#ebf talks fic

[electricbluebutterflies]

weird question but i basically went through the entire leto/jessica tag in a 2 day fever dream spiral after seeing dune 2 last month & i commented on absolutely nothing... if one were to go back through and read stuff in an actually coherent manner/leave comments, where should i start with your stuff? <3

Lol, how do I sort 300k worth of fic... let's do this with commentary!! I do have other stuff but we're ignoring some of it!

never listen but i see it with my eyes closed is the fever-dream of a canon-divergent fix-it fic I wrote (mostly) in December 2021 / my life was Actively On Fire at the time and it shows. First thing I wrote for the babes and I do side-eye some of my characterization choices in hindsight but... they were new to me and I was trying. Only longfic I've ever managed to finish.

one bright moment is all i ask is a throwback to a fic format that was popular circa like 2016 and one of the most fun little things I've written. (As you will see, everything is my favorite.)

shoot for the memory so you can forget me is a missing scene that can be blamed on a few things, but mostly the fact that that was the moment when I became Insufferable in a relatively packed movie theater. (There is Lore related to how this fandom spiral happened to me and it comes up kinda frequently...)

take his body as a relic to be canonized - the summary I posted on ao3 for this is "last thoughts of a dying man" and it is EXACTLY what it says on the tin. I broke my informal personal rule against writing death scenes for this one and I think I hit the fucked-up gorgeousness of it.

nothing in the world - the knife-kink fic, another thing that haunts me forever. There's a little context that I think is in the notes, but it's very... not the kind of content I usually write and I do love it.

give you my wild - the rituals fic, take 2. The original version of that concept was courtesy of an ex who I broke up with BECAUSE of this spiral (long story); this, written about a year later, is a softer version and twice as long.

prompt-comps, in order: i hope my love was someone else's solid ground, i never fall outside of love, i'd live and die for moments that we stole, sit awake until the wild feelings leave you (current / active one). This is where most of my fic HAPPENS / I like doing prompts that people send me, there's something about the responsiveness that works well for my process. I format them in sets of 50 for housekeeping purposes. Mostly canon'verse, occasional modern AU / me kicking myself for not writing as much modern AU as I want, "moments that we stole" has a few segments of a different canon-divergent AU that I need to do more with...

pillars - my new favorite and I'm not saying anything about it beyond that I wrote something I have spent two and a half years avoiding and it only broke me once.

[epic-battle-fantasy-fan]

the true character journey in this fic is Valkyrie the tank getting enough self worth to realize she is not a car

[wipmoy]

Most of this blog is hidden behind COMMUNITY LABELS. In order to see most of the posts on this blog, follow this guide. Otherwise you will not see most of the posts.

DIRECTORY since those are good and things. Here are links to the right tags... That may or may not work because tumblr is dumb:

Fandom Tags:

AUBS - Alternate Universe Bullshit. Sanses and stuff. UTDR - Undertale, probably Sans Undertale, probably Frans Invader Zim - Mostly ZaDr I’m going to be real here. EBF - Epic Battle Fantasy... There was no good NSFW of it ok

General Tags:

wip’s art - ALL of the art that I’ve drawn. wip's fics - Fanfics I've written wip’s doodles - All of the sketches. wip’s colors - All the finished drawings. wip rambles - text posts of me talking rather than art.

Other Websites:

Pillowfort - If you want to see some of the pictures uncensored AO3 - Fanfics go here FurAffinity - Only colored drawings go here so not a lot

[electricbluebutterflies]

“Invisible chains are the strongest.” for the prompts

Theonsa (yay debut fic for them / please be nice to me guuuh), post-canon-divergent, PG-ish, also on ao3.

It’s easier to not be alone.

This is how she justifies. This is how she rebuilds. This is how she-

It’s easier. After everything she has endured, Sansa figures she deserves that kind of choice when she can get it.

There is enough to do, in the weeks that turn to months, to make her forget there was ever a life before. She has become everything, and out of that she will mend, out of that-

The moments her mind is not safe do not go away. It is easier not to speak of them.

It’s easier to not be alone. It’s easier to allow familiarity to be a beginning of…

She does not know what she wants, at first. She does know that in another life she would have loved him when they were children, and in this one it is a mercy to have someone in her circles who knows too many of her scars. These walls are haunted for him too, and it is easier to walk them together, easier to-

Sansa does not think of the future beyond how much of the North needs to be rebuilt. She does not think of her heart anymore. She still knows it will eventually want to rest.

She knows her advantages. When she marries again – if she marries again, and she may choose that too – it will be by her own desires. Perhaps not only for love, but she would like to hope-

They walk the grounds, and she wonders if it would be alright to reach for his hand.

They do not speak beyond necessary formalities. There is a comfort in that presence in these months, the safety of not being-

“Will you stay?”

She will let it be a decision now. It had not been when there were wounds to recover from, and that was months of new worry, but all is well now, and she is not-

He turns to look at her and she sees the flash of fear in his eyes, and let no one else ever say that he is unwanted, and-

“Would it be a choice?”

“In what way do you mean?”

“If you want me gone-“

Her heart breaks, and she is reminded of its presence. Her heart breaks, and she wants to cry, to fold him in her arms, to find out if his kisses would taste like saltwater, to-

“If that… if anyone…”

“You have always been kind, and I would hope that everyone else here follows your lead, but-“

“Has something happened?”

He shakes his head, and she can fill in what is not said easily enough, nothing that should concern her but minor slights, overheard whispers, nothing likely to escalate but enough to poke at old wounds and-

“You would tell me, if-“

“I still can’t tell what you actually want to ask me.”

She doesn’t know either, she thinks. She doesn’t have a plan yet – there has never been a plan, not for her – and it is entirely possible that a major direction of the rest of her life rests on what she says in the next few heartbeats, and she isn’t sure-

She could ask him to keep her warm in the night and he would do it. She could ask him to stand by her side always, any form that could take and oh there are options, and he would. She could-

She kisses the side of his face, and it feels light and sweet and warm, and she does not know what she wants but she knows where this will lead. A good man, now, who will let her delight in him, and-

“Will you stay?” she repeats.

“As your consort?”

“Perhaps, in time, if you-“

“You could do better.”

As if that is the way of the world, Sansa thinks, as if the control she has over her own fate is that much of a ward against unknown men with unknown agendas, as if-

“What if I just want you?”

He’s quiet for a few moments, doesn’t quite look at her, doesn’t quite-

“Would that be enough?”

“I know my options, and I know you. You are loyal to me and you would not take pleasure in my pain. Between those facts alone…”

“You used to dream of-“

“You know why I don’t anymore,” she says too quickly. “If I must be practical-“

“Would that be enough?” he repeats.

She can’t know. Not yet. She is still mending her heart, and perhaps in time…

This would be a good thing to build around, she decides. She does want and she does wonder, and-

She presses her lips to his because she can, and he does taste a little like salt like she’d thought but also like winter winds and home, and-

“Is that enough for you?” she murmurs, tilting her head so her mouth is still against his skin.

“Would you stop there?”

“I think I would want more, if I were to… at least the warmth of…”

If she is to do this, she thinks, she needs to be sure. If she is to do this…

“I could give you that, if you’d have me. There are still…”

“I could be happy with you.”

She expects he’ll say something else to give her a way out, but instead he turns his head for a kiss and it’s soft and good and she can see a future she wants in it and-

“Yes.”

[electricbluebutterflies]

Please give us more of the 842 story from your au fic!

I am literally working on that right now. Should be up in like... less than an hour, maybe even sooner.

[electricbluebutterflies]

There is "I'm having ideas above my skill level" and then there's whatever the hell this new AU idea is.

Like, I know my concepty fics don't do as well and I get distracted and drop them. HOWEVER, meshing the current fixation with a formative piece of media, despite the fact that there appears to be ZERO overlap in those fandoms, is... very, very tempting.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Fanfic trope: Singing Their Feelings (Karaoke night, for instance.)

I wanna say unlikely that I’d write this, but it’d be such a good ensemble fic for something. Idk what show I’d be most likely to write it for, but... now I kinda want to, for the cute, for something...

[electricbluebutterflies]

for the fanfic trope, how about amnesia?

Plausible I’d write it but no scenarios or ships are coming to mind.

[electricbluebutterflies]

ooooh what about the famous "there's only one bed and it's super cold" trope??

Absolutely would write and... again. Possibilities are endless. Kinda wanna do that for my new babes...

[electricbluebutterflies]

echoes

No thoughts just a lot of questions about how this dynamic works. Early-relationship Marc/Layla, PG-ish, also on ao3.

Prompt: small kisses littered across the other’s face (thank you @apple-grass-and-smiles).

Who the hell was she to think this would ever work out?

Twenty-three is a little young for legal tethering and a wedding ring she doesn’t even wear most of the time, a little young for the fear she has every time she sleeps alone that she’ll get woken up by a phone call from some frantic nurse in some city she’s barely even heard of and that’s if she’s lucky, a little young for… all of these complications she’s wandered into, and yet…

When it’s good, when neither of them has almost died in the past week and there aren’t any new scars to find when they’re in the same place again, when she can almost convince herself she made good choices, when she isn’t distracted by how much she really wants to find a way to kill an immortal sociopath of a bird god who decided her now-husband was an adequate human chewtoy… when it’s good, Layla reminds herself, they are good.

It's a quiet enough week that they get multiple days together in the apartment – her apartment, she still thinks of it as even though there have been a few aesthetic changes since she decided she was in fact the domestic type. She’s been here longer and she’s still here more often, but if there are a few new decorations on the walls because she’s trying to be supportive of things she actually hates, that’s life, she is not a difficult person, she is not-

It's a quiet week, one of those where they’re both waiting for phone calls that will change that, and one of those doing-nothing sort of afternoons where their bodies end up in a knot on the couch she refuses to get rid of because where the hell is she going to find something with an even louder print than this particular thirdhand reject from the Seventies, and if they have an actual recurrent petty fight it’s probably over that stupid thing, and-

She’s comfortable. She hasn’t been comfortable around another person… ever, she’s pretty sure. And she can’t pin down why this one gets to be the exception, this near-disaster she married because it was nice to have someone who actually liked her and didn’t seem to want anything she wasn’t offering, and-

It’s been a little over a year since then, and it’s been a couple months since she’s been reminded that she does not have inhuman advantages when she gets into trouble, and she could maybe get used to all of the weird stuff if they get enough time.

For now they are sprawled on the couch, in a position where clothes are a little questionable but not in that way, and it is still so strange to her that his body doesn’t have echoes on it. The life he’s lived, the stories he’s told her almost drunk or almost asleep, hell just the things she’s seen happen… no signs of any of it on his skin, nothing she can trace, nothing she can claim. She, meanwhile, looks like the occasional walking accident she is, and most of her tattoos are easily hidden but that’s here nor there, and-

It isn’t fair, Layla thinks, that someone with the potential to be so good has gotten so screwed over.

But he’s stuck with her now, and she’s made her stubbornness very clear, and her hands can at least trace where there should be scars. Where she’s seen things happen, and where she imagines there were once little pale lines from things that happened years before her, and-

He’s half-awake and looking at her like starlight, and this is why it was a good idea to get involved on a more binding level, because she’s never gotten that from anyone else before and she’d like to save the minor miracles for when she actually needs them.

“What are you doing?” he asks, all casual and unbothered and she’s pretty sure these rare beautiful waiting-for-something days in the apartment are the only times he’s actually calm.

“Just want to touch,” she says. “Not in a mood, just…”

He’s clearly not going to stop her, and that’s like ten questions on her list of things she knows not to ask because she won’t get any kind of answer let alone anything that would make her feel better, and there are no complaints about her hands going up his shirt. They both run warm and she knows this body well enough, knows where she should be a little more careful, where there was once pain and damage but that stupid bird won’t let her husband have that either and-

Yeah, Layla thinks, if it’s possible to kill a god she’s going to find a way to do it before she’s thirty. Screw this.

But she’s trying not to think about cosmic meddling as she enjoys the opportunity under her fingers, the places where there should be tension and there isn’t, the fact that whatever deal her husband made has at least let his body stay intact and perfect. As she leans down because she can, well aware that for a moment the neckline of her tank top looks magnificent, and decides she can multitask and kiss all over his face while still hoping her fingers will find something interesting. This too counts for something, little echoes of her affection that make his eyes all big and oh she hasn’t asked about past girlfriends or whatever because she wants to do damage to enough people in his past as it is but-

Her hair is everywhere and he doesn’t even try to bat it out of the way and that is a soulmate right there, pretty man who’s letting her mess with him even though his vision is totally compromised by her loose curls and he’s not even doing anything beyond making soft sounds into her mouth when she decides a proper kiss is appropriate and-

They get this, for now. She’ll remember this afternoon when they’re on different continents and she has one of her feelings he’s gone and done something incredibly reckless verging on suicide-attempt-by-technicality. Sometimes, sometimes they are good.

Sometimes, with her free hand in his and a fingertip tracing the ring that he at least wears when they’re here, sometimes she can’t regret this.

[electricbluebutterflies]

87 (gunshot) for Garcy?

This only took three years to write... usual canon-divergent ‘verse, PG ish, also on ao3.

Gunshot

How easily she loses focus, how easily the details blur.

The closer they are to their own time, the more can gowrong. Lucy has learned far more than she ever wanted to know about the exacttimeline of advancements in weaponry, never an area of interest to her until itbecame brutally relevant to her life. Someone on the team getting stabbed isnot a good time, obviously, but there’s at least warning when that’sabout to happen. Current circumstances, on the other hand…

Nothing good ever happens to them in the 1920s. Ever. Lucyis well aware of this particular bad streak. But this here is still a low point.

She reminds herself, as she hears the noise and sees herpartner go down, that one of his advantages is he is built like a tank. From themovements she watches from the other side of the room, and the particularcombination of swear words in languages she’s lucky enough to identify, this isnot an immediate emergency. She can almost hear his voice telling her to getthe hell out of here before someone figures out that the petite woman on theother side of the space has a connection to the scene unfolding, can almost…

Lucy is a lot of things, and finding new complicationswithin herself every day, but she is no coward and she is loyal to whatis hers. Screw the logical part of her brain. Screw survival instincts. Screw everythingthat isn’t her own anxious heart.

She’s in no mood to be a victim, but her size isoccasionally in her favor and she makes it to where her partner has at leastmaneuvered himself against a hopefully stable wall. The fact that he was ableto do that was a good sign, but-

“How bad?” Do not ask stupid questions, do not-

“Good spot, bad angle. May I have your scarf?”

She obliges, hands shaking, wishing she could be more usefulbut of course this stubborn man is too determined to do field-medic work on himselfinstead of asking for help and-

“Am I going to have to get that out of you later?”

“Probably. When we’re somewhere we can. It’s not…”

“I realize this is normal for you but-“

“You need to get out of here.”

Lucy shifts her position so her displeased expression hasmaximum effect. “And leave you alone after that happened?”

“A shoulder wound is not-“

“You’re still bleeding. Still counts.”

Flynn gives her that look he does in these situations, anexpression she can only describe as yep she is the only person in theworld who he listens to on any kind of regular basis but even she’s on thin icesometimes. “I’m fine.”

“No one ever means that.”

“We’ll move after it stops. Are you… if you need to…”

Always the unsaid in these moments of damage control. If shehas to shoot someone, yes, she could do it. Not an ideal scenario for anyone,but-

“Whatever we have to do.”

Later, in the flickering lights of the bathroom back home,she’ll help deal with the wound because she’s the only person he’ll let touch himunder such minor circumstances. Later, perhaps sooner perhaps months later, he’llget her a new scarf to replace the now-ruined one knotted around his arm.

For now, their free hands meet and they wait for a good momentto run, and they are alive, and that is enough.

[electricbluebutterflies]

79 + Garcy

Usual let’s-ignore-the-movie / canon-divergent ‘verse, PG-ish, also on ao3.

79. Illogical

They’re domesticating, she supposes. Strange move given therest of their relationship, but they’ve never been normal.

The week Lucy moves most of her clothing into a questionablystable dresser in Flynn’s bedroom is also the same week he kisses her foreheadfor the first time, and those two events are unrelated but happen in about thatorder. It makes sense to officially move in, she thinks; she accidentally fallsasleep there most nights, and there is only so much space in the currentsafehouse and it makes sense to consolidate in case any other dynamics change,and-

She’s pretty sure she’s at least ten years too old to be indefinitelystuck on an air mattress, but life will go on and she has survived worse thesepast few years.

They are, on paper, absolutely platonic roommates. The relativelysmall space the team occupies, combined with a questionably functional bathroomlock that no one has managed to fix and some indefinite person may have brokenfurther in an attempt, means everyone’s seen everything at some point oranother. The important detail in this domestication is that neither of them is physicallyinvolved with anyone else and thus things will not be awkward.

In theory, anyways.

In practice, what had previously been an occasionallyfleeting thought on lonely nights turns into a full-on crush with annoyingspeed. It is one thing to feel out of place, to end up sleeping curled up on thatchair because there are too many creaky floorboards to avoid in the middle ofthe night. It is another to belong, to wake up and see all of that firstthing in the morning and-

Lucy considers herself relatively well controlled, in thegrand scheme of things. Impulsive behavior rarely works out for her, and herromantic body count proves it. She is not about to actually do anything.

She is now, however, a lot more tempted than she was a weekago.

It’s not that Flynn is a bad roommate, in any sense of theword. Half the reason this arrangement happened is they keep the same hours; heusually wakes earlier than she does, but not by enough to be a problem, and he’ssurprisingly quiet for a person of his size. He is tidy even within the boundariesof situational minimalism, and Lucy suspects they’d drive each other crazy overthat alone in a more normal domestic situation, she tends to be more thethrive-in-chaos type and she-

Less than a week and she’s wondering about, if this war everends, taking him home with her to the godawful house she has inherited as nextof kin because she cannot imagine she was actually written out of her mother’swill at any point. It would be a practical enough decision. He’ll have nowhereelse to go, and it makes sense for the lonely people to stick together, andshe-

There are things she knows now, and other things she kindaknew but now appreciates so much better. Like how his accent is heavier when he’stired, even more than it is when he’s emotionally compromised, and first thingin the morning it takes him a few moments and a few sentences to place whatlanguage he’s supposed to be speaking. Like how his nightmares are quiet andviolent, and she is both unsure she could ever curl up with him on a mattressand absolutely convinced that doing so would make her the safest person alive.Like how far his discomfort with his body goes, and-

A few days into the new living arrangement, she opens thedoor and sees skin and immediately shuts it again and-

She is still in the hallway, shaking despite herself, whenthe door opens a few minutes later.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and the shifting of focus is sotypical and she can’t-

“I should’ve knocked.”

“You live here too now.”

“Invasion of privacy is invasion of privacy.”

“Waist up isn’t interesting.”

It is to her, she wants to say but won’t because they aretoo fragile as it is. There are scars on him that she knows nothing about, alife documented in flesh and she wants to run her hands over every line and-

No. Bad thoughts. Not now not yet.

“I want to be respectful,” she says, because she needs tosay something. “And I know you’d do the same in reversed positions.”

Given the number of times she’s asked him to help her with acorset over the past year, it’s not quite that simple and they both know it,but…

“It has been a while since I’ve let anyone see mevoluntarily,” he says, still keeping safe distance. “But I would allow you.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I trust you not to be unkind without reason. And I trustthat little moments like that will not make things complicated.”

Well that makes one of them, she wants to say, but she doesn’tfeel like sparring so she decides not to. “I just… I don’t want…”

“I trust you,” he says again, finally moving closer. “Canthat be enough?”

Lucy is not tactile by nature, and she suspects hercounterpart is not either, but this is a moment that demands some kind of touchand she allows the embrace. Not the first time, and she has to remind herselfthat she is a perfectly normal-sized woman and he’s just a tree, but-

The forehead kiss is new, and there’s a not-going-anywhere energyto it that makes her blush, and yeah, it is enough.

“I still should’ve knocked.”

“Let it go. No damage done. You are safe for me, alright?”

No. No she isn’t. Not with all the darkness in her.

But he has darkness too, she reminds herself as she clingsmore than is proper in the middle of the hallway. And he isn’t scared of her.

Maybe, she thinks, maybe that’s enough to make a life.

[electricbluebutterflies]

14 - Garcy please!

I have written 70-odd fics for these babes and this is the first wedding-adjacent one... enjoy. Modern-ish AU, PG-ish, pre-everything, and also on ao3.

“Can I have this dance?”

Never again, Lucy tells herself. Never again is she submittingherself to any scenario involving heels and a questionable satin dress. She haschecked off both her bridesmaid obligations in this life, and she suspects shewill never be close enough to another human being to pick up a third. Besides,y’know, being thirty-five. Too much past that age, people don’t do bigweddings, and that could save her tail. She’s hopeful.

Other than the wardrobe issue, it hasn’t been a bad day.While Lucy can’t offhand remember the exact story of how she met Jiya, and didmanage to mangle that in her attempt at a speech half an hour ago – and for therecord, she started drinking after, she does have her standards – they’vebeen close on a level reserved for women who just do not bond easily withanyone. Jiya is human sunshine, yes, but attaches herself very carefully and…

Several years after that imprinting happened, Lucy is in apumpkin-colored horror of a dress, trying not to inhale her second cocktail,and starting to wonder how long she actually has to stay.

All of the major wedding stuff is over, she’s kept track ofthat much. The pictures, and the various familiar rituals, and the less-familiarcultural stuff, and as mixed weddings go this one has been almost seamless fromLucy’s outsider perspective. The energy of the couple is enough to make itwork, the obvious fact at the center of it all that Rufus and Jiya aresoulmates if ever there was a pair of ‘em. They’ll be okay, everyone knowsthat. They’ll leave for their honeymoon tomorrow, they have an appointmentscheduled at the animal shelter to look at large dogs when they get back, andthat’s a perfect enough happy ending.

Oh, and one of Jiya’s younger cousins caught the bouquet, sothat’s a win on all fronts as far as Lucy is concerned.

She likes weddings, on the level that one can if one hasaccepted one will never be at the center of one. Her own taste in people is…historically questionable, even ignoring the most recent bonfire of a loveaffair. Look, she wasn’t the one who lied about whether a divorce wasactually finalized, and she feel like that gets her some innocence. But who thehell is going to believe her version of events over the pregnant blonde not-actually-ex-wife?!Quite a few bridges burned there, nobody took Lucy’s side in that fallout, and-

She feels more than she sees a presence near her. She glancesup and… okay, that tree blocking her view at least looks kinda familiar. One ofJiya’s coworkers, if she remembers right, Lucy feels like they’ve beenintroduced before but she can’t pin this guy’s name or anything useful or-

“Can I have this dance?”

Unplaceable accent? Check. Looks good yet slightly out of placein a suit, check. Interesting bad idea for the amount of alcohol andpassive-aggressive fury currently dueling inside her, check.

“Can I ask why?” she counters, because she’s just in thatkind of mood.

“You look lonely.”

Lucy rolls her eyes and finishes her drink. However charmingthis guy thinks he is, he isn’t. “Not good enough. What do you actually want?”

“Neither of us know anyone here apart from the bride andgroom, and they are very much… lost in each other.”

“Your point?”

“Might as well be lonely together?”

If this were anyone else, Lucy thinks, anyone she had enoughof a baseline with to have feelings about them, this would be the part she’dconsider whacking them with her shoe. This isn’t a pick-up line or desperationso much as… something about this man is visibly broken, and not in a waythat actually worries her. No, she thinks as she gives him a better look, thisis someone who is miserable for if not the exact same reasons as she is then atleast close enough. There’s a certain kind of sadness in those eyes, somethingshe recognizes too well and can attempt to work with.

“Let me guess, recent bad breakup?”

“Widowed,” he corrects, the too-casual statement of someonewho’s had to explain that far too many times. “Four years ago.”

He looks older than her, yes, but not by that much.So, definitely tragic, she decides. “At least you had that.”

“And you don’t have an ex-spouse out there?”

Lucy glances away. “Do broken engagements count?”

“Did you break it?”

“No, turned out I was the other woman and a month away frombeing the victim of accidental bigamy.” This too is too casual, only way totell a story that painful to someone she doesn’t know. “That was last year, ifyou’re wondering.”

“And you normally pretend it’s fine?”

“I normally do not say anything about it to people Idon’t know. I have enough red flags going for me.”

“Enough talking,” he decides, extending his hand. “May Idistract?”

Fine. She just… won’t mention she’s a little accident-prone.The man seems well-intentioned enough, and she likes his voice, and he probablydeserves the bruises she’s about to leave on his feet. It’s fine.

And it’s been too long since she’s been held, and of courseit’s a slow song, and of course he knows what he’s doing on a dance floor farmore than she does. She’s used to finding reasons not to be twirledaround, and on some level this is her own personal hell and-

“You can kick off those shoes,” he murmurs, and good griefhe’s a tree and his mouth is too close to her face and what does she even dowith these feelings. “If you’re not comfortable.”

“I’ll lose them. And I’m not feeling the Cinderella elementhere.”

“Alright.”

She clings. She clings because yeah she’s known this personfor five minutes, and she can kinda remember him having an unusual first namebut that’s not actually helpful, and he has not put his hands anywhere inappropriate.He is both unknown and willing to let her fall apart a little, making his bodyinto a cocoon for her sorrows. She’s done worse.

There’s a version of this where they end up screwing in asupply closet, she knows as the song ends. She doesn’t want that, suspects that’snot where his heart is either. Something about him doesn’t seem like the casualtype, and-

“Are you alright?” he asks as they break apart.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you need…”

“Do you wanna sit down with me and people-watch?”

It’s not a romantic offer, not even the beginnings of one,but the night is still young and heavy with possibilities.

“You mean hold ice on your ankle while you curse every partof this?”

“How are you already up in my head?”

“I’d love to.”

[electricbluebutterflies]

Hi!! Saw that promp list you reblogged, so I'm shooting my shot for Nina + Matthias with this one: 'Learning what the other person likes sexually' thank you 😊

(Also...idk if you'd accept 1 or 2 more requests for this otp? Loved the prompts but I dont wanna spam your inbox. 😜)

I kinda love them... obvious smut ahead and also on ao3.

She’s broken him. He’s not sure how much he minds.

Look, objectively the fact that he is stuck in the frozen middle of nowhere and owes his continued survival to a witch who will not shut up and seduced him more out of boredom than anything that seems like actual desire on her part is… almost all of his worst nightmares come true. But all of that established and ignored, Nina is not the worst possible person to be stuck with. She’s beautiful, occasionally funny in a way that breaks the cultural barriers between them, knows what she wants…

They’ve stopped for the night, no closer to civilization than they were when they woke up but not going around in circles yet – and he’s left subtle markings at each fishing hut they’ve temporarily occupied, he would know – and he knows what happens next, and this time he wants to do better.

Nina is, he has learned over the past few days, a very particular combination of insatiable and bossy. When she decides she wants, and apparently physical activities are how she deals with her everything, she makes herself very clear and pins him to whatever passes for a bed wherever they are. (Or, very briefly yesterday, a wall.) And while Matthias is a willing enough participant in his own corruption, he can’t push away the feeling that the power dynamic is the truly wrong thing here. A man is not supposed to be passive, even when faced with… all of that. But as it is, he’s not sure he’ll get the chance to change it up.

And sure enough, after an improvised meal of probably-undercooked fish, she reaches out. Puts her mouth on his and starts taking kisses, and he’s so powerless and so into it and-

“Stop,” he breathes, unsure if the word even comes out.

To his great surprise, she freezes. She’s still clinging to him, but not actively doing anything more. “You okay? Did I do something-“

“You need to rest,” he murmurs, adding a little endearment in his native language. Yep, she’s definitely corrupted him. “If you want, let me give.”

Nina rolls her eyes. “Are you sure?!”

“I need to learn how to do this… properly.”

The look on her face is the most amused horror he’s ever seen and oh he almost loves her for it. “I am not passive. You do realize that, right?”

“You don’t have to be. I don’t know… tell me what to do.”

She takes a step back. “Alright. How detailed instructions do you want?”

“Tell me how to make you happy.”

Nina takes another step back and shifts her body into an open position. “Alright. Undress me. You’ve seen how all of this works…”

He has, and he steps forward and tries. The buttons of her vest are so tiny, and of course she’d done up all of them, and it takes a frighteningly long time for his fingers to get them all undone. Then her shirt, also made challenging with the laces done up too tight and oh the sight of her curves underneath it is distracting and unfair and-

Somehow, he figures out all the knots and gets it off her, gets rewarded with the sight of her soft skin and pointy breasts. Even this would be enough, and he-

“Put your mouth… somewhere.”

If nothing else, Matthias is good at following orders. Even if they are given by a… no, at this point he doesn’t think she’s a witch. Not like he was taught to believe. Definitely not normal, but far more human than he expected.

Not that it matters, he reminds himself as he leans down and tries to kiss her breasts. She’s even paler there than she is elsewhere, and her body is warm and unfair. She squirms a little, but the noises she makes are happy enough and she hasn’t yelled at him so he’s hopefully not screwing this up too badly and-

On instinct, he puts his mouth around one of her nipples and licks, and her noises turn closer to what she apparently sounds like in bliss. He’s still learning how that works, but if this helps get her there…

“Okay, I was just going to have you straight-up fuck me but nevermind you’re actually good with your mouth,” she says, yanking on his hair to pull him up and off. “This still…?”

“Yes. Keep showing me.”

“I’m not showing you, I’m trying to un-repress you,” she laughs. “Undo my skirt and get me on the bed.”

He does, and without being told he knows what she wants next. Well, this may be the strangest experience yet with her, but…

The space between her thighs is beautiful, swollen pink instead of ivory, already shiny with her warmth. He pokes around with his fingers – this, at least, she has let him do before – and makes a plan. If he’s wrong then he’s wrong and he still expects she’ll get mad at him at some point during this, but until then he-

“Head. Down. Now.” From this angle she looks magnificent, and he can see her desperation in a different way. “Keep going unless I grab your ear, no matter what else I do.”

In the recent past, in the time before she happened to him, all of this was foreign to him. It was, and remains, improper for a man of his status to know too much about the sacred beauty of women before marrying one. In that way he is ruined now, and he cannot imagine any of this being so good with some equally innocent creature. This one is so much better. This one is-

She kicks his shoulder, more out of annoyance than wanting to hurt. “I know I’m cute but get on with it.”

He complies, pressing his mouth to her outer petals. He is well aware he has too much scruff right now, and that might hurt where she’s sensitive… no, might hurt some lesser woman, won’t make this one bat an eyelash. Nina is different and Nina is herself. And she is perfect, he thinks as instinct takes over and he starts to lick. Beautiful wet nightmare.

This is a first attempt, not perfection. His desire to make her happy counts for something, he hopes as he tries different things, because that’s about the only part of this in his favor. This act she’s suggested is so new, something he’s surprised she even wants, and to have his world reduced to her womanly parts is… perfect for him, honestly. He is aware of his own body responding to it, but she hasn’t asked for that yet and maybe she won’t tonight and-

As he is learning is normal for her, Nina falls apart with a few breathless noises. Apparently this also includes clenching her thighs tight enough his head hurts and more of her sweet warmth dripping onto his tongue. For a moment he’s not sure he can breathe either, and-

The pressure lessens and instead of grabbing his ear like she said, she pulls him up to her level by the shoulders.

“Did I… please you?”

She rolls over to cover his face in wet kisses. “You need to have more faith in your abilities. That was nice.”

“What… what now?”

“Do you still want to have me?” she asks, putting her hand between his legs.

As if that’s a question. Matthias has been able to ignore his own body until now, but the slightest touch makes him squirm and he’s still fully dressed and she is unfair and-

“Always,” he breathes. Might as well admit it. “Is that alright? You already…”

“Great thing about having the parts I do is I can fall apart multiple times,” she shrugs like that should be too obvious. “I am perfectly fine with it if you are.”

“Please.”

“Good. Undress for me and… I wanna see what you do.”

It no longer feels awkward to feel her eyes on him as he sheds his layers. Her expression is appreciative, and he’s never thought too much about what his body might look like to other people but clearly the only person who matters right now is into it. Years after her, he thinks, if there is an after her, he will always remember this as he looks at his skin. Impossible perfect woman almost making him happy.

And sure enough, as he’d both hoped and feared, his prick is in full form. And to think he’d expected it would hurt her the first time she wanted him. There’s no fear of that now, but a near-inevitability he won’t last long enough to give her what she wants and-

He looks at her, spread out for him and waiting, and he knows whatever he does will be enough.

Soft beautiful his, he repeats as he maneuvers his body over her. Perfect woman, as he lines up his prick. More than he had ever dreamed of, as he covers her.

She feels perfect around him, and he rolls his hips against hers and tries to find a pattern the way she does when she covers him and he is so sure he’s doing it wrong but she keeps taking kisses anyways so maybe not. Perfect, and he feels himself tense up and no too soon he hasn’t given her everything he hasn’t-

He falls apart anyways, best intentions be damned, boneless on top of her even as their bodies separate.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Do I look like I’m complaining?”

No, he thinks as he maneuvers his body so most of his weight is off of her, no she does not. If anything, Nina looks the happiest he’s seen her, pink and glowing and content. “You look beautiful,” he says before he talks himself out of it.

“Good.” She shakes her head, her hair flying everywhere. “Are you… was all of that okay?”

She gets under his skin like no one else ever has, and he almost loves her for it and he is undone. “I don’t know if I did it right.”

“There is no right. Not with this. There’s only… what I like may be different from what some other person likes, and each time you’re with someone new you get to figure it all out again.”

“That’s not what I-“

“You made me feel good. As long as you felt good too… that’s the important part.”

And he did, he lets himself feel as they maneuver themselves into a comfortable position for sleep. Dangerous woman. He is ruined for anyone else now, and… maybe that’s alright.

[electricbluebutterflies]

30 + Garcy

Usual let’s-ignore-finale’verse, pre-relationship, PG-ish (Lucy is miserable but somehow swears LESS than I usually write her), and also on ao3.

cuddling out of necessity

This has got to be a level of hell.

January 29, 1881, somewhere in… honestly Lucy does not knowwhat state they are in, or where they parked, or why exactly she needed to tagalong on this little excursion to several days before one of the worst weatherevents in US history. She has never seen this much snow in her life, and on topof everything else the group has gotten separated as per usual and that meansshe is, also as usual, stuck with the only person on the team who apparently hateswinter more than she does.

When she figured this out, a few months ago, it was kindafunny. Her own cold-weather aversion can be blamed on her physical buildcombined with the fact that she grew up in California – fluffy white bullshithas always been a novelty for her at best, and she’s had no baseline for howthat’s changed since the whole time-travel complication led to her being forcedthrough all the weather-related hangups a person could ever have. Flynn,on the other hand is… well, Lucy is trying not to think about his body morethan she has to, but she’s got eyes and he is A Lot. Sufficient to say, wayless likely to get frostbite in some awkward place. And he’s lived a far moreadventurous life than she has, and-

“Get over here,” he growls, snapping her back to the physicalsurroundings of her anxiety spiral. Yep. She’s trying not to think about any ofthat more than she has to.

The entire upper Midwest may be covered in several feet offrozen misery, and the entire fate of Western civilization may or may not rideon whether Wyatt can successfully fake a Norwegian accent this time (Lucy istrying not to think about that either), but at least they have managed to getthe equivalent of a hotel room. This is why she gets stuck with Flynn, becauseout of all the possible combinations they are least likely to kill each otherwhile pretending to be married. She trusts him enough to know he won’t doanything more than hold her hand to make their disguise convincing, and hetrusts her enough to know she probably won’t stab him in his sleep. The bar isset so low.

But more than that, this pattern is becoming a comfort toher. Even if it is a best-case-scenario of a lie, she can see how he’d be adecent husband to… someone. Not her, her brain makes very clear, she does notthink about that man in that way, she does not-

“You’re going to freeze.”

A bit ago, whenever they’d gotten up here – Lucy’s sense oftime has been a little off on this mission, the lack of normal outside visualcues is throwing her off – she’d decided she’s sleeping on the floor this time.Normally he does, gentlemanly instincts distracting from the fact that thefurther back in time they are the less likely a hotel bed is going to becomfortable for all six-foot-whatever of him, but they are in a time and placewhere furniture is designed for nice Scandinavian farm boys and that’s adifferent situation than usual and-

“I’m fine.”

“You look… not fine,” he says too slowly, like he is tryingto be tactful and clearly having a time of it.

“I don’t-“

“Lucy.” He says her name different than anyone else everdoes, like it’s both blessing and curse, and she’d hate him for it if it wasn’talso somehow really hot. (Yeah. She is avoiding a lot right now.) “Do youtrust me?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m voluntarily alone with you. Is thatenough?”

That part is maybe the most normal thing going on here, shehas to admit. Back home – in the space that is not fully home yet, the newsafehouse that will eventually stand within daytrip distance of wherever thehell they are right now – she hangs out in his room more than she’d happilyadmit if anyone asked. It’s quiet. Other people leave her alone when she’s upthere. He somehow found an overstuffed armchair and she’s spent a few nightscurled up in it, always woken up with a quilt draped over her and coffeewaiting. It’s enough to make a lesser woman develop a bit of a crush.

“Then get up here.” Not quite a command but damn close. “Youknow how important body heat is.”

Yes, and she’s done everything in her power to avoid thatsituation with him, but here they are. Might as well.

When she was planning to sleep on the floor, sleeping in allher clothes had sounded like a good idea, but it’ll be a different situation ona questionable mattress with a body twice her size curled up around hers. She undoesher outer dress with about as much gracefulness as she can manage, then hercorset, except it’s stuck, this is what she gets for thinking she can do this onher own, she-

She’s unsurprised he’s behind her, undoing the knot in thelaces before she even had the chance to ask.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, turning to face him now that thedifficult garment is off her body. Chemise and several petticoats will keep herwarm enough, even if the former is a little see-through in current light, and-

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, motioning to the bed. “I’llfit where you don’t.”

Lucy is half tempted to point out that given the sizedifference this really should be done the other way around, but on the otherhand he’s being legitimately sweet and that’s both too normal and uncommonenough to make her feel weird and-

Yep. Questionable is not enough of a word for this mattress.It is at least above the ground and may have been soft at some point in itsexistence, and there is a blanket pile waiting, and-

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” which is a phrasehe absolutely should not say with his lips that close to her ear but she’s notin the mood to call him out. “Say something if-“

“You’re fine.” She lets him wrap around her from behind,lets his arms encircle her waist. Almost sweet, really. Nothing for her to bescared of.

And honestly, she hasn’t been this close to another humanbeing since her bad-life-choice spiral of about a year ago now, and it is veryeasy to let herself want. To be small and to be held, and to know that she willbe safe. Flynn does not run as warm as one might expect from looking at him,but his size more than makes up for it, and the blankets carefully draped formore coverage on her side will protect the rest. This is, for their circumstances,as good as it’ll get.

She lets herself have this. Warmth without too much skin onskin, awareness of what lines they are not ready to cross. She’s not sure ifthe heartbeat kiss on the side of her head is even real, but the sound of hisvoice on her neck is harder to ignore.

“You can rest,” he murmurs. “It’s alright.”

She closes her eyes and tries to believe.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Awww you write for Helnik! My babies!!! Can I request for them the prompt nr 27 (Keeping the other person warm) - yes I have still not recovered from the 'I will keep you warm' - scene omg. 💙💙💙

Lost-in-the-middle-of-nowhere grayspace is FUN. PG-ish and also on ao3.

The second night is easier.

That’s normal enough, Nina reminds herself. When nesting with a new person, regardless of why one is making that choice, it does take time to learn their patterns, whether they kick or cuddle in their sleep and whether she’ll wake up to absent-minded kisses or accidental bruises in random spots.

When said new person is culturally repressed and tolerating her out of a mixed knot of obligations… she’s not speculating on how this will go down. But since they are still wandering through the middle of nowhere, they get to find out whether either of them likes it or not.

It is apparently the off-season for fishing up here, which is great because again they’ve found a temporarily abandoned hut that is at least stocked with furs and firewood. No point leaving supplies up here, apparently – by whenever she reaches civilization again, Nina is pretty sure she’ll be an expert on the eccentricities of Fjerdan men – but she is perfectly content to stay inside and poke the fire with a stick while Matthias goes out and tries to find them something passably edible.

He comes back with the ugliest fish she’s ever seen and guts it before she even has half a chance to comment. She may be in love.

And it’s not bad fish, if a little burnt because cooking is apparently not a strong suit for either of them – Nina is too nomadic by nature, and saints forbid a man actually do something semi-useful in this world – and it’s a nice enough distraction from the fact that she almost died again today and the only reason she didn’t is because some part of him actually likes her.

She’s taken advantage of people before. With what she is, and what she has tried to do with her abilities, that’s almost a requirement. Find the weakness and make a hole big enough for her to slip through. But here, with him, she’s not actively trying. It’s just… happening. She’s being difficult and he is still making space and it’s the weirdest thing she’s ever seen and-

“Are you alright?”

She blinks, makes eye contact with him, and realizes she’s been quiet for an unusual length of time. This too is weird – normally she doesn’t know when to shut up, never has never will and oh the trouble she’s been in for her mouth, but he calms her down and she can’t-

“Just tired,” she murmurs, glancing around the room. “I don’t… there’s space, if you don’t want to wake up with me on top of you. I don’t need body heat, if you-“

“I said I would keep you warm.” There’s a determination in his voice, like he’s made some silent vow about this to whatever gods his people believe in and he is not backing down. “Right now you do not look warm.”

Never mind that she’s probably just a little too close to the fire, never mind that she’s got the thickest fur she could find draped around her shoulders. Fine, she is not a cold-weather creature and she is freezing, she can admit that. “Okay.”

She sits there and watches as he drags one of the beds closer to the warm center of the space and starts layering furs to make a comfortable nest. Just like that, he’s accepted that she’s clingy and starting to like him too much and somehow none of that is enough to stop him. There is an obligation and he has clearly never failed that yet and won’t start now.

“There. Will that be enough for you?”

Nina pushes her vest off her shoulders – it’s just not comfortable to sleep in, her shirt and skirt are modest enough not to break him – and cautiously slips into about the middle of the blanket pile and sighs. Yes, yes it is enough. Having someone this determined to take care of her is unusual and she wants every minute of it.

“Join me?”

She expects him boots and all, but instead the outer layers come off and his undershirt too, and she supposes the fluff on his chest counts as enough warmth on its own but-

“May I hold you?”

She laughs. “Do you actually want to?”

“Yes. You… you feel right.”

Maybe the weirdest compliment she’s ever gotten, but she’ll take it.

And it does feel right, letting him wrap his arms around her from behind and pull her just a little too close. She trusts him now that they are more even, now that they have each saved the other from a nasty death. She doesn’t know where this goes, how far it even can go, but feeling safe like this is a start.

As her eyes close, he murmurs something in his native tongue. She’s too tired to mentally translate, but from the tone of his voice she’s pretty sure it’s something sweet.

Maybe they’ll survive each other after all.