#blacklist fanfiction

[osiris-iii-bc]

✨WHAT A WONDERFUL TIME TO POST SOME COPIIIA CONTENT!✨

You Will Never Walk Alone is a beautiful, immersive fanfiction by the always adorable @lilspacewolfie. This illustration is one of two that I’ve been working on for this wonderful story, inspired by the vibes I get when I read it 🌹

Why two versions:

I was fairly quick with this one, completing the full drawing in a day. However, as usual, my process involves stepping back for a few days before revisiting the drawing to see how I feel about it with fresh eyes. And that’s usually where the problems start.

In this particular case, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the finished version. Something felt incomplete, so I began adding elements and details, but nothing seemed to satisfy me… until I tried removing things. Colors, details, shadows… I kept simplifying until I reverted back to the original sketch. And that was it: peace of mind. Just a simple, rough black sketch was what I needed. Funny.

Since the colored version is finished anyway, you’ll get that one too.

[gender-trash]

incredibly funny how a bunch of people interpreted “ao3 was almost certainly scraped as part of the gpt training dataset because it’s a big easily accessible body of english language text, so you can prompt gpt with surprisingly vague stuff and it will autocomplete with snarry underage or wangxian a/b/o” as “elon musk Personally is Currently scraping ao3 and training an ai to plagiarize fic, going to go lock ALL my works on ao3 IMMEDIATELY”

its. its already in the dataset. how do you think these things work. “locking my works to registered users only until after the scraping stops!” my dude the ao3 team just needs to like add a robots.txt and check the useragent and stuff to prevent this from happening in the future*, and theyre already on it, but not only is the existing body of work presumably In the Dataset, the model has ALREADY BEEN TRAINED. that omelet isnt going to get unscrambled

(*im assuming that everyone gathering datasets for large language models is being reasonably Polite about it bc these are both very simple to circumvent — if this assumption is false then ao3 might need to graduate to Offensive Measures but also we would definitely need to bully the culprits off of hacker news)

anyway im not taking any Stance one way or the other on the “ai art debate” (other than maybe “none of you know what the hell you’re talking about”) but we’re definitely going to see a whole new world of copyright claims against the big art models and ml researchers developing new tools for “removing” stuff from a trained model, and i for one think that it will be SO entertaining to watch

[omgkalyppso]

[Content ID: a screenshot of two original characters from Baldur's Gate 3. A light-skinned black wood elf looks up at a brown high elf. The wood elf has her hair tied back in a long braid-like tuft style. Her brow is slightly bent, though she has a faint smile. She is wearing a lot cut sleeveless top beneath a corset. The high elf has their hair up in a half-bun. Their smile can just barely be seen at this angle. They are wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with a red collar. The pair are preparing for an embrace, with their arms raised to each other's sides. They stand against the wooden walls, red curtains, and red and white bedding in the Elfsong Tavern. /End ID]

Some Remorse, No Regrets

Rating: M Relationships: Gan x Étoile, background established Gan x Astarion, implied background unestablished Étoile x Astarion Chapters: 1/1 (5,921 words) Summary: Étoile, a companion oc, returns injured and emotional to the Vampire Ascendant's mansion after killing a friend they knew before being taken by the nautiloid. Here Astarion and Gan: a Tav oc, help minimize the ripples of the situation and offer comfort in each their own way. Tags: Minor Character Death, Evil Tav (Baldur's Gate), Spoilers for Act 3 (Baldur's Gate 3), Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Canon, Whump, Polyamory, Vampire Ascendant Astarion (Baldur's Gate)

A gift for @razrogue! Thank you for helping me edit and for trusting me with Gan! And for indulging something that is probably AU-ish for Gan's post-canon.

I wanted to write something for the prompt "Let me take care of this for you," and while there are some examples of a similar sentiment in this fic, ultimately that line got turned into, "I killed him for you."

I was going to post an excerpt below a cut but I'm going to reblog this post with the whole fic below a cut, I think.

[moonchild-in-blue]

being a good guard dog😌

YES. You see my vision. Murder Espera my most beloveds - I need to work on my half baked wip of them asap.

You think Slasher iii and Stalker iv are cruel and twisted. Ohhh boy, if you only knew who they work for.

(gaaahhh i miss them so much omg 😭😭😭😭)

[writingbyshiloh]

Part 4. Cooper

Series Masterlist

CW: domestic red I think? (possibly) OOC Cooper, FBI!Reader 

AN: I pictured the show to be Euphoria, but no specific details so it can be any show with a drug dealer character. IDK Cooper's official rank and I am scared of spoilers so we just went with the assistant director. Just realized that if you read all the parts back 2 back then they are very similar but also ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. No beta

------

Reddington in the post office is a scene that never fails to surprise you. In the early days of the task force, he seems to be there frequently. As the years went, he saw less and less of the walls inside.  He never goes to the post office if he can help it, and you don’t blame him. 

You see Dembe nudge Reddington, a silent indicator for him to start talking about what he needs the team to do this week. 

As Reddington lectures, Liz interrupts and Aram pulls up the supporting documents and photos. Red usually tells Liz the details, and she tells the rest of the team.

You knew a tiny bit. He left shipping documents on his kitchen table a few nights ago while he went to the bathroom. He wouldn’t just leave documents lying around if he didn’t have a reason for you to see them. 

To keep yourself sane you set boundaries. If you're not working, or if someone isn't in immediate danger it is not your problem what Reddington is doing. This came after a series of him dropping clues and waiting for you to put the details together. 

You still listen, minus a few instances where you zone out thinking about Reddington's suit, waiting for the shipping documents to make some sense to you, but nothing yet. 

“Liz, you go with Reddington to the shipping docks. You two” Cooper points at you and Ressler “see what you can find with -” 

“I’ll go Ressler” Elizabeth cut in. 

Everyone turns to look at Liz. 

“I’ll go with Reddington” you suggest, pronunciation wobbly. You’re so used to Red, the “ington” feels off. 

“That was fast on the jump” Red notes, once you were out of the earshot of the group, preparing to go to the docks. 

You shrug. “It's so nice out. And I can not get caught in a fight between you two.” 

Red and Liz fighting always makes you feel like you’re in the middle. Liz would sometimes rant to you about Reddington, which never fails to make you feel like a bad friend.  On the other hand, Red keeps his thoughts about Elizabeth to himself in times like these. 

---

“Do you understand it yet?” Reddington asks. 

You frown. You both have been walking around the docks for an hour, trying to find something on this week's blacklist. Technically, you’re looking for clues, Reddington is watching you, trying to see the exact moment you put the pieces together. 

You admire how he pushes you to do your best, to get better at both your job and thinking like him, but now it’s on your nerves. Having elected to ignore him, you exaggerate checking the number on the shipping container. 

“My god, you agents are so meticulous. You don’t need every number from every crate.” Red observes. 

“I’m not taking every number, just what I think is important.” 

“That seems to be the majority, dear.” 

You shoot him a look over your shoulder due to the use of the pet name in the field. 

He puts his hands up in surrender, but he is smiling. 

You’re saved from a reply by your phone, Aram calling with no doubt some important information. 

---

 That night, Reddington visits you. He says he can't spend the entire night but has a few free hours. You don't know what he has to do before or after your time together, but it's not your problem. 

“Do you watch this every week?” Reddington asks, glancing at your television.

“Yeah. We talk about it at work,” you respond, placing your water on the table, and settling onto your couch next to him. 

“Who’s everyone?” 

“It started as me ‘nd Aram but then Samar started watching with him. I think Liz is in season one. Dembe too maybe?”

You tip your head against his shoulder, feet propped up on your coffee table as the show started playing the introduction. He had one of your pens (technically a pen you took from work) in his hand while he mulls over one of his crossword puzzles? Sudoku? Sudoku with words? Red showed you once how it works and once was enough. 

---

“That's no way to run a drug business!” 

You turned your head to the side to look at him, now sitting on the edge of your seat watching the show. 

“I thought you weren't watching.” 

“I wasn’t, but this is ridiculous!” he huffs. “He's not even marking up the price at all? And his storage? I mean it is ridiculous! No wonder the police were called.” 

“He's just a minor character” 

“For running a business like that he should be!” 

“Just watch the show.” 

---

You were happy to go into the post office today, if only for a chance to talk to Aram about the show.  

“Did you see the new episode?” Aram’s words hit you before you even left the elevator. 

“Of course! I didn't see the big arrest coming. And that fight?!” 

Aram walks with you to the central part of the floor, the rest of the team waiting, both you and Aram dying to talk about yesterday's episode. You catch Reddington in the office out of the corner of your eye and can’t resist winding him up. 

“I can’t believe the arrest! Forgot the rest of the prom, I thought he was going to keep dealing drugs for the whole show,” you exclaim, slightly too loud to make sure Red can hear. 

‘My god, he was the worst drug dealer I've ever seen. Ressler would do better!” Reddington jokes. Aram's head snaps to him. 

“Mr. Reddington, I didn’t know you watched the show!” 

“How far along are you?” you chime in. 

“My beloved watches it. I caught a few minutes.” Red smoothly deflects.

You freeze, never hearing him call you that before, but you like it. 

“Do you want to join our text chain?” Aram eagerly asks. 

Cooper saves Reddington from telling the task force that he doesn’t know how to use a cell phone. 

The assistant director launches into some of the information that the team rounded up yesterday. Numbers you took note of pop up and you make a mental note to tell Red “I told you so”, no doubt knowing that he wants to tell you the same, for taking too many numbers. 

Once everyone is back up to speed and assignments are dolled out, Cooper catches you at your desk. “I need to speak to you in my office.” 

You nod and follow him while you feel anxiety roll in your stomach. It could be good news but you can’t think of anything good. More bad news flashes through your mind as you climb the stairs. You could be suspended, fired, or anything else due to Reddington. And there was that one time you made a questionable decision in the field which could be coming back to bite you. 

“Close the door, please,” Cooper asks quietly. 

You nod, the door firmly shut as you sit, forcing body language to act neutral and calm. 

“I wanted to talk to you about fieldwork.” Cooper starts. You force yourself to make eye contact and not start fiddling with anything on his desk. 

“You’ve been going into the field with Reddington more. Any reason?” 

“Can I be honest?” you ask, trying to come up with something to say. 

“Please.” Cooper leans forward in his chair, awaiting your response. 

“It makes me uncomfortable when Agent Keen and Reddington fight. I felt that if I go with him yesterday, then they could cool off.” 

“Uncomfortable how?” 

You sigh. 

“Like, he killed Sam, and then she faked her death to get away from him, and no one knows how or if they’re related…” You train off, not enjoying thinking of reasons Red and Liz fight, but more than happy to if you can keep your job. 

Cooper nods, understanding. There's an unspoken feeling in the post office when they fight. 

“And do you mind? Going into the field with Reddington.” 

“Not as much as the fighting.” 

Cooper nods again, posture more relaxed before he continues. “I noticed you’ve been working less.” 

Your face reacts before you could try to stay neutral. Of course, Cooper would notice. You’ve lost track of the number of times he turned off the lights at the post office before he leaves late at night and you had to scramble in the dark to turn them back on again. 

“I’m sorry, I can start staying later again.” You say, trying to fumble your way through apologizing. 

Assistant Director Cooper holds up his palms for you to slow down. 

“Your hours are fine. Is everything okay with you?” 

The question shouldn’t take you by surprise. Things are more fun with Reddington as part of your life, but there's more stress. The stress of hiding the relationship mostly, especially from Liz.

“I, uh, started seeing a guy recently? So I have a reason to spend time outside the post office?” you want to speak in sentences but you’re nervous in case this is a leadup to something else.

He nods like he understands. 

“I’m happy for you. Now we just need to get Ressler a girl.” 

You both share a smile, while you silently thank your lucky stars. 

“Is there anything else, sir?” you ask, arms ready to push you up and out of your chair. 

“No, that's all. Thank you.” 

You nod and get up. “Do you want me to leave the door open?” 

“You can close it. Thanks.” 

You pull the door shut behind you and glance down at the post office. Does Red also get hit with this stuff? You wonder. You’ll have to tell him later, once the case concludes. 

---

Tag list: @soraya-daydreams, @horrorqueen22, @wild-rose-35, @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek, @zombieskullxz, @rhepworth, @fanficismydrug, @btsjiminsthings, @emilynissangtr, @navs-bhat, @thatonerandomsimpinthecorner

[bg-sparrow]

✦ August of Whump 2024 Masterlist ✦

Title: Somewhere Beyond the Sea Fandom: The Blacklist Rating: M Genre: Romance, Angst, Whump, Hurt/Comfort (this fic doesn't even know what it is, and I love it) Summary: Reddington's latest Blacklister is the face of a successful cruise line — and a former competitor in the luxury goods smuggling business. To obtain Albert Sconce's ledger, Liz and Ressler will have to go undercover as newlywed, prospective clients for an extended cruise on Sconce's newest ship. As they blur the lines they'd otherwise never cross, danger unfolds at every turn, threatening to sink their op and take them down with it.

This fic is built around the August of Whump 2024 prompt list, and this will be the masterlist for my selected prompts! Excited to give this a go, @augustofwhump!

Risk

Shock

Shady Business

Screams

Ache

Confusion

Promise

Attack

Caged

Secret

Insecurity

Deal

Guilt

Darkness

Claustrophobia

Disaster

Stress Position

Unavoidable

Midnight

Escape

Scraps

Stitches

Possession

Humiliation

Insults

Heartbeat

Machine

Bloody Nose

Control

Gift

Fuck It We Ball (lol)

[gravitywonagain]

Sympathy for the Devil; part 2

discord got me to finally write a connecting scene, so here! have some more of this nonsense au now based only vaguely on the blacklist! [part 1]

~~

“Alright. What do we know about him?”

Luo Qingyang stands at the back of the small conference room facing the large projector screen on the opposite wall. Her uniform jacket is draped over the back of the chair in front of her, and her fingers curl and uncurl of their own volition, kneading the dark blue fabric into the cushion beneath it. This is not what she expected her morning to look like. 

Her team -- her and Lan Wangji’s team, now -- is gathered at the table in front of her. 

Nie Zonghui has several stacks of photocopied notes spilling out of an open manilla folder, two highlighters, four sizes of sticky notes, and a legal pad in front of him. He has blue ink on his neck where the tip of the pen resting behind his ear rubs whenever he turns his head to the left. Frustration rolls off of him in waves. 

Lan Jingyi is typing rapidly on his CBC-issued laptop which is angled toward Luo Qingyang just enough that she can see he has six different windows open and is in desperate need of at least two external monitors. The overworked fan is almost louder than his heavy-handed, caffeine-fuelled typing. He’s twisting back and forth in the swivel chair, dragging his toes across the carpet, but swivels to a stop at her question. 

Qin Su stands off to Luo Qingyang’s right, placing photos -- mostly grainy or blurred -- in an ever expanding evidence map. At the top, with a dozen or so threads leading away from its pin, is a crisp, clean, photo of a man wearing an approximation of the CBC Academy uniform, smiling brilliantly at the camera. Beneath him, the title card reads: Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian. 

“Yiling Laozu?” asks Lan Jingyi, one foot tapping out a vague rhythm against the leg of the conference table. 

Luo Qingyang restrains her eyeroll, only because she can see that at least four of the open windows on his laptop are chasing down information regarding Yiling Laozu’s associates, rather than the demonic kingpin himself. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Break it down for me.” 

“Well,” says Qin Su, moving from the board to the open folio near her, “he’s a bit of a recluse, so we don’t actually know a lot.”

Her folio is much better organized than Nie Zonghui’s. 

“Start with the basics.”

Qin Su nods, “Right. Yiling Laozu. Wanted for-- basically every kind of spiritual crime known to the CBC. He invented the Ghost Path in his late teens or early twenties, we think. It’s unclear, what with all of the rumor and suspicion and superstition around even saying his name--”

“Yeah, he really looks like a boogeyman…” says Nie Zonghui. He’s stressed. They should never have sent him into the room with Wei Wuxian. 

Lan Jingyi says, “Hot boogeyman. If you ask me--”

Luo Qingyang clears her throat pointedly. “Nobody did. Moving on?”

“Yup!” 

Qin Su points to Lan Jingyi who taps a few keys on his -- very abused -- keyboard and takes over the projector. He throws several pages up on the wall, photos with short but damning rap sheets. 

“Known associates include Gui Jiangjun and Mo Daifu,” she says, indicating the sheets labeled Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing respectively. 

She points to Lan Jingyi again and a very low-light black and white shot comes up center-screen. It shows a man who could potentially be Wei Wuxian entering a building that is definitely Two Fans. The brilliant green of the sign is lost, but it is plenty readable. “He has been seen entering the Headshaker’s club on several occasions, but any actual association remains speculative at best.” 

Nie Zonghui shrugs in the corner of Luo Qingyang’s eye. “He might just have good taste in venues.” 

All three other agents in the room turn to look at him, brows quirked or furrowed or raised to different degrees. 

Nie Zonghui shrugs again, “What? It’s a nice club.”

--

Wei Wuxian rubs at the zip tie dent around the outside of his wrists. He plays it up a little, wincing and groaning just enough to be heard. 

Still, Lan Wangji doesn’t look at him. 

It’s fine. 

He follows the CBC Director and field agents out of the interrogation room and down a long, boring hallway. Lan Qiren and the other cultivator break off through one of the nondescript doors -- room 129-9, Wei Wuxian notes out of habit -- and then it’s just Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian following Lan Wangji. Down a long, boring hallway. 

It feels like old times. Especially as Wei Wuxian finds his eyes… wandering. 

The Bureau slacks look unfairly good on Lan Wangji, blue wool hugging tight to the curves of his legs and ass in a way no law enforcement uniform should ever be allowed to do. It’s rude. He must get them tailored. 

Lan Wangji leads him through another nondescript door -- room 157-3 -- which opens up into a large bullpen. Heads swivel in their direction, eyes snagging on Wei Wuxian and his casual state of dress. Everybody else in here is wearing uniforms in one state of undress or another, while Wei Wuxian is wearing ripped black jeans and a heather red v-neck. Hopefully he’ll get his jacket back soon. He spent a good amount of time stitching talismans into it; he’d like not to have wasted the effort. 

Eyes un-snag; heads swivel back toward screens. Wei Wuxian remembers the strength of Lan Wangji’s glare and he imagines it’s only become more powerful with age and seniority. He can practically feel the shiver up his own spine. 

Or maybe that is a shiver up his spine. 

It’s strangely nostalgic, being here, even though Wei Wuxian is fairly certain he has never been in this particular room before. But that doesn’t really matter. The layout is the same, the furniture is the same, even the smell is the same. The computers have been updated, at least, but not within this decade. 

Lan Wangji’s office is nice. Clean and minimalist, as expected. Stark white walls, a meticulously curated bookcase, and a matching walnut and glass-top desk. No pictures, no wall art, not even a particularly fancy name plate. The closest thing to a personal touch anywhere in the room is the tea set Lan Wangji’s mother made for him before she died. Wei Wuxian’s fingertips still remember the soft, inexpert curves of the cups. 

The door clicks closed behind him and the silence that settles is almost crushing. 

Tension pulls the lines of Lan Wangji’s shoulder blades toward the middle of his back, which is still turned to Wei Wuxian. His hands slowly curl into fists by his side. 

A familiar ache twists in Wei Wuxian’s gut -- has been twisting in his gut for almost an hour now. The ache for Lan Wangji’s eyes to be on him. The ache for his attention, for his reaction. Anything, really. Since the day he met Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian has always just wanted to break through that barrier Lan Wangji puts around himself, and to really touch him. 

Metaphorically. 

And literally, but that’s something else. 

Probably. 

Now, Lan Wangji’s long braid shifts across the navy fabric of his uniform coat as he turns his head to the side, the shining plait slipping like snake scales through water. Wei Wuxian holds his breath, waiting for the bite. He watches the tension held in Lan Wangji’s jaw forcibly release, and then, finally:

“Wei Ying.”

[minp1072]

Peeps just LOOK at this graphic that my bestie @peace-love-on-planet-earth made for my birthday tomorrow! 😍😍😍 It’s so perfect and lovely and my heart is so happy! ❤️💛💙💚

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

AO3 downtime? Don't fret!

It's funny that the next mayor AO3 downtime happens again when it's very, very hot here, because last year, I made a post about my fics on Tumblr. Which you can read when AO3 is down, yeaaaaah 😂 So, an update! (That's not all of my fics, though, I'm afraid most of them are only on AO3.)

Buck/Tommy: Come and Let the Storm Bring Us to Life Has anybody noticed that the sky is falling Desert Dreams Before the ashes hit the ground Buck/Tommy drabbles Tumblr Prompt Fills 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 Tevan ficlets  1 | 2

Emhyr/Geralt

Geralt/Eskel 1 | 2

Eskel/Letho of Gulet

Aiden/Lambert

Regis/Geralt

Ressler/Reddington ficlets 1 | 2

Astarion/Gale

Omega (The Bad Batch)

Matt Murdock & Foggy Nelson

[wrylywriting]

comments on any Polin fic I write post season 3 are driving me to not write these anymore like... I know I keep harking on this but it keeps happening lmao

[absolutelyanidiot]

The Blacklist AU where cop-recently-turned-FBI agent Dick Grayson is called in by the assistant director after the infamous crime lord known as the Red Hood surrenders, offering himself as a criminal informant, but he'll only speak to Grayson. Instead of bringing up points about Elizabeth's father's criminal past, he reveals that he knows the Bats' identities. On Jason's side, everything happens like in canon until a little past the incident at Titans Tower, because then he feels bad for what's going on with the family, so he decides to put himself in the picture, without them knowing, of course. In addition, it's not Tom that's on the ventilator, it's Tim. And it's all because of the Red Hood, so Dick hates him for it. He's injured worse than in canon, but Jason does actually feel bad about it.

[ectoplasmic-entity]

Nutty to ask but could you write a little smut with a fem reader. Nothing in particular, mans has just been running through my mind like a track star🧍‍♀️

-Lain

Here ya go~

I wrote this while I should be asleep lol

Your heart beats violently against your chest, blood pounds through your veins. It brings an unbearable heat with it. Your back presses into the hard, uncomfortable surface of the wall. Your throat strains with a long held back breath, it aches to relax those muscles. Just one little thing stops you from doing so.

Dan's large form towers over you, his eyes intensely bearing into yours. Both of your forms are invisible, as transparent as the empty space around you. But, one wrong move and you'll be exposed. Dan keeps you in place with a hand in your underwear.

His fingers wiggle around within the rapidly warming extremities of the fabric. Every so often your pelvis pushes against them, and they'd tease your nether regions in return. Such sensitive flesh that twitches at the slightest of ministrations. Dan carefully trails his nails over, your body shakes from effort and a pulsing throb swells up between your legs. Your muscles burn as the warmth sinks into you, tingles of pleasure tempts your throat into relaxing.

You heave a breath and sigh softly. Dan's hand suddenly pushes firmly into you, you swallow thickly. You shiver, minute traces of sweat dribble down your jawline.

"Ah... we don't want anyone to hear us now, do we?" Dan asks teasingly. His body emits an overwhelming heat.

You mumble quietly and incoherently in near desperation. You arch and twist your body to will away the rebellious shudders of delight. Your chest bounces with every beat.

Your mouth hangs open, no sound comes out. You aren't sure whether to take a breath, or continue holding it, until the smooth, dark tone of Dan's voice slips into your ears with the little magic words.

Rather than any of that, Dan leans in close to you, his eyes soften as he looks over you. "I'm surprised you lasted this long."

His grin widens into a dangerous, fanged smile. Before you even blink, Dan presses his lips to yours.

The breath you've held for so long, forcing your heart and blood to pound more warmth and oxygen through you; your mind fogging up with silent desperation; Dan teasing you with his fondling; finally and properly expels itself. Blood pounds your throat. Your entire body sags as the tension melts away.

You jolt around when a certain hand begins to rub you. It's as though a heated blanket is thrown over you and a series of tingles surge through your nerves. Your insides pulse with excitement. You feel Dan's hot breath on your neck when he breaks the kiss, your legs press together.

Dan grins into your neck. He presses his body closer to yours, you squirm and twist under his touch. A tenseness as a particular flush of humidity floods your undergarments, he curls his fingers as you moan softly.

[kinardgo]

the watchman on his beat on ao3

4.6k words / trick williams/ilja dragunov / rated e

When Ilja holds up in challenge, sweating but still smiling, Trick huffs.

"For real?"

"Show me your moves."

[jessfromouterspace]

kinktober/flufftober mashup - all bg3 vibes

round one goes to love confessions/hand jobs with gale (ao3 link)

His frustration pours from his fingertips as he flips the pages of yet another tome, silently pleading with the books to bring him something, anything, regarding their current predicament.

"You're not going to intimidate the information from the pages, dear." Tav quips, reaching across and pulling the book from his hands, gently tossing it aside. "Call it a night, would you?" She takes the opportunity found in his exasperation to take the books place in his lap, the privacy of his tent allowing them closeness without any prying eyes.

Her legs wrap around his waist, his own opening up to allow her to settle to the floor with little space between them. With a deep sigh he accepts that his frustration isn't getting them any closer to solving the whole tadpole, cult, end of the world thing.

"You do make a compelling argument, despite how much I despise having a book taken out of my hands." His attempt to be stern is ruined by the warmth in his eyes and up turn of his lips. He leans into her touch as she takes his face in her hands, fingers grazing his jaw, thumb swiping over his bottom lip. Her only reply comes in a soft kiss, his chin held firmly as her lips press to his.

His own hands begin to wander, one pressed firmly between her shoulder blades, the other wrapped with his arm firmly around her hips. He's using what strength he has to pull her flush to him, letting her feel his heart thump through his chest and the gentle roll of her hips tells him she also felt him harden against her.

She lets out the softest moan as she moves against him, causing his breath and hips to stutter. Her hand reaches between them, undoing the laces of his trousers, but not yet reaching inside, but instead using her knuckles to caress him through the soft cotton.

"Gale..." Her voice is on the edge of breaking. "I, you - this -" She struggles to get her words out, opting to kiss him deeply, his lips parting immediately for her. "I want to tell you something." Her lips ghost over his, her eyes closed as if she's ashamed of the emotions threatening to spill from her.

His hips move of their own accord, bucking against her hand while he places soft kisses to her lips, cheek, forehead, while he gives her time to find her words, not wanting to rush her.

"May I?" He asks after her silence drags on too long for his liking. She nods, finally slipping her hand inside his trousers, taking his length into a firm but soft grip. His throat betrays him, a groan escaping as she begins to stroke him, her thumb rubbing over the tip with each stroke.

"I love you, too." He nearly whimpers as she pumps him harder, both reward and punishment for his thievery of her confession.

"You just have to know everything, don't you?" She feigns offense as he threads his fingers through her hair, pulling her into a crushing kiss. "I love you." Her voice is but a whisper as she breaks the kiss, her hand working over him quickly, the shudder escaping him letting her know he's close.

"I love you." She repeats, her grip tightening with each stroke, her forehead pressed to his so she can watch him come undone. She feels him still as he finishes in her hand, making a mess of both of their clothes.

"Oh dear." He laughs as he takes in the scene before him. "This isn't quite how I'd planned on making a mess of you this evening." He reaches to pull her shirt over her head. "Good thing it's still early, love." His lips find her throat, a contented hum the only promise of what's yet to come.

[sundry-whovengerslocked]

"love the art, hate the artist"

okay y'all. y'all. so like, I say this regularly. I made it up. but I think it should be used by everyone.

like, this is a hot take, but it's okay to enjoy something made by a shitty person.

this isn't to say boycotting and cancel culture should be stopped! like, if someone is a shitty person, they should not be paid to be able to continue to be shitty. so yeah, go ahead and pirate shit. wait until media is free and enjoy it then.

but like, I feel like people go so hard when it comes to shitty people that they're essentially killing the arts, and the people who find peace with them. it's just not fair.

examples under the cut

I mean the first and most obvious example would be j.k. rowling. there's SO MUCH discourse surrounding her. but there shouldn't need to be. she's an awful person and a transphobe, and she should be avoided and boycotted. she doesn't deserve any more money. that being said, we can support things in the franchise she's not a part of. we should support fanart and fanfiction involving these beloved characters. we should encourage trans headcanons and embrace the fact that a lot of what makes the Harry Potter universe so great is the fans, not her.

another one is Michael Jackson. he was a pervert and shouldn't be celebrated the way he was and still is. that being said, he made music inspired by black culture and in turn inspired new types of music. so his music, things like the moonwalk, they should be appreciated.

John Barrowman is another good one. he was inappropriate and people have every right to blacklist him. but Jack Harkness? Jack Harkness is a PHENOMENAL character. he stands for omni rep, embracing queerness, and is a well constructed character that parallels and bounces off The Doctor beautifully. and? he can easily be recast. it's literally sci-fi dude, it's not that big a deal. yes Barrowman made a huge impact on the character, but he's not all he is. the writers contributed, too.

Jonathan Majors is a hot topic right now. yes, he should absolutely be blacklisted and removed from the mcu. but that doesn't meant they have to get rid of Kang. he was going to be (and still can be) a widely used character - characters, really - within the marvel universe. they can just recast him. they did it with Bruce Banner, they did it with Rhodey, two major characters in the mcu. they've done it with more I can't think of at the moment. and again, it's technically sci-fi. not to mention that with No Way Home and the Loki variants, they clearly showed that the same character can have different faces/actors.

notable mention: Tom Cruise. Knight and Day was awesome.

so yeah. hate the artist, love the art. it's really not as big a deal as people make it out to be.

[angel-inrealtime]

November F1c Prompts Day 25

Day 25 - Tactile (Sharp)

A/N: hefty TWs for this chapter including - parental death (offscreen, discussed), resulting trauma, bad family relationships, mental health issues (think CPTSD/adjacent), mild (??) toxicity in relationships as a result of the above (I am not a good judge lmao).

Let me know if there's anything specific you think I should tag, happy to do so.

A/N 2: Despite all that ^ I feel like this is more comfort than hurt. It's still a nice little sunshine universe - just a passing (or already passed) storm.

-

Sometimes you feel like you’re made of sharp sides and spikes. And that’s fine – great, actually - when that’s what you need. It helped you get through the hard things (even though it was other hard things that made you so...prickly, in the first place).

The problem is…it’s difficult to know how not to be sharp. How to turn it off when you don’t want to be.

(When you don’t need to be)

You look at Daniel and you desperately don’t want to cut him on all of your sharp edges – privately think you’d rather die than hurt him; on purpose, by accident, or otherwise. You can’t say it like that, of course. That would seem insane.

The first time a therapist said to you “you’re very self-aware” you wanted to scream ‘yes, that’s the problem’. You came armed with bulleted lists, traumas laid out neat on journal pages and organised by connection.

(You don’t mention that you have a psychology degree, because that would mean explaining why you turned down a first class honours position when it all got too close to home, as if that somehow hadn’t been the point all along and you’d just avoided thinking about it until you couldn’t anymore, and then…well, turning it into a commodity via organisational psychology and human resources had just been a pivot, or whatever buzzword is most fitting)

You remember the lists though, of all the things that made you sharp, all the spindly lines between cause and effect and outcome but it’s like Daniel set off a pebble sized snowball at the top of a very large hill and it grows and grows until it’s a boulder and it seems unstoppable.

“You really are obsessed with the moon hey?”

He’s delighted by it if anything, but what almost slips out is the clumsiest self-deprecation in the urge to turn it into a bit. What you almost say is ‘yeah, me and Sylvia Plath really grabbed the mummy issues with both hands on that one’. He won’t get it, which means you’ll have to explain, (which means you’ll have to examine it), when all you can muster is disjointed bits of verse;

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset.

The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.

I have fallen a long way.

The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.

“You didn’t tell me. About your dad.”

He’s so handsome, sitting across the table at dinner, which is new. If you eat together, it’s usually with friends; your time alone is usually confined to a hotel room (maybe one of your apartments or his place in LA if it’s not a race weekend). But it’s just the two of you in the Montreal dive-bar, a couple of share plates and wine you can feel staining your mouth red on the dark wood between you. It’s all candles in artfully grubby mason jars and dim, filament light-globes which send shadows across his sharp jaw and high cheekbones (bring out the gold flecks in his honey brown eyes and when you’re honest with yourself you could spend an eternity trying to find them all and you’d be content for that to be your life’s work).

It falls out of his mouth softly, like an accident, but also the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.

You pick up your wine and take a huge mouthful to steel yourself before you meet those eyes (he looks sad). “I don’t…really talk about it. Him.”

(‘you’re not special’ the panicked, hysterical part of you wants to scream. ‘I don’t talk about it with anyone’)

“Would you…” He pauses, still looking at you softly. “I mean, you don’t have to, obviously, but…if you want to.” There’s a little aborted movement in his long fingers, but not so stilted that he doesn’t brush the back of your hand with them. “The offer’s there. I know…or…it seems like it was a long time ago? So if you don’t that’s cool. But…”

He’s tying himself in knots trying to give you something that’s so at odds to the rest of your relationship – easy, flirty, no strings – that the smile on your mouth when you muster it feels like it doesn’t quite fit.

“I’m all good, Daniel. Thank you, though. I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.” Reassure, express gratitude, make it genuine, compliment.

So why, when you meet his eyes again, does he look so crestfallen?

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”

It’s that he just stares at you, once you finally force the words out past the barbed-wire lump in your throat that’s been sitting there for…well. You don’t even know. It probably pre-dates him. “What, Daniel, what are you looking at?”

It almost sounds like you’re begging him to tell you. You hate it.

“I don’t wanna fuck it up either, that’s…” He looks at you like you’re fascinating, or something.

It’s grating.

“I’m not a fucking…puzzle, to solve, Daniel. Like, I get it, I’m several circles deep in the ‘fucked up parent issues, don’t stick your dick in crazy’ scale, but I-”

His expression changes immediately, full mouth twisted in a frown that still looks foreign on his face. “I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth. I wouldn’t say that.”

You can tell from the careful way he sits, how his fingers twist together, that he wants to reach out for you. Touch is how he orients himself in the world, but he’s trying to give you the space you asked for (it takes everything in you not to give in, to stay standing near the picture window, because you could give him what he needs to feel safer and you’re withholding it for what feel like selfish reasons).

The lump isn’t made of barbed wire anymore, it’s acid spilling out of your eyes and onto your cheeks.

“You can think it though, it’s okay to just…get out now.”

His fingers are so twisted around each other that his knuckles are white, and he looks heartbroken when you chance a blurry glance down at where he’s sitting on the coffee table. “Is that what you want?” He asks quietly.

“Danny, I…”

“Is that what you want?” He asks again, with a steadier voice and a crackle of defiance in his eyes that you weren’t expecting. “I’m asking you what you want. Not fucking…” He breathes harshly through his nose, and his voice is quieter when he starts again. “Not what you think you deserve, or what you feel like you haven’t earned or whatever…bullshit the shitty parts of your head are telling you. But what you want.”

“You.” It comes out no louder than a whisper. “I want…”

He can’t seem to bear it any longer, opens his arms from where he’s still sitting and looks at you like he’s cracked wide open and exposed. “C’mere. Please, love, I…” He swallows loud enough that you hear it. “You’ve got me. You’ve already got me.”

Maybe you don’t need the space anymore, maybe it’s enough to wrap your arms around his head and let his arms be like a vice around your waist, and to see him look up at you so raw and so fucking sincere.

“I’m scared.”

“That’s okay. You can be scared. It doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea, just because it’s scary.”

It sounds so fucking simple when he says it but… “What if I can’t…”

“Babe.”

“No, please can you just…listen?” You sniff hugely and try to keep the rise and fall of your chest steady. Wind your fingers into the curls of his hair just in case it’s the last time you get to. “There is a not insignificant part of me that’s fucking…terrified, of ever making a kid feel the way I did. Or do. Or whatever. I need…” You shut your eyes and let the drying tears stick your eyelashes together, so you don’t have to see his face as it happens (‘if it happens’ the traitorous, hopeful part of you contributes). “If you want to…if this is serious then I need you to know that’s my one card on the table. I will do my best, to keep working through it and…communicating, and stuff, even though that’s hard and scary but…I can’t promise that bit. And it’s only fair that like…you know that, at least.”

Daniel is quiet for what feels like an age, and then one of his hands finds the soft skin of your lower back under your jumper. “That’s okay, babe. It’s okay. That’s not a thing to rush, anyway.”

“But you…”

“You’ve got me.” He says again. “I want us. And if what ‘us’ looks like is just…the coolest fucking aunt and uncle in the world then…” He shrugs, you can feel it under your hands. “That’s fine by me.” His fingers press into your skin until you blink open your eyes and look at him. “But we can just…check in, about things. As often as we need to. It’s okay.” He repeats, presses a soft kiss to your chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ah! Ah Ah Ah!” His arms go tight like a vice around you and there’s warning in his eyes around the joking tone of voice. “No. No apologising. Unnecessary.”

“But-”

“For fuck sakes babe.” He stands up so suddenly it’s embarrassingly easy for him to tilt you over his shoulder so you’re hanging there, secured with an arm around your legs and a hand very firmly on the denim covering your ass. “Clearly I need to employ alternative methods, here.”

“Fucking put me down, you cunt.” The kick of your legs is half-hearted – he isn’t letting you go until he’s throwing you down on the bed with an exaggerated shrug like he’s a professional wrestler rather than a race car driver. You know how this bit goes.

“The mouth on you!” Somehow he manages to stay deadpan to deliver the sentence, but he devolves into giggles immediately after.

Unscathed, against all odds.