#free! fanfiction

[fawn-eyed-girl]

Hi everyone! I have been rewatching Free! these past few days, and it inspired me to do a kiss story for one of my favorite comfort ships: MakoHaru. This story takes place between Dive to the Future and Take Your Marks, and in it, Makoto goes to Tokyo to find an apartment, and Haru is not happy, because he doesn't want to be apart from Makoto, ever. If you love Free! and MakoHaru and need a little angsty fluff, I hope you'll give this one a peek. Please enjoy!!

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49305436

Preview below the cut!

It wasn’t a presence that finally brought Makoto and Haru together; rather, it was an absence. The day that Makoto and his father left to go look at apartments, Haru woke up for the first time in over a decade by himself, without Makoto ringing his doorbell or coming to find him in the bathtub, begging him to get ready for school. 

The absence of Makoto’s “Ohayo, Haru-chan,” loomed larger than Haru could have ever thought possible. He didn’t love the childish nickname, but the way that Makoto always said it, so full of love and affection?

This morning, he missed it, more than ever.

He knew Makoto wouldn’t be gone long. He and his father would be back late the following evening: they had several apartments to see, and once they chose one, they would have to spend some time signing the lease and finding Makoto some furniture. But it was two nights longer than Haru had been without Makoto since they were babies, and every second without him already felt grueling, agonizing, impossible.

He didn’t like it.

[m0srael]

A series in which I ask my mutuals for fanwork recs, and then come back and tell you why I loved them. Any chance you have something to rec (the criteria are virtually non-existent)? Please, please send it on. Here is my original ask with more info.

I Was Recced:

Make This Leap by @oflights [Drarry | M | 118k]

Harry owns a struggling restaurant which is running out of money, and his Head Chef has just handed in notice. He's at a bit of a loss as to what to do until Narcissa Malfoy presents an obvious solution: bring in Draco Malfoy as Chef and part owner. Harry does.

One Sentence Recap: Make This Leap is a lushly detailed, beautifully imagined slice of life-turned-mystery story about the wizarding restaurant industry, yes, but also healing from trauma, learning to stand firm in one's convictions and sort out one's priorities, and cherishing family in all it's forms.

The fact that a sourdough starter--with a name!--is a tagged character should give you some insight into how thoroughly imagined the world of this story is--and yes, you WILL become emotionally attached to Valerius! This is a hefty fic that I consumed (relatively) slowly over the course of a couple weeks, which had nothing to do with the length and everything to do with the fact that each and every chapter of this story feels like a full meal! I would also be remiss if I didn't say that this fic has one of the best final lines I've seen in a long time (yes, you will have to read it to know what it is). There is SO MUCH I could gush about in regards to this story (again, that has nothing to do with the length), but here are a few highlights:

🌍 The World Building Like I said, the level of detail in this story is incredible. I feel like I've been to the White Owl--Harry's restaurant--because the author put so much time and care into imagining and describing it. Even more robust than the place descriptions, though, are the people. All of the characters in this story, whether they are familiar from canon or the author's OCs, are fully fleshed out, nuanced, and entirely relatable. Each new character that we meet is introduced to us for a reason, and all of their stories are treated with the care and attention they deserve. By the end of this fic I was so fully immersed in Harry and Draco's world and so enamored of all the people who populate it that I didn't want to leave.

👩‍👩‍👦‍👦 The Relationships Oflights is exceptionally skilled at building characters with believable personalities and backstories. It's been a while since I've read a fic where the characters feel both so true to their canon personalities and wholly unique and perfectly at home in the world of the story. One standout for me in this story is Hermione--she's frustratingly nosy and presumptuous, assumes she knows what's best for everyone around her, and has a less-than-perfect relationship with Molly Weasley. As much as I found myself rolling my eyes at her, I think she is perfectly written and the love between her and Harry in particular is complex, deep, and so real. Another relationship I absolutely adored in this story is the one between Narcissa and Andromeda--they are sharp, fiercely caring, and hilariously meddlesome, especially when they team up. The family dynamics between Harry, Draco, Teddy, Andromeda, and Narcissa are absolutely pitch perfect and made my heart ache in all the best ways. I loved getting to experience Harry's evolving relationship to the idea of family and the people in his life that he considers family.

🔥 The Pacing Speaking as someone who has never come close to writing a fic this long, I am always in awe of people who can make every single word feel meaningful and engaging! The story unfolds at the most perfect pace, letting the reader come to know all of the different characters slowly but surely. There's a mystery lingering within the story from nearly the beginning, and the moment that it takes center stage feels entirely right and exciting. The slow burn between Harry and Draco is so satisfying, and their relationship (professional, friendly, and eventually romantic) builds at such a believable pace. That said, I do really appreciate that because we're experiencing this story from Harry's POV we get to see how much of a dumb, lovesick baby he is. I deeply appreciate how unguarded Harry is with his affection for everyone around him--Teddy, Andy and Narcissa, and especially Draco. And yet, Harry has a LOT of baggage to work through when it comes to Draco and romantic love--he doesn't figure out his life overnight, and he and Draco have to have some hard conversations along the way.

If you read this (or have read it), let me know what you think!!

*

Make This Leap was recced to me by @geesenoises so I read:

The Best Laid Plans [Drarry | T | 2.2k]

With Harry at Hogwarts most of the year and Draco working at St. Mungo’s, they don't get to see each other very often. So when Madame Pomfrey announces her plan to retire, Harry sets out to change that.

This absolute treat of a fic was written for the Wheel of Drarry Exchange as a gift for @pennygalleon, but it feels like a gift for us all! Geese perfectly captures a very HJP sort of thoughtless desperation and impulsive scheming, driven naturally by desire. He clearly loves Draco so much and is quite dumb about it in the most delightful way. In the end, it turns out Draco might be just as dumb in love, too. I highly recommend nibbling on this as soon as you can if you want something sweet, satisfying, and perfect!

Ride It Like You Stole It [Free! | E | 4.1k]

This is a collection of au ficlets based around the universe of the anime Free! Iwatobi High School Swim Club featuring an incredible mix of rare and not-so-rare pairs. I'm new to the Free! universe and fandom, so when I saw Geese had written my new favorite swim boys I had to dive in immediately. I am in awe of the way that Geese can craft a fully imagined world in only a few hundred words and find the heart of a ship in the process. The au scenarios are inventive and delightful, and this whole collection is so much fun!!

Thanks for sending me a recommendation!

[thethyri]

⸻ ❝ Ƒгεε! ❞

THE MENU. 𖦹 ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN. 𖦹 THE GUILD OF DRAGONLINGS. ₊‧ 

𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐈𝐍𝐀. ⊰‧₊˚･

Content to be added !!

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐊𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･

Content to be added !!

𝐈𝐊𝐔𝐘𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀. ⊰‧₊˚･

Content to be added !!

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐎. ⊰‧₊˚･

Content to be added !!

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐀. ⊰‧₊˚･

𖦹. TINY.

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐘𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀. ⊰‧₊˚･

Content to be added !!

𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐎𝐊𝐀. ⊰‧₊˚･

𖦹. TIGHT EMBRACES.

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐊𝐈. ⊰‧₊˚･

𖦹. MIRROR. 𖦹. I KNEW IT. 𖦹. GOOD GIRL. 𖦹. TIGHT EMBRACES.

©TheThyri. All rights content belong to @thethyri​. Do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works in any way or on any other platform without my permission.

[yokubounorain]

Título: And We Were Roommates.

Fandom: Free!

Pairing: Yamazaki Sousuke/Matsuoka Rin.

Rating: Explicit.

Cantidad de palabras: 1734.

Sinopsis: Sousuke soportó por mucho tiempo que Rin se desnudara frente a él cada vez que se pone frente al armario a decidir en ese instante qué ropa interior va a llevar.

Lo peor es que sabe la razón de sus acciones. El problema será cómo reaccionará Rin cuando Sousuke ya no pueda controlarse.

Escrito para Relatos Salvajes 2023 parte de los Retos Rayos 2023 de Es de Fanfics.

Consigna: “Personaje D y C son roommates; el problema es que C últimamente ha tenido comportamientos algo extraños y a veces se pavonea en ropa interior (bastante sugerente) D no sabe que C lo hace adrede. ¿Personaje D podrá controlar sus instintos más salvajes? ¿O se dejará llevar por sus más oscuros deseos?”

Leer en AO3.

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[wanderingblindly]

[justcuriouspolls]

(i have a feeling this poll will get way more views than some of my other ones so I am once again asking you to fill out https://forms.gle/66bRngwjD2fzWX7p6 if you know anything about the character)

[vhstown]

please stop scrolling and take the time to read this.

i don't think people understand the extent of the horror happening in palestine right now. "death" means nothing to people because of desensitisation so let me just tell you what white phosphorus is. it's being used in israeli munitions and has been and will continue to be fired across gaza and the palestinian borders.

white phosphorus burns when it comes into contact with oxygen (at nearly 800°C or 1500°F. the human body can withstand ~50°C for reference.) the air you breathe in ignites and it is near impossible extinguish. it sticks to clothing and skin and is very difficult to remove because it will continue to ignite in air. it burns flesh up to the bone and even past the bone because it penetrates tissue and is absorbed VERY easily. if you inhale it it'll destroy your respiratory tract and lungs. it can cause failure in multiple organs including the liver, kidneys and heart. it is being released in one of the most densely populated places on earth.

the only way to treat someone exposed to white phosphorus is to submerge them in saline or water and to pick out the substance with forceps, and when you undress a wound the substance can re-ignite. this is just ONE weapon that is being used to kill palestinian people right now. palestine does not have access to medical care, humanitarian aid, power, or internet. their hospitals are being bombed. gaza is one of the most densely populated places in the world with over 50% of the population being children. many children are the sole survivors of their families. there are videos of children experiencing panic attacks and symptoms of ptsd. the fact that israel has committed war crimes in plain sight means that we can only imagine what will happen to the palestinians in complete darkness.

israel has and will continue to deny this. your interests and fandom will still be here, you will wake up tomorrow morning and see your friends and family, but an entire nation of people are being wiped off the map. being silent is being complacent. reblog, spread information, tell people in real life, attend protests, sign petitions, call your government offices, at the very least be angry and upset and horrified because once you become numb and indifferent and hopeless the oppressors will have already won.

what's happening right now is more than a genocide and once it becomes a part of history we'll wonder how the world let this happen. genocides have been part of all nations. just because it is far away does not mean you don't have to be concerned. the fact that YOUR governments and YOUR idols and the people around YOU are supporting the mass eradication of an entire group of people should scare you. it shouldn't make you feel anything less than sick and angry and disgusted. DO something about it, no matter how small you feel your voice is, because palestinians no longer have one.

[edit] links to some helpful reblogs: one & two

post on how you can help palestine

learn about palestine with this masterlist of info

+ a further reblog of mine

[edit 2] about palestinians "not having a voice" at the time i wrote this post internet connection was cut off entirely and even journalists weren't able to report for a period of time — that is all i meant by that. they of course have a voice and i never meant to undermine how people are risking their lives in gaza to get information out there and i apologise if thats what people took from it, it was not my intention but it is entirely my bad. please continue to spread information and updates from gaza as they come.

[just-french-me-up]

I'm sorry, cringe culture can't come to the phone right now. Why? Oh, cause it's dead!

[room-on-broom]

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on you WIP(s)

I am also procrastinating actually writing. If you’ve multiple works in progress you can give a different answer every time!

🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s)

🍄Decriscribe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___ =___”  

🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your wip(s) need if you intend to share it?

🧭An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

⚠️Which wip your most likely to finish or update next?

💾What is your document of your wip/ a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

🖍Post Any sentence from your wip

♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP

🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

🤡How many Wips are you actively working on?

🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

❤️Not a question, just a second kudos to send.

Enjoy!

[fawn-eyed-girl]

Yours Still: A MakoHaru Holiday Story Now live on Ao3!

Hi everyone! I'm so pleased to share a little MakoHaru story I wrote for Sayura on Ao3 as part of the Warm and Cozy Gift Exchange. "Yours Still" (Rated T) features a pining Makoto who plans to confess to Haru at midnight on New Year's Eve, only to find that Haru has a confession of his own. Check out the preview below the cut, and I hope you enjoy!

Haru glanced at Makoto, then at Kisumi, and then back to Asahi. He glowered a bit, and Makoto realized that Haru was debating the benefits and drawbacks of whether he or Makoto should help Asahi. “I don’t think…” Haru began, his focus back on Kisumi, and, Makoto noticed, Kisumi’s arm, which he’d slung back around Makoto’s shoulders. Haru scowled.

“It—it’s fine, Haru-chan!” Makoto emphasized. “I’ll be here when you get back!”

“Yeah, Haru,” Kisumi echoed, resting his head on Makoto’s shoulder, “we’ll be fine. I’ll take good care of him for you.”

Haru’s jaw worked forward and backwards, and for a moment, Makoto thought he might explode. But he took a deep breath instead, ignored Kisumi, and addressed Asahi.

“I can show you,” he said. “Follow me.”

Haru gave Kisumi one last death glare, to which Kisumi just grinned brightly and said, “See you in a bit, Haru!” before he and Asahi left to drop the coats in Nagisa’s room. Nagisa, meanwhile, shoved a pair of reindeer antlers on Kisumi and steered him into the main part of the apartment. Despite Nagisa’s wheedling, Kisumi clung tightly to Makoto, though, even when Makoto sat down on the couch, and insisted on giving Makoto the specifics of Hayato’s swim class. He then asked how Haru was enjoying the apartment, if he was planning to renew his lease, to which…

Makoto realized with a start that he had no idea. Did Haru want to stay in his apartment? It was awfully nice, and close to the community center where Makoto worked. Sometimes, when he had the last shift, he chose to crash at Haru’s instead of taking the train home, and he didn’t know what he would do if Haru moved, and he had to take the train home? What if Haru chose a place even farther out? What if…

“Makoto?” Kisumi was looking at him with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Ah..um…” Makoto looked around, suddenly desperate for Haru’s presence. How could he explain his insecurities, his fears, that Haru would leave him behind, that this fear was deep-seated and had plagued Makoto since he and Haru were kids? 

“Fine,” Makoto lied, giving Kisumi what he hoped was a genuine smile. “Everything’s fine.”

Kisumi looked suspicious, but shrugged and kept talking, and Makoto, not wanting to seem rude, continued to partake in the conversation, even though he could feel his soul aching for Haru to be at his side again.

[hannikin-grahamkin]

He's not my enemy. He is my homoerotic rival and if anybody but me ever tries to hurt him I will promptly kill them.

[utterlyazriel]

how long have i searched for you?

azriel finds his mate in the most inopportune time and he convinces himself you haven't sought him out for good reason. he couldn't be more wrong. word count: 4.6k & god bless @strangerstilinski for making this fic ever get written <3

Though he'd deny it if ever asked, most of all to Cassian, there was a part of Azriel that had spent years upon years yearning for what it would be like when he met his mate.

A chance encounter. A friend of a friend. A shared look across a crowded room, your eyes catching, where you both suddenly just know.

A thousand possible ways to meet, to find each other. Azriel had run every scenario through his head, ten times over, both soothed and aching at the dreadful mixture of hope and doubt he had. With his rotten luck, he was probably doomed to a life without ever finding his mate. If he even had one.

However, in all his years of hoping and wishing, not once could he say that he'd imagined meeting his mate the way he did.

In a flash; a brush up during the battle of Velaris, where you, a healer, had stumbled into his life. There had been only a moment amongst all the chaos, where this deep strong pull had risen in his chest, glowing and hot like he'd never felt before.

His head had snapped around, finding the source in a heartbeat. Everything leading to you.

But it hadn't been the time, no matter that you had clearly felt it too, the glow, the pull, given away with your wide eyes and parted lips. Battle was being sieged on Velaris and despite every instinct in Azriel that roared at him to stay with you, to take you from the danger, he had a duty to fulfill.

And then, even once the battle finished, the war was waged and won, when was there time? Azriel could feel it in him, the yearning that seemed to sing from his very blood — he itched to go find you. However, there was still much to do, still orders from Rhys to carry out, mission and meetings to attend to.

Besides, you hadn't sought him out either.

So, when the chaos calmed finally and he finally had time to breathe, Azriel did not seek you out. He waited. He longed.

But if you wished to stay away and never see him, then Azriel would respect it. He would never impose on your life if you did not wish it, no matter how long he had waited for his mate.

One month of quiet life rolled on.

Today, the weather in Velaris greatly contrasted his state. Exhausted from his mission and a tad more scratched up that he had hoped to be, Azriel feels like a cloud on the city's sparkling sky. He's dirty, half soaked, and probably dripping blood and mud all over the tiles.

Gods, he was tired.

The fly back to the House of Wind had been harder, his landing a little ungraceful due to the slices he bore on his wings. Not the worst of his injuries but still, they throbbed painfully and Azriel felt the rivets of rain and blood trickling along them. His wings gave a little shudder and even his shadows seemed to droop.

"And he returns—" Cassian's voice announced his arrive before his feet had even touched onto the balcony. Upon the sight of his brother, hunched and not his usual self, his tone shifted quickly. "Holy Cauldron, what happened to you?"

Azriel bristled, schooling away his sneer at the thought of the fight he just won. He rolled his shoulders back, biting back his wince at the tenderness of his wounds, and grimaced.

"Same thing that always does, brother."

Cassian frowned, his concern evident with the furrow between his brows. "You're going to see a healer."

His tanned hand gestured to Azriel's drooping wing. His question was more of an instruction. Azriel felt apprehension roll through him, torn between the sweet relief he know would come with having his wounds tended to and the first healer he could think of: you.

He shook the thought away. Nearly two months since he'd first seen you had passed and he found himself infuriated with how his brain seemed intent on taunting him. You pervaded his thoughts just as frequently as you did on that first day, even with your distance.

"Madja does not reside here anymore."

"So?" Cassian pressed. "Gods, I will take you myself if I must."

Azriel huffed. He knew Cassian could make good on his words and as another ache rippled through his back, making every slice on his skin known, he let himself relent. Besides, what were the chances of his healer being you?

"I will go." Azriel replied, straightening up his slumped shoulders. A hint of smugness crossed Cassian's face before he smiled, genuine as he lay his hand on Azriel's shoulder.

"Before you go," Cassian said, beginning to grin. "Did you wipe the floor with them?"

Azriel's lips quirked, a semblance of a smile. He inhaled, preparing himself for one more course of travel before he could rest. "Of course."

—

The second flight had agony clawing deeper within his wings, a protest with every strong beat of them, as he flew to the Apothecary down amongst the city's heart. The surging pain fought for his attention, like a poison writhing beneath his bones, and Azriel was nearly embarrassed at his hard landing.

It was loud, his boots slamming down into the pavement before the Apothecary, his wings flaring to catch him. He could feel the tremor in his muscles, each leg held taut. He looked up at his destination.

The building before him was a sage green, white trims around each of the windows. Within, through the panes of glass, Azriel could see a healer jump at his sudden entrance. His shadows wisped around him rapidly, as though they might soften his abrupt interruption.

Azriel straightened up, tucking his wings in as he reined himself in. He could feel his emotions boiling up within him, swirling and rising as he peered in the window before him. Apprehension tinged with something he wouldn't acknowledge, something too close to hope.

The glow in his chest was back. You must be near.

Azriel wasn't sure what was winning; the absolute urge to follow the tug on his chest to find the person on the other end of it, or the part of him that would prefer never knowing if you wanted him or not.

The bell above the door jingled quietly as he pushed it open. He was careful to mind his mess, far too aware of how he was tracking half a mountain of dirt in with him. Eyes scanned over each thing in the room, calculating in a way he always was.

Around him, his shadows had gotten zippier, darting about and back to him; as though, they too, could sense the nearness of his mate.

The Fae behind the counter stared, wide-eyed, whether at his shadows or simply himself. Azriel willed them to calm as best he could. They were being unnaturally eager to leave his side.

"Hello," Azriel started, unsure on the proper procedures. He wondered if just gesturing to himself might work. The Fae behind the counter, a fair women with dark hair, seemed to finally shake herself out of it.

"Hello!" She amended her behaviour quickly. Her hand waved behind her, gesturing to the corridor that stretched out behind her. "Let's do something about those wounds. If you head down and take the last door on the left, y/n will be available to get you on the mend."

The name she spoke sent a pang through Azriel and he wondered, he hoped, if a name that beautiful could potentially belong to you. Maybe, he would be better to request someone else, if it was you down the end of the hall. Hesitance kept him rooted to the floor. His eyes sweeping down the hall and back to the Fae woman before him.

"Thank you," He finally murmured. His began walking, passing the counter and heading down the hallway — mindful of his drooping, tired wings that threatened to leave a trail behind him.

Final door on the left. Azriel paused before it, deciding to knock before he entered. He could hear someone inside, bustling around in the space. His knuckles grazed against the door.

"Come in!"

A voice like honey called out, wrapping around him like the softest silk, every nerve in him trilling and burning. Azriel swallowed heavily, knowing who must be on the other side of that door. He should walk back up that hallway. He shouldn't go through this door. He should give you the privacy you so clearly desire.

And yet, the warm glow in his chest urged him forward, urged him closer, and Azriel couldn't resist being selfish. Just this once, just to see you once more. He pushed the door open and slid silently in the room.

You're everything.

Gods, as he laid his eyes on you now, Azriel had to commend himself for ever managing to keep himself from you. You’re ethereal — and the glowing tug on his chest had expanded ten-fold as you turned to face him, every ounce of his being yearning, aching, to be closer to you.

Azriel was a strong man but even he couldn’t help the way his body swayed closer, a ripple passing through his wings subtly. They gave a tiny shake behind him. His shadows seemed to be dancing across his shoulders, gleeful in their wispy movements.

Even his pain had been put aside for this moment — dialed down to barely a twinge as he drunk in the sight of you before him, his eyes scouring your face for every detail he could, lest it be the only time he got to.

Faintly, he felt his lips twitch. His hands curled up at his sides, a minuscule motion. You’re… very beautiful. You’re everything he’s been waiting for — and Azriel is sure that shine of the night sky he adores so reverently is rivaled only by your eyes.

“I—” He remembered himself, the word rasping out before he could stop it. He realised he was not sure what he intended to say. “Forgive me.”

You seem perplexed by his words if the wrinkle between your eyebrows was an indication.

One of his shadows snaked down his arm, flitting out to meet you and Azriel felt himself flush slightly. He called it back sternly and silently — only more embarrassed when it didn’t listen, circling your wrist and tickling its way up your arm.

But there was no apprehension in your face, nor in your laugh which felt like a shot of espresso to his system, as his shadows continued badgering you. Something close to mortification crept up his neck as two more shadows darted out to join the first, curling excitedly around your neck like a lover would.

“My apologies,” Azriel forced his mouth to work. “They are not usually so… misbehaved.”

You waved him off, another laugh tittering from your mouth as a shadow curled over your ear. Surprisingly, whether through some bond or not, he knew that you were not afraid of him in any sense.

Your hand waved him over to the table set up for patients, ushering him over. “That’s alright. You can tell me what I’m to forgive you for as I look over your wounds.”

Azriel didn’t move. His feet felt rooted to the floor, heart turning itself inside out. Did you not know? Could you not feel it? Were you simply sweet enough that you would still tend to him, heal him, even though you knew and had decided to keep your distance?

“I…” He selected his words carefully, watching you closely. “I did not wish to make you see me if it was not on your own terms."

You were setting up your items on a silver tray beside the medical table and when you looked over your shoulder, you seemed confused that he hadn’t moved. You urged him over with a jerk of your chin and a smile that melted through his chest, hot like candle wax.

“Nonsense.” You patted the table invitingly. “C'mon, you’re dripping blood on my floors.”

His politeness had him standing up straighter, wings bunching up as he realised they had begun to drag along the ground. It was the thing that finally got him to move, his feet stepping forward in an instant.

“I’m—”

“Kidding. I was kidding.” You intercept his apology easily, eyes bright.

Something preens within him at how you knew what he would say so soon within meeting him. Azriel took another step and let himself sink down onto the padded table, his wings resting gently around him. Even seeing you, talking to you, is not enough to chase away his fatigue. You hand him a clean cloth to clear the muck from his face and he does so silently.

“Are you fit to remove your leathers?” You asked, your gaze turned analytic as you scanned over his muscled body for his injuries.

Azriel nodded, not trusting his voice. As each piece of armor was pulled off, not a wince in sight, he was surprised at the flustering feeling within him. It was light, just a ball of nervousness, tinged with embarrassment, in his chest — which made no sense. As he pulled the final layer of clothing from his chest, Azriel realised that this feeling wasn’t coming from him.

You were staring as politely as you could, eyes darting around the injuries scattered across his torso but with a nervous flush to you. Your eyes flitted across his chest, once, twice. Barely a glimpse— something that would’ve gone unnoticed if he was not the spymaster of this court.

Azriel couldn’t resist. “Everything alright?”

If he had made voice a tad gruffer than usual, that was between him and the Cauldron.

“Yes.” You smiled at him again and it nearly made him miss the pinch in your voice. Nearly. “Just thinking that if you look like this, I hardly want to imagine the other guys.”

Azriel bit back his smile, only half succeeding in hiding it. It was wiped as you finally stepped closer, examining him properly. A furrow between your brows. Azriel could feel the hot burning want to smooth it out with his thumb, to take your worry from you.

His shadows had slipped further from him, more and more of them following your gentle hands as you skimmed atop his skin, deep in thought. They swirled around your hands, festering where you were nearly touching him, and Azriel desperately willed them to relax. They did not obey.

“The shadows,” He began, already apologetic.

Your eyes flashed to his and then back on the laceration splitting the skin on his shoulder. You pulled one of your hands back, just an inch, focusing on how the shadows followed you. Tiny wisps dancing around your hand, light touches that reminded you of a thousand tiny kisses.

“It’s alright.” You hummed, sweet with a smile. “They’re sort of lovely.”

And if Azriel had felt your momentary fluster, he had no doubt he would be unable to hide the swell of surprise within him.

You finally pulled your hands back, beginning to circle around the table to take a closer look at his wings. Azriel couldn’t repress his shiver at the thought— his mate, so close to something so precious to him. He was torn between emotions; his body buzzing at the thought of your touch and his mind adamant that you wanted to keep your distance for a reason.

“I must say, I have heard of Illyrian wings before,” Your voice breathed over his shoulder, distracted by the view. Without meaning to, Azriel’s wings gave a little twitch. “But never seen them this close. They’re very beautiful.”

Azriel blinked and willed himself to remain neutral even if all his shadows seemed to give him away; their flitterings only increased at your words.

He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

Then there was a soft touch along the leathery skin of his wing, your fingers, tentative and gentle. Azriel swallowed the noise in his throat. His wings gave another involuntary shiver.

“Is it alright to… touch?”

It’s sweet of you to ask even though he’s sure you’ll have no way of healing him if he says no. Azriel steeled himself, forcing himself to remain neutral.

“Yes,” He murmured. The wounds across his torso had already begun to heal themselves, his Fae blood clotting and knitting the skin back together at an achingly slow pace. He was too tired to heal himself properly. He had known his wings would require the most attention.

It was an effort not to jump when your touch returned, tiny fingertips that felt startlingly warm suddenly. Azriel could feel the tendrils of your magic as it poured out through your fingers, a healing salve to the agony of his wings. It felt so good he struggled to not sigh aloud, his scarred hands flexing in his lap.

“You know,” You began, voice quiet. “I was hoping you might seek me out but perhaps, for a less painful reason.”

While Azriel fought to keep his head from snapping around, his shadows did no such thing— all of them jumping from their usual hiding place. He swatted at them, mortified at how revealing they seemed to be in your presence.

Still, there was no battling away the kernel of hope that sat deep in the pit of his stomach, mixed tightly with disbelief.

Another touch along his wings, another warming healing glow. Azriel cleared his throat and fought to keep his voice even.

“You were… waiting for me?”

Gods, he couldn’t have sounded more pathetic if he tried. But his head was spinning, the glowing pull on his chest tightening, the kernel growing larger and larger. You were waiting for him, you were waiting for him.

“Of course, why would I not be?”

“I…” He had never been so lost for words in all his centuries of living. Never sure how deep the rift within him ran, a part of him convinced that the reason he had not found a mate in all his time was because he had not deserved one.

“I did not want to impose on you, I know that not all—”

It was all coming out wrong. Azriel reined in his rampant emotions, the swirling of his shadows dimming for a moment. Your hands had paused their ministrations on his wings, listening intently. He couldn’t bear to turn to face you as he spoke.

“I wanted to give you space to decide yourself. To leave the decision in your hands. Because I would understand if—”

He cut himself off with a sharp inhale. Voicing it, suggesting the possibility of you hoping and waiting for a mate all your life, just as he did, only to be disappointed that discover it was him— he couldn’t say it aloud.

He was sure you must be able to feel his fear and clamped his mental shields down as tight as he could. He would not guilt you into this.

“I can see why the Mother made us mates.” You mused after a moment.

Azriel nearly shuddered at the word, at you referring to him at your mate so casually— a yawning chasm of want spreading over his entire body. Gently, slowly, your hands began to work again.

“Here I was,” you continued, voice light and hands warm. “Thinking that, maybe, the shadowsinger had his duties and would come find me if he wished. And that I would understand if he never came to find me at all.”

This time, Azriel could not resist turning around to see your face. His heart ached terribly to hear what you had thought. His shadows spun around his shoulders and as he turned, they twisted and ran for you.

“No,” He said severely. He couldn’t help the way he shook his head, like a petulant child but you were just so wrong. “No, I— I’m sorry, I never meant for you to think— please forgive me.”

Despite his evident distress, you smiled easily with a little shake of your head. “There is nothing to forgive. It would be, well, almost hypocritical if I let you apologise for doing the same thing I did to you.”

Amongst his relief, Azriel felt his chest pulse in adoration, a smile forming on his lips. Twisted back on the table, your hands mending along his wings, the thing he’d wanted for — had spent so many years envisioning — finally finding him. He would not have it any other way.

“I’ve waited for you for five hundred years.” He croaked.

Your eyes widened a fraction and you blinked owlishly at him for a moment as his words sunk in.

“Well,” You chuckled somewhat awkwardly. Azriel could feel the nervousness radiating off you in waves. “I hope after that all that waiting it wasn’t too underwhelming—”

“It wasn’t.” He interrupted. “It isn’t. You’re…”

It was an effort to restraint himself — to not be too much, too soon.

“Despite the knots we both seemed to tie ourselves in,” He huffed a silent laugh, melting as you relaxed too. “Please believe me when I say I would not have it anything other way.”

You glowed, a sweet emotion singing from you so loudly that Azriel couldn’t not feel it. You hadn’t accepted the bond yet and still… he could feel the strong emotions as they rippled through you. Joy. He was so happy that it was joy, more than anything else. His shadows seemed to be split between the two of you, protecting you as much as they did himself.

Then suddenly, your eyes widened again, as if another thought had occurred to you.

“Wait a minute, five hundred years?” You repeated his words back to him with an air of disbelief. “You’re an old man!”

His laugh escaped him before he could capture it, entranced at your delightful quick wit. Your eyes were bright, your pretty mouth pulled into your smile.

The ache in his wings had dulled almost completely and Azriel absentmindedly noticed you had managed to heal up the majority of his wounds during your conversation. They fluttered appreciatively and your eyes darted back down to them.

“Is that to be a problem?” He teased lightly.

Your obvious flustering pooled off you, sliding down along the bond even as he felt you desperately trying to curb it. Even then, you couldn’t resist another glimpse at his toned back.

He certainly didn’t look like an old man— not with the taut tan muscles of his back, his large biceps, nor his handsome young face. His hazel eyes watched playfully as you allowed yourself one long look over him.

“Nope,” you said decisively, pressing down your grin. You held your hands up defensively, as if it would aid your point. “No problems here.”

Your footsteps were light as you rounded the table to face him from the front, your healing job completed. For a quiet moment, Azriel could only stare — holding his breath, waiting.

He schooled away any thoughts of how much it would hurt to part from you, now that he had finally found you, and spoke again.

“It doesn’t have to be now.” He said, hazel eyes fixed on your own. He made sure his emotions were unwavering, that you would not feel swayed to spare his feelings. A shadow skittered across your shoulder.

“I want you to be sure. I would never want you to feel as though you had no choice. We— I can wait, I have waited years for you, I can—”

His words were smothered in his own breathy gasp as you reached out, one finger trailing across the peak of his wing. Something like pure desire shot down his spine and he did everything in his power to hold in his growl.

“Something told me that would get you to stop talking.” You said, with a hint of teasing.

A seriousness flicked across your face, settling into your expression as you took in the male before you, your mate — and you could feel his want, the enormity of his yearning trickling down the bond— and yet, you knew that he would walk away from it in a second if you asked him to.

You had no intention of doing any such thing.

“While you may have me beat on the waiting,” You said softly. It didn’t feel right when you’ve only just met him to reach out, but the urge swims within you anyways.

You reached out to touch his face, your hand as soft and warm as a sunbeam on his skin.

“I do not wish to extend that waiting for any longer, my mate.”

Your words had an instant effect, a shudder that passed across his face, eyes fluttering, the flick of his wings spreading out and forwards, as though reaching for you. You kept your hand steady.

Azriel allowed himself to lean into your touch. Allowed every feeling to flow down the warm tug in his chest, over the bridge that kept him inexplicably connected to you — overwhelming bouts of relief, of love, all of it unrestrained. And he could feel you on the other end, meeting it all with the softest, kindest assurance.

“Can…” He murmured, nearly embarrassed. He would have been if you were looking at him any way other than completely adored. His shadows had finally slowed, soft caressing motions along your shoulders and neck. He dared to ask. “Would you say it once more?”

You smiled, brighter than the sun and softer than moonlight, unable to resist your temptation to get nearer to him. You inched closer, letting yourself breathe in the scent of him greedily, knowing he was doing the same. Both of you desperate to memorise each other, despite knowing you had forever to come.

Your nose brushed his and you nuzzled against it gently, eyes sliding closed. Azriel released a shaky breath, his scarred hands clenching tightly in his lap, terribly overwhelmed in a way he’d never been before. If you had peeked over his shoulder, you might have seen the slight quiver in his wings.

“Azriel,” you whispered. “My mate.”

The shadows around both of you suddenly laid down very still, as if they had encountered a feeling within their master that had not yet before; a calming tranquility. The moment lingered as you let your words sink in, watching his closed eyes. You let yourself steal this moment with him.

“Though,” you pulled back from him, watching his hazel eyes open again. The shadows around him picked up, lazily flitting around. “If you want to get all cleaned up before dinner, you best head home soon.”

“Dinner.” Azriel repeated, the smallest scrunch between his eyes.

You stepped back from him, smoothing your hands down your front almost nervously— but no, it was closer to excitement, he realised.

“Dinner, yes.” Azriel said, catching on, his wings flaring out for just a moment. You grinned, endeared entirely by all his little tells despite his apparently stony demeanour. You could see him beneath it, the soft kind Male that the Mother had made for you.

“It would be an honour.” He added seriously, finally getting to his feet, preparing to leave. You ached at the thought — but more of you preened, knowing you would see him not long after. His seriousness made you laugh.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda intense?”

Azriel smiled, his shadows moving more deftly now. “And yet, never has it sounded so sweet as it does coming from you.”

You flushed and it was made entirely worse by the chuckle you felt down his end of the bond. You jabbed him in the shoulder, a bit miffed when he didn’t sway in the slightest.

“Alright, no more mud on my floors.” You ordered, faux serious as you pointed to the door. “I will see you later tonight.”

“Promise?” He asked, once more to check— but mostly to see that elated grin he was already falling in love with.

“I swear on my mate." You promised back, delighted when he grinned — properly, teeth and all — and you stole one final glance at your forever as he disappeared out the door.

part two here

[clown-of-rivia]

Fun Fact and History Lesson!

The 'no beta we die like [character]' originated from this damn photo that went viral on Tumblr in 2016 and changed Ao3 tags and fanfic vernacular forever.

Meaning: it's a tag used on fics that were not beta read (the author didn't get someone to read it for them before posting). Betas read fics to check for spelling, grammar, consistently, etc and often edit it.

*

Similarly, 'Dead dove' or 'dead dove do not eat' is from this scene in Arrested Development.

Meaning: if there's a warning of something really dark/bad, don't open/read it and expect something different. Or: 'mind the tags this is dark, don't read if you don't like it'.

[astralnymphh]

CALLING ALL FANFICTION AUTHORS!

please reblog this. i've talked about this twice before, but obviously not everyone has seen it. i am calling for anyone who writes fanfiction or posts about a certain game/show/universe in any connective manner to please, please- PLEASE, copy this memo below comprising links to supporting palestine, education on the situation in gaza, and a must-need for those who engage in TLOU tumblr; links regarding the creators (neil druckmann) zionism, and how the plot of tlou2 is based on the israeli occupation of palestine. i don't care if what you write seems "insignificant" or "small" in the grouping of larger fics. no. everything that is not related to palestine in any form NEEDS these links. because, when we stray away from reblogging, or writing up our own posts in support of palestine/sharing journalists stories/etc. even for a SINGLE piece of writing, we could be missing people who are unaware (which, shouldn't be the case atp, but..) and fucking especially because in these fandoms, fics are the most popular thing. not reblogs about palestine, unfortunately; there are so many fanfiction accounts who very clearly don't give a fuck about the whole situation, seeping in silence, posting fics during strikes, not taking accountability for it now, so on and so forth. please, for the love of all that is good- CALL THEM OUT! people gaining hundreds of notes, tens of reblogs, supportive comments on a post that completely disregards what is happening SO BOLDLY right now, should irk you. i swear, if i see one more fuckass "i didn't know!" apology from an author who is CONSTANTLY on tumblr, REGULARLY posting fanfiction, i'm going to fucking lose it. if you are on tumblr to begin with, being this active- you have time to reblog. actually, educating yourself and reblogging is way quicker than writing up fanfiction of any length. are you fucking kidding me? you are laughable. comical, not real, and i have nay an ounce of respect for you. ever. but besdies that; the memo. i want everyone to copy this, or make something similar. put this above your summaries, authors note, whatever comes before the writing. every post you make should link back to supporting palestine, cause you never know how many eyes it will reach. it could change a lot of things. on pc, i believe copying it completely will preserve the links, but i'm not sure if mobile will. again. do whatever you can to add it. don't be lazy. put this in ur masterlists/navigation too.

for all fanfiction authors:

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

for tlou fanfiction authors:

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

you may add what is necessary, i wanted to keep it short for attention span sakes, and to avoid people skipping it entirely, and so on. i may edit these, fix up anything, but again, if you're using them you can edit them however. as long as you are linking anything in general, that is what matters. thank you, love from aestra. from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

[toxicanonymity]

Joel/Reader

Free Use - Joel fucking the reader while she’s doing some other task like cooking. They have an agreement that he can fuck her whenever he likes so he just slides into her without preamble 😭

Making dinner (free use)

700 words, Joel x f!Reader. 

A/N: The way I said hell yeah out loud . . . You had me at “without preamble.”  Click the "#free use!Joel☠️" tag for more. Wanna use Joel? Free Use HCs (post-outbreak/TLOU).

WARNINGS: NSFW 18+ Unsafe PIV, consent for free use has been pre-established, pre or non-outbreak.  Master List

You’re making dinner for Joel’s birthday and expect him home any minute.  Tommy will be staying for dinner, too.  You’re wearing Joel’s favorite sundress, the form-fitting one that drives him wild, with no bra.   He’s been working with his hands this week, really building something himself, as opposed to overseeing other workers.  You love seeing Joel when he gets home from a hands-on job.  Sleeves rolled up, shirt blotched with perspiration, forearms smudged with dirt.  You get wet just thinking about it and even wetter when the truck pulls into the driveway.  

When the guys walk in, they’re as dirty as you expect.  Joel gives you a little kiss hello and Tommy greets you politely.  The only shower is upstairs, and Joel says Tommy can use it first.  Meanwhile, Joel goes to put his tools away in the garage. The door closes again, then Joel’s boots are slow and heavy on the linoleum as he crosses the kitchen.  You glance up from the potatoes you’re slicing, and he’s unfastening his belt as he walks.  His lips part as he looks you up and down like a piece of meat.    

You keep chopping the potatoes while Joel washes his hands right next to you, his jeans grazing your dress.  He dries his hands on a lemon-print dish towel, then throws it down on the counter and gets in your space.  The shower turns on upstairs.  Joel grabs your ass with a quiet “Mmmm.” He steps behind you, crowding you against the counter, and you feel him hard against your ass.  He inhales your hair.  “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day” he whispers to himself in a near-growl.  You keep chopping, but slow the knife as his hands hook around your thighs.  His large fingers skim up your legs and take your dress with them.  He leaves your dress resting on top of your ass, now clad only in a thong.  He rocks onto his tiptoes as he frees his stiff cock from his pants.  His boot gently kicks the inside of your sandal, prompting you to spread your legs a little more.  Then, he pushes your thong out of the way with his pinky, nestles his tip at your dripping entrance, and begins to push inside. 

He wraps an arm around your waist, giving you a whiff of sawdust mixed with sweat.  His masculine scent never fails to make you weak in the knees.  His arm tightens around you, then his stiff manhood plunges into you.  You gasp softly as his girth parts your core.   You pause your task for only a moment, taking a deep breath as your bodies are joined.  His cock retreats, then sinks even deeper into you, bottoming out with a grunt.  He gropes your breast, and your nipple hardens.  You start chopping the vegetables again.  

Joel buries his cock inside you, jerking himself off with your tight, wet cunt while you cook.  He growls and grunts and gropes where he wants.  His thrusts intensify and the momentum propels you onto your tiptoes.  His fingers dig into your hips and his strong hands hold you down while his thick cock fills you up again and again.  

The shower water turns off upstairs.  Joel quickens his pace, and both his big arms tighten around you as he pistons into you.  This isn’t for your pleasure, not at all, but the intensity of the situation, the strength of his arms around you, the waft of his scent, it all comes together and something rapidly builds within you.  Your core tightens, his breath becomes ragged, and he twitches inside you.  He pulls out all but his massive tip, then slams into you again, filling you to the brim.  His cock pulses powerfully, tipping you over the edge into your own climax, and you let the knife clatter into the sink.  Joel holds you down on his cock as he comes and you clench around him.  

The bathroom door opens upstairs.  Joel slides out of you and puts his cock away as Tommy’s footsteps start down the stairs.  Joel’s cum trickles out of you and he hands you the lemon-print dish towel.  Your face burns as you quickly wipe your inner thighs.   When Tommy walks into the kitchen, you’re all disheveled and your dress is filthy from Joel’s arms.  

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If you like this one, I recommend Speakeasy, Speakeasy Bartender, and Picnic Table.

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all Joel - @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea i feel like I'm leaving someone off who asked lmk if you still need on

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