#STILL dont know how to tag fics

[ricesinspo]

☆ — 'someone finally cares about you' prompts. by @ricesinspo, credits appreciated!

— ☆ —

[★] they wrapped their arms around you - you can't remember the last time someone hugged you like this.

[★] getting pulled aside while everyone else is yelling at you. they get you like none of the others do; they know not to yell.

[★] patiently listening to all of your problems. like actually listening.

[★] ^ with no judgement.

[★] they notice whenever something's wrong.

[★] letting you cry into their arms. telling you it's okay, everything is okay - and you know it's true because they're with you.

[★] letting you cry at all; realizing you don't have to hide your tears in front of them.

[★] "in a world where people don't care about me, i'm lucky to have you."

[★] ^ and then they're like "who hurt you" / "where are your __ i just want to talk" lmao

— ☆ —

[mxfrodo]

y'all for fucking real. don't fucking write slave fics or x reader fics of aventurine's slavery??? are you guys out of your goddamn minds???

[yuwuta]

yuuta exhibits such previously abandoned, recently adopted dog behavior. incredibly anxious all the time, even though nobody’s out to get him or leave him behind. waits for you to return home or from school or from work excitedly, just to see you when you walk through the door. follows you around senselessly, hovering in your space just for the sake of companionship. initiates affection in prodding ways—starts off next to you, then a hand on your thigh, then deems it safe to lay all the way down, then slowly pushes his head into your lap. gets up whenever you need to get up, and resumes his position as soon as you’re ready. brings you gifts as a sign that he’s thinking of you, and maybe because he likes the affection it brings out in you, maybe because he likes the gentle affirming touches of a hand in his hair or a pinch to his cheek. rests his head on your stomach or his chin on your shoulder when he’s sleepy, stays there, immobile, and will not move unless absolutely necessary. sometimes he gets surprised when he hears you calling for him, there’s a moment of disbelief as he thinks “me? really? you need me?” but it’s very quickly overshadowed by this compulsive need to show up, to please, to do anything for you, which is why he always answers when you call. he doesn’t realize that he has puppygod eyes, especially when he’s excited or confused, but he does and it’s incredible endearing. very reluctant to share your space or attention after a while, considers that to be sacred and he won’t risk being let go or lost again, so as a safety precaution, he keeps himself right by you, waits for you always. 

[extravagav]

Yk I never did truly recover from the sick fic chapter

[sillyfairygarden]

there's a room where the light won't find you

my story for @hotguycomiczine is up! 12,000 words of things not going according to keikaku :)

this was an incredible labor of love between @vesperionnox as the cover artist, @onawhimsicot as the editor, @mochiwrites as storyline support and co-writing during this arc, @definitelynotshouting for consulting and final editing!!!

[ START | PREVIOUS | NEXT]

[MERCH] [MISC]

[squuote]

comparing dialogue once again as you do. anyway. this cut dialogue from the other games ending vs the the 2011/ultra deluxe final game dialogue is interesting. frying my mind a bit.

no deeper meaning to this post i just think it is. intriguing. i love dialogue comparisons sorry </3

[froglover7789]

best part of writing star wars fics from a force sensitives pov is deciding what all the other characters feel like in the force

nyeheheheh,,,,, the power i hold,,,,,

[d3k4z-bl00d]

"I miss you more than anything."

Paring

Soap x gn reader

Warning

Part 2, angst, no gore details, reader dies, soap kissed ur cheek like once, made to rewrite MWIII, Makarov is readers brother, but reader is in the TF141, price is swichted with soap when he was supossed to die, maybe part 1?, i wrote this while listening to babymetal, and in class

Summary

Soap got saved by you. At what costs?

No.

No.

No.

Thats what played in soap mind as he crawled over to you. Holding your body like its delicate glass about to break, he laid his head to your heart.

Silence.

Still, he tried to cover your wound with hs jacket. Before Price grabbed his shoulder gently, shaking his head when Soap looked up at him. He slumped and tried to hold back his tears. I mean, hes still a soldier afterall.

how did this even happen?

Makarov, your own blood. Stood infront of your dearest. Soap. Your hands were already covered in the blood from tens of Konni soldiers. Without thinking your grabbed your pocket knife strapped to your thigh (since your gun was thrown away when you were fighting off a Konni soldier.) You lounged at your brother. He held your hand holding your knife back, your other holding your weight up. Untill a soldier pointed his gun and fired. Soap tackeled at shot them himself. But the damage was already done. When soap looked back he saw that Makarov already threw you off himself and ran.

He put his hand on your stomach. Not caring about the blood staning his hands. He grabbed your dog tags and gently undid the chain. he stuffed it in his pocket and laid one last kiss on your almost warm cheek. He stood up and wachted as the medics wheeled you away into the medic truck. Price gave an reasuring rub on his shoulder and walked away to give him some space.

[i-may-be-an-emu]

Some of my favourite out of context sfth ao3 tags because these are so funny (also all of these are from different fics)

Disclaimer that these aren’t mine :)

[lcvejoy]

this body is yours

wilbur soot x gn!reader

tw: none! pure pure fluff. not proofread tho

word count: 404 - just a quick one.

a/n: i’m kinda shocked that anyone even read my first fic, let alone liked it? thank you?? that’s rlly cool! hope y’all like this lil thing too.

wilbur and you had a silent vow of love that began in a cafe.

he stood in line as you searched for a seat in the busy cafe. he knew your order by heart and you knew he liked to sit at a table by a window because the tables situated in the middle of any restaurant or cafe made him feel claustrophobic.

you found a spot in the corner of the cafe next to a window overlooking the busy street. you sit down with a wide smile, feeling almost proud that you managed to find a spot in the cafe that’s far too busy for a thursday afternoon. you look over to wilbur, giving him a thumbs up and your proud smile. he’s third in line, having watched you walk around the whole cafe with a small smile.

his smile widens at your action. and in response, his hand comes up to point slightly to the left of the middle of his chest, directly where his heart sits. it hovers there for a moment before his pointer finger slowly moves from pointing at his chest to pointing at you. his smile gets wider as he studies your reaction - a deep shade of pink across your cheeks, your eyes wide, and your mouth in the shape of an O.

somehow, you know exactly what he means when he does this. i love you, he’s commanding, my heart is yours. it beats for you. take it. it’s for you only.

and just before he gets called by the woman behind the counter, you repeat his actions back to him - i love you more, you vow silently. you hear him chuckle slightly through the noise of the bustling cafe filled with people chatting, cheeks turning a soft shade of red, before turning his attention to the woman behind the register and placing his order for you both.

since then, your shared silent vow of devotion was displayed during any moment when words were unable to be heard.

wilbur often did it on stage while you watched from the crowd, and you always returned the gesture.

you’d often do it from across the room when he streamed, and he’d always return the gesture.

and, sometimes, you’d do it while you lay together, face to face, because words didn’t seem to be able to hold the weight of the adoration you both had for one another.

[lost-in-fandoms]

a loose thread on a jumper sleeve, for the fic prompts

hand picked this ship just for you <3 hope I somewhat did it justice

Max tugs on the jumper, seeking comfort more than warmth, before curling up on the couch, unlocking his phone before giving up looking for something to watch or someone to talk to even before starting the search.

He knows who he wants to see, but he also knows that he's going to have to wait a little longer before GP gets out of his last meeting and gets home.

Max sighs, unlocking his phone and locking it again. His eyes feel dry and scratchy from the long hours spent on the sim, driving the same track over and over, looking at the data and running it back.

He doesn't think that he's ever felt this discouraged before in his whole racing career.

Before becoming a world champion, he always had that objective to look forward to, everything he had been working for his whole life, and the two years after that had been a dream, wins and records making every obstacle look like nothing more than a speed bump.

But now. Now it is hard.

It isn't only not winning, even if he isn't very fond of that either, it is everything else. The unbalanced car, the team not listening to him, the people leaving, the tension at the top that sometimes manages to bleed even into his relationship with GP. It is a lot and it is exhausting and he hates it.

He closes his eyes, letting his head drop against the back of the couch, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the jumper's sleeve.

He doesn't really fall asleep, but he lets himself drift off, brain blissfully empty for what feels like the first time in days, until he hears the lock click and the door open.

He doesn't open his eyes as he listens to the sounds of a jacket being hung up, shoes being put away, keys being dropped in the little ceramic holder at the entrance that Max always forgets the existence of.

Then there are steps on the carpet, and finally the couch dips, a warm hand wrapping around Max's ankle.

"Are you okay?" GP asks, voice quiet, but not a whisper.

Max doesn't know how GP is always able to tell when he's awake or asleep, but he knows there's no point in faking.

He cracks an eye open, nodding wearily, not really feeling like talking after such a busy day. GP seems to understand that too, because he doesn't force him to answer verbally, raising his arm in invitation instead.

Max shifts around until he can tuck himself under it, throwing his legs over GP's lap and laying his cheek against his shoulder with a sigh.

"I saw your data before leaving," GP tells him, voice rumbling pleasantly under Max's ear. "You did good work today."

The praise does a better job at warming Max up than the jumper had, but he still shrugs, awkward from where he's trapped against GP's body.

"It's still shit," he mumbles. He doesn't like complaining like this, when it's not productive, but he knows that this is the only space where he's safe to do so, where he can allow himself to mope around a little and not be judged for it.

"We'll fix it," GP says, as confident as when they're on the radio. It makes it easier to believe, when it's said in the same tone Max has trained himself to not doubt for years. Sadly, he's never managed to fully do it.

He shrugs again, not really feeling like being positive at the moment. He wants to be held and to mope, and then tomorrow he'll get back to work, and the day after, and the one after that, until things will be better or something will break.

But not tonight. Tonight is for curling up tighter, fingers twisting the loose thread again, and letting GP kiss his hair with a sigh.

They stay like that for a while, listening to the ticking of GP's watch, until Max uncurls slightly, picking his head up from GP's chest to be able to look at his face.

"What's for dinner?"

It's a clear request to move forward, move away from racing for once, instead of towards it, and it's no surprise when GP accepts it, picking up his phone to let Max order take-out.

That in itself is a sign that Max isn't the only one feeling bone tired tonight, but they both manage to pick their energy up a little, bickering over restaurants and meal plans, and then over what to put on the tv, and then over who should go to the door to get the food.

Unsurprisingly, again, Max is the one who finds himself standing up with a grumble.

"If this is what I get for being in your lap, I hope you know I'll never do it again," he says, stomping towards the entrance.

"Yes you will," GP calls back, clearly smiling, "and don't think I haven't noticed that you're wearing my jumper!"

"No, I'm not!" Max is, but he is not letting GP win that too.

And if he brings it up to his nose to smell their combined scents and hide his smile, then at least nobody can see him.

[foxdimitrescu]

Have been reading The Devil's Den by littlelesbinonny (a fabulous fic, if you havent read it go do it right now!) And I had this image of Cina standing on a building on her way to reader. So I did this! Again, not finished or coloured but I kinda like :P

[bedforddanes75]

do you have any fanfiction recs??

I DO!!!!!! im honoured that someone's thought of Me to ask for recs omg... anyway theyll be under the cut because making long posts without a cut makes me feel mean

okay im assuming u mean gatty cos. its Me so sorry if u didnt 😞 smut is marked with * btw!!! (also before i start i'm sorry to everyone i tag i Hate tagging it's really scary.) SO. in no specific order. let's go

love me to death* by...somebody who i do not know the tumblr of (sorry) is amazing. i'd also recommend everything else by this person, too, because all of it is beautiful.

all the king's horses by the wonderful @allylikethecat is one of my all time faves, it just makes me want to scream and cry and yell and jump up and down. in a very, very good way!! (also, it has horses, so.)

the big light by @betweenthings2 is for real godsent, and i would die to be able to write like this!!!!! (but if u do then tw for speak of s/a!! keep urself safe!) it's beautiful and sad and sad and sad and wonderful. again, i'd recommend everything else by them, too!!! (also loads of crisps because it got updated like three seconds ago, and i Love It)

in the search for it, inside of you* by @arainesque is so beautifully sad, and the best thing ever. it's so soft and wonderful and lovely and aaaaaahhh!!! the way she wrote their dynamic makes my heart ACHE. obsessed always :(((((<3

how little i really know (about the things that matter)* OH MY GOD. farm boy george. literally almost entirely what inspired deus like it's AMAZING. beautiful and i love it so much

roadkill, again, by @betweenthings2 because she's genuinely amazing and deserves nine hundred thousand billion kudos on every single fic <3 (tw for restrictive (i think) EDs btw!!) i think if i read this while not in a good mood i would explode and die. it's amazing

into my spiral patterns you (my love) by @lookedlikethebins which is in progress rn is HWHSKJSJSJ. beautiful. obsessed with how they've written george in this one <3

okay im Very sorry to everyone who i tagged here i genuinely hate tagging people so much it makes me SICK but i kinda felt bad speaking about fics and Not tagging people. LORD. someone give me a tumblr etiquette class

[non-plutonian-druid]

[ID: a three color drawing (black, white, and teal) in the style of Seth’s illustrations from the Lemony Snicket series All The Wrong Questions. Five and Viktor (both about 13) are seated at the counter of a diner, talking. Luther (in his 20s), who is a patron seated next to them, looks concerned about what he is overhearing. Grace stands behind the counted holding a coffee pot and gazing into space. A missing poster for Ben is taped to the counter. In the mirror behind the counter, a reflection Diego and Patch (both 15) are visible in a booth. End ID]

i really should leave time between art posts for them to breathe and accumulate their fair share of notes, but also i need something to do while im waiting for my onions to caramelize.

In this installment: Five and Viktor meet over breakfast to discuss business, Luther is a Concerned Citizen, Diego and Patch also meet over breakfast to discuss business but in the background, and Grace is NOT a robot and this diner is NOT fully automated no sir. Also as usual Ben's face provides some ambiance, thank you Ben.

[becauseplot]

Penciled Lines

(Cross-posted on ao3, if you prefer to read it there. Reblogs still appreciated!)

Missa wakes up, and he thinks he might be doomed. This doesn’t scare him nearly as much as it should.

Missa is awake early—by his own metric, anyway. His nocturnal nature causes “early” for him to mean “early night” and not “early morning.” Regardless, “early” means that Philza is not asleep yet, still going through his nightly rituals. “Early” means that Philza is sitting up in (his? their?) the bed, pillows propped up behind him, notebook in his lap, sketching away.

And when Missa wakes up to the soft scritch-scratch of a charcoal pencil on textured paper, his forehead just so happens to be brushing Philza’s hip.

Missa can hardly breathe.

Oh no.

He knows that if he gives any indication that he is awake, Philza will stop sketching, close his notebook, shift himself over until he is politely seated on his side of the bed, and greet Missa with a friendly smile. Philza has done it before, when Missa wakes up early. That’s how Missa knows he’ll do it again.

Thus, Missa can hardly breathe—his breaths have to be the slow in-out of sleep. He can’t so much as twitch, either. He has to keep quiet and play dead or else he’ll be found out. Seen. Caught living the lie.

“Husband,” Philza calls him. They’re not married. They share a bed. They’re hardly ever in it at the same time. They have a son and a daughter. Neither of them know Missa very well. Philza has had an extra set of armor and a skull on his backpack for months, waiting for Missa. Missa doesn’t even know Philza’s last name.

Philza is a good man and a good friend—and Missa doesn't deserve him. Still, he takes what he can get. Curls around it. Hoarding every innocent kindness Philza extends like a starving creature: the generosity of a backpack fully stocked with equipment; the trust Philza places in Missa to watch the kids when he’s asleep; and now, the courtesy of not moving his hip from Missa’s forehead to ensure his “sleeping” isn’t disturbed. Missa clutches all of these little offerings in his greedy claws and hugs them into his chest, even as the guilt eats away at him.

Because, regardless of the lack of mutual feeling, he loves Philza. He loves him so, so much, and that is why he is doomed. He can’t afford to lose what little he has. He can’t cross that line. 

So Missa lies beside Philza, forehead pressed against Philza’s hip, pretending to sleep so he can imagine that they’re not just lying in bed together, but lying in bed, together; and later, when Missa truly wakes, he will sit on his side of the bed and look at Philza’s face soft with sleep and think about how lucky he is that he still has a side-of-the-bed to begin with.

Missa doesn’t mean to drift off. When it starts to happen, he’s hopelessly torn between shaking himself awake and thus giving himself away, or remaining how he is, silently fending off the inevitable. In the end, Missa clings to that scritch-scratch sound of Philza’s pencil on the paper for as long as he can before the fog at last pulls him under. 

Eventually, he dreams. In fact, he dreams of the calloused fingers he dreams of every night, hands like his own, an artist of Death, cradling and shading the contours of his face—a softness dashing charcoal across his jaw, and over his cheekbones, and perhaps on his lips, too, if he’s lucky. Defining every edge of him.

~*~

A deep sigh. Phil stops sketching as Missa shifts in his sleep. He tilts his head up so that the tip of his nose is now just nearly brushing against Phil’s hip. The motion disturbs the wild splay of his dark hair, revealing more of his face: eyelashes, cheeks, warmth. Tender blush of something Stygian and otherworldly. New.

Phil’s lips tilt upwards. He turns to a fresh page, and he starts again.

[im-ovulating]

I'm thinking about your childhood imaginary friend that never left. Just faded into the recesses of your mind, forced to watch time after time as you got your heart broke. He uses your past lovers as a catalyst for his new, improved - grown - look; molding himself into your ideal man. Now, the only thing left is to make you his...

(I tried writing in 1st POV. This is only my 2nd time writing it, so be kind🙏)

(Kaito is one of my OCs <- for context.

.

I've been by Y/n's side for as long as I can remember. From the moment she first imagined me into existence at the tender age of 5, I've been her constant companion, her confidant, her best friend. I've watched her grow and change over the years, blossoming from a shy, timid child into a confident young woman. And through it all, my feelings for her have only solidified.

The problem? She forgot all about me as she grew up. The vibrant, imaginative girl who used to spend hours talking and playing with me disappeared, replaced by a practical, pragmatic young woman who no longer had room in her life for the fantastical. But I never left. I remained, tucked away in the deepest recesses of her mind, waiting and watching, my love for her burning as bright as ever.

-

Tonight, as she drifts off to sleep, I seize my chance. Reaching out from the depths of her subconscious, I begin to weave an intricate web of dreamscape around her. Slowly, subtly, I manipulate the threads of her unconscious mind, shaping and molding the landscape of her dreams until it becomes my own domain.

As she slips further into slumber, my pull grows stronger, more insistent, until she is transported to a world that is both familiar and utterly foreign. The once comforting confines of her bedroom have melted away, replaced by a surreal landscape of twisting shadows and distorted shapes. The air feels thick and heavy, laced with the scent of something both alluring and unsettling. And there, emerging from the darkness, is myself - no longer the childlike figment of imagination she once knew, but a fully realized entity - imbued with a dangerous, primal power.

There is no escape, not for her. Not anymore.

I reach out to her then, my voice caressing her mind like a lover's caress. "Welcome home, my darling," I murmur, my eyes glowing with unholy intent. "You're finally where you belong - by my side, forever."

She glances around at the swirling landscape with an undisguised terror. "W-what is this place? W-who are you?" She backs up slowly.

I watch as her eyes widen with a mix of confusion and fear. I can practically feel the tension radiating off of her.

"This place?" I murmur, my voice low and silky. "Why, this is our world, Y/n. Our sanctuary, where no one can ever tear us apart." I step closer, my gaze burning into hers. "And as for who I am..." My lips curl into a possessive smile. "I am Kaito. Your...dearest friend."

Reaching out, I gently brush the backs of my fingers against the soft skin of her cheek, my touch feather-light yet tinged with a dangerous edge. "I've been here all along, waiting for you to return to me." My eyes narrow, an intense, almost feral hunger flickering within their amber depths. "You belong here, with me. Always."

My eyes narrow as I watch she continues to back away, a possessive edge creeping into my voice. "Don't you recognize me, my love? It's me - Kaito." I take a step closer, my gaze burning into hers. "Your childhood friend. The one you loved and cherished for so many years." My lips curve into a dark, predatory smile. "The one you forgot all about as you grew up and left me behind."

Reaching out, I grasp her wrists firmly, pulling her towards me until our bodies are nearly flush. "But I never forgot about you, my love. I've been here, waiting all this time, watching over you. Longing for the day when you would be mine, and mine alone."

I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my intense gaze. "This is our world now, Y/n. A place where no one can ever tear us apart. Where it's just you...and me. Forever..."