

Try as he might, though, he can’t quite get into the scene in his head. There are too many things wrong that Takeshi can’t just ignore, the most pressing in his mind being Hayato’s freezing hands and somewhat labored breaths. His own bleeding chin is a semi-close second. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs into Hayato’s hair, and immediately feels the fingers at his neck tighten. 

Hayato takes a shuddering breath. “Do not start,” he says, strained, with just a hint of venom in his tone. 

“I won’t,” Takeshi tells him sincerely. The topic is not something he wants to pursue further, just something he felt was necessary to say. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Hayato replies, and Takeshi feels ice flood his veins, because Hayato never admits it out loud – no, Hayato is the stubborn idiot who screams he’s fine through breathless sobs, the stubborn idiot who insists he’s fine while half-buried in the remnants of a collapsed building barely conscious, the stubborn idiot who dizzily mumbles he’s fine when his knees are actively buckling from under him. Takeshi pulls away as if zapped, the need to see Hayato’s face immediate and pressing, like a fire alarm going off in his head. 

“What do you mean no,” Takeshi almost shouts, barely controlling his volume. He can taste the panic in his voice as he grips Hayato’s shoulders, the motion causing the umbrella in Hayato’s hand to sway so that Takeshi gets a splash of cold water on his back. He hardly even feels it. 

Hayato looks more dismayed than anything else as he retreats his hand from Takeshi’s neck; maybe a little confused. 

“It’s cold, I’m exhausted and in pain, and you’re hurt.” Hayato’s words come slow, like he has difficulty getting them out. His eyes flick to the cut at Takeshi’s jaw before he makes proper eye contact. “So no, I’m not okay.” The line of his shoulders shifts as if bracing for something, and there’s a look akin to defiance in his eyes. Challenging, almost. 

Takeshi loosens his grip and forces himself to take a deep breath. Now it’s his turn to be confused, and it must show on his face – Hayato’s expression is the one he gets when he has to go the extra mile to thoroughly explain something when he was hoping he wouldn’t need to. It’s usually one of Takeshi’s favorite expressions on him, because it’s often followed by Hayato entering full teaching mode. 

That is not the case right now. 

“Oh shit,” Hayato then blurts, face falling, and drops his head. All traces of confidence evaporate. “I’ve been, uh, we talked about that whole honesty and openness thing,” he starts, sounding every bit like this is the absolute last thing he wants to talk about. He switches the umbrella from one hand to the other and makes a generic gesture with his now free hand, presumably related to that whole honesty and openness thing. Takeshi has a vague idea of where this is going. 

Hayato won’t look at him. Takeshi won’t make him. 

“So. I figured– I don’t know.” Hayato seems to be curling more and more up to himself with every word, and Takeshi suspects his hands on Hayato’s shoulders are why he hasn’t bolted yet. It’s painful to watch. 

“Hey,” Takeshi says, one hand moving to cup Hayato’s jaw. “You figured you could start with this?” A nod. “That’s a good thing.” 

“No, you freaked right out, it’s fine, I’m fine, you’re not, we should get to the car, Tenth must be waiting already, Sasagawa is driving, he can take a look at your injuries–”

“Hayato.” This is not the direction Takeshi wanted to go to, not here and not this particular conversation. But he started this, and now it’s up to him to guide both of them to the finish line without crashing or sinking on the way there. No matter how much he thinks it would be an absolutely fantastic idea to get to the car, he knows Hayato will not have this conversation with other people present, and by the time they would make back to headquarters Hayato would have closed off completely. No, this is happening here and now. 

Hayato still won’t look at him. Takeshi nudges at his jaw, tries to get him to turn his head, but Hayato only hunches his shoulders more. 

“No, listen to me, hey. I’m sorry,” Takeshi tries. “Yeah, I freaked out. I’ve heard you admit you’re not fine once in seven years.” He leans in to press a kiss to Hayato’s hairline. He doesn’t like to think about that time. He’s fairly sure Hayato doesn’t even remember it – he has massive holes in his memory from that entire year, and although they’ve tried to patch some of them, being seventeen was overall a terrible time to be Gokudera Hayato. Takeshi is mostly fine with him not remembering it. 

Takeshi, however, remembers it vividly. He doesn’t think the sound of Sasagawa’s voice at the other end of the line will ever fade from his memory, the words “I think he might have tried to kill himself” forever hammered into his eardrums. He never got around to asking why it was Sasagawa who called him – he knows for a fact that it was Hibari who found him – but it didn’t matter then and it hasn’t mattered since. 

“When,” Hayato asks flatly, like he knows the answer but wants another anyway. His free hand, previously gripping his own bicep, comes to grasp Takeshi’s wrist. His fingers feel like ice. Takeshi doesn’t flinch. 

“You know when,” he whispers. 

“The hospital?”

“The hospital.”

“Fuck.” Then, “Sorry.”

They stay quiet for a while, Takeshi running his thumb gently along Hayato’s jawline and Hayato breathing unsteadily. Takeshi doesn’t think either of them is going to be staying on their feet much longer.

“Talk to me,” he eventually says. “What brought this up? It’s been a while since we last talked about this.” He doesn’t want to question Hayato’s actions, but Takeshi also knows Hayato does few things without purpose, and self-reflection is not something he does willingly. 

“I, uh.” Hayato snaps his mouth shut. Opens it again, lips working to form words, but ends up closing it. “I had a talk. With Dino-san. About.. this stuff,” he finally mutters through his teeth. “He compared me to Hibari a lot.” 

That’ll do it, Takeshi thinks. 

“He said it makes him feel like Hibari doesn’t trust him when he doesn’t tell him this stuff even though he knows how he works, and I thought that maybe you feel like that too, because I literally lie to you about it and I know you can tell.” Hayato turns to look at him, finally, and Takeshi feels his breath catch. He looks so openly scared that for a second Takeshi almost forgets they’re having a conversation. 

“You know that I trust you, right?” he asks, voice trembling and turquoise eyes wide and terrified. “More than anyone.” 

Takeshi knows. He’s known since their trip to the future that Hayato would trust his life in his hands without batting an eye, would trust his sister’s life in his hands without a second thought, would trust him to protect Tsuna before even thinking it. His actions have proven time and time again that Takeshi has earned his unwavering trust regarding anything and everything he holds even remotely important. Takeshi is also keenly aware that Hayato doesn’t regard himself and least of all his feelings as anything even remotely important, but that’s a whole another can of worms neither of them is going to open now. 

Yes, Takeshi knows Hayato trusts him. 

But he’s never heard it said out loud before. 

“Yes,” he whispers, not trusting his voice. 

And then Hayato’s forehead hits his collarbone and Takeshi is just about to lose it all over again when he hears the soft sigh of “oh thank God” against his shirt. Hayato’s shoulders lose all their tension at once and Takeshi has a blink and a half to catch the umbrella before it falls from Hayato’s suddenly non-existent grip. 

He lets Hayato lean on him for a moment, stays quiet for that time and mostly still, too, except for the hand he’s softly petting Hayato’s hair with. By the time Takeshi realizes it, the tremor that was mostly contained in Hayato’s hands has spread to his entire body and is transferring over to Takeshi himself, and as much as he would like to continue this exact moment when Hayato is relaxed for once, they’re both going to be feeling this tomorrow. Tsuna is waiting for them. He needs to write a more thorough report than what he just gave verbally. His chin is still bleeding sluggishly. 

“Should we go?” he asks in Italian, purposefully butchering the pronunciation. As expected, it startles a laugh out of Hayato, who raises his head and tiredly drags one hand over his face. There’s a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He’s mostly soaked, he looks exhausted, he’s shaking like a leaf, and Takeshi doesn’t think he’s ever loved Hayato more.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

[vannahfanfics]

Rest For The Weary

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Naruto

Characters: Shikamaru Nara, Sakura Haruno

What’s up, everyone? Here’s my third story for ShikaSaku Week Hanami for the prompt “Proud of You, Proud of Me.” Enjoy!

Shikamaru’s eyelashes fluttered as some distorted mumblings of his name began to pulse in his ears. Slowly, very slowly, they became clearer; it was his name, all right. Groaning away the sleep that was so insistently trying to tug him back into the realm of dreams, he shifted on the mattress. Wait, since when were mattresses this hard and uncomfortable? He involuntarily flung his arm out and hissed when he banged his wrist against another hard surface. The electric shockwave of pain that propagated up from the jarred joint shot him fully into consciousness, and as he rolled onto his side clutching his burning wrist, he fell right off the edge of the bench he had passed out on to crash roughly against the dirt ground about a foot below.

“Sonofa- owwwww!” he whined loudly, not sure whether to clutch his still-stinging wrist or his now-pounding head. He froze when he heard a girl giggling above him. Right, somebody had been calling his name. Who-?

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Sakura teased when he cracked his eye open to look up at her. He was a little dazed from being awoken plus his short tumble, so it took him a minute to actually register the pink-haired, green-eyed kunoichi. “You okay?” As he snorted in derision, a puff of dust clouded in his face, making him cough and clamp his eyes shut. He sat up slowly; his joints were already stiff from sleeping on the hard bench, and his drop to the ground had only jerked them about. He tucked his injured wrist against his chest and rubbed the back of his neck with the other hand, sighing deeply. Of course Sakura would have to be the one to find him drooling on a random bench and watch him fall right off it.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good…”

“What are you doing sleeping on a bench?” Now, that was an excellent question. He frowned deeply as he tried to drag his recent memory from his sluggish mind. He had worked all day with Kakashi until well after sunset, finally stumbling out of the Hokage’s office at about nine o’ clock to try and walk home… He had gotten up extra early that morning to train, at about five in the morning. At some point the exhaustion had caught up to him and he had just plopped down on a bench, and that was that. What an embarrassing thing to admit to a girl. He neglected to reply, only grumbling under his breath and looking away. “Lemme guess- you’ve been pushing yourself too hard again, huh?”

Damn woman was too smart for her own good.

“You’re one to talk. Lemme guess, you just now got out of the hospital even though your shift started at six this morning, right?” he countered grumpily. Sakura’s lips pursed into a dour pout; looks like he had hit the nail right on the head.

“Well, they were a little short-handed, that’s all,” she huffed, jutting out her hip to primly rest her hand on it in a clear display of protest. Shikamaru just snorted and tucked his legs underneath him to sit cross-legged on the dirt road. It was way too much of a drag to climb back up onto the bench; the ground wasn’t that uncomfortable, and he was always down there, anyway. He laced his fingers together behind his head and leaned back against the seat of the bench, lounging there like some kind of vagabond. He was going to give some snarky retort, but a yawned overpowered whatever snark was going to come out of his mouth. He squinted slightly at the power of it; it made a few tears well up in the corners of his eyes. With it came another thrall of drowsiness. He was more beat than he thought… “Shikamaru…”

His gaze flickered up to hers, eyes lidded. She didn’t continue whatever she was going to say. She only stared down at him with a complicated expression, green eyes swimming with concern. Shikamaru figured it would be annoying that she was worrying over him so much when she was clearly running herself ragged too, but somehow he found it… refreshing. He quirked an eyebrow when she suddenly turned around to squat down beside him, easing herself down onto the ground with her legs neatly tucked underneath her. She didn’t look at him, but craned her head back slightly to stare up at the clear night sky above. It was a nice night, after all, but why did she feel the need to stargaze right next to him? “It’s just funny,” she laughed airily all of a sudden.

“What?”

“Well, I just never would’ve dreamed we would’ve had a conversation about you overworking yourself!” He flinched at the unveiled barb, uncomfortably looking away with a scowl. She wasn’t wrong; Shikamaru was the undisputed king of laziness and distributor of the label of “drag,” but did she have to come out and say it like that? When he deigned to look back at her, she was giving him a sweet smile that made his heart somersault in his chest for some reason. “I’m proud of you.”

A blush blazed a red trail across his cheeks, hot and burning. Proud of him? It wasn’t like Shikamaru was doing any of this to get praised; he was just… doing what he wanted. Still, something about her praise made him feel happy, almost ridiculously so. He fidgeted awkwardly next to her, his arms slumping down to fidget with the hem of his green vest. He wasn’t really sure how to process the runaway train of his emotions at the moment.

“Thanks…” he managed with a tiny smirk that barely betrayed how stupidly giddy he was at such a simple statement. “You should give yourself some credit too, though. You’ve come a long way since we were all Genin.”

“Hehe, thanks,” she grinned radiantly up at him. She was leaning into him a little. Every time her shoulder lightly bumped into his, Shikamaru felt electric sparks jump across his nerves. His entire right arm felt like a sparking frayed wire. Her eyes drooped suddenly as she yawned slightly, and her body swayed a little back and forth. “I told myself during our first Chunin exams that I would work hard to catch up to those two,” she murmured, almost to herself. Her side was completely pressed against him now, and her head bobbed a little over his shoulder as her hazy eyes stared somewhere off into the distance. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still so far behind them, even still…”

Shikamaru felt bad for her, really. He couldn’t imagine the pressure of having two powerhouses like Sasuke and Naruto to compete with. It was almost like looking up at two gods, with the plane they were on. Still, she kept climbing, not giving up… Her tenacity and drive were what he admired most about her.

“Sakura?”

“Mmm?” she answered sleepily. She was still swaying back and forth like a skinny tree in the wind as she bobbed on the border of asleep and awake. He stared down at her for a minute, then gently grabbed the back of her head to push it into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He half-expected her to rebuke him and even punch him for that, but apparently she was too tired to care; with a contented hum, she nestled willingly into the junction of his body. He felt goosebumps rise over his skin as her breath puffed in little gasps over his neck, and her cherry blossom-pink threads of hairs tickled him as she adjusted to her makeshift pillow. One of her hands clutched endearingly, almost child-like, at the side of his stiff vest, fingers curling into the fabric. She was breathing softly and quietly. He didn’t know if she had fallen asleep as soon as her head met his shoulder.

But he said it none the less.

“I’m proud of you.” It was a whisper, nothing more. Her entire body weight was slumped against him now. Surely she was fast asleep. There was definitely no going home for him; he didn’t want to wake her. She looked so comfortable and content snuggled into his side, tip of her nose buried into that little pocket at the base of his neck. His hand still held the back of her head, and he absentmindedly began to weave his fingers into her soft hair that smelled faintly of strawberries and honeysuckle. His other hand rose to his mouth as he yawned again. At least the night was warm; it made sleeping on the street much less of a drag than it could have been. With a sleepy grunt, his pressed his cheek into the top of her head, hand falling around her waist to hold her close. She muttered something in her sleep. Was she dreaming already? She was mumbling something about staying… Well, there was no riddle as to who that could be about. Shikamaru felt more jealous than he care to admit.

“Shika… maru…” she sighed into his neck and pushed closer, fingers now clawing across the center of his vest. His eyes widened slightly as she unconsciously uttered his name, and then he smiled into her sweet-smelling hair, other arm enclosing her in a gentle embrace as sleep began to overtake him again.

He’d have to fall asleep on benches more often.  

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

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