#ficsforgaza

[ms0milk]

pitch in a teapot

sanemi x inn keeper

reader has a business to run and sanemi can't help but watch you do it well, barking orders, teaching firmly, smiling and scurrying around like a fancy little bell. There's something he's been trying to get out of you all afternoon but chores keep stealing you away. cw MDNI, frustrated thunderstorm quickie, reader w vagina + penetration, slight manhandling, desperation and a little bit of sass. 4.1k

thank you so much my darling @neiptune for requesting a little sanemi this @ficsforgaza season! you were so generous and patient waiting for this to come out, I hope you enjoy angel

Six bowls of soup upstairs and an old man somewhere in the bowels of the inn with a limp and half a shoe. Right, okay, send two girls to the garden– no. One to the garden and one to the kitchen. That’s dinner taken care of as long as the scholar with the fat pony– donkey, maybe– doesn’t regurgitate an encore of the rakugo performance that couldn’t have been funny in the first place.

You roll the sleeves of your apron slightly tighter in their tasuki. The cyprus walls of your inn bleed fragrance before summer thunderstorms so you make a mental note too, to order storm doors for the second floor before the clouds go black and blue. Incensed breeze, juniper, wisteria, paper windows, one foot, the next, again, each step down the wooden hallway is a quiet knock. Each summer at home is heavier, heavier, and this year is the flood.

“Oi.”

“Not my name,” you blow from the corner of your mouth without changing pace. That breath was ready to jump off your lip before the demon slayer even called out to you; he hates doing nothing and hates even more what great pains your staff take to avoid his room.

“It reeks.”

“Excuse me?” You huff and this time do turn enough to interrogate him via glare. Sanemi, ridiculous, folds his arms in the doorway of a very nice room, a too nice room, without any of the appropriate embarrassment of someone who has been lying in wait. The stippled blue pattern of his robes doesn’t suit him. They clash with his ugly scars and uglier attitude but don't keep him from wearing the chest wide open like a well paid rent boy.

“Stinks.”

“Whatever of, princess?”

He growls and drops his arms as you brace for the lecture, “Demons.”

His heart is incapable of peace and yours with it, and every summer he’s assigned a post in your mountains by a master you’ve never met and who couldn’t possibly be sane themself. Four years of this. Four years of twelve weeks of sixteen-hour-days of the world’s most neurotic demon slayer.

“The whole property is wide open for any fuck to attack.”

You adjust your grip on a slender bucket handle and the cloth in your other arm and continue back downhall, “You always say that.”

“I’m always right,” he nags and pushes free of his bedroom.

You met Sanemi when you were sixteen and still working under your parents. He was a brand new hashira then and prone to fist fights, spitfire, bloodshed. Nothing special. Nothing new. Hashira come and die and new hashira come again. They arrive in flashbangs and ego and leave like everyone else, in pieces.

Your parents were calm, they had peace and practice, they ran this inn, they welcomed Sanemi with his summer floods. They loved him, took his counsel and died by it, and they probably wouldn’t have lost an old man inside the house. But this is your inn now. They aren’t here anymore and at your inn sometimes old men get misplaced.

“And what would you like me to do about all that, sir?”

The hashira keeps an easy military pace behind you, “The gardens need to be reinforced and–”

“Nine acres of wisteria arbor need reinforcement? Yeah I’ll get right on that.”

“The storm will take out ha–!”

“And the other half will hold until autumn. Go berate the kitchen staff for their unpreparedness– they’re all unarmed you know? Totally unprofessional.”

“Y/n–”

“Shinazugawa,” you spin and it all comes out as a threat, a hiss, instead of just a whisper so much so that the water in your bucket nips up your sleeve. “I am the lady of this establishment and you will not address me so familiarly.”

Dark cyprus, cool hallways, the undeniable scent of thunder. Sanemi rests his hand on his sword to glare like he does when his hands don’t quite know what to do with themselves. His eyes roam, quiet under long lilly lashes until they have traced the shapes your tasuki makes with your waist and rise again to your gaze. “We’re not fucking finished.”

“Go eat,” you snap and turn back down the hallway, red at the ears. Lady of the establishment, great job.

Feet aren’t complicated, bone to tendon, tendon to muscle, muscle to skin, one step and another. You tilt your head back and an eager girl rises to wipe sweat from your temple.

“Like this,” you hum and tilt the old man’s heel in your palm. He winces but lets you continue while the girl stares on. “When the skin is split like this it can’t receive moisture– sorry sir, better?” You set his foot on the hammock of cloth between your thighs, “So you need to soak it first before applying salve. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the girl parrots, still unable to look away.

“Yes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile through an eye roll but gesture for her to come sit beside you. You’ve been like this since he’s met you, too old for your body.

You’ll train anyone who asks, hire any runaway girl, absorb the cost of thieves when runaways are exactly that, and you will wash old men’s feet before eating dinner with the self preservation of a samurai. Famously long-lived, those. Sanemi has to look away when you take scissors to the gnarled yellow nails and almost covers his ears when your pupil starts asking you questions about it.

“Feels good right?” You chuckle at the man’s response to your ministrations, and then a little louder, when you realize just how seriously the girl beside you is trying to focus. Birdsong. “Do you have companions on your pilgrimage, sir?” He shakes his head.

You lean away again so the girl can dab your brow and push back stray hairs and turn back to explain overdetailed care instructions to this man who is obviously so embarrassed he can’t hear a word you’re saying. Something about tallow and socks, Sanemi tries to read the syllables off your lips and loses focus the second time your teeth catch damp and pillowed pink.

The man seated in front of you grumbles some and flexes a few fingers around his cane like old men do, but doesn’t protest your instructions. He nods instead of thanking you like a real tough guy.

“Fetch a new pair of sandals from the garden shed,” you instruct your girl who bolts up and out the door past Sanemi without so much as a breath. “And you,” you turn back to your patient, “keep the nails short, you hear?”

He nods again, increasingly avoidant of eye contact. Sanemi tenses in the dark outside the guest’s complimentary room and hates ungrateful fucks enough for both of you.

“And don’t skip any more meals.” 

The man’s wrinkled skin unfolds at his eyes and he pulls his legs back underneath him. You dry your hands after scrubbing clean in a soapy pot and stand to collect your tools. “I couldn’t find you this evening and I hate to lose track of my guests at mealtime.”

You are going to feed every stray you find until the economy collapses. Peasant monks, pickpockets– you’d put up a demon if its stomach growled. After too many unnoticed minutes watching you, following the white x between your patterned shoulders, eating your voice, warming the hallway, you finally pick out Sanemi’s eyes in the dark behind the sliding door. He’s waiting for you. You clear your throat for the broke old pilgrim one last time, “You don’t owe any money. Do not skip meals.” And bid him a wordless good night. The door cracks shut behind you. It isn’t late enough for sunset. Thunderstorms make it so dark so quickly and they mask the scent of blood with all their rain and iron. “What is it?” You deadpan and shuffle towards the stairs with all the confidence in the world a tenured hashira will work to keep up with you.

“Not fucking finishied with you,” Sanemi grunts, working to keep up with you. The apron over your service kimono forces your hips to sway in tight little circles and Sanemi sucks his teeth. He doesn’t look away.

Through the hallway and down the servant stairs, socks on polished wood, you tap, tap, tap nimbly to your next assignment. The room below radiates heat and life. “What do you want?” you whisper.

“I–” he slips barefoot on the slick last step into the kitchen and you stumble in your newly damp right sock. “Euh, I–”

“Mimiko!”

“Lady?”

“Wet.” You point behind you, palming Sanemi out of the way, and a free washerwoman dives for the spot with the rag tucked into her belt. The kitchen rages silently in the easternmost corner of the mansion; men and women sweat over donabe, rinse their body weights in rice, and beat little fires with littler fans. Two women and a boy linger just outside the paper door in clothes that match yours for formality and Sanemi assumes as he weaves through the bustle, that they are responsible for bringing food to customers and for doing everything they can not to sweat through their pretty borrowed uniforms. Your own kimono is purple tonight, a cool little shape bobbing nimbly between flames.

Sanemi opens his mouth to shout after you and shuts it again just as quickly to grind his teeth instead as you lift your apron over your head. You let a girl feed you a spoonful of something on your way out of the room and she wiggles when you nod several times before ducking through the door.

Laundry next, then a double check of the firewood cache and the whole while Sanemi occupies your shadow. A few times you hiss over your shoulder at him for looking so gruff, for looking like a bodyguard, for making your customers imagine your distrust of them, always you bite back before he can get more than a few words out but mostly you just scurry in preparation for the storm picking up warm wind outside.

You avoid the entrance with him so close in tow, armed and obstinate, but make a show of circling both tatami halls where guests come after dinner on rainy nights to stretch and smoke by the brazier with strangers. A female musician trills her koto. The sky hasn’t let loose a single drop of rain yet but wet hangs like a fog and thunder scents the air ahead of its arrival. As Sanemi trails the outer walkway of the mansion behind you, the sky bleeds with the last of day’s light in the cracks between bruised and racing storm clouds.

“Second floor secure?” You confirm with the men slotting thick panels into grooves where paper doors usually go. They nod in their white uniforms. Beyond the porches, beyond the east garden and its fat green vegetables, beyond dogwood trees and sarusuberi and maples that have begun to tremble violently in winds buffeted by humidity and nightfall, the wisteria arbor glows. You radiate a cool purple pull beside him just like your flowers.

The arbor surrounds the property on all sides for half a mile and all three paths away from the house are barred by gates of twisting wisteria vine. The inn belongs to your family, but does not serve Ubuyashiki. Theirs is not the only house that discovered a use for these flowers. Yours is not the only wisteria business in the country. 

“Do you see that?” You murmur at so much the same tone as the wind that Sanemi almost cannot hear you.

Three years ago he left before the end of summer, called away to investigate a massacre nearby. A tree fell that season. It crushed a straight path through the edge of the mountain forest and onto your property where, lured by so much blood and wine, a pair of sister demons descended through the broken orchard and devoured everyone who wasn’t fast enough to hide in the flowers like the slayer suggested they should in an emergency. Your parents evacuated the house and died in it with the guests who couldn’t walk on their own. Nestled under three braided vines at the far edge of the property, you listened to them die.

The winds kick up sand from your vegetable garden and you step off the porch into the start of the storm. Tiny and purple. “Y/n!” Sanemi lunges for you. His sword whips the meat of his thigh and you step out of his way before he can grab any part he intended to. The men on the porch watch you both scramble through the backyard. You snap at the strange guest and duck when he swings a hand towards you, hop in your sandals when he tries to trip you into his arms and dart away like a dragonfly.

“Get back here!”

“Go inside!”

“Y/n!”

“How dare you!”

“Motherfucking, Y/n!” 

“That’s enough!” You bark and twist back towards the garden shed. Your pupil left the door wide open and all its shining tools caught your eye across the yard. Sanemi was staring when you stepped outside. His eyes feel like beads of sweat on the few bare parts of you. His gaze is all teeth on the back of your neck.

With all but one storm door up, not a single guest can hear the ruckus you two kick up outside in the prologue of the storm. “It’s about to pour!”

“Then go join the other guests!” You shout through a particularly violent breeze and you have to grip to the break in your kimono closed. He does not. By the time you lay a winded hand on the wall of the shed, it has started to rain.

A silencing wall of water falls from the back of the property straight towards you. It kills dust clouds in its path and paints every surface soaked in a perfectly straight line. Sanemi rushes from behind and nearly lifts you off your feet to get inside the shed as you watch the supernatural army advance on your home.

“Shit,” he grumbles and winces when the rain overcomes the little shed and splashes off the pavement into his face. He pulls you deeper inside and you jolt. The first crack of thunder is a scream that shakes the ground, “Scared of thunder now?”

“Scared of my profit margins, you oaf.”

Under his shoulder you are glaring at the storm between this shitty stuffy shed and your business. You are so small and wrapped so tightly in layer after layer of fabric. It must be hot. The damp drips down his open chest and thighs, it frizzes his hair at his ears. You must be sweating somewhere in that formal getup. Wet glistens at the curled little hairs on the back of your neck where the skin is just barely visible and it sparkles under your high collar.

“I can’t walk back inside soaked,” you groan, “there’s not enough time to change before final rounds.”

Sanemi takes his hand off his sword. There must be damp parts of you hiding from him. He brushes his knuckle up the bare skin of your neck, across your throat, and you falter slightly.

“Sanemi–”

“Nuh uh, don’t address me so familiarly,” he smirks and cups your cheek in his big hand when you jerk around.

“That’s not–!”

“Not what?” He smiles now, and drops his hand back to his sword so that you might find your own weapon and finish the fight. Four years of this.

You shove a finger into his chest, “You’re such a clingy fuck Shinazugawa,” and shout a little because you know the thunder will hide it. A sudden gust blows the sheet of rain sideways and straight inside the open door of the garden shed, up your dress and down his robes and through your prettily pinned hair. “Y/n this, y/n that, I’m busy Sanemi, I’m stuck in a shed! You’re the only one who calls me and people think we’re fucking! You want my attention you have it so please tell me all about the demons that’re gonna slurp up my customers and fuck my taxes to shit and–”

The door creaks in Sanemi’s hands even through the oceanic sounds of storm when he begins to close it. He nods as you get louder, nods as he slides the door closed and flicks the latch.

“Do not,” you growl, “there’s five thousand–”

“Five thousand little bitches in there lost without direction? They’re fine, Y/n.”

“Don’t call me that here.”

“They’ll survive, little lady.”

You spit, “not better.” And the new humidity of the closed shed begins to swallow you whole. It fills your throat. “What about all the demons you’ve been crying about?”

“You’re such a cocky cuss.”

“And you’re needy,” you taunt. It’s Sanemi’s turn to wince and his frustration starts to drip from all those places he shoves it away from you. He's been gentle with you since that summer. He lets you interrupt him, he follows where you go. “I watched you check perimeters this morning, you don’t need to talk to me about demons.”

“Eyes everywhere huh?” His throat is pink, “Lady of the house.”

You grin and pull him by the loops of his robe into your tiny purple kiss, “Shut up.”

“M’lady,” he growls against your lips and succumbs.

Four years of stolen touches, lips on damp summer skin, coming out of empty rooms too ruffled and pulling the hashira between your legs without disturbing the folds of your work kimono. “Don’t call me that either,” your breath hisses against his throat like an iron and he drops his sword quickly to gather you in his arms.

Too much fabric. Shovels and shears clatter against the floor and one another when the thunder shakes their little house again, and they tremble at every thump and roll of your body against Sanemi’s. He pulls your hips against his and guides your legs around his waist so he can sink into those soft parts of you. So he can tilt his head back to look up at you, so you can pour your kisses down his throat like wine.

You drag your nails up the back of his head when he offers his tongue to your lips, biting, suckling, drawing out gentle sounds and eating them before they compete with the rain outside. Where his hips dig into your own the folds of your skirt fall apart. Legs that glisten with sweat and rain part nicely for him and his own robes grow clingy with exertion where he grinds hard against you. Every subtle roll breaks your concentration in kisses, in lips sliding, begging with salvia and rainwater. His hands cup your cheeks, thighs, the collar of your kimono shudders open for him when he dips to suck bruises under your jaw and the swordsman’s hand loses control as he grips your belt to free you from all this formality. He’ll press crescents into your breasts, he’ll lower his tongue through your peach sweet folds and drink until you cry– but you pull his head back with a sharp yank of your wrist.

Your breath comes in clouds. The inn glows with candlelight across the yard but the light through the shed’s window is too weak. Welts of lighting illuminate the flush of your chest and cheeks. Two seconds of bright and twelve of dark warmth, shaking swirling thunder and then only rain. Sweat rolls from your temples and into the depths of your kimono. It’s been days since he’s had you like this and longer since you’ve had true privacy, others a whole yard away.

You can’t be gone long, he knows. Staff watched you race in here together, watched him shut the door, he knows he knows, he just can’t put you down yet. He leans in for another kiss and you let him fall close enough for his chest to crush yours before pulling back on his hair again.

“Y/n,” he’s suddenly not above begging but you hold his gaze tight. You watch him as your hand slips between the place your bodies meet. Pretty fingers reach for the heat between his legs. Pretty knuckles ghost over the swell of his robes and draw the fabric aside instead of ordering he bring you back inside. Sanemi’s cock perks up in free air as high as this position will let it and rests heavy under the swell of your ass.

He kisses you again, toothy and smiling and when you kiss him back your sharpest teeth clink together. He ruts into your desperation against the wall, harder than the rain, harder than the wind that threatens to blow your shed away and you with it. Obviously he wouldn’t let it but the thought that nature might be jealous of the rumple you made of each other drives him harder against you. Slipping, cock hard and suddenly shifted up against the hair under your belly. Peach fuzz yields to warm slick and Sanemi drops his head to your chest when he shudders to avoid whimpering into your mouth. He slips through your folds with a tight hold still under your thighs and drags himself up, down, up, hypnotized always by the faces you make when you’re trying to keep quiet.

The scars across his body are forever numb, but when your clammy hands paw is his chest he swears he can smell color. He can touch light when you pull his face back to yours frantically, when your hips with all their fabric flowing off of them buck sloppily against his, when he thrusts once deeply inside of you and forces a broken gasp from the back of your throat.

Before you can catch your breath your lips have crashed against his and his hips against yours. Sanemi keeps the relentless, restless, starving pace you like and knows he’ll last only the next few minutes before the worst of the storm blows over. Again and again he carves a palace for himself inside of you. You guide him with the falter of your kisses when he finds that perfect spot and with the slick that coats both of your thighs. Your voice escapes you in choked whimpers, his name comes out in hiccups. You’re a little bell in his arms folded in half and singing for him.

Again and again, out and so deep back inside, Sanemi’s feet grip the floor as he plunges his hips into yours and both of your bodies into the swelling wood walls. His rhythm staggers as you flutter around him and with his head against your shoulder he watches the circles you draw on your clit with the tips of four clumsy fingers as your other hand muffles your voice. He grabs that quieting wrist without thinking and without taking his eyes off the place your bodies connect with lewd squelches and sticky white threads. His threatening grip, his thick cock and your fingers push you right over the lip of your pleasure and fluttering becomes milking spasms quicker than Sanemi can think to treat you gently. That half-sobbing voice he loves so much cheers him towards his own climax and the more sensitive you grow the easier it is to coax those sounds out of you that you try to keep hidden, “Don’t– don’t be so quiet.”

“Inside,” you whisper in reply and draw his face into your hands as his pounding stutters in pace and loses all flow completely under your dreamy gazes. Sanemi can’t keep his eyes open when he cums. His pretty lilly lashes flutter with lost concentration. He shudders, ruts you deeper into the wall and groans with release as he fills those swollen wet parts of you. Warmth pools in your belly and trickles off his cock still buried. Sweat falls like the rain outside.

“Wanna taste,” Sanemi rumbles without setting you down or stilling his thrusts fully. He nuzzles somehow farther into the dip of your collarbones. Soft snow white hair, a heartbeat in the fingers that grip you. Every twitch of his hips is a starving ache.

“C'mon,” you grin, “dinner’ll get cold.”

“Let me taste you.”

“Sanemi, what will I eat if you eat me?”

“Have a few ideas,” he smiles back through the trembling of the shed in encores of thunder and gale. A leak tip tap tip taps nearby. Four years of this, maybe more.

[prettyboykatsuki]

hello everyone! in a shocking turn of events, all three oneshots i had posted for the @ficsforgaza fundraiser have been totally and completely sponsored !! i set the goal deliberately high to encourage people so i really wasn't expecting the turn out and feel eternally grateful </3

i will be spending the first week of june outlining all three fics + and the rest of june posting them once weekly. when july starts up again, i will reblog with the runner-ups on the poll so we can start cycling again and raising more money !!!

tenative dates for fic releases are:

megumi sex pollen - june 14th

alpha bachira - jun 23rd

alpha deku - jun 30th.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR JOINT EFFORTS AND FOR DONATING TO A GOOD CAUSE. please be patient with me as i write and as all of my fics are sponsored, please donate / sponsor other writers here !!! as always, please check out the ficsforgaza spotlight for writers as well !!

i am incredibly touched by the effort put forth jointly by our community. truly thank you for all your efforts.

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA 🍉🍉🍉

[meguwumibear]

Purged Without Exception

A quick trip to the store gets you into some trouble. Suo is there to bail you out.

thank you @/acidbeats for commissioning this piece for the @ficsforgaza collaboration.

cw: attempted sexual assault and minor injury

You’re not supposed to be out this late. You know this. You know better. The streets of Makochi are unsafe for a lone woman like you, for a woman without any sort of fighting prowess. They used to be, anyway, before the Bofurin boys took it upon themselves to bloody their knuckles to keep the place clean.

The initiative has been going on for quite a few years now, and crime has been on a steady decline ever since. The students have made it their mission to protect your humble little town from all sorts of illicit activity, violent or otherwise. Whether they’re responding to petty theft or physical assault, the Bofurin boys handle each and every job with a violent sort of grace. It’s been some time since a random street thug could stand a chance against the gang of delinquents.

Perhaps that’s why you felt so comfortable running to the store at this hour. The odds of any sort of crime of late are slim to none. Violent crimes in particular are less popular than ever. Who’d risk provoking the ire of any of the current Bofurin students, let alone the alumn? An idiot maybe, or someone suicidal.

You didn’t think to grab anything other than your phone and wallet for the outing. All you needed was to restock on toilet paper, and the market is only a few blocks from your shithole apartment. Four years ago, you would never have ventured out without some sort of self defense aid on you. The protection of the Bofurin boys has made everyone so careless.

That’s why you aren’t prepared to fight off the first pair of hands that wrap themselves around your wrist and yank you into a dank, dark alleyway. There are three men in total hiding out in the shadows, and soon there are hands wrapped around your forearm, your neck, your waist. The attack is uncoordinated; the men trip over themselves trying to grope at you. You do what little you can to fend them off.

Untrained. Defenseless. Your head throbs and it connects with warm brick. Skin splits at the contact, cleaved open by the abrasive clay. There’s a strong grip on the nape of your neck preventing you from moving. Cold, calloused hands hold your face flat against the wall.  

Despite your earlier lapse in judgment, you are not in fact stupid. You know what kind of attack this is. You understand its purpose and goals of the hands that bind you.

It’s hard to hear much over the roaring in your ears, but you’re just lucid enough to pick out an eerily calm voice.

“Excuse me,” the man asks almost cheerfully. “Have I interrupted something?”

The hands attempting to undress you stall.

“Fuck off, eyepatch. Four’s a crowd.”

The grip on you loosens a smidge, and you turn your head to survey the scene.

The guy with the eyepatch is standing with his hands held in mock surrender, a coy smile on his face. There’s something familiar about him. You’ve seen him around town before. He pals around with a few of the Bofurin graduates. Which means…

“Easy,” he says, “I just want to escort the lady home.”

“You deaf?” one of your attackers asks. “We said fuck off.”

The man moves so fast your brain hardly registers it. One moment he’s standing at the edge of the alley, the next he’s flipped the man pinning you to the wall over his shoulder. The dude lands with a harsh thud on his back. From the way he’s flopping around, you venture the impact punched the air from his lungs.

The fingers of the remaining two clench into fists, but they seem hesitant to assist their friend. They sway unsteadily back and forth on the balls of their feet, looking at you, their friend, and finally at your rescuer.

“Run along, now,” your savior smiles. The corners of his mouth are pulled tight, sharp like a knife. “I just had this shirt pressed and I’d hate to sully it.”

The two still on their feet exchange a final glance at one another and decide to cut their losses. They back out of the alley quickly, clearly afraid your rescuer may change his mind about dirtying his freshly pressed shirt. The third staggers after them, limping along, wheezing for breath.

Once he’s certain you’re alone, the man bends over to pick something off the ground: the toilet paper that started the whole ordeal. He approaches you slowly, like he’s nervous one wrong move will scare you off. When he’s close enough, he offers the roll to you.

“I hate guys like that,” the man offers conversationally. The smile he flashes you now is warm and inviting. “Some people just never grow up. A bunch of petulant kids. It’s hard for them to imagine themselves in your position. I enjoy helping them broaden their minds.”

The hand that reaches for the toilet paper is shaky. The palm is red with blood. His eyes don’t miss the tiny droplets that spill onto the plastic packaging.

“That looks like it hurts,” he says, features schooled into a calm grin. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He leads you back to the convenience store. The lady at the front recognizes him immediately—even calls him by his name—which isn’t unusual; the Bofurin boys are a bit like celebrities around these parts.

Suo exchanges pleasantries with the worker and attempts to purchase some first aid supplies, but the woman insists he takes what he needs, on the house. There are perks, it would seem, to purging the town of those who would cause it harm.

The bathroom of the shop is small and poorly lit. A lone, fluorescent light flickers above you as Suo gently dabs an antiseptic wipe along your palms. The disinfectant bites. The wounds sting despite Suo’s tenderness. You fight your instinct to flinch and fail.

“The cut isn’t deep,” Suo notes once he’s certain the lesions have been properly sterilized. He drops your palm to brush a tendril of loose hair out of your face. “I’m more worried about this.”

You wince as he touches a fresh antibacterial wipe to your forehead. Fresh tears pool in the corners of your eyes. You try to blink them away, but they insist on falling. They slide down the slope of your cheek bones and pool underneath your chin.

“I can walk you to the nearest clinic,” he offers. “Just as an extra precaution.”

You shake your head and immediately regret it. The motion aggravates the injury, and your vision blurs from the pain.

“Can’t afford it,” you tell him.

He frowns as he continues to see to the wound. His movements are slow, precise, like he’s used to treating these types of injuries. You watch his face as he tends to you. His features are knit in quiet contemplation.

“It looks like you hit your head pretty hard. I’m no doctor, but I’m worried they may have given you a concussion.”

You shrug as he pulls his hand away. “I’m tougher than I look. My friends always say I have a thick skull.”

He hands you an ice pack from the pile of first aid supplies he’s brought. “For the swelling,” he says. Then, once you’ve pressed the cold pack against the growing bump, “You should take better care of yourself. If not for you then for your friends. I’m sure they’d hate if something were to happen to you.”

You let out a long, slow breath. Suo isn’t wrong. Your friends would be devastated if you got yourself into some sort of trouble.

“Bofurin boys are good for more than just fighting,” you say, pondering his advice and admiring his first aid.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he smirks, lips full of promise. “You have no idea.”

[neiptune]

i have decided to throw my hat into the ring and collaborate with @ficsforgaza to raise funds/awareness and support this crucial initiative.

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[peachsukii]

Hello, loves! I will be participating in the fics for gaza initiative to use writing to benefit a good cause. 💜

@ficsforgaza // how to participate

𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒘𝒊𝒑 & 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔

Rei's Rate; $1 USD per 100 words

Instructions: Follow this link to choose a vetted fund to donate to. Afterward, send an ask or message to myself including a redacted screenshot with your donation (hiding any personal information), a link to the fundraiser you’ve donated to, the name of the WIP you’re sponsoring.

Example // Hi! I have donated to PCPF and I would like to sponsor Crimson Veil [screenshot of $5 donation for 500 words]

** Current wips are under the cut! Word counts are all subject to fluctuation. if nothing is to your liking, be sure to check out the list of writers to support. i'll be adding any WIPs to this list as they come, so feel free to check back for anything new! minors, please do not donate toward/interact with the nsfw content included.

『 updated! // 08.23.24 』

𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒑𝒔

𝗂𝗇𝗄 & 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 // drummer!bakugo x artist!reader music au | tags; rock/punk/alt band au, slow burn, meet cute, strangers to lovers, various smut, smoking/drugs/alcohol consumption, talks of emotional & physical abuse from past partners, angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, mild violence

Distortion is the hottest band in town, making waves in the underground scene with their unique sound. Led by your college best friend and music prodigy, Kyoka Jiro, alongside her misfit group of friends, they've been playing shows every weekend for the last few months and have gathered a decent following. You're whisked into the whirlwind of their rockstar lives when Jiro commissions you to design a band logo for their merch, reconnecting with her and meeting the members of the band. Your eyes immediately gravitate to their powerful drummer, Katsuki Bakugo. Fresh out of a nasty three year on/off relationship, he's not looking for anything or anyone while shutting out the world around him. He's focused on the one thing that keeps him sane; music. You're six months free of a breakup as well, looking to repaint your world with new colors and experiences, but turns out it's more tumultuous than anticipated. Explosive fights, newfound fame, clashing egos, dive bars, stolen kisses, black out dreams, messy exes and hard lessons; but somehow, love finds a way to bloom like a flower in the desert - deep in the hottest, driest wasteland of two broken hearts.

current word count; 2,500/20,000+ donation goal word count; 1,500/5,000

𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗆𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗏𝖾𝗂𝗅 // bakugo x reader soulmate au | tags; hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending

In a world where soulmates are established via a multitude of different systems, yours is a tattooed marking on your wrist - a constant reminder of your fate sealed to someone you don't even know. You despise the soulmate systems, purposely avoiding the topic at all costs with your family and friends, covering the mark from the world to keep your heart safe. The first day of getting accepted into UA High's support program turns sour when you walk past a boy with the same tattoo on his wrist as yours - Katsuki Bakugo of the hero course.

current word count; 0/5,000+ donation goal word count; 0/1,500

𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 // ex-bf!kirishima x reader in-universe | tags; fluff & smut, emotional hurt/comfort

Things ended mutually with Kirishima, you both agreed that you didn't have enough time for dating at this point in your careers and it's better for you two to stay friends...until he comes knocking on your door in the middle of the night, begging for you to take him back after a life-threatening incident.

current word count; 0/1,500 donation goal word count; 0/1,000

𝟧𝟢 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 // marine vet!bakugo x art teacher!reader romcom collab - 50FD au | tags; fluff, comfort, cheesy romance

Katsuki Bakugo is a dedicated marine veterinarian at Wavecrest Haven, rehabilitating native animals and living out his island life dreams to the fullest. The catch? He only dates tourists to avoid any serious commitments, easily able to bounce from one fling to the other without repercussion. One fateful day, that all changes when his boat breaks down and he's forced to wait for the Coast Guard at the local café. While waiting, he encounters a beautiful art teacher making a house out of her waffles. He assumes she's a local and avoids her gaze, only to be captivated by her the next morning at the same café. Taking a chance, he asks to join her, forming an instant connection and agreeing to meet up the following morning for a breakfast date. There's just one problem - she doesn't remember anything about Bakugo the following day, insisting they've never met before.

current word count; 500/5,000+ donation goal word count; 0/2,500

𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗅𝖾𝖽 // adventurer!kirishima x witch!reader soul mate & magic au | tags; strangers to enemies to lovers, emotional hurt/comfort

((extension of this post)) Eijiro is the heir to the Kirishima family, set out on an adventure to travel the world and find his soulmate via the precious Kirishima family jewel. The jewel has been passed down for generations, glowing when the wearer is close to their soulmate. One day while traveling from town to town, he stumbles upon a hut in the woods, enticed to investigate by the wonderful smells emitting from it. Little does he know that you're the wicked witch they warned him about...only his crystal glows the moment he's inside your home.

current word count; 200/2,500+ donation goal word count; 0/1,000

𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗅𝖾𝖽 // incubus!bakugo x succubus!reader supernatural/demon au | tags; strangers to lovers, smut

((extension of this post)) Katsuki is an incubus, feeding off of weaker mates with his insatiable appetite, until he meets you - a succubus, ready to play the game until the other cracks.

current word count; 450/2,500+ donation goal word count; 0/1,000

𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑝𝑠

𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖼 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 // bakugo x tattoo artist!reader modern/no quirks au | tags; smut, friends to lovers donation goal word count; 500/500

𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍 // kiribaku x reader tangled hearts series | tags; fluff, splash of angst donation goal word count; 500/500

Alternative ways to help! support thread // donation thread

『 all work belongs to Peachsukii & zanarkandskylines on archive of our own. please do not steal, plagiarize, modify, or repost any of my content. ♡ 』

[boundinparchment]

FICS FOR GAZA

Although my schedule is a bit unforgiving, I'm still writing when I can, and thus I'd like to put that effort additionally into participating in @ficsforgaza via the "Sponsor a WIP" option.

There are several WIP that are (for now) exclusive to this list and it is my hope that these projects will encourage donations towards vetted fundraisers. Word counts will be set based on achievable goals per my schedule to avoid overwhelming myself and burning the candle at both ends. I may write more than the donated word count but will always seek to meet it.

(banner credit to @/saradika-graphics)

HOW IT WORKS

$1 = 100 words written!

Make a donation to a vetted fundraiser of your choosing and send me a screenshot of your donation minus identifying personal information along with the title of the WIP you're sponsoring. These screenshots are sent to ficsforgaza to verify that they aren't used for multiple writers. For every $1 donated with submitted proof, I'll write 100 words of that particular WIP.

This link leads to tagged posts of donation posts that have been verified.

Template:

"Hi Juni, here's proof of my donation to [insert donation title]. I'd like for this to go towards [insert WIP title]. Thank you! (screenshot depicting evidence of donation depicting dollar amount; the amount donated will scale based on the rate of $1 = 100 words to be written)."

Once your ask or message is received, this post will be updated and I will track progress as words are written. This post will be managed weekly when possible.

Oneshot works will be posted when they have been fully funded; longer fics will be posted as I go to help drive donations (roughly every 300 donated words, subject to change).

ELIGIBLE WIPS

GENSHIN IMPACT

THE BEACH EPISODE - DREAM A LITTLE DREAM OF ME SPINOFF

Drabble, probable smut and explicit rating, these two deserve a little break away from their main plot.

An interlude for Dream a Little Dream of Me. Maestra and Dottore have a little vacation and time to themselves.

current wc: 0/2,000 donated (goal) wc: 200/2,000 progress tracker: 0/2,000

THE WISDOM OF RAVENS - Raventorre/Female Reader

Beauty and the Beast retelling; monster/human relationship; quid pro quo; slowburn

The Tsaritsa was so displeased by a betrayal that she left her Palace behind and sealed it with a powerful curse. Tales told of the Winter Palaces' haunted halls, sights of wings as wide as a drake's and eyes as red as blood. There was no voron, no raven; you knew that. But you also knew that if you stayed out here, you'd freeze to death. That much was certain.

current wc: 0/2,000 donated (goal) wc: 0/2,000 progress tracker: 0/2,000

HONKAI STAR RAIL

VERTIGO EYES - Sunday/Female Original Character

Slowburn; long fic; female reader with personality; art history nonsense ensues; eventual smut; spoilers for 2.2-onward with speculation on Sunday's fate.

Armed with only a new-found sense of purpose, Sunday makes a trip to the Belobog History and Culture Museum after the Express receives your request for consideration. History is so often writ with blood that should never have been spilled and the mistakes of those who think they know best. And Sybilla is running out of time.

current wc: 1,072/2000+ donated (goal) wc: 300/2,000 progress tracker: 300/2,000

THE DEVIL'S BACKBONE - Boothill/Female Reader

Slowburn; longfic; female reader; semi-enemies to lovers; speculation regarding cybernetics and other elements of machinery alongside humanity; eventual smut; spoilers for Boothill's story.

Intellitron repairs didn't pay well, even on Penacony. Certainly not compared to salary from the IPC's Research and Development department. You had put all of that behind you, though. Or so you thought. Until a certain Galaxy Ranger stepped into your workshop with a grin and a smoking barrel.

current wc: 0/2000+ donated (goal) wc: 200/2,000 progress tracker: 0/2,000

CHANGELOG

5/29/2024:

Graphics updated

Eligible WIPs updated to include only new WIPs

5/30/2024:

Updated donated word count

6/10/2024:

Updated "Vertigo Eyes" progress wordcount

Added "The Wisdom of Ravens"

7/7/2024:

Updated “Beach Episode” spinoff donated word count

7/30/2024:

Updated synopsis for “Vertigo Eyes” from reader insert to original character

8/14/2024

Updated the donated word count for “Vertigo Eyes”

8/15/2024

Updated the total word count and written word count for "Vertigo Eyes" (donated count: 300, total word count: 1,072)

Posted Chapter 1 of "Vertigo Eyes"

[pinkkittysaw]

🍉 FICSFORGAZA - SPONSOR A WIP! 🍉

hello friends ^_^ i’ve decided to join @ficsforgaza’s fundraiser and help raise money via “sponsor a wip”

please read through this ENTIRE post before sponsoring!

dividers by @/cafekitsune

HOW IT WORKS:

for a more detailed explanation, feel free to visit @/ficsforgaza’s “HOW TO PARTICIPATE” post linked here

RATE: $1 = 100 WORDS (with a maximum of $10/1000 words per donation)

you don’t have to be following me to sponsor a wip!

1) make a donation directly toward any vetted fundraiser providing aid to gaza/palestine of your choosing. (none of the money donated goes to me or the other creators participating)

2) send me an ask with the wip you’d like to sponsor along with a screenshot of your donation (blocking out all personal information), and a link to the fundraiser you’ve donated to (the asks will not be posted!)

example: hi angel! i donated (x) amount to (link of fundraiser here along with screenshot proof of donation) and wanted to sponsor (name of wip)

CAVEATS:

as i write nsfw-content, i’m requiring that asks pertaining to wip sponsorships be OFF ANON and that YOUR AGE MUST BE EASILY ACCESSIBLE ON YOUR BLOG! YOU MUST BE 18+ TO SPONSOR A WIP! refusing to comply with these rules will make your sponsorship null and void!

one donation per wip sponsorship. you can not use the same screenshot to sponsor multiple wips/the same wip multiple times

i will be sending screenshots to ficswithgaza to make sure that no donations are being used across multiple writers

WIPS:

full transparency, my word count varies across my fics so i’ve decided to place a cap on the maximum amount of words eligible to be sponsored for each wip. if the word count goal is met and i find that i still have more i’d like to write, i will increase the eligible sponsor word count goal for that wip in particular.

word counts will be updated as sponsorships come in and sponsorships for individual wips will be closed if i reach max word count goal for that wip in particular. i will reblog this post as the word count get updated

next to the word count goal you will see (subject to change) the word count goal will only ever change if i decide to write MORE than what the existing word count goal is.

as of this posting, the word count goals are the maximum amount of words i feel i can get from each concept without making the stories feel like they drag on. the word count goal will only ever go UP, not down.

total sponsored words: 1,000

1) GARDEN OF EDEN (title subject to change)

matt murdock x f!reader (nsfw)

fandom: daredevil

summary: in the midst of hopelessness, you find yourself stumbling into an unfamiliar church seeking guidance. in your daze, you bump into an unsuspecting, yet rather handsome man who offers to “mentor” you in your newfound faith. as the relationship between the two of you blossoms, you find yourself at a crossroads between following your teachings or following your heart.

content warning(s): general nsfw, sacrilege, corruption kink, religious guilt, talk of christianity (warnings will be updated as needed)

sponsored words: 0/5,000

word count goal: 276/5,000 (subject to change)

2) AS YOU WISH CHAPTER 3 (title subject to change)

knight! clive rosfield x princess! reader (nsfw)

fandom: final fantasy xvi

summary: a jousting tournament has commenced, but as you try to steady your focus on a certain knight in particular, your attention is split in three different directions.

content warnings: general nsfw, minor violence (warnings will be updated as needed)

sponsored words: 1,500/3,000

word count goal: 1,211/3,000 (subject to change)

3) SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY (title subject to change)

john marston x f! reader (nsfw)

fandom: red dead redemption 2

summary: being a wealthy woman from saint denis has a LOT of upsides, but being recognized by most high society whenever you step outside your door is certainly not one of them. when your father leaves for an extended work trip you take the railway into valentine to catch up with your “favorite” outlaw

content warning(s): general nsfw (tags will be updated as needed)

sponsored words: 0/5000

word count goal: 171/5000 (subject to change)

i do a lot of research for my fics and often have various things going on in my personal life so i can’t promise quick and snappy release times but if a wip gets fully funded, i will do my best to release the fic within two months of it reaching it’s goal.

i know i can be VERY wordy, if you have any questions about my post in particular, don’t hesitate to send me an ask! if you have any questions about the fundraiser itself, feel free to check out the @ficsforgaza blog and visit their FAQ page!

even if you are unable to donate please feel free to reblog this post along with ficsforgaza’s introduction post to help spread the word, and be sure to check out the other awesome creators involved with this project!

[oharababe]

"SPONSOR A WIP" for gaza!

about: a writing for a good cause to raise awareness + helping people in need. i will be participating @ficsforgaza to help contribute to fundraising efforts.

how does it work: each of my WIP will have a donated word count goal that you can help support families in gaza + sponsor a WIP. i will keep progress and update on what WIP is available.

how to help: donate as little as $1 to a vetted fundraiser or my chosen support charity, islamic relief. send me a screenshot of how much you've donated to who and which of my WIP did you "sponsor" for. you can pick any WIP from my notion list or from my sponsor a wip highlight post. every dollar equates to a certain word count.

example: hey lavie! i've donated $3 to fadi's fundraiser as a way to sponsor chapter 03 of seven days a week. [a screenshot.png of $3 donated to the fundraiser is send to oharababe's inbox, therefore i will be writing 300 words for that wip]

what i'll do if you help donate: i will send you a snippet of a WIP that you've help increase the word count when you donate. i will also dedicate the complete WIP to those you help donate when i post them.

RULES TO REMEMBER:

Anon messages showing screenshots that you donate will not be accepted. I will not post your ask public and will reply to you privately.

To ensure that fundraising screenshots are not duplicated and send to different writers, I will be sending evidence to @ficsforgaza (which all sensitive information will be redacted) just to double check that it's legit.

All these donations to sponsor a WIP will be for a good cause.

[aizawas-dryeye]

🍉!!please read if ur curious about more ways to help those in gaza!!🍉

im taking inspiration from mutuals and those i follow to participate in @ficsforgaza please go follow them and read more about their organization and PLEASE spread it

ill be doing the wip sponsorship AND taking requests, all u have to do is send me a screenshot proving u donated to any fundraiser supporting the palestinian people (not directly to me) and make sure to let me know which wip to add to, or whatever request u may have

for every US dollar, ill write 100(ish) words, and cap it off at 1000-2000 words

theres WAY more information on ficsforgaza’s blog so please please follow them to stay up to date on gaza

WIPS

(** = NSFW ^^ = DARK CONTENT)

honey don’t feed me i will come back (astarion)**

tags: smut, reader has a vagina but no pronouns, dom!astarion, blood drinking, biting, penetrative sex, dirty talk, name calling (dear, darling, love, pet, sweet)

summary: astarion invites (begs) you to come to his tent for a little fun

untitled (astarion)**

tags: ascended!astarion, mean!astarion, yandere!astarion, gn!reader, vampire!reader, biting, blood drinking, ANGST BITCH LIKE WOW, unrequited love, smut, name calling (love, whelp, darling, bitch), degradation

summary: your fate is simple: to be utterly possessed, controlled, and used by your reborn lover

eden (halsin)**

tags: gn!reader, mating season, abo adjacent, ruts, knotting, vague description of genitals, loss of virginity, penetrative sex, so much cum, size difference, halsin big, possessiveness, breeding

summary: losing your virginity to halsin

break me, bite me (toji fushiguro)^^

tags: DEAD DOVE, reader has a vagina but no pronouns mentioned, noncon/rape, knotting, lowkey hunting, blood, bunny!reader, wolf!toji, he hits u like once, size kink, dirty talk

summary: being lost in the woods is dangerous business, especially for such a tiny bunny. let the hunt begin

nursing on a poison (leon kennedy)**

tags: reader has a vagina but no pronouns mentioned, vendetta!leon, erectile dysfunction, lowkey mediocre sex, riding, masturbation (p and v), pls he is so annoying and awful, toxic!leon, he thinks about smacking you, hair pulling, sadism, alcoholism

summary: whiskey dick is a real thing and leon is proof, annoyingly so

mirror mirror (shouta aizawa)**

tags: reader has a vagina but no pronouns mentioned, fingering, dirty talk, mirrors, pet names (baby, honey) teasing, no sex

summary: you made the mistake of insulting yourself in front of your boyfriend

lipstick lullaby (gojo satoru)**

tags: f!reader, sub!gojo, sleepy sex, slight somnophilia but not really, desperate bby gojo, "just the tip", unprotected sex, pet names (baby, babe, good girl), m mommy kink

summary: gojo is spoiled beyond words, but you’re to blame. you just can’t say no to your baby

glint (leon kennedy)^^

tags: DEAD DOVE, noncon/rape, mentions of child abuse, good ol catholic guilt (i was raised baptist so please be patient lmao), he covers ur head with a pillow, crying

summary: pt 2 of shiny

stuck on a little hot mess (nanami kento)**

tags: reader has a vagina but no pronouns, drinking, cheating, nanami is married with kids lmao, could be considered dubcon bc hes ur boss and also alcohol, age gap, blowjob, he calls u kid, GUILT, reader is a bitch, he fucks u in the guest bedroom

summary: nanami swears you were sent by the devil himself

REQUESTS

i dont have many rules for requesting fics but my hard no’s are:

• scat

• feeding

• pregnancy (does not include breeding)

• minor aged characters

• graphic gore/death

i also write for several fandoms such as:

• resident evil (pretty much only leon oof)

• jujutsu kaisen

• baldurs gate 3

• haikyuu

• my hero academia

• attack on titan

• marvel

• supernatural

• the umbrella academy

again please go to @ficsforgaza to learn more and consider donating if u can and ill write pretty much whatever u want! it doesnt just have to be x reader either, i also do ships! (excluding leon)

thank u so much for reading all this

🍉!!FREE PALESTINE!!🍉

[ms0milk]

firework breathing, fifth form.

tengen uzui(s) x bounty hunter of sorts

no cw whipped tengen and the wives try to recruit the love of their lives using all means available. thank you @ltadoriyuujl for making this request for the @ficsforgaza initiative! to say I had fun with this one is an understatement 2.5k

Vigilante justice had repercussions, and before you would have said you were amply prepared. Law enforcement had no chance of keeping up with you. That’s what happens when you don’t believe in monsters. You could make all the noise you’d like in a hunt and their incompetence only served to soothe, always looking for the humans on their wanted posters. Bounty hunters cowered when your blade cleaved through the throats of demons and theirs hacked pitifully at the creatures happy to consume them.

A looted sword and penchant for timeliness, what fight couldn’t you weasel victory from? The answer was rhetorical until a letter arrived on scented paper, where, buried under three pages of classical poetry there lay a clear and calligraphed, 'Marry me.' Signed, Uzui Tengen.

“Saw your kill,” Tengen gleamed at dawn outside the shop that kept you good and fed on steamed buns. “Just as flashy as they say.”

“Next time someone has something to say about me, kindly change the subject.”

To call him persistent was an understatement. The Uzuis were old money with old traditions and older practices. Their mansion sat behind flowering hedges and wisteria vines on the stream at the lip of the forest, just too far to receive visitors and just close enough to rub the opulence in the whole town’s face. You quite liked your little life, the little apartment above Old Man Tatsu’s udon shop, the reward money that came in little pouches when you rolled bountyheads across the sheriff's desk. Though you had to be fast. Their expensive criminals had a habit of disintegrating.

“Are you Kinoe?” He’d ask as you shopped for dry goods. Obnoxiously tall and draped in silk for every color of the week, the master of the mysterious house was never too far from the hunter in her linen haori. “Who's your master?”

Sometimes a wife would come and when Makio accompanied you she would drop coin into the merchants’ dishes before you had the chance to pay for yourself, “Stop asking her so many questions.”

“Women like to talk.”

“Not to you.”

And so gifts started arriving shortly after. Clothes and ribbons, a barley pillow of purple silk, perfumes, ceramics– your one room above Tatsu’s udon shop was soon so laden with treasure you worried it might fall through the floor. “Leave it here,” Hina whispered to couriers from the staircase outside your apartments.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” you yawned in the doorframe, wrapped in a padded red hanten. It was one of your many new treasures. Hina smiled wide at the insinuation and you could see even through sleep, all the notes she took behind bright eyes. Three more jackets came that autumn and the fourth was delivered in person.

You slid a cloth down the bladedge of your sword after a hunt. As always, your weapon had burst from the arc over your head and with shattering speed through the back of the creature’s throat, but it found your scent the second the rattling strike touched its flesh. It twisted this time and caught the blade at a notch in its neck before losing its head. Every swipe of the cloth down your sword was filled with the apprehension of it catching on a crack in the blade.

In the cold candlelight, there was a grunt and then a hand in your apartment window. You startled when the hand started to talk, and gripped your sword from the cover of blankets. “Don’t pounce, princess.” Tengen’s voice was at least better than the snarl of a demon. His head peeked over the frame. Two lilac eyes grinned at you.

“Little late for a climb, Uzui.”

“S’cold,” he grunted and his head dropped below the frame for a moment before his hand gripped the sill and the rest of him followed, swinging over itself into the room. His mountainous body landed without a sound and he smiled, white hair framed by moonlight, “brought a gift.”

You thought he might be referring to himself before he rummaged through his haori and pulled a twine wrapped bundle out from under his arm. You rolled your eyes, “How do you know where I live?”

“You know where I live.”

“You want me to know where you live,” you crept forward to accept the package, “you’ve practically spelled my name out with your hedges.”

“Did you like that?”

He crouched a respectful distance away from where you startled back into blankets and settled on his knees. He and his family moved like cats in the night. They appeared exactly where you expect them and still it was always surprising. “Why do you work so hard for my attention?”

“I want more than your atten–”

“Mr. Uzui.”

He bobbed his head in concession and shifted his legs underneath him so that the white muscle of his thigh glowed through the drapes and folds of his long pretty robes. He pulled one knee up and rested like a king against your simple wooden window. “Who taught you?”

“Taught me what?”

“The sword.” He pointed with a painted nail to the weapon you kept tucked against your chest.

You shook your head, “No one, I just– I found it.”

“And so you hunt demons for fun?”

You smiled through the sarcasm, “For money.”

“Is there much money to be had in bounties that disintegrate?” He loved to thread a reel between endearing and irritating and that evening was no different. He watched you like an acrobat on a line.

“And what do you know about hunting, Sir?”

“Why do you think the strong ones stay away from this town?” Strong ones, was a horrifying thought and for a moment you forgot to stay cool across from the sudden and fleeting stoicism of your patron. Tengen’s eyes darkened, his broad hands flexed like a fist would be more natural. “You’re safe here. Protected.”

“That’s not necessary.” 

And his facade changed with a nod of his head. The smile returned under summer eyes. “I hear you fighting, you strike like fifty firecrackers– a roman candle–” You jerked your hand to your lips in a signal to keep it down, which he did, and leaned forward with a simmered voice, “Your breath is like a firework. Like nothing I’ve ever heard.” It was as if the sound followed the command of its master and cupped your jaw where he’d like to. Worry about your chipped sword was as far away as ever. Your life was warmer with the Uzuis in it, if not just slightly more embarrassing. He raised an eyebrow, “Have you studied the poets?

One picture of your apartments could inspire a whole comedy performance. Cold and wooden and upholstered with jewels that could buy the building five times over. If he started sending poetry you might have actually had to pay taxes. Tengen waited, happy and handsome, for your response as you stared. Could you have ever guessed grabbing the sword of a fallen soldier as your village crumbled around you would have led to this?

“In pale moonlight,” he urged and leaned farther towards you, drawing his knuckle over your fingers at sword hilt, “the wisteria’s scent…”

You steadied yourself through the waves of goosebumps that came from his touch and his gaze, closer than he was before. “It’s late, Mr. Uzui,” you managed and closed your hands around his to keep it from wandering farther. He sighed through a smile and drew back slowly to stand.

“Then I’ll wish you goodnight, Mrs. Uzui.”

You pursed your lips and he laughed like a windchime, lightly, his warmth and perfume spilling from his chest as he drew a thick haori tight around himself. “I’ll show myself out.” He stood and crossed your room to pull open the door.

“No,” you startled again and covered your own mouth at the volume. He turned to you, grinning, surprised, and it took everything you had not to grin back behind your fingers. His flamboyant dress was already enough, townsfolk didn’t need any reason to speculate on why a man who dressed like a successful pimp was coming from your rooms at midnight.

Tengen flashed one more obnoxious and knowing smile before crossing back over his dozens of gifts and stepping through your window frame like there might be a staircase waiting outside. “As you wish.”

He dropped with your heart and your sword clattered to the ground and you dove to see, surely, a broken puddle of a man two stories down. But the master of the flamboyant mansion only dusted his shoulders off with his landing and turned back up to watch you from below. As always, every proposal of his was punctuated with a deep bow.

See how he likes it, you grumbled, brimming with renewed frustration. Just a few weeks later and it was supposed to be a simple night.​​ The edge of town reeked of blood that day, the blood of fresh kills and wild animals, all day it lingered on the shadows that touched the forest. A new demon was always easy to track because hunger is easy to smell when you’re quiet. You were the loudest thing at twilight. You hushed the moss underfoot and bobbed between branches. Simple. Night. You would have been easy to smell too if demons weren’t too gluttonous to realize humans can reek of bloodlust.

In the clearing ahead where iron mingled in the fog, stood a woman where, by all accounts of your tracking, the creature should have been. Uzui’s Suma stood alone, pregnant beyond imagining, and dropped her kunai in the grass when you stumbled into the open. She wailed when she saw you and sobbed immediately to the tune of, “s’not fair!” and “wanna propose too!” as she waddled closer.

Like gifts that much– lucky I’m even delivering this one.

You spent the better part of two hours walking her back home, sword raised and mind racing at all the ways you might strap a pregnant woman to your body and walk a little faster for the both of you. She apologized sixty-seven times and kept track herself and when you finally approached the back gate of her home, she labored over her belly to pull the latch open. No key, no guard, no Uzui. No supervision! No protection! No worried greeting at the door–

You gripped tighter at the vines on the side of the house and pushed higher. Your feet found purchase in wisteria so solid it must have been a hundred years old, farther, higher towards the window at the corner of the mansion that Suma pointed you towards. You hissed and pulled yourself the last two feet to the windowsill.

“Uzui,” came out as a grunt.

“M’lady,” he smiled. You edged yourself into the room with an arm braced over the sill. Tengen rose from his desk to meet you. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Bite me,” you grunted and regretted immediately and slung your other arm inside, ignoring all the retorts such a man might have to that.

He settled on, “Happily,” and offered you a hand. Suma had pointed you to her husband’s office before drifting towards the pantry for a snack. The room was modest, tatami mats and a paper door, and a low desk on the floor long enough to fit his long legs. Western paintings were hung satisfyingly asymmetrically in what would otherwise be a very traditional room. A coal brazier glowed beside the cushion he used as a seat. 

You tried your best to do without the hand but when footing gave way and your chin dipped below the window, he snatched you up by the bicep. The temperature difference inside was dizzying.

“Long night?”

“Understatement,” you shivered in the new heat. Your shoes and scabbard suddenly seemed too dirty inside such a pleasant home and a bit of your fire faded. You sat on the lip of the widow and pulled your legs up beside you. “You–”

“Yes?” Tengen cocked his head, smiling always smiling. His loose white hair fell in locks over his shoulders.

“Your wife was wandering demon-infested woods until just a minute ago.”

“My Suma?” You thought he might ask which one and had prepared a thousand scathing retorts, but he only watched your anger fall from you cooly, “she wanted to impress you.”

“By dying?”

“She killed your demon didn’t she?” You opened your mouth too quickly to realize you hadn’t processed the thought. Tengen massaged a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. He almost looked normal like this, in a pretty house, in a warm room glowing by firelight. The cold of the night nipped your back in breezes. “Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“You impressed?” He chuckled and settled himself on the floor beside the window. He knelt beneath you, elbow on sill and cheek in hand. “Do we impress you?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight a smile, “You all do something to me, but impress it not the word.”

“Do you think of us?”

“Naggingly.”

“You worry?”

“Not anymore,” you sucked your teeth and pushed his head off balance with a finger to his forehead. “She really scared me, you know. All those months pregnant and alone like that.”

He grumbled something like, not alone, and, mice were with her, which you chose to ignore because Tengen Uzui took up your rough fingers in his. Whatever face you made he couldn’t see. He brought the knuckles to his lips and kissed your ring finger just once before releasing you. “My wives are capable. They don’t need permissions and they don’t need escorts, but know they are cherished by me.” You watched him, fingers lingering in the warm space. “They want you, I want you. Want to cherish you.

The sincerity, the lack of laughter, made your ears hot. His lilac eyes set to swallow you. “Mr. Uzui–”

“Tengen.”

“Tengen–”

“Mrs. Uzui?”

“No,” you giggled and rolled your eyes. He rose to his knees and made to guide you inside but you rested two hands on his broad shoulders to settle the advance. You turned and tucked your legs back out the window, “It’s late.”

“Then come rest.”

“Mr. Tengen,” and the voice came out so much softer than you meant it to, “In pale moonlight.”

He clenched his own jaw at that as if to keep himself from pouncing. The veins in his hands rose on the sill instead of around what he so badly wanted. “The wisteria’s scent..”

“Comes from far away.” With your last murmured words and a smile, you dropped back into the vines and floated to the garden floor. He stared after you from the second story as you took a theatrical bow and called back up just once, “G’night princess.”

Next time then, he agonized behind his own smile, pink climbing up his throat like a spell. In the hallway outside of his office, the wives groveled amongst each other in piles cursing their husband’s lack of charm.

"In pale moonlight the wisteria's scent comes from far away." -Yosa Buson, 18th c.

[screamingcrows]

Fics for Gaza

After a lot of being terrified of it, I've decided to join @ficsforgaza in their efforts to encourage donations to fundraisers! I'll be joining by taking requests.

I'm limiting myself to three requests at a time, check my pinned post to see if any are open!

Here's a handy link that explains how to participate.

Instructions

Rate: 1$ = 100 words (upper limit at 1000 words per request)

You donate to a vetted fundraiser and provide me with a screenshot along with your request. Please make sure your personal information is censored. I will be sending it to ficsforgaza to make sure you aren't using the same screenshot for multiple writers.

Please either send your screenshot and request as dm or an ask off anon (any anonomous asks will be ignored no matter if you've already donated or not)

Once I've confirmed the donation I'll get to writing! Please keep in mind that I am just a human and have a schedule, it will not be immediately finished.

Rules and regulations

I must be able to find an easily available age indicator on your blog. Minors and ageless will be blocked.

I will not be writing: pedophilia, scatophilia, piss, male reader (sorry but I don't think I'd do it justice), ships (as in pairings not naval transport), character x oc, hard stepcest, pregnancy, bigotry of any kind.

If you're unsure if I'm okay with your request, check with me before making a donation, please <3

1$ translates to 100 words, but I cap at 1000 words (10$) per request to not burn myself out.

Your request will be posted to my blog without your name on it, I will of course send you a message once it's been done.

What I will write

Anything not in the "I will not be writing" section, your request can be both sfw or nsfw, cuddles, an argument, whatever.

Characters:

Star rail: Dr. Ratio, Sunday

Genshin: Albedo, Alhaitham, Cyno, Tighnari, Dottore, Pantalone, Diluc, Neuvillette, Baizhu

These are just characters I have previously written for, if you have an idea for a character not on the list, pitch it to me before making a donation, I'm usually up for trying new stuff if it catches my eye!

Bottom line; let's be nice and respectful as we work together to raise money for this! If you have any doubts, my inbox is open <3

Example message:

Hi crow! I'd like to request Alhaitham scolding a gn!reader. I was thinking already established relationship and maybe it gets a little spicy? Here's proof of my donation [screenshot clearly showing your donation with personal info censored out] thank you!

[meguwumibear]

A Night Out Dancing

Tomorrow your party will reach JuLai. Tonight Wolfwood wants to dance.

thank you @/firein-thesky for commissioning this piece for the @ficsforgaza collaboration

The sky above No Man’s Land is inky and starless. The air stale and still. Despite the hour, the world around you is oppressively warm and dry. Nights in the desert are usually bitterly cold. You’re not sure what’s gotten into the weather today.

Vash at least doesn’t seem plagued by strange temperature, but then Vash can sleep through anything, including Meryl’s jerky driving, so the comparison isn’t fair. Meryl’s fast asleep too, tucked neatly into the driver’s seat. You watch her toss and turn for a while, wondering what she dreams of. Someplace nice, hopefully. Somewhere lush and flourishing and green.

Even Roberto seems to have found sleep, albeit at the bottom of a bottle. He’s snoring gently in the passenger seat, mouth wide open, empty liquor bottle still clutched tightly in his hands.

Seems everyone’s immune to the hot desert night but you.

There’s a chance it isn’t the heat keeping you up. It’s possible you’re making excuses, blaming the external world around you for your insomnia so you don’t have to turn inward, so you don’t have to confront your building anxieties about what the future holds for your little traveling party. It’s going to crack and splinter apart, isn’t it? Like that land mass you once read about in a book that spoke of some far away planet called Earth. Pangaea. A supercontinent forced apart by shifting tectonic plates.

Tomorrow, you’ll reach JuLai, and everyone will drift away from you. You’ll spend the rest of your life trying to remember what it felt like to be whole.

Fuck it. If you’re not gonna get some shut eye, you may as well make yourself useful.

Wolfwood is perched on a sand dune, resting against his cross shaped gun, lit cigarette in hand, nearly burnt down to the filter. He takes one final drag of it as he sees you approach, then snubs the thing out in the sand.

“I’ll take over the watch,” you tell him, eyes drawn to the little ‘o’ shape his mouth makes as he lazily releases the final dregs of smoke.

“Not your turn yet, sweetheart,” he replies. “Go back to sleep.”

If only you could.

“Haven’t been able to. Too much shit on my mind. No sense in my staring at the back of my eyelids when I could be doing this instead.”

Wolfwood stares at you through tinted shades he hasn’t bothered to remove despite the darkness of the night. The glasses are a part of his costume, of his carefully crafted mask that even after months of travelling together he’s still hiding behind. He told you he’s an undertaker, but he dresses like a priest. On a runaway Sandsteamer, you learn he is an orphan. You’ve learned nothing since.

“You should take better care of yourself,” he says, as if caring for yourself is easy.

“You’re one to talk,” you reply, eyes giving him a quick once over. It’s been a few days since you’ve spent the night somewhere with a working bathroom. Without a mirror or razor, the stubble on his chin has grown more and more pronounced. The hairs suit him, you think. Your fingers itch to run along his jaw.

“You’re staring,” he observes, mouth crooking into a smug grin because the undertaker or priest or whatever the fuck he is knows how handsome he is.

“Am I?”

Wolfwood stands slowly, brushing beads of sand off him as he does so. You try to keep your eyes on his face, on the slope of his nose, the dimples on his cheeks, but they wander anyway, along his broad shoulders, down his tiny waist. You’ll miss him when this is over, you decide.

“Wanna dance?” he asks suddenly. The question throws you off kilter. How long has it been since you’ve done something so mundane? Will you even remember how? Is it appropriate to dance given what tomorrow may bring?

“What about-”

“Needle-noggin and the lot are out like a light. No one will notice if we steal a few minutes for ourselves.”

He closes the gap between the two of you and links his right hand with yours, fingers interlocking. His hands are large and calloused from lugging around that heavy gun of his. Briefly, you wonder just how strong the guy really is.

 “But there isn’t any music,” you protest weakly. Wolfwood is frustratingly good at sapping away your resolve.

“Don’t need any. We’ll make our own,” he insists, slipping an arm around the small of your back and pressing you close, closer, and closer still.

This close to him, you can see deep into his eyes. There’s fear in them. Sadness too. He’s trying and failing to mask the emotions with a smile, with this dance. It must be so exhausting, you think, always having to pretend.

“One dance,” you surrender, relaxing into his embrace. He smells sharply of tobacco and nicotine, though you note hints of something a bit earthier underneath. Sweat, probably. It’s been a while since any of you have showered. “Then bed. Unlike you and Vash, some of us need our beauty sleep.”

A lopsided grin swims across his handsome face.

 “Aw, think I’m beautiful, sweetheart? That’s nice.”

There’s a biting remark on the tip of your tongue that never fully forms. Yeah, actually, you do think he’s beautiful. You’ve thought so ever since Meryl slammed the news van into him all those months ago. The impact should have killed him—it would’ve killed you—but Wolfwood simply rose up from the sand as if rising from an interrupted slumber. Beautiful, even with rivulets of blood trickling down his face.

“Shut up,” you hiss, cheeks heating as you think a bit too intensely about his sturdy body which is now pressed flush against your own. Has Wolfwood always been this tall? This large? His giant frame engulfs you as the two of you sway together, in tandem with Wolfwood’s quiet humming.

You rest your head against his sternum, listening to the sound of his heart beating quick and urgent like the wings of a bird. His chest vibrates as he hums his tune. You can’t seem to place the song. Likely, he’s making it up as he goes, the tempo slow and somber like a dirge.

“Where’d you learn to dance?” you ask him, conscious of the way your two left feet have nearly tripped him up twice. Lucky for you both he’s not just a hulking lump of muscle. He’s got a great center of balance too.

You chalk your awkwardness up to the loose, shifting sands and not to the odd sensation forming in the pit of your stomach. More unfamiliar than unpleasant. You swallow a few times in an attempt to settle it.

Wolfwood shrugs, spinning the two of you round and round in circles. “It’s not all that different than fighting.”

There’s truth to that, you suppose, remembering the fight on the Sandsteamer. Wolfwood refused to talk about the stranger you all watched disappear into the open maw of the sand ocean, but it was obvious the man once meant something to him.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says. “Just follow my lead.”

So you do. You let him whirl you around the desert dunes for what feels like hours, grinning up at him through thick lashes when you manage to step on his toes. Again. He laughs, a little too loudly, and you have to remind him that if he’s not careful he’ll wake your sleeping companions.

“What are you going to do if everything goes well tomorrow?”

For the first time all night, it’s Wolfwood who stumbles. The misstep is small, slight, if you weren’t so entangled, you may have missed it, but you are entangled so you feel everything. You feel his feet stall as the question leaves your lips. You feel the rise and fall of his belly as he takes a deep steadying breath.   

His hand travels up the length of your spine, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. He thumbs across your vertebrae and you recognize the ministration for what it is: a silent plea for you to let the topic drop and just enjoy this moment the two of you managed to carve out for yourselves amidst all the chaos of the world.

You let your head drop once more, tucking it beneath his collarbone, right above his heart, still rabbiting in his chest. He isn’t humming anymore. There’s nothing to help the two of you keep time as you continue to sway together, now gliding across the sand like worms.

Around you, the clouds begin to clear and bright, twinkling stars start to peek out from behind them. A soft breeze kicks up around you, and the sand particles scatter with it. Wolfwood—Nicholas—keeps you pressed against him as the temperature mercifully begins to drop.

Your mind still wanders from time to time, curious what tomorrow may bring.

Who cares, you decide. It doesn’t matter.

Tonight, you’re content to dance.

[theloveinc]

FICS FOR GAZA: theloveinc's sponsor a WIP!

joining (i hope) @ficsforgaza's amazing project for those looking for a way to aid vetted fundraisers for palestine (i will also accept donations to vetted resources for sudan or congo). thank you for giving this post a look!

INSTRUCTIONS: please donate to a vetted fundraiser and send me an ask or DM with a screenshot of your proof of donation (please private your personal information outside of the necessary) and the WIP you'd like your contribution to sponsor!

example: hello! i'm interested in sponsoring your toji x reader wip!here is my proof of donation for (chosen fundraiser), thank you! (please include/attach a photo of proof which includes the date)

RATE: $2 per approx. 100 words!

NOTE: all donation screenshots provided to me will be sent to @ficsforgaza for fund tracking purposes and to ensure that donation screenshots are not being reused.

WIPS - updated aug. 13, 2024 - i am happy to discuss anything specific you'd like to see included!

[JJK] toji x reader - on raising a single father’s kids and maybe sleeping with the guy, too? (a continuation of this concept!) (NSFW)

current wc: 1.2k of approx 2.5k words

donated: 0/1.3k words

progress: 0/1.3k words

TAGS: single father!toji, stepmom-ish!reader, megumi and tsumiki are his/your babies, birthday party type event for baby gumi... toji thanks you for setting things up by blowing your back out.

[GACHIAKUTA] enjin x reader - we don’t go to bed angry here (NSFW)

current wc: 400 of approx. 2k words

donated: 0/1.5k words

progress: 0/1.5k words

TAGS: generic make-up fingering yay!

[BNHA] barbarian!bakugo x pregnant!reader - a lonely bachelor’s stray wife (concept here!)

choose your prompt:

prologue: he finds you

settling down: (epic fail)

after birth: baby is finally here!

running away: you're leaving (or so you think).

current wc: 400 of approx. 5-6k words (1.5k each prompt)

donated: 0/5-6k words

progress: (prologue: 400/1.5k)

TAGS: DARK/SERIOUS THEMES, strangers to lovers-ish, violence, mentions of prior sexual assault (not by kat), mentions of death, you don't want to be there, you don't even want your baby, barb!katsuki is paying his long overdue karma by trying to make you his family, you're confused, he's f*cking confused LOL???

[WIND BREAKER] multiple x abused!reader - (concept here!)

choose your prompt:

prologue: panic attack at the ori, two timing with bofurin

jo togame: chores at the ori, bleaching his… bright orange jacket?!

sugishita: play nurse, do hair

endo/chika: they surprise themselves by not even being mad

(want someone who isn't listed? just ask and we can discuss a prompt!)

current wc: 250 of approx. 8k words (2k each prompt)

donated: 0/8k words

progress: (prologue: 250/2k)

TAGS: DARK/SERIOUS CONTENT, hurt/comfort, talk of violence/injuries, domestic abuse, you're escaping your marriage, trying to make your own by work for both shishitoren and bofurin without the other knowing, not that they'd care but you don't know that, youre a mess and were told a lot of lies, essentially you're just hanging out trying not to let the trauma get you around all these violent boys lol!, even if they just want to protect u :(

[luvnami]

ai's fics for gaza!

@ficsforgaza vetted fundraisers ♡ resources ♡ faq

how it works

ɞ pick a wip or submit a request ɞ donate to a vetted fundraiser with an amount matching your desired word count ɞ send an ask with the screenshot of your donation proof + the wip or request you want me to write ɞ i write and post your chosen wip or request, and your donation helps those in gaza

misc.

ɞ please donate only to vetted fundraisers ɞ donations are non-refundable, please only donate however much you are able to ɞ if you're not sure if i can write your request, send an ask! ɞ wips or requests will take up to two weeks to complete, depending on complexity and length ɞ by default, any requests will be written with x gn!reader. smut requests will be written with x fem!reader ɞ wips and requests will be updated below the cut (last updated 19/9/24)

wips

ɞ ...

requests

ɞ $1/100 words, max 1k words

ɞ hq characters | ushijima wakatoshi / tendou satori / matsukawa issei / hanamaki takahiro / suna rintarou ɞ kny characters | shinazugawa sanemi ɞ jjk characters | fushiguro toji / nanami kento

ɞ genre | fluff / e.g. buying groceries with nanami / e.g. taking care of sanemi's wounds after a fight

ɞ genre | angst / e.g. breakup with suna / e.g. caring for hanamaki when he's depressed

ɞ genre | nsfw / e.g. giving ushijima a blowjob / e.g. toji fingering you ɞ no yandere, scat, incest (if unsure, drop me an ask!)

[lunewell]

🍉Fanfic Requests For Gaza (:!🍉

As part of the lovely effort organised by the people over at @ficsforgaza, and to try and raise some more money for Palestinian individuals and families who desperately need it, I will be participating in the fics for Gaza initiative!

If you're a fellow fanfic writer or a fanfic reader wanting more in-depth information about this/wanting to find other readers/maybe looking to participate yourself, I heavily recommend checking out this masterpost and the @ficsforgaza blog in general.

For everyone else...

How do I request a fic?

If you're interested in requesting a fic, all you have to do is message me your actual fic request, be it a detailed outline or something vague like tone or ship or tropes, and then after I've confirmed I can do it donate to one of these vetted fundraisers for individuals and families, or one of these vetted fundraisers, then send me an ask or message with a screenshot of your donation (with any sensitive or personal information blocked out of course)!

The word count of the fic will be based on how much you donate, with a rate of 1$ for roughly every 100 words (for example, if you donate 5$ to a fundraiser, you'll get a fic that's roughly 500 words, and if you donate 10$, you'll get roughly 1000 words.). I'm not going to cut off a fic early if it goes a bit over, but the fic will be about however many 100 words you donate.

Please let me know what type of fic you want before you donate. This allows me to talk to you about your ideas, allows us to agree on a rough word count, and allows me to check my availability so I don't get overloaded with work. If I can't take a request due to my own lack of time, or a fic idea needs a minimum length to work, I'd much much rather figure that out before you spend any money.

What kinds of fics can I request?

Obviously don't request anything intentionally bigoted or hateful, but aside from that, anything goes! I'm a very open-minded person, and as a lover of all things horror and all things erotica there are no subjects too kinky or macabre for me to write about. I'll happily write everything from the most tooth-rotting fluff, to hurt no comfort, to PWP; just let me know what you'd like in advance (:

FANDOM LIST UNDER THE CUT

Anime/Manga (A-Z)

Assassination Classroom (anime)

Beastars (anime and manga)

Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji (anime and manga)

Blue Exorcist/Ao no Exorcist (anime)

Code Geass

Cowboy Bebop

Death Note

Fullmetal Alchemist (anime and manga)

Noragami (anime and manga)

Ouran High School Host Club (anime and manga)

Games (A-Z)

Cyberpunk 2077

Disco Elysium

Doki Doki Literature Club!

Fallout 4

Most Legend of Zelda games (I'm also familiar with Linked Universe)!

Life is Strange (every game but True Colours)

Night in the Woods

Pokémon

Stardew Valley

Witcher

If there's a more niche game not on this list that you're wondering if I've played, feel free to ask!

Note: @ficsforgaza is currently only doing fandoms within anime/manga and video games. If there's a fandom outside of these categories you're intrested in, please feel free to message me and ask if I can write a fic in x fandom. These fics and the donation for them are NOT affiliated with fics for Gaza, and will not count towards the total money earned tally that @ficsforgaza is currently keeping track of.

Still, the most important thing about all of this is raising money for various important fundraisers, so if you want a specific fandom not on the list and want to donate, ask me about it, and if I know it, I will happily still write it for you (:! I'll keep track of these donations on my own.

(banners from the game Snufkin: Melody of Moomin Valley)

[boundinparchment]

Vertigo Eyes - I

Armed with only a new-found sense of purpose, Sunday makes a trip to the Belobog History and Culture Museum after the Express receives a request for consideration. History is so often writ with blood that should never have been spilled and the mistakes of those who think they know best. And Sybilla is running out of time. Sunday/Original Female Character; slow burn, liberties taken with world building and lore, eventual smut. Posted on AO3 here. This fic is one of my sponsored WIPs for @/ficsforgaza. Please consider donating to a vetted fundraiser to sponsor this or another fic on my list.

Hotel Goethe was quiet at this hour despite the bustling traffic outside. Although it was nothing in comparison to the Reverie, he found the dark wood and high windows to be charming and homey. The staff were attentive but mindful and despite the blue sky and high sun, an attendant always saw to it that no one left without their coat. A holdover from the Stellaron days, undoubtedly.

He’d been prepared, of course. He dressed as he always did, with meticulous care and consideration. Some things would never change and Sunday took solace in fixing the sash pinned at his chest and smoothing his lapels. How anyone could simply present themselves to the rest of the world while their clothes were wrinkled and their eyes were laden with sleep was beyond him. How would anyone take another seriously if they appeared to have rolled out of bed?

The notion of arriving to the museum only to give this contact the first impression that the Crew was not detail-oriented and dedicated did nothing to settle the tightness in his chest. Belobog and Jarilo-VI were only just finding their feet again under the leadership of Lady Bronya Rand and with the assistance of the Astral Express. Sunday was acutely aware of the gravity that circled such circumstances and liked to think that, for once, his preference for procedure and order won out.

This meeting was his first time representing the Express on his own. Ms. Himeko and Mr. Yang must have seen something in this particular request, else they would have sent the younger members. The trio always uncovered something through their wanderings or re-connecting with old friends. He wasn’t quite suited to it, not yet at any rate, and he still had much to learn.

The air was cold, refreshingly so compared to Penacony; the Hours that offered activities such as skiing or snow-tubing were still nothing more than the impression of the environments and relied on pre-existing notions to make the visitors feel as if they were chilled. Sunday tucked his wings in closer beneath the scarf around his neck, strategically placed to both hide his wings and keep him warm. It was humbling to feel the stone beneath his boots and see the bustle of the morning. Employees on their way to work, the remnants of checkpoints without Silvermane Guards.

Penacony practically shook with energy while Belobog offered a steadfast hum. From the way the Trailblazer spoke of the planet, it was almost provincial in some areas, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Recovery was apparent, prosperity close at hand, all without the IPC’s interference.

A sentiment he shared with Lady Bronya. It could have been Penacony’s Path, too. Perhaps it still would be.

The halovian closed his eyes to escape the rush of people and cars around him and listened as he stood on the curb. Even now, his mind yearned for Ena’s frequency, the presence of others, the way the notes used to dance alongside Xipe’s tune in a subtle resonance that no one ever noticed. In much the same way that there were those who never picked up on a harmony or a melody in a song, plenty of individuals might never have known the difference between Ena and Xipe.

The crowd around him stirred and someone jostled him from behind. He barely had time to think before he felt himself falling forward---

Wind rushed around him as a blanket of stars gave way to a bright, new dawn cresting over the horizon. He felt no warmth from the vibrant star painting the sky with a pink so soft, it might as well have been fine-spun cotton sugar.

Brother...the dream is over.

Once, her embraces were comforting, a counterbalance to re-center himself. Before his halo grew too heavy. He could only feel echoes of it now, an itching at the back of his skull that crawled down his spine. His body remembered what his heart was unable to bear.

Darkness grew ever closer and drew him deeper into its embrace. What was the point of it all? Living only meant unending sorrow, constant cycles of existence that never promised anything more than the same exact suffering as the day before. People came to Penacony to dream, to have a taste of a fleeting moment that made all the pain worth it.

It was better that way, was it not? To be supported, promised a better life, entrusted to another to provide?

Sunday’s heart pounded in his chest, a raucous Charmony Dove protesting in its cage, as he felt a force on his jacket yank him backwards just as a car whizzed past, horn blaring. He blinked, breathing heavily, observing his surroundings as he tried to steady himself, pushing away the thoughts about torn seams or wrinkles when the hand on his jacket relented. Before he could identify the owner, the crowd moved properly and he was once again lost in a sea of people.

An arm brushed his and out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of ashen brown hair and a cable-knit scarf, soft ochre against a long beige coat. As if sensing him, the stranger’s head turned just enough to flick up hazel eyes and offer a ghost of a smile, before blending into the crowd again.

They succeeded, for as soon as Sunday blinked, he was unable to spot them.

Maybe the stranger was a dream. An invention of his mind to protect himself and he’d truly caught himself all along.

We all must wake up at some point. If we are asleep, too lost in our dreams, we miss what it means to live, were the words that accompanied an invitation and a way forward.

Those words etched themselves in his mind and came alive every daybreak. It didn’t matter whether there was a sun to be seen. They greeted him the way Ena had. Like clockwork, his body was attuned to the start of the new day and another beginning in which he would swallow the guilt and pretend it ever properly settled in his stomach.

Perhaps today, it might sit in his chest, heavy and leaden. Or it would crawl up his spine, claw at his mind, and leave him a little light-headed.

Regardless, he was certain they would now be accompanied by a face without a name, and he was so tired of being haunted.