#fic: my whole life loving you

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

rhett abbott x oc | another au

Summary: "we always used to have sleepovers as children, why would it be weird now?" aka what if they were childhood best friends to lovers? huh? what then? (wc: 3393)

Requested: YES by @saltynametag

Warnings: childhood best friends to lovers trope, idiots in love, a sex joke involving doggy bedsheets, and SUPER suggestive at the end there + a cliffhanger on where that situation goes

✎……uh...if ya want me to finish out what happens at the end there just lmk...

✎……MASTERLIST

It is a truth universally acknowledged that children of ranchers stuck together. Even if one of those ranchers specialized in cattle and the other in horses. 

Tessa Abernathy and Rhett Abbott were no exception to this truth. They met when they were just four years old, their fathers having brought them along to the local tractor supply to pick up a few things for their respective ranches. Both Royal Abbott and Nathan Abernathy set their kids down for only a second to look at something. But then the little tots were gone. Nowhere to be seen in the large store. They were only missing for about five minutes — neither of their fathers were even all that worried. Royal and Nathan wandered up on the two of them standing side by side on an overturned bird feeder box, looking at the baby ducks under the heated lamp.

The two of them were inseparable after that. Pre-school and kindergarten, elementary to middle school — their friendship even lasted throughout high school, when some childhood friendships were most tested. Kept together through their love of the rodeo and each other. Weekends spent at one or the other’s houses, when they weren’t traveling with the rodeo team. Pictures up in their bedrooms of shared bathtubs when they were still little, pillow forts with Nintendo 64 controllers in hand, vacations one or the other tagged along on, and dances where neither of them could think of someone else to go with. Neither of them could imagine a world where the other wasn’t in their life. It seemed impossible, when they had spent nearly their entire lives knowing and caring for and teasing one another.

Everyone expected, their parents included, that they would get together eventually. That they would finally realize that they loved each other as more than friends, bite the bullet, and start dating. But it never happened. High school came and went and the subject was never broached or even brought up once — even amongst their other friends.

Even though they both, at the time, secretly harbored crushes on the other. Little fleeting things they hoped would just go away with time. Because they were best friends. Had known each other forever. They couldn’t possibly be a couple. They would drive each other mad. Or at worst, it would ruin their friendship forever. And neither of them wanted to take that risk. So the crushes went away with time, and friends they remained.

The children of ranchers stuck together like glue.

Rhett had just finished helping Tessa move into her new place. A little cottage on her parents’ property that was entirely hers to do with whatever she wanted. Her own place after living at home for twenty-three years. She didn’t think it was that special. She was still living on her parents’ land and even renting from her parents, but Rhett thought she was lucky. She was out of the house, with her own space but still some responsibility. He would kill just to have one of the lofts in a barn to himself. But he was happy for her, even if he was a little jealous.

It was late by the time he pulled out of her driveway, the sun dipped low below the horizon and the moon hanging high in the sky. If they were younger, he would have just stayed the night. Not caring or even thinking about the implications of it. But now he was older. Now, he understood that Tessa was a woman, in every sense of the word. With soft curves and pink lips and zero inhibitions about being as close to him as possible. Now, he knew what all that could mean — what it meant to stay the night with a woman like that. 

And he knew Tessa didn’t want that from him. Never has, and never would.

Even if that twisted up something inside him he refused to understand.

But, he was about halfway home when his phone started to ring with a call from her. A picture of her sitting on top of her horse grinning ear to ear back at him greeting him as he picked his phone up from the cupholder.

“Hey, sunshine, I forget somethin’?” he questioned, small smile on his face as he answered her call.

“Um, no…” Tessa answered, voice sounding small and a little afraid.

Rhett sat up straighter as he drove, prepared to pull over or turn around at any second. “Wha’s wrong?”

“S’nothing,” she replied instantly, but when he didn’t say anything back she sighed and went on. “I jus’ feel weird bein’ here alone, s’all.”

His shoulders relaxed, his grip on the wheel loosened. He should have known she would react like this to her first night alone. Tessa might have been on the quieter side, but she was a creature of the den. She liked when there were people around, noise and comfort. Knowing that she wasn’t alone. But there she was, all alone in a little two bedroom cottage for the first time in her life.

“Y’r parents’re righ’down the road,” he said lightly, even as he pulled over into the shoulder and made sure no one was coming up or down the dark road.

He knew what she was going to ask before she even had to say it. 

“I know, but —” There was a pause as she sighed, Rhett could practically see her in his mind’s eye standing there with the phone pressed to her ear, bottom lip caught strong between her teeth. “Can you stay the night? Jus’this first night. Please?”

“M’already turned around. Be there in ten,” he said, pulling back out onto the road. “I better get extra pay f’r this.”

Her laugh, soft and gentle through the phone, was like music to him. “How ‘bout I have hot chocolate ready when ya get here?”

“Yeah, that’ll work. N’breakfast in the mornin’?”

“Yes, n’breakfast in the mornin’, ya bottomless pit,” she laughed again.

“Wait, you even have eggs?”

“Yeah.” He heard the fridge open in the background. “Ma insisted we stock up the fridge n’cabinets before we moved any’a my stuff in.”

They stayed on the phone and talked until Rhett pulled back into her driveway. He didn’t need to ask to know that she wanted him to stay on the line until he got there. He just knew.

He didn’t even knock before he came inside. Just pushed open the door and took off his shoes, greeted by the smells of hot chocolate and Tessa humming under her breath as she stirred the pot it was in. Always from scratch, never from a packet with her. She smiled over her shoulder at him as he approached, pushing his hair back from his face with a returning grin.

It felt…Domestic in some way. Her standing in the kitchen, him coming home to her, the house all to themselves. Rhett wasn’t the type to imagine things often, save for a ride he was minutes from undertaking. But he could just picture coming up behind her and wrapping her up in his arms. Pressing kisses into her neck just to make her laugh. Making her sway to the song that wasn’t playing but they both heard. Coming home to her every day for the rest of his life.  It felt so real, so effortless for him to do. For them to do. As he approached, he nearly did just what he imagined. His arms instinctively reached for her. It swelled up something inside him that, again, he refused to understand. He refused to acknowledge as he got down the mugs he put away only hours before instead of living out his fantasy.

“Thank you, f’r comin’,” Tessa said quietly as she ladeled out the steaming beverage into each of their mugs.

Rhett shrugged with a lopsided smile. “Y’called.”

They drank their hot chocolate in relative silence. She didn’t have all her furniture yet, so they had to squeeze together on an oversized armchair and watch some crime show on her laptop. She leaned her head on his chest, their legs tangled together as they somehow managed to sit comfortably, and again there was that feeling. That fantasy bubbling up in Rhett’s mind. His heart. His gut. How he could so easily put his arm around her and press his lips to her head. How some part of him wanted to end every day just like this. With her by his side. How he could just so, so easily pull her into his lap and kiss her like he’s always wanted. 

Like he’s always wanted? Rhett fidgeted with his empty mug, completely lost on the plot of the show in front of him. Has he always wanted to kiss her? Love her as more than a friend?

Has he been in love with her his entire life and has only just now realized it?

A kind of heat he wasn’t familiar with flooded his chest as the idea dawned on him. As the answer hit him with the force of a raging bull. Because of course he’s spent his entire life loving her. What else was he supposed to do? It’s almost what he was made for. To love Tessa Abernathy. The girl who ran away to look at ducklings with him. The girl who encouraged him to follow his dreams of becoming a bull rider in the first place. The girl who took care of him when he broke his ankle and his arm at the same time. The girl who forced him to go to prom. The girl who had spent her whole life loving him, too.

When the episode was finished and both of their mugs were emptied, Tessa disappeared to wash them out and put them in the sink. Then she came back to where he was still leaned back and spread legged in the chair with a sleepy smile.

“Y’ready f’r bed?” she asked.

He blinked up at her for a second. Could nearly picture her reaching out a hand, ready to drag him to their shared room where they could hide under the blankets from the world. But she wasn’t doing that. She was just looking at him with that tired smile and her hands messing with the hem of her shirt.

“Yeah,” he finally sighed as he pulled himself from the armchair. “Got any clothes f’r me?”

“You sleep in y’r boxers,” she pointed out, even as she led him back to her room, the bigger one on the right side of the hall.

She only had a full bed and a box spring for now. Little by little she would buy all the furniture she needed for the place, make it her own. Earlier in the day, Rhett thought her excitement about her own place and having her own furniture was endearing. Maybe even cute. But now he couldn’t stop thinking about going with her to test out bed frames and couches, moving it all in his truck and getting thanked for a job well done with a few kisses. Rhett shook his head as he followed her into the sparse room, pushing a hand through his hair again. 

He needed to get his head on straight. Tessa was just a friend. His best friend. Always had. Always would be. 

And there was that twisting in his chest again. Sharp and brutal as a knife.

How could he spend his whole life loving her and be just her friend?

“S’cold,” he explained simply, “N’it’ll be even colder out on that armchair.” 

She looked over at him with a furrowed brow as she opened one of her boxes of clothes. “M’not makin’ you sleep on that thing.”

“Where’m I sleepin’ then? The floor?”

“In here — on the bed — with me,” she said it simply, like it didn’t crush something in his chest.

“Tess…” He tried to think of what to say, how to excuse himself from having to share a bed with her when it was all he wanted to do.

“Oh, com’on. We used t’do it all the time as kids,” she argued, not finding what she was looking for in the first box and opening another.

“Yeah, cause we were kids.”

“S’not like this’s any different.”

Her words felt final, like there was nothing more he could say that would make her change her mind. And Rhett didn’t know if he wanted to make her change her mind. So instead, he stood there and stared at the bed they would soon be sharing. Just like when they were kids. No big deal.

After a minute of digging through a few boxes, Tessa presented him with an old pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt from the high school rodeo team. Also his. He narrowed his eyes at her as he took the proffered clothes she had clearly stolen at one point or another. But she just rolled her eyes — he couldn’t tell if the blush on her cheeks was him imagining things again or not.

Again, they got ready for bed in silence. Moving around each other like they had been doing it for years. Tessa offered the spare toothbrush she had for when she needed to change out her own. But all the while, something was building and twisting and knotting itself in Rhett’s gut. Anticipation? Worry? Guilt? Desire? He didn’t know and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. 

He just wanted to get through what was bound to be a sleepless night in the same bed as his best friend. Just so she didn’t feel alone. Just so she felt comfortable and safe. God, he would do anything to make her feel that way. Even if it left him uncomfortable and wanting.

Even if it made their little world crumble down around them.

“Y’re in Montana nex’week right? Big rodeo up there?” she questioned as she pulled back the covers, an extra on her side so she wouldn’t get cold.

“Yeah,” Rhett replied, pushing back his hair again. “Migh’even’ave a chance t’win big.”

“Maybe I could…Go with ya r’somethin’,” she spoke bashfully, sitting down by her pillow.

He gave her a look. “Thought y’had that big girl job now — they just gonna let ya have a week off?”

“S’all remote work. Imputin’ numbers and balancin’ books — borin’ but it pays. I could, I don’know, work at the hotel durin’ the day when I have to n’then be there at the rodeo at night.” 

“Could be fun,” he said with a shrug and a smile. “Like the good ole days.”

“C’n even sneak down t’the pool past closin’, if ya really wanna relive those days,” she chuckled lightly, picking at the sheets.

“If’s the good ole days we’re both drunk on straight vodka, which, honestly…” Rhett groaned as he laid down on his side of the bed. “The memory of makes me wanna hurl.” 

“Yeah, might be too old f’r that bit now.” 

They both laughed at that. It was true, they were getting older. Tessa got a degree and was working a full time job now. They still probably drank and partied too much, but they hardly ever stayed out past midnight anymore. Pretty soon they would be sipping wine or IPAs at dinner and not staying out past nine. The idea, despite Rhett not regretting a single thing about how he lived his life save for still living at home, sounded nice to him. If he was sipping wine and IPAs at dinner with her. If he was calling it a night and curling up on the couch to watch TV with her.

He wanted to do anything and everything with her.

But then he noticed her sheets.

“Hol’on, y’still have these sheets?” he asked incredulously as he pulled part of the fitted sheet up to a point, looking up at her with a smile and a raised brow.

“Back off, I still like these,” she replied, cheeks pink as she shoved at his shoulder.

They were green and fleece, which were both fine, especially now that it was getting colder out. Rhett’s only complaint, and really his only tease, was that they were covered in little cartoon dogs. And he remembered them being on her bed when she was twelve. That was over a decade ago and she still had them on her bed. Rhett grinned at her again as he worked on straightening out the wrinkle he had made.

“I don’know how I feel abou’sleepin’ on ten year ol’ doggy sheets,” he prodded.

“Jus’do it doggy style then,” she replied.

Then went red in the face, shifting her blue eyes over at him with her lips pressed into a thin line. They both knew what she said. They both knew what she meant and also what it sounded like. And usually, Rhett would have just gone on teasing her. Disipated the tension by pointing out what she just said and bringing it up for the next several days. But he just couldn’t. Not when it felt like there something lodged in his throat and he was just now noticing her warm thigh pressed up against his own.

Not when his imagination, suddenly so active, was showing him images of Tessa, his best friend he’s known since he was four, on her hands and knees for him. Her skin bare and sweating, a forming bite mark on her ass, her back arched, and whining high in her throat for him to come closer. Just to come closer. Looking back over her shoulder at him, so much like she did in the kitchen, only now her eyes were glazed over and she was begging him to be inside her. Filling her. Loving her. 

Rhett coughed awkwardly as he pulled the covers up over his lap. 

“Well, good night,” Tessa offered quickly, voice high-pitched and her cheeks still bright red as she turned off the cheap lamp on the floor beside the bed.

Then she flopped down onto the bed beside him, blankets yanked up to her shoulders as she curled up on her side. Facing away from him. And he tried his best to just lay back on his pillow and go to sleep. He really did. But how could he when his mind wouldn’t stop and the object of all his desires was laying right next to him? When he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her and kissing her and kissing her and kissing her? When he could feel the heat coming off of her skin and she was so close he could nearly touch her? There was no way he was making it through this sleepless night now. Not when all of it, his desire and his love and his years of longing, were bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin. Like a pot about to boil over on the stove.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he was rolled over onto his side and tugging at her arm. She rolled over to face him without any fight, just a sigh like she knew this was coming. 

“Look, I get it what I said was dumb —”

“Sunshine, I — I can’t do this,” he muttered out as he looked at her face in the blue light of darkness.

She just looked at him confused. “Do what?”

He didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know how to articulate anything that was on his mind or on his heart. His mouth opened and shut a few times, trying to find the words that would speak it all into existence. But it just wouldn’t come. He couldn’t force it, even if he tried. It was all blank save for the pulsing need between his legs. His need for her. That really had been there all along. Even when he didn’t know it. 

So instead, he reached out for her and blindly took her hand beneath the covers. The furrow between her brows seemed to deepen as he dragged her hand across the small distance between them. But her mouth popped open and her chest heaved when he pressed the palm of her hand against the bulge in his sweats.

“R-Rhett…” she whispered, voice wavering and unreadable.

“F-Fuck, please, sunshine,” he breathed back, pushing further into her hand, further into her space. “I-I can’t anymore, please. Need you. Need you.”

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[bonchobrick]

(angst alert !! death + slight blood tw !!)

Tim is stuck in a sticky situation and has to call a certain 'spooky' friend for help.

Jason would probably call him a dumbass for trying to do something so stupid. Well, atleast thats what Tim thinks Jason would do, he isn't for sure though, he isn't certain.

Because Jason's laying on the ground with a flat pulse and he wont be giving him any answers anytime soon.

---

“Don' look so weird replacement, its just anoth’r day in gotham.” His brother slurs with the slight quirk of his lips

"Jason don't fucking do this to me!" Tim hisses tears cursing his eyes

And Jason, oh that bastard—bleeding out on the pavement and in Tim’s arms sends him his classic beaming Robin Smile. 

"Love ya' little bro take care of yo'rself, kay?" he says eyes fluttering

"Jay," Tim cries, "You dick."

For all the joy and hope and belief his smile conveyed for the first time in a long time—his red blood muddled what should’ve been such a nice sight. Tim held him on the pavement with someone yelling on the comm mic on the floor that he just can’t bother trying to pay attention to. 

The pavement is cold. The air is cold. His brother is cold. It’s all so cold tonight. 

All the younger boy does close his eyes and slowly, In. Out. In. Out.

He lets himself breathe for a minute. Lets the horror wash over him. Lets himself absorb what just happened,

Then he gets back to work. 

Like a switch his brain is back online running at a hundred miles an hour–what is the best scenario, what should I do when my brother's wrist is limp and his eyes are shut, what do I do if he’s dead again, what can i do, how can I Fix. This.

Thoughts cloud his mind, whirring around his head like layers and layers of messy documents has just been dumped on his desk and he’s shuffling through them panicked trying to find the right file because its somewhere here, there is something and he just needs to sort. it. out. And–

Then it all becomes clear. 

His desk is back to clean and stationary. All of the papers are gone back into neat piles in neat manila folders, stored away in tidy filing shelves–

Everything is gone aside from one little yellow sticky note in the center of the desk.

“Well, Jay?” Tim chuckles with a cracked voice, “Second times the charm right?”

In his mind, at the center of it all, on a yellow sticky note lies the words in green ink: ‘Contact The Ghost King.’

Slowly he shifts and with a loud grunt he lifts up Jason, “Up we go!”

“--im? Why do you have Red Hood’s Comm–Tim what happened! Tim!” the comm speaker plays faintly in the background of his head, “Tim! Whatever you’re thinking off doing, don’t!” someone Tim can’t think about hisses

Tim hums absentmindedly towards the mic, almost automatically, “Don’t worry Babs, I’ve got it covered.”

Walking away from the roof he thinks to himself, I wonder where Jason would wanna wake up? Perhaps his apartment? Yea, i think that would go well by him–let’s head to the apartment.  

And just like that Tim leaves a crime scene—shuffling away with a dead body over his shoulder and a plan.

“Jay,” Tim murmurs to the corpse on his shoulder, “You’re really gonna hate this, but i’m doing this for you anyways cause I love you. So dont be too hard on me when you wake up okay asshole?”

Tim stumbles off into the stairwell making his descent and sometime as he walks away Barbara faintly catches him on the comm saying

“-Your gonna love Danny and making your lame 'im a dead guy' jokes with him man .”

[vivitalks]

directions to the truth

pairing: jason grace/nico di angelo rating: T total word count: 35.7k important tags: canon universe, POV alternating, fluff & angst & humor, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, nightmares, sword fighting

Three times in three days. This guy is really sticking it to Nico’s trust issues. A small voice in the back of Nico’s head whispers, what does he want with you? People — especially people like Jason — don't just decide you're worth their time. He must want something. Everyone does. Except… The look on Jason’s face when Nico thought he was using him to get Leo back. The genuine distress. The fact that when Jason confronted Nico in Auster’s palace, when Nico pushed, Jason only pushed back, stern and unafraid. Telling him take a risk. No, not telling him; challenging him. • Immediately following the war, Jason and Nico keep choosing each other.

welcome to my post-BoO canonverse exploration of jasico at camp half-blood after the war. it was supposed to be short, and then predictably spiraled way out of control. there are eight chapters, linked below as i update them, which will happen most likely over the next few days. have fun :)

I. NICO // II. JASON // III. NICO // IV. JASON // V. NICO // VI. JASON // VII. NICO // VIII. JASON

[soyeonna]

me because school bus graveyard ships

i love aidlyn but i also love tyden and you cant go wrong with benlor but taylyn is so cute too and popstar has my whole heart but at the same time i love tylans dynamic and ashler is so fun to read and ashlerden is SO cute to read about and i cant do this anymore i need fast pass i will explode i cant wait till wednesday i will literally die!!!!,,!

i havent posted here so long damn sorry guys i was busy crying on ao3

PLEASE I NEED MORE FICS I HAVE READ ALL OF THEM!! PLEASE!! I WILL PAY!! I AM BROKE!! BUT I WILL PAY!! I AM GOING INSANE!! SOMEONE PLEASE MAKE A SBG FIC!! A LITTLE ONESHOT IS ALL I NEED!!

[missmungoe]

If you have a moment, you should go check out TricksterMelon on Twitter :) I hope you like it <3

I am speechless

[nikholascrow]

hear me out little women marauders au

Amy is regulus

Lourie is James

Jo is Sirius

Beth is Peter

Meg is Lily

Megs husband (forgot his name) is Mary

professor Bhaer is Remus

this is either my best or worst idea ever

[compacflt]

Would you ever consider writing about a different path Ice and Mav could take, one where they choose to leave the Navy and pursue a more open relationship and civilian life? Thinking it would be easier but maybe the sacrifice to their careers brings its own challenges?

(hi, jan 2024 me here, this was an ask that I answered when it was sent in in May 2023 & didn't post because I felt I actually answered it fictionally in the "icedad" one-shot the week after [and you can obviously see how these thoughts affected the writing of other pieces like "tremors & aftershocks"], but I still mostly agree with this take [though it's a little overgeneralizing] & I think it sums up a lot of my final "meta" modern-military-theory thoughts on ice & mav & their relationship, so im posting it now before I post the compacflt masterpoast)

see,… the thing is, i just… can’t see that happening!! i have no idea how to write that!!! Maybe i really do have a lack of imagination. But i can’t see that happening for a number of reasons. So short answer, no.

Long answer (and it’s long):

1. lame reason to start out, but it, uh, it’s canon that ice ends up at O-10 and mav ends up at O-6. not saying that im beholden to canon obviously (my mav ends up at O-7 and my ice ends up alive) but I do base my characterizations of them on the implications of the political struggles of both their careers so… taking away ice’s fourth star is basically starting from square one wrt my characterization of him. which is a lot of work. i could start from the beginning with a top gun 1986 ice who knows he’s gay—that would be a fun AU (i think other people than me have definitely done that better, though—I’m a one-trick pony). So if that’s what you mean then disregard the rest of this post. but if what you mean is a divergence from my existing work (i.e. homophobic/rank-climbing ice&mav) then… yeah, can’t see that happening, for further reasons below.

2. wrt my characterization of him: it’s based on a broad historical overview of armed service officers and the expectations of their careers. in my view, high-ranking officers aren’t after power—or maybe they started their careers wanting power, but somewhere down the line, it just becomes an expectation. if you do everything right and follow all the rules, you are expected by the institution to lead, whether you want to or not. That’s just the pipeline. at some point you start losing agency. which is what I mean when I keep saying ice doesn’t have a choice in advancing his career (besides the meta fact that this is fanfiction and canon demands that he have 4 stars lol)—high ranking military officers are continually and continually groomed for bigger and better positions; and the longer they spend in the military, the harder it is to leave that lifestyle for something else. And with ice’s canonical (and characteristically INTEGRAL, as I mentioned a week or so ago) refusal to rebel against the wishes of the navy as an institution, plus this historical expectation to lead placed upon the shoulders of excelling officers, I really do think ice is destined for four stars & nothing less, even if it gives him chronic depression. It’s his highest priority not because he wants it to be, but because…it just is. that’s how the institutionalized system of advancement in the military works. it just is. it has to be.

3. I mentioned in this post that I can’t ever see a foot in the door with them talking about their relationship unless maverick dies and is resurrected, and I feel the exact same way about them & their retirement plans. There’s a lot that ice and mav don’t talk about: the biggest one is obviously Goose’s death, the foundation of their relationship; but also their love for each other obv, what they did to rooster, AND their careers, which have to end at some point. Them talking about everything is totally inevitable, it was gonna have to happen eventually before they died, and I think one foot in the door MIGHT have been them eventually talking about retirement (someone sent in a prompt asking for this exactly & i am brainstorming it furiously) but before the Navy FORCES them to retire… i think they would studiously avoid talking about it. For a couple reasons: a) what does retiring with each other mean? living in the same house until they die together? hard to do if you’re just good friends. talking about retirement is tantamount to talking about Them. and b) what are they gonna do outside the navy? Ice has a lot of options, as I mentioned in the slider one-shot—general/flag officers are SUPER sought after in leadership/intelligentsia/management positions post service, so maybe if he were offered a crazy cool civilian position somewhere in San Diego in like the 2000s he would quit the navy for it… but what about maverick? I have no idea what a non-navy mav would do. Civilian airline pilot? Hoo boy. I think he’d hate that. I could maybe see emergency helicopter pilot, lol, or race car driver (i just watched days of thunder can you tell?) but none of the above offers the institutionalized honor the navy does (that, as a reminder, he *killed people* to obtain in the first place). I suggested his test piloting expertise would make him an attractive technical advising candidate to A&D companies like Boeing, LockMart, GD, etc. so that might be one option. But it might have been kind of a touchy subject for him before he racked up the expertise he’d need for those high-level civilian positions… the navy was kinda his only option. So they wouldn’t talk about it because it might hurt his feelings.

4. The biggest reason: again… open rebellion like rocking the boat by quitting the navy to be in an open long-term gay relationship, in upper mil brass ranks, and even retired upper mil brass ranks, just… isn’t done. And REALLY wasn’t done in the 2000s, when i think the scenario in this ask is positioned. And it’s not like “oh but whatever who cares about the navy, ice and mav are in love, they deserve to be happy no matter what, they should do what they want, fuck the navy…” no. Ice and Mav care about the navy. Clearly. Canonically. By necessity. The military requires cohesion and on some level repression of individuality & personal expression to FUNCTION, even when you’re retired. Yes, maverick certainly strains against that repression (which is why you Could spin top gun as an anti-military franchise if you were desperate enough), but he rebels through his ACTIONS (stupid plane maneuvers) not through his personal IDENTITY. his personal identity (headstrong overtly masculine white male pilot, whether gay or straight who cares) is NEVER challenged throughout the franchise (i.e. no one really challenges his masculinity specifically) & his personal identity does not POSE a challenge to the navy. Both he and ice in their outward-facing personal identities really fit in quite neatly to the navy’s overarching identity & contribute to the navy’s cohesion in a way that is favorable to both their careers and the establishment. Lack of imagination or not… i can’t see a universe in which Ice and mav would actively WANT to rock the boat and wreck the navy’s cohesion and their reputations for an open relationship and definitively rebellious personal identities, with the obvious caveat being Maverick’s death recontextualizing both their priorities (yes we’re in love AND we’ve finally proven ourselves to be ultra-capable officers regardless of our sexuality so no one has a license to judge us anymore etc.).

And also, they’re not enlisted seamen. Nor are they mediocre officers who have the luxury of fading into obscurity. Things are different when you’re that high in the ranks, and when your job publicly matters more. sorry, but even post DADT (probably until about biden’s election), an open relationship would end their careers. They might not be fired, but they’d never be promoted again. Too much of a liability getting subordinates to still respect them, from the higher-ups’ perspective, especially if there are other qualified candidates who fit the navy’s core identity better. Like—sorry. This is such a jaded oversimplification. But if you rock the boat like that (i.e. break the service’s united front to be individualistic in a way that does not match the service’s overarching identity), from the perspective of your officer peers, you simply are a bad officer. Being an open individual in a job where you are required to fit in and represent your service is not your job. You are not doing your job well. Straight-up. Even if you’re retired. I met US Army 4-star gen. David Petraeus (retired obv) in February—he led the successful-ish surge in iraq and Afghanistan in the mid-2000s—and he’s STILL a laughingstock for his disastrous affair with his biographer a decade ago, even after he retired from AD service. That’s what people remember him for, not the fact that he was one of our only successful commanders in any of our Middle East campaigns.

Something like that might be one of ice and mav’s worst fears—being known for their affair/scandal instead of the institutionalized honor they’ve fought and killed for. That kind of thing just Isn’t Done. It's bad taste. You have to keep it quiet. If you’re an officer representing the service, you have to represent it well & according to the service’s preconceived identity, even in retirement. (see, for another shitty example of "not fitting in" even in retirement, Lt. gen. Mike Flynn [his whole scandal is actually kinda geopolitically relevant to my fic if you squint lol] whom everyone fucking hates)

To summarize: i hope I’m not mischaracterizing your ask when i reframe it like this—would you ever write ice and mav without the institutionalized pressure to advance in rank and conform to institutional norms?

and yes, I would (and will if you ask—it looks like this: ice & mav meet & fall in love & it’s boring and fine. end of story), but I guarantee you someone else already has. I’m all about interrogation of institutional norms here. And i think until maverick dies & comes back from the dead, there is absolutely no *REALISTIC* incentive for ice & mav to leave the navy and/or have an open relationship. Like it’s just not possible. Idk how else to say it.

[ruuinxs]

saikechi “back to the old house” by the smiths the line “and you never knew how much i really liked you, because i never really told you”

[introspectivememories]

if you're writing a charles fic, it must have some aspect of boyking. he must lean a little on the childgod side. he has to be revered a little bit, adored even. if people aren't talking about him like they wouldn't wash his feet and adorn it with perfume like mary magdalene washed and adorned jesus' feet, you're doing it wrong.

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: MARS (PART 1)

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard, Maj. Kaidan Alenko, Lt. James Vega, and Dr. Liara T'Soni Sophie, I don't know what you are- or who. Not since Cerberus rebuilt you. For all I know, you could be their puppet- controlled by The Illusive Man himself. Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

[stalarys]

it was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

“IT WAS ONLY A KISS, IT WAS ONLY A KISS” ; or, martyn inthelittlewood and the passing of the curse // wingswap / shared curse au (?) // ao3 link

cw: graphic descriptions of canon violence, vomiting, body horror (??)

spoilers through secret life ep 4

1.7k words

-----

Tensions are always the lightest at the start of a session. Freshly spawned in, feeling fully vitalized and without any expectations for the challenges ahead. With no allies, no enemies, no bases… It's so lighthearted, and Martyn loves it. They all can be dramatic and murderous in the end, but these early, peaceful moments are something he treasures. 

(he feels like he’s missing something. that he hops between worlds so frequently, while it seems like the others all have a home to go to. it’s not mentioned to him. other worlds are never mentioned here, in the world of red, yellow, and green.)

Tensions are light, and Martyn is the one that breaks it. Sue him, he’s giddy to get started, and it’s not his fault when he swings a wide, joking punch… and Jimmy moves right into its path. It’s not his fault, he’d say defensively – in the gleeful energy of the new world’s start, Jimmy is hit; the group recoils, some in momentary (but genuine) alarm; others with cackling laughter.

Jimmy looks affronted, golden wings flared in surprise before breaking into a grin. Martyn matches it, holding his hands up in defense; an ‘over the shoulder tease gone wrong’, but… he did take a smidgen of Jimmy’s health. A red spot that’ll bruise, with no way to heal itself. 

So he clasps his hands together and parts them, a heart forming in his palms. He ushers it to Jimmy with a breath of air as the group begins to split, taking the pandemonium as an excuse to get the season started! 

The bruise clears; Jimmy blinks, and his grin splits even wider. He lunges at Martyn, feathered ears fluttering, wings and arms alike open wide. 

“Gimme a kiss, gimme a little kiss—!” Jimmy chirps. 

They meet in the middle; arms interlocked, fingers interlaced. Lips pressed together so briefly. These games are thrilling and horrible and torturous and all, but… you get to know each other very well. More than you know yourself. The pressure’s low with his last win, and… well, frankly? He doesn’t feel like the Watchers would let anyone strike it twice in a row. 

For Martyn’s purposes, one win is enough for now. 

His lips tingle as they part, feet hitting the ground running in different directions. Towards the forests, towards the blossoming trees, and Martyn cannot help but think to himself — What can go wrong? 

-----

So what, they find themselves drifting back together. This game is… different. A bit more like a game. Maybe it’s the symbol of the Secret Keeper that unnerves him, and maybe he finds solace in those who remember. Occasional glances shared amidst the glee and chaos, even while they chant “FAIL” under the figure’s looming gaze. 

-----

Fire crackles. Lava burbles nearby, unseen, lying in wait. The air is heavy. Thick with sulfur, thick with heat. Pure, baking heat, devoid of humidity. Thick with the smell of blood. Shield raised, Martyn gasps as the gleaming axe swings down, slamming through the barricade of wood. The shield splinters apart in his grasp, splinters digging into his arm as he drops it. 

The brute does not wait for a cry of mercy; the axe swings back up, the blunt handle cracking against his jaw as the bone slams together; Marytn stumbles back. He — he shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t be here, but — but he needs to be. Stupidly, undiscerning, chasing that gods damned need to be better. 

His vision spins. The brute reaches into his desperate, haphazard tunnel, and grabs the front of his shirt in an unforgiving hoof. It reels back and just as quickly slams him back against the wall of the tunnel, before peeling his bloodied, beaten body off. He’s thrown to the ground, gilded blackstone splattered with blood. 

Martyn’s gaze blinks through the blood and the nausea, just in time to watch the brute’s axe complete a full arc, and slam into his chest. 

. . .

The impact carries him through the respawn, to the point that he can’t even recognize when it changed from burning, unforgiving stone to lush grass. It hurts, wounds stitched together and healed faster than he got them, and it hurts. His bisected chest forces itself back together, the skin weaving back into place; it doesn’t leave so much as a scar. 

Martyn can’t bring himself to think about that; he can’t think to begin with. His head is filled with cotton and a murky haze, blurring time and sensation together. His fingers dig into the ground ‘til the grass is uprooted. 

Light shifts, dancing over his pressed-shut eyelids; something moves overhead. There’s… voices, and his mind hums that there’s an obligation. A change in dynamics, that they’re closer to enemies than allies. 

But arms hook under his own, helping him into a seated position. His back presses against the indented form of a crafting table. There’s a bottle of water at his lips. A bowl of something pressed into his hands. Murmurs of shock, of sympathy, and there’s Grian’s voice. The warden of the games, the bastion between them and the full, unrestrained torment of the Watchers; better to make it a game than a Saw trap, y’know. 

Grian hums. A hand finds itself on his shoulder. 

“Oof – Sorry, Marytn,” Grian coos, halfway between a tease and sympathy. Through the haze, he can’t discern which he prefers. “That’s a rough way to go.” Martyn murmurs back, some kind of sarcastic response — he can’t remember what he’s saying as he’s saying it — but he doesn’t protest as bodies move around him, helping him get food and water back into his respawned body. 

He can’t remember who it is that comments, “Jimmy’s not the first death?” 

-----

Marytn’s been finding himself sore in new ways, new places. Body pains aren’t uncommon by any means, and especially not in this season. After all, with the lack of regeneration, the wounds themselves may staunch their bleeding but the impact still remains. But, after a successful day of the task force running about, and having full hearts after redeeming his task, there’s still a frustrating ache in his shoulder blades that he can’t quite reach. His scalp, too, aches, pinpricks of little stings dancing across from time to time. 

Sometimes, he finds a stray golden feather among his stuff, and wonders when Jimmy left it there. 

-----

Martyn’s grinning as he bolts down the narrow staircase, his fellow Big Dog at his heels. He hasn’t been to the End in ages! And in the life series, no less! He doesn’t give himself a moment to doubt as he hops right into the portal, and—! 

Vertigo. 

Bodies moving. Chest lurching. The excitement and adrenaline wrench themself into deformity, into something twisted, something wrong. An immediate sense, knowledge, that he’s not wanted here. That he doesn’t belong here. That he needs to get out. He stumbles forward, trying to get out of the way. 

His feet land on empty space, and he’s off the edge. The air of the end is sickening and it fills his lungs, claiming the space like it's theirs. 

As he descends further, further into the void, the outline of the dragon’s domain drifting out of sight, the more his body is theirs. Unthinking, desperate, he rips a bit out of a golden apple, feeling the briefest of reprieves before the void itself tears the vitality from him, and it keeps ripping. Thirty hearts to lose, to be torn from his body. The pinnacle of health to the most cruel and torturous death, all at their discretion. The damage eats away at his body, plummeting longer and sinking further than any player has the right to. 

The void hungers. 

Hands, ethereal and purple and sick, grab at him, fingers digging into scars and ripping them apart and tearing into his shoulder blades even though he tries so, so desperately to get out of the void. It rejects him, wholly and utterly, and it is thrilled to do so. 

He’s fallen right into the Watcher’s domain, death imminent, and they all want a taste. 

They tear him apart until all thirty hearts are torn asunder and he respawns and he’s put together wrong. 

Martyn’s back hits the bed; he’s a flurry of limbs as he rolls over, toppling off the side; the bile pooling in his mouth spills to the ground. He wretches. It’s worse, it’s so much worse than the last death. His body screams, his back aches, and his whole body feels wrong like his own bones have been torn out and fit back inside. Hollowed out. 

A shout. A thud. Jimmy spawns, and Martyn, through the screaming haze, instinctively knows that it wasn’t by voluntarily going through the portal. Jimmy groans, but is quick to look for his teammate, head whipping around. 

Marytn hears a quiet “oh, gods”, and he doesn’t process the time it takes for a person to be kneeling beside him. He’s prattling gentle reassurances as Marytn continues to wretch over the sound of his comm beeping and chirping. 

A call goes through. Grian’s voice crackles with glee — “TIMMY—!” — ready and quite delighted to tease… and cuts himself off as Martyn cries out again. His ears, his ears, they hurt. His scalp. His back. Everything feels from and something warm and wet dribbles down the side of his head. 

If he could open his eyes, he'd be able to see the purple, viscous ooze, dripping down his chin in sluggish rivulets. 

Jim speaks next. He screams for Grian to come over, that “Something’s wrong — Something’s so wrong. It’s the canary curse, Grian, it’s the curse.” 

A single wing, golden yellow and slick and limp hangs down the side of Martyn’s back. His ears are accented by feathers, torn out from under the skin, and Martyn’s sobbing. 

The wing flaps desperately, slick and wet and heavy, covered in slime and ichor like it was wrenched in place by the void itself; it slaps against the floor. 

Jimmy — lurching, unbalanced, missing a wing — stays kneeled beside him, rubbing circles into his back. He murmurs reassurances like it's a prayer, pressing a kiss to Martyn’s forehead. 

“C’mon, stay strong,” he murmurs. “We’ll get through this. We’ll… we’ll be okay.” 

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Howdy, y'all! Time for the end of the month writing recap! Just to track what I write and maybe remind you of something you've missed 🤠 Total word count for the month: 31, 206

☆ Here to Stay - don't come on too strong ★ Frontier Days - night one ☆ Here to Stay - tangled up in you ★ my whole life loving you [🔥] ☆ Here to Stay - the girl on the hill ★ Here to Stay - bathroom thank-yous [🔥] ☆ Here to Stay - the hand fic [🔥] ★ Deep Dark Valley - the fields are full of holes ☆ Falltober Day 2 ★ Falltober Day 3 ☆ Falltober Day 4 ★ Falltober Day 5 ☆ Not Hungry Anymore - seven new ways that you can eat your young [🩸]

And I have sort of an announcement: I'm going on a writing hiatus again from November - January. This is the busiest time of year for me with work and family functions and just real-life stuff. I would rather not have the added pressure of posting during these months. I'm still going to be writing, but hopefully just making more of a back catalog for you all to enjoy once February rolls around. And of course, I'll still be around to chat and answer asks! Love y'all 💗

[fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma]

if do you take this jerk to be (your one and only) by @jatersade has 1 000 000 fans I am one of them. If it has 100 000 fans I am one of them. If it has 1 000 fans I am one of them. If it has 100 fans I am one of them. If it has 10 fans I am one of them. If it has 1 fan then I am that fan. If it has 0 fans then I am dead. (yk what that’s a lie I’ll still be a fan in the GRAVE)

[vivitalks]

"Good morning," he tells Troy at the kitchen counter. "I'm studying the human condition, so I'm going to be in love with you for the next few days."

"Um, Abed?" Annie chimes in uncertainly from the table. "I don't think you can just decide that."

"Being in love is a pattern of behavior," Abed says. "I think. Only immersive study can confirm. Hence, my research."

"Okay," Troy says. "Should I be in love with you too?"

Abed thinks on it. "I guess it wouldn't hurt."

There's a clunk from behind them. Annie's forehead has made contact with the tabletop.

[amoneki-ramblings]

do you think Kaneki might ever pray with Amon despite not being catholic himself? just sitting next to him mumbling the words as Amon says it because he likes to be with him

speaking of religion, what kind of faith do you think Kaneki would follow? I hc him as an atheist :) but I think you know more about religions than me lol

Ooooh I like that idea a lot actually I have So Many Thoughts (rubs my hands together evilly)

also this is just a sidenote but i know some people may be uncomfortable with religious discussion, so if you are lmk and i'll start tagging it :thumbsup:

I feel like Amon hasn't prayed often in a while because of his past, but he may still on occasion (habit), and may get back into it properly after actually resolving his feelings with the past. At some point Kaneki starts to join him. He doesn't really know How to pray, especially since a lot of it is in silence, he probably just kneels there and silently wishes for safety for his friends, for strength and resolve, etc. etc. But when Amon starts saying the actual prayers out loud he just sits there and listens to him quietly saying them.

At some point Kaneki might start mumbling along with them, he vaguely knows some of the prayers and has heard Amon say them enough times to kind of know them. Amon is surprised when Kaneki starts doing that and it just kind of becomes a Thing; maybe Kaneki even asks Amon to tell him how to pray the rosary since he sees him doing that often as well (when the rosary is prayed in a group there's one person leading that says the first half of most of the prayers and the rest say the other half, and I think it would be interesting with them alternating like that)

While Kaneki isn't catholic himself he finds it reassuring, while it's unlikely to him that there's someone out there that'll actually grant his prayers it's a nice thought, y'know? It's also just very relaxing there, even if it was kind of awkward at first

I think he also finds the sound of Amon praying very relaxing *cough*

I also think Kaneki would be atheist, while he wouldn't completely deny the possibility of there being a god of some sort he also isn't really a follower of any particular belief system (note: ive actually been informed that there is a better term for this, agnostic, which is essentially being neutral lol). I think Amon would know this, and therefore doesn't really know why Kaneki chooses to pray with him despite this, but he figures that Kaneki does have a lot of things he would want to pray for, things he would want to seek forgiveness for, too, and he appreciates that Kaneki is willing to spend time with him like this anyway.

[kagiura-akira]

Would I be m*rdered by the fandom if I explored Kagi/Miya in a fic