#i am aware that this was probably meant to be a happy prompt

[biblically-accurate-dca]

@vanweek2024 day 7 - sunrise

tomorrow is another day

[asapeveryday]

YOU BELONG TO SOMEBODY ELSE

Pairing: Nika Mühl x Reader

Warnings: smut, cheating (not on reader tho!!)

Summary: having a crush on someone who’s taken is complicated. Doesn’t stop you though! (I’m sorry)

A/n: was gonna be a Paige fic buttttt I’m in a Nika mood. ALSO PLS DONT HATE ME FOR THIS. It’s based off of a request +this song, I thought the concept was entertaining. I love Nika and her bf. This is fiction. Pls chill on me.

HER BREATH, harsh against your neck as she presses herself against you is enough to make your head spin.

She’s leaning half her weight on you, laughing against your skin at how you stiffen up. To Nika, it’s probably because she’s gross and sweaty. She doesn’t know it’s more because her touch prompts you to think thoughts you can’t shouldn’t think of her.

“You’re slow today.” She says cheerfully. “Don’t tell me you’re slacking now, baby.”

You almost shudder at the pet name but recollect yourself. “Since you’re so pumped up you shouldn’t need my support.” You scoff, playfully shoving the Croatian girl off of you. She fakes a stumble but gracefully catches herself.

“Careful! If I get hurt then you’re gonna hear from Geno.” She smiles.

You just shake your head, grinning to yourself. “Your bitching and moaning is ten times worse than the old man.”

The two of you walk around for a while. This was your usual routine, running your favourite trail twice a week, then walking for a bit before grabbing a bite to eat. Routine or not, it also happened to be your favourite part of the week.

Why wouldn’t it be? Seeing Nika like this; tight shorts stopping mid thigh, sports bra exposing her toned body and flashy belly piercing, hair pulled into a tight ponytail, giving you perfect access to the beauty that is her face.

Running with her meant being able to look at her without others around to notice, it meant listening to her breathing quicken and slow, or holding your own breath when she’d slightly pull up the edge of her shorts to examine the accumulating colour on her already tan skin.

To say you had a crush was an understatement.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “when’s your next game?”

Did you know when the next game was? Of course. You knew when all her games were.

“Day after tomorrow.” She grins, tilting her head signalling you to prepare for a question. “Am I gonna see you at this one?”

“Nika..” you force out a sigh. “Such bad timing. I have a thing.”

She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrow now, the look in itself is not alien to you yet still incites a drop in your stomach. You hate disappointing her time after time.

“Seriously? How do you manage to have a thing every single time I have a game?”

You shrug. “I’m sorry, Niks.” You frown, not lying. “I wish I could go,” again, not lying “but stuff just keeps coming up.” ok, now you’re lying.

She doesn’t say anything, just eyes you suspiciously.

“I might be free after though.” You sneak in hopefully.

“Fuck yeah!” She squeals, slapping your back. “Cus’ when we win imma need you right next to me partying.”

You smile at her hand on you, at her happiness with your presence.

“Wanna go eat now?” You ask. “I’m starving.”

A car pulls up by the curb the two of you walk through and lets out a slight honk.

Now Nika’s face scrunches up. “Oh (Name), totally my bad, I forgot to tell you I’m going out to eat with my man today.”

Fuck your man. “Thats okay Niks.” You say. “All good.”

“It’s alright anyways. I’ll be seeing you Friday night after we win, and hey, at least try to watch the game online!”

And with that you watch her scurry off towards the passenger seat and happily jump in, kissing her boyfriend on the cheek and buckling her seatbelt. Her boyfriend waves at you slightly, aware of your friendship with Nika but not so aware of your infatuation. You want to scowl, but you force a smile.

You’re there standing, watching as the car pulls away and starts on the road. You don’t miss how Nika turns around to hold your eye until the car fades out of your vision.

-

You don’t know how much longer you can do this.

How much longer can you go on with this? With overthinking every lingering touch, restraining yourself at the sound of her voice, finding ways to run into her, knowing her schedule, being there for her wins and losses, wishing ill on her perfectly boring friendly boyfriend.

With every stride of her muscular legs beside yours, matching your pace, synchronized breathing, eyes meeting each other on perfect timing every time, you refuse to miss how she begs for your presence at important events. She refuses to miss how you freeze at the sheer mention of her partner.

She’s moody when you arrive at the bar. It’s different from the usual post-game celebration spot, less frat-like and more artsy. Warm lighting, hip hop blasting, decor littered fittingly with NBA and WBNA players.

You can see her clearly, leaning against the bar with her arms crossed, her drink half full on the counter behind her. She smiles when Paige shoves her playfully, but it fades as soon as the blonde turns her back.

You swallow the thought that she’s like that because she thinks you’re not gonna show. You know if you encourage things like that, it’ll only get ahead of your better judgment.

That being said, you were sure to dress exactly how she likes sexy. Hair done with intricacy that almost warranted a breakdown, makeup natural and with intention, clothing showing off how hard you’ve worked on those long runs. The way her lips slightly part at the sight of you is enough to short circuit your brain.

Ignoring how her friends seem to share looks at your presence, you slide up beside her as smoothly as possible before taking a sip of her drink.

“Good game.” You smile.

“You watched it?”

“I always do.”

“Yet you never come.” She scoffs.

“I can’t.” You say through gritted teeth, and it’s the truth. If you saw her play in real life it’d only make you want her more. “But I’m here now.”

You bump shoulders with her. “I’m here to celebrate my Nika.”

“Your Nika, huh.” She turns to you, lips turning upwards into a dangerous smirk.

Before you can respond, Paige is beside you. Her cheeks are unnaturally pink and she’s laughing up a storm that only screams intoxication. “Last I heard this was a team celebration.” She grins. “We love you and all, but why’re you here?”

You’re embarrassed and unsure what to say, but Nika immediately speaks up.

“Cus’ I want her here.” She quips, not too hostile but still enough to get the message across. With her quick words and beautifully furrowed brows she’s practically written BACK OFF in sharpie on Paige’s forehead.

“Aight, aight.” Paige chuckles, hands raised in surrender. Her teammates just shake their heads, and soon enough everyone disperses.

Getting drunk with Nika was a rare but amazing once in a while occurrence. She was not the type to be irresponsible, but the two of you were approaching a dangerous zone after an hour or so of talking and drinking. She couldn’t get a word out without laughing, and you couldn’t stop bouncing your leg to distract yourself from pouncing on her right then and there in front of all the other college kids.

“Have you ever thought of cheating?” She finally manages to hack out between giggles. You’re in a daze at the question, it’s too much to handle combined with her flushed face and batting eyelashes.

“Cheating…like on my partner.”

“Pfft, yes, who the fuck else?” She throws her head back. “Have you even dated? I never see you with anyone.”

“I’ve dated.” You say curtly, downing your drink and ordering another. “My last girlfriend was five months ago.”

“You had a girlfriend when we met?” She asks, eyes wide.

“I did.” You scoff. “We broke up, hic, like a couple weeks after you and me started running.”

“Huh, weird timing.” She mumbles. Your heart literally skips a beat, and you almost choke on your own spit.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She rushes, waving her hand dismissively. A beat of silence passes between you and her.

“I have thought of it.” You sigh. “Of cheating, I mean. It’s kinda why I broke it off with the last girl. I felt bad.”

“You’re better then me.” She grumbles, rubbing her forehead.

“Oh?” You smile teasingly, leaning into her slightly. “Trouble in paradise?”

“He’s great.” She says, the words a frantic mess leaving her mouth. “He treats me good. I just have….” She says, trailing off.

“I just have doubts about him. And interests in someone else.” Nika exhales, lips attaching to the rim of her drink and eyes flitting to yours. She’s saying something to you with her expressions alone, dissecting her words was a whole other job.

“And does this person share your interest?” You mumble, shifting in your seat.

“I dunno.” She shrugs. “I see em’ a lot. She looks at me like she’s interested, but she doesn’t get too close.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Nah, she doesn’t.” Nika shakes her head ever so slightly. “I’ve tried to get her with me more. Y’know, good seats at my games, drinks with my friends. She’s always busy.”

You can’t help but shudder at how she licks her lips in between words as her eyes search your face for any sort of reaction.

“Maybe she’s thrown off by that boyfriend of yours.”

“Do you think if she knew the boyfriend wouldn’t stop me, she’d still give it a chance?” Nika says slyly,

“Hm.” You say, legs pressing together. You can feel your pulse in your pussy and it’s getting hard to ignore. You consider your options before settling with “with a grand gesture to prove it, I don’t see why not.”

“Grand gesture, huh.” She leans into you, her lips just grazing your ear. “I might have something in mind.”

And with that, you’re on your feet and being led by hand through what feels like masses of people. You almost stumble at one point, head slightly spinning from the alcohol in your system and the speed she’s pulling you, but she doesn’t stop. There’s a twinkle in her eye that excites you to your core.

You’re embarrassed immediately when you enter the washroom and there are two girls by the sink touching up their makeup. You and Nika stand by the door excruciatingly awkwardly, her hand tight around yours.

The girls notice the shift in the air, or perhaps it’s Nika’s hazel eyes shooting a glare only opposing teams usually see that causes them to exchange a knowing look and leave as swiftly as the two of you came in.

In an instant her lips are on yours. You find yourself wishing you weren’t so drunk, you’ve only been fantasizing about this kiss for the five months you’ve known her and the three months prior you noticed her around campus. Despite the speed you hope to remember every breath in excruciatingly slow detail.

It’s a rush so aggressive you wonder if she’s making up for lost time. Your back hits the wall for a moment before you’re hoisted up onto the sink. When you let out a gasp she finds opportunity to meet your tongue with her own, deepening the kiss.

“Do you actually want me?” You whisper between kisses, feeling her brows furrow at your question. “Or is this just something to get back at your little boyfriend.”

“Don’t even start.” She snaps, pulling away from you ever so slightly. Her calloused hands are firmly planted on your hips, and her lips are hovering just above yours. It’s impossible to for you to hold any eye contact at this proximity, but she doesn’t struggle at all. “Why d’you think I always want you with me to celebrate n’ not him?”

You just shrug, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over you now.

She places a chaste kiss on your lips, different from the ones before. “I’ve never asked him to come with me to a bar with the girls. I’ve never asked anyone who isn’t on the team except for you.”

Now her kisses are trailing down your neck, she’s licking spots softly before sucking on the supple skin so tenderly, unmatched compared to the earlier feverish pace. “I’ve literally been begging you to come to my games, babe, begging.”

Now you scoff. “Are you serious? Do you think that makes it obvious you want me?” You say, attempting to keep a steady voice though it’s so hard when she’s nipping at you and tainting your skin purple and pink with lovebites.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, her breath now warm between your thighs. “Can I make it up to you?”

You stare at her, pouting. You want to say no so badly, you want to push her away and tell her she’s awful for this, but you know you’re no better. You know your touches linger too long on her back, you know the way you think about her makes you just as guilty, which is why when you see her begging between your legs there’s no possible answer you could give other then yes.

And with the utter of your approval Nika is diving headfirst into the current you’ve both been swimming to avoid, her skilled hands holding your skimpy underwear to the side as her lips plant kisses near and on your pussy. You open your legs wider for her, and to thank you her tongue swirls manipulatively around your clit.

The bathroom is starting to blur through your vision, throwing one hand over your mouth to stifle too-loud-sighs while the other hand grasps Nika’s brown hair.

With every huff, whine and jolt she sends through your body you feel a growing sensation in your core. The brunette girl laps at your folds, sucking on your clit while her fingers tease your entrance. The combination of her fingers and mouth turn your sighs to whines and quiet cries of her name.

“See how sorry I am?” She mumbles between your legs. “So, so sorry baby. I shouldn’t be playing with you like that and assuming you know what I want.” Nika smiles, every word spoken sending shivers down your spine.

“S’okay.” You exhale. “Don’t stop.”

Once her fingers find the perfect pace she rises to meet your lips. Her kisses are passionate and messy, you couldn’t care in the slightest though. With every bite of your lip and curl of her finger you feel closer and closer to the edge.

“You close?” She whispers, and you nod timidly in response. Nika gives you the sweetest smile as she pumps in and out of you, your breathing is frantic and somehow in sync with hers. You think about how many times you’ve been so synchronized, but never like this. She bares a triumphant look, maintaining eye contact when you climax all over her fingers. Nika presses sweet kisses to your lips and you bask in the realization of what has just happened.

For a moment, just a moment, you forget she belongs to somebody else, because in this moment she is yours.

[the-hydroxian-artblog]

I love your animatronic toy OC guys so much, they have so much personality to them and their colours are really good (especially umbra)

Thank you! The funny thing about Umbra's design was that while I was developing it about two years ago and had some colors in mind, I described in text what I already came up with to an image generator for fun (shitty unconvincing old kind, vs now where it looks like shit but in a somewhat more convincing way) and it produced something so silly that I made her design better than what I would've settled with out of spite.

More details of my process and anti-AI ranting below the cut, so the examples given won't show up on search results. Google Images is getting polluted too much with slop to begin with.

Let's begin.

In 2022 I was drafting up Umbra's design with mostly concrete details. At this time image generators were newer and much less convincing, and I was a bit less aware of just how unethical they were, so I fed one a text description of what I had drafted for her design out of curiosity. Something along the lines of, "doll of an anthropomorphic owl librarian in glasses, blazer/suit jacket, skirt, corset, high heels, sitting on a bookshelf" and probably a few more terms. Really specific, lengthy prompt.

I try to be open-minded and give new things a shot, but the results were Not Great. Ideally, I'd want to not share the AI pictures at all on-principle, but I feel like it's useful, transparent, and necessary to show them. Both as a means of not hiding anything, but also just to appreciate where the design is at in spite of it.

Outside of this particular collage of Weird Owls, no other pictures on this blog are AI-generated. AI Image Generation is harmful, and I am against its usage.

But hey, two of the generated pictures look close, right? The top left is the closest, and bottom right is second.

That's because they started out worse, and I had to actually erase chunks of them and have the generator fill in the blanks to get anything remotely close to what I wanted. Misshapen limbs, unrecognizable anatomy, fever-dream clothing details, etc. They didn't even have a corset or proper legs until I slapped the generator in the face enough times to make it produce them. I was just using it to photobash, which was such an annoying process, I just went "this is dumb" and stopped. They're literally posed like that because I kept erasing and regnerating their limbs until they looked vaguely in-character. It literally only looks passable thanks to STRANGLING it with human input.

Before I used the image generator, I already drafted her to be night-themed with yellow eyes and something like purple, dark blue, or sky-blue as her main color; the generator making one owl yellow-eyed and purple was a happy coincidence, and the only thing the generative AI "came up with" that I didn't already have in mind or included in the prompt was the light blue shirt, which I did adapt into her cyan shirt and stockings/socks as well. That was a good call. You get One Point, Mr. AI.

...Which still meant that at its absolute best, it was a largely redundant step in the creative process if its contribution was worse than what a randomized palette generator or character creator could come up with.

That's already putting the ethics of it aside, like carbon emissions, data pollution, using artists' and photographers' work without credit or permission, the incentive to plagiarize, flooding sites like deviantart with slop, Willy Wonka Shit, etc etc etc. When people say "you can use AI as a tool though", this ordeal was enough to convince me that it's more trouble than its worth, even in its most ethical usage. I feel gross for having even tried. I wish I knew what sources went into the creation of those Weird Owls. It'd be better for research if the right people could be credited.

Nothing else on this blog is AI-generated or ever will be. The art below is purely my own (2022 vs a few weeks ago)):

Actually drawing Umbra and solidifying her design was far more rewarding than having an image generator vaguely approximate my own ideas. I wanted her to look really special, so I used a black cape and pants, gold highlights and buttons, and blue undertones to make something more distinct. Also, neck floof. Very important. I wanted the head in particular to look distinct and original, going with bold black streaks to really help her look distinguished.

I also have certain inevitable Hydroisms for Fancy characters like her; most apparent in these designs for Chasey and Kaita from even longer ago, which were more of an influence than anything else. (Old art of mine from like 2021, Kaita ref looks wonky but Chasey still holds up nicely):

Most of Umbra's other design elements were already commonly used with established ocs like Kaita, like her shape language, corset, skirt, heels, etc. It was my previous work with Chasey that inspired the use of gold buttons and highlights.

Umbra is also now a bluer shade of purple partly to distance the current design from that ordeal. All things considered, I'll probably make her more indigo next time. I already wanted her to have a wide color range from the get-go (Featured below is, again, purely my art from 2022:)

I may use a different colored shirt and stockings in the future. I like to think she has many different shirts and clothes based on the different stages of the night sky, from dusk to dawn, and the painting I made in the top right there was an exploration of her range in different lighting.

All in all, it's frustrating. I'm proud of her design, but explaining all of this is annoying, because it's technically all relevant to showing how her colors were picked and how the design was made. I still technically have AI to """Thank""", in the way you thank a bad experience for encouraging you to make things better out of spite.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 17 - Slice of Life

@wolfstarmicrofic July 17, word count 997

Not gonna lie I struggled with this one. I wasn't 100% sure what slice of life actually meant so I did my best with it. Hope you enjoy. Lulu x

Mum came and got me out of bed when all I wanted to do was sleep. She insisted that it was such a nice day outside in the early summer sun that it was a shame that I was sleeping it away in bed. Last night had been a bad one, and I don’t think she really understands how much harder it’s getting each month. She wrapped me in one of her blankets and tucked me in on her garden swing. I admit she was probably right. The warm sun is helping with my sore body. The wind rocks the swing beneath me and lulls me back to a peaceful sleep. 

“Cariad, wake up,” I’m woken by my mum’s sweet lilting voice. She’s Welsh and has such a beautiful voice. Sadly, I take after my father, and I just can’t get my voice to lilt like she can. 

“Mmmm,” I groaned as I opened my eyes to the afternoon sun. It’s right in my eyes and immediately pain shoots to the back of my head. I close my eyes again and my mum slides the shade down on the swing. I try again and I can see. 

My father walks out of the house into the garden towards us. He’s being followed closely by an old man in teal robes. I watched him, fascinated. Because of my condition, Dad tends to keep me away from other wizards. So this is a rarity. 

Mum arranges three chairs in front of me, and they all sit down. 

“Thank you, Hope,” The old wizard says. He turns to me and starts speaking. “Hello, Remus, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He says it as if I have no idea what the only wizarding school in Britain is called. But I listen because I want to know why he’s here. “I am well aware of your… Furry little problem,” I gasped, because as far as I knew, the only people that know are myself, my mum and my dad.

“Myself and a few select professors have arranged a way for you to attend the school whilst keeping the other students safe. Is that something you would be interested in?” His periwinkle eyes twinkled at me. I was not expecting anything like this. I didn’t have a chance to reply as my dad jumped in and spoke for me. 

“Of course, he’s going,” Dad holds a lot of guilt over what happened when I was five. I want to think he’s happy for me, but at the same time, I think he just wants to not have to deal with my transformations every month and being at Hogwarts would mean he’d only have to see me on holidays. Mum doesn’t seem as pleased about it though. 

“Will he be safe?” She’s worried. I knew she would be. She's a muggle, and she had no idea how big a deal this is. Maybe it would be good for me to get out of here and meet some people my own age.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” I finally tell Dumbledore, cutting him off while he was explaining to Mum about a shack with a secret passageway that no one can get into. 

The next few weeks drag. I’m eager to get started with school. Not in my wildest dreams did I think I’d ever be going to Hogwarts. Dad took me to Diagon Alley for the first time. I was blown away by all the magic. Dad uses magic, but not all that often. He uses it at work, apparently, but when Mum’s around he tends to do everything the muggle way. I’ve never got this. Why would you not use magic if you could? He took me to Flourish and Blotts. That might have been a mistake. He had to lure me out with the promise of a chocolate sundae from Florean Fortescue’s. I’m obsessed with books. I can lose myself in them and forget everything for a while. 

The final thing we bought was my wand. The nutty little man in the shop darted about yanking boxes off the shelves and passing me different wands. It took a few attempts but finally, he found the right one. I held my new wand, 10 1/4 inches, made from cypress with a unicorn hair core, for all of ten seconds before it was whipped from my hand and boxed up.

Thankfully, September has arrived, and we’re on our way to Kings Cross. Dad won’t apparate us, so Mum’s driving us in her car. It’s such a long way to go. Dad’s let me have a few of my new school books out for the journey. I’ve been reading them non-stop since we bought them, and I’ve only got two left to finish. 

It takes forever to find a parking space, but once we do, Dad runs in and grabs a trolley for my trunk. He loads it up for me, and we go into the station. 

“That’s where we’re going.” He pointed at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. We walk towards it and just when I think we’re going to hit it, we pass through onto Platform 9 3/4. The Hogwarts Express is so much bigger than I thought it was going to be. We’re running late, so I don’t get to look at it for long. Dad hurries me onto the train, he helps me get my trunk into the storage rack, and we go back out to say goodbye. 

Mum won’t let me go. Dad has to pull her off me. He gives me a brief hug, and I’m off. The whistle blows and the train starts its journey north.

I’d just settled myself into my compartment, opening my book to keep reading, when the door slid open and the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen walked in.

“Hi, I'm Sirius Black. Can I sit here?” 

[rmd-writes]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks @cha-melodius @hippolotamus @mammameesh @kiwiana-writes @happiness-of-the-pursuit for the tags. I'm sure I've done this before but I can't find it to see how long ago!

How many works do you have on ao3?

84

What's your total ao3 word count?

591,653 but that's inflated by a number of collabs, I think the number is closer to 400-450k

What fandoms do you write for?

RWRB, 911 LS and SC (rarely these days)

Top five fics by kudos:

Excluding any collabs (there's a couple in particular that are right up there)

Everybody needs good neighbours | RWRB | E | 14.3k | neighbours au

to the victor, the spoils | RWRB | E | 19.4k | lawyer au

yours for the afternoon | RWRB | M | 4.6k | coffee shop au

what, like it's hard? | RWRB | E | 65.1k | lawyer au, the prequel

I want you, I need you, oh baby oh baby | RWRB | E | 7k | college au

Do you respond to comments?

Yes, I try to! I'm not always prompt but I do respond to almost every comment

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Happy endings only here. I do have one unpublished Tarlos ficlet that's kind of a Queen Charlotte inspired future fic that is the saddest thing I've ever written which is the result of @howtosingit saying "whatever you do, don't think about X" which of course meant that I did and I wrote it in a fever dream, cried then buried it in my gdocs.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them hahaha

Maybe the ending to what, like it's hard?

Do you get hate on fics?

I've gotten some strange comments but I don't know that I'd class it as hate, as such (thankfully)

Do you write smut?

nah yeah lol

Craziest crossover:

It's not a proper fic, but I wrote this in response to an ask about what would happen in Alex & Henry, David & Patrick and Carlos and TK all met.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not as far as I am aware!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes and I love it! I've done collabs where we each write a chapter, one where we each wrote a chapter and then fully co-wrote the final chapter, a full co-write with @welcometololaland (that ended up morphing into each of us alternating chapters), and I'm in the process of another co-write with Lola atm.

All time favorite ship?

you can't make me choose

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I don't like to say never, but probably the SC paint & sip au

What are your writing strengths?

based on the comments I get - smut with feelings, banter/dialogue, characterisation

What are your writing weaknesses?

World building, pretty metaphors, I'm far too fond of run on sentences to the point where if I was beta reading my own writing there are SO MANY sentences that need to be cut down so that the reader can breathe.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

If it fits the character, I love it! I generally ask a native speaker to help me with translations for accuracy

First fandom you wrote in?

Schitt's Creek

Favorite fic you've written?

I don't wanna choose

I've got no idea who's done this already but I'll tag @welcometololaland @everwitch-magiks @clottedcreamfudge @indomitable-love @three-drink-amy

@never-blooms @freneticfloetry @strandnreyes @heartstringsduet @reyesstrand

@indestructibleheart @orchidscript @maxbegone @carlos-in-glasses @beautifulhigh

and an open tag if anyone hasn't been tagged and wants to play 💖

[toloveawarlord]

Event: Be My Valentine 2023 (Edition: White Day)

Pairing: Reo Mikage x fem!Reader

Prompt: "In my defense, they didn't have a smaller teddy bear in stock. Hope you have some space in your bedroom"

wc: 1k

a.n: I am working on the requests! Here is some sweet Reo. Since Japan's "Valentine's Day" is kinda split between Valentine's and White Day, I made this one a White Day version which is the female receiving a gift from the man.

There were long chunks of time that Reo was away.

You were unable to travel with him this time, due to your class schedule and upcoming midterms. The university wouldn't allow your professor to reschedule the exam to allow you the time needed to fly overseas for Reo's game. It was frustrating but the two of you made it work with lots of phone calls and face chats whenever Reo had the chance.

Even if it was only a few short minutes, Reo claimed that he couldn't survive without hearing the sound of your voice and seeing your pretty face.

You'd settled in for the night, having ordered take out for a late night dinner. The remnants were littered across the coffee table in front of the couch that you lounged on, scrolling through social media before you inevitably fell asleep right there.

The doom scrolling was interrupted with a goofy photo of Reo popping up on the screen, the sound radiated out that he was calling.

"Reo!"

"Hey, baby! I was afraid you might be asleep at this hour." His face was incredibly close to the screen, filling the whole space. You were supposed to be asleep; you had an eight am class but Reo was fully aware that sleep meant little to a college student.

"Not yet. I have to get my daily dose of your face before I can sleep. Nagi's new girlfriend is such a doll and took a ton of awesome shots from the game." You'd quickly become friends with her, spending an ample amount of time conversing about the best friends and bonding over being soccer girls.

Reo laughed, gaze shifting ever so slight away from the phone as he walked. "You'd be pleased to know that she wore that awful shirt with our faces plastered on it to remind all the fangirls that I'm still yours."

"Oh my god! She actually wore that?"

"With a huge grin. Nothing embarrasses that girl."

This was how it was. If you closed your eyes, you could immerse yourself in his voice, imagining that he was here in the room with you. He continued to spill all the details about the game, the juicy ones that no one could see just watching.

You've known Reo since childhood. You'd been there when his parents told him that his future was set by them, and seen how it had affected him. It wasn't until he started playing soccer that Reo finally came into his own. He started doing things for himself, things that truly made him happy.

That included confessing to you. He was a mess that day, an adorable, blushing mess.

"What's got you smiling so happily?" Reo asked, drawing you out of your memory and back to the present.

"You, obviously." Perhaps it was the day that made you so nostalgic. It was impossible to miss all the couples and love in the air. Every commercial on the television was an advertisement for White Day.

"Baby, don't tease me! My heart can't take it."

A loud knock at the door interrupted.

"Hang on. Someone's at the door." How annoying. You were certain you hadn't ordered anything, so it was probably you're fussy neighbor. She hated any kind of noise, stating that she could hear your headphones leaking through the walls. Crabby old bitch.

But when you jerked the door open, ready to give her a peace of your mind, you were greeted with a peculiar sight. Instead of a wrinkly old woman, it was a giant, brown teddy bear.

"Wha-"

"Happy White Day, baby!"

It surely sounded like his voice on the other side of the monstrous sized bear. You caught a glimpse of his messy purple hair sticking up over the shoulder.

Several seconds passed in silence. You felt like a soda can being shook up, about to explode. The lovely gift turned into an adversary, in the way of you being in the arms of your love. Wrestling the heavy bear away and letting it crumple to the floor, you launched at him. "Reo!"

He easily caught you, embracing the full body hug. His strong arms holding you up, your legs latched around his waist. "I missed you, too. Was afraid I wouldn't make it in time. Traffic from the airport was a mess."

You grabbed his face and kissed him, savoring the taste of his lips. Time apart truly did make the heart grow fonder. "You jerk!" You finished your passionate kiss and landed a soft punch to his shoulder.

"Ouch!"

"You absolute-" How he'd managed to pull this off, you couldn't fathom. "God, I love you so much!" Your heart was flipping in your chest. The adrenaline pumping through your body. "I can't believe you're here."

Reo was proud of himself for pulling this off. It had taken a lot of work, and convincing the head coach to allow him this trip between games was hard won. "I'd do anything to see that gorgeous smile on your face."

As if you needed a reminder of how smooth his was, Reo easily carried you and the bear inside. Lingering in the hallway might summon the neighbor and he didn't want this elated mood to drop even a smidge.

"I love the bear, too. Even if he's triple my size."

"In my defense, they didn't have a smaller teddy bear in stock. Hope you have some space in your bedroom," Reo replied, setting you on the counter in the kitchen. His hands slid over your thighs, simply glad to have you in front of him.

You were the same, unable to keep your fingers from running up and down his biceps. His kisses were soft, lips barely leaving yours to take a little breath and then tasting you again.

"I suppose he'll have to take your spot on the bed. Don't worry, the floor is very comfortable- ah!"

Your teasing invigorated Reo to attack your sides, tickling you into a fit of hysterics. Your laughter was infectious, one of his favorite sounds. He loved being on the field, competing on a stage, but this was what filled him with true warmth and passion.

You.

"Welcome home, Reo."

"I'm glad to be home to you." The visit may be short, and soon he'd be back on an airplane to rejoin his team, but every second until then, he promised to spend with you, exchanging kisses and giggles

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Hey! I'm just in love with your Gerard fanfics. could you make one based on "the archer"? I love the angst of your fics. fem!reader please 🥺

Love this prompt!- coming from someone with anxiety lol

Title: The Archer

Word count: 2,233 words Pairing: Gerard Way x F!Reader Warnings: Anxiety, stress, throwing up (does that count as a warning?)

The internal chemical cocktail of anxiety, perfectionism, and pleasing other people had taken you long ways in your life. You had been outrageously successful for your age, the internal voice always yelling at you to do better. It constantly made sure you never got more than a second of happiness with accomplishments so you would long for the drug of endless accomplishments more and more.

You kept venerability hidden deep in the crevices of your veins and far beyond where the eye could see. You made sure you weaknesses were targeted and bullied by yourself first before someone could jump on the wound and pour more salt. You had already done that yourself. You had constantly ensured things were done way ahead of time even if that meant jumping out of bed at 3 am in an anxiety spiraling and working until the sun came up. You didn’t want to be a workaholic, or obsess over your image, or worry about your success. It was just an inherent part of who you were as a person.

It should have never been shocking that this led to tumultuous relationships that seemed to sink under the thunderstorm of your mind when the inevitable harsh waves of self-destruction settled beneath the ship. It was like clockwork, the way that relationships wouldn’t last longer than a year when those deep dark parts of you made themselves known and snaked their way around their body to cover you in a their effortless black ink. The only people that ever stayed were the ones who were aware of your imperfections and deep flaws, and took you as you were not questioning your continuous habits that led to explosions.

You were on letter 46 now to Gerard explaining you wanted to break up. Not because you didn’t love him or because he had done anything wrong. It was quite the opposite, you just knew you were too much of a danger and a liability to be standing next to him and take him down with you when you fell. Your leg feverously bounced up and down to no particular rhythm as you attempted to formulate every feeling you had without outrightly telling him what they were. This would probably end up shredded in your trash can anyways, as the other 45 had.

“I want to let you in” was the last thing you were able to write, “But I can’t trust anyone in there.”

You were in a funk, something that you usually found yourself in maybe once a month. The biggest problem with this funk, is it happened to fall on a date with Gerard. Not just any date, but your one year anniversary. It was clearly a celebration to anyone looking into the little house of a relationship you had built, but to you it was a funeral.

Your anxiety felt like it was up to your throat today, and you couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. But doing your makeup was the biggest pain in your ass right now, especially on try number 11 for eyeliner that kept coming off too blotchy. “Fuck!” You whisper yelled as you messed it up again, throwing the pen into the bathtub and aggressively scrubbing the already throbbing red skin with another makeup wipe as it stung with each rub.

You wanted to cry, but that would have made your mascara fuck up and then your entire face ruined. But looking at yourself in the mirror right now, all you noticed was the slight discoloration of all the things you did wrong today on your face. The pimple you tried to cover up with layers of concealer after a stress-induced break out. The ever so slightly different shades of blush since your brush stroked weren’t perfect on both sides.

There were only 20 minutes left until Gerard was here, and knowing him he would actually be a bit early. You decided to bail on the mascara and just try to fix your makeup without overdoing it or completely wiping it off. You would have to live with feeling out of place and self-conscious tonight, because at this point you didn’t have an option.

A subtle knock came on your door. You took a deep, strong breath in and out before putting your game face on, putting on the best fake smile you could (which was pretty damn believable) and grabbed your bag. You opened the door to a dressed up Gerard (a relatively rare occurrence) with a sly smile on his face and flowers in his hand. “Hey, sweetheart.” He opened up with as you forced yourself to smile wider.

“Hey, Gee.” You said back, letting him give you a small kiss on the lips. You took the flowers from his graciously, thanking him and putting them on your counter before leaving and closing the door behind you. The small typical formalities were exchanged, trying to start conversation, but you had always hated the question, “Are you alright?” Which of course he had to ask.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You smiled up at him although deep inside you were screaming you weren’t. “Just a long day, that’s all.” You were thankful he didn’t push more, but that always opened up the negative part of the entire thing, which was the sneaking intuition that he knew it was much more than “just a long day”. As you got into his car he quickly plugged in directions to get you to the restaurant, and as much as you wanted to talk and say something you found no motivation or driver in you to do so.

He seemed to respect that boundary, but within five minutes of the drive had quickly realized that going out to a fancy restaurant with lots of people was not a good idea. First it was your inability to look at him and just outside the window. Then your leg that began bouncing up and down shockingly fast. Finally it was fiddling with your finger tips and clearly being lost in your thoughts while doing so.

“Ya know, we don’t need to go to a fancy restaurant to celebrate this.” He began at a red light, you looked up at him for the first time the entire ride and for the first time since seeing you today, your eyes seemed to light up just a bit. “I mean, that’s so unlike us.” He further explained, “Why don’t we just like, go home, and order take out.” You nodded your head. “I mean, if it’s not a problem-““Not at all.” He softly smiled, ending the directions and turning the car around.

You were still a bit standoffish and generally distant throughout the night. It didn’t take a genius to realize your mind was running 100 miles a minute and it definitely didn’t take longer than a few minutes for Gerard to figure that out either. Especially with your favorite dish sitting in front of you as you forced small bites that you clearly did not enjoy. He hated to see you like this, and wondered why, but tried not to make a scene as you were clearly trying your best to act normal and not cause anything either.

You eventually stopped eating and sat there for a few moments as if trying to focus on something, “Baby?” He finally asked, realizing your face was shading over a bit pale and eyes wide, “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” Was all you said, bolting up and speed walking to the bathroom with your mouth covered. He was close behind you, finally reaching the bathroom only to see you over the toilet seat and belching everything you had eaten that day out. He sighed, kneeling down beside you and holding your hair firmly in his hand, rubbing your back. When you were finally done, your body slouching against the wall and chest heaving, he ran his fingers through your hair to soothe you. As soon as you had calmed down a bit more, he brought a cool, wet towel to your face placing it against your forehead.

“Honey,” He said, giving you a kiss on the top of your head, “What’re you stressing about?” You huffed and closed your eyes knowing he would see right through you.

“How come you just- you’re too good at this.” You responded as he gave a sympathetic smile, “You’re not supposed to worry about my stress.”“I am supposed to worry about it when you’re throwing up your entire day, practically shaking, and your eyes are unable to focus on one thing.” He sighed, “Is it work? Friends? Family? I can try to help-““No, it’s none of that.” You explained with groan as your head got shot through with a rough ache. You took another moment to compose yourself. “It’s all of this.”“All of this?”“Yes, this.” You replied, “I’m being vulnerable and as soon as that happens the relationship starts dying.” He wanted to scoff at that but kept it to himself.

“Pretty sure the entire point of a relationship is to be with each other through good and bad.” He explained. “Baby, it may be easy to hide anxiety from other people, but you’re dating someone who also has anxiety. It doesn’t slide that easy.”“I’m supposed to be put together though,” You rebutted, “Like- shit always goes downhill from here.”“It’s not going to with me,” He assured, “If anything, I’m glad we’re talking through this so I can help you in the future.”“You sound like my parents,” You rolled your eyes which he smiled at, “Or like a therapist. Maybe both.”

“Baby, just tell me what’s on your mind.” He pleaded, “Please?” You took a small sigh, collecting yourself for the continuous waterworks of emotions that were bound to start erupting as soon as you began your explanation.

“Just- a lot is happening right now in life and on top of the amount of worry I already have I’m worried this is going to end. They all do, every relationship has, so this one’s bound to. And it feels like I’m drowning here in constant worry and like waters in my throat and like I-“ You took a small moment to catch your shaky breath, “Like I can’t do this.”

He sat across from you on the tile bathroom floor with a look of sympathy of his face. He didn’t respond for a few seconds. You wondered if it was because he wanted to give you time and space to breathe, or if he was formulating and unsure what to say. Maybe both.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Was how he started. “What can I do to help life some of this off of you? Especially the relationship part?”“I don’t know and that’s what’s so damn frustrating.” You sighed out, still holding the now drying washcloth on your forehead and closing your eyes for a few seconds. “You do everything right already. Literally fucking perfectly. And my mind still won’t let me be convinced you’re gonna stay.”

“I know this isn’t going to help much, but I will never leave you.” He began, “Even if you don’t believe me, I just need to put it out there. And if for whatever reason, I did, I would talk to you first about why and looking at how we could fix stuff.” You sat for a few moments just staring at him. “Do you trust me?”

You nodded.

“Then know that I promise you that much. Okay?” You nodded again. “Why don’t I draw you a bath, hm?”

“Yes, please.” You said lightly, now removing the towel from your head as your lightheadedness began to slip away. “Can you join me?” You asked a moment later as he was already up, reaching over the tub and starting the water. He looked back at you with a small smile.

“Of course,” He replied.

It was not sensual or sexual, it was peaceful. You needed the skin to skin with him to feel grounded, to remind yourself that it was real, what he said was true. You knew deep down he was right: he would never leave you, and if he was thinking about it he would talk to you first. He knew too much about you and your worried and psyche to just break up with you. He knew it would hurt you, and you knew he would never hurt you.

“Happy anniversary, baby.” He whispered into your ear from where he sat behind you, your back flush against his chest. You smiled.

“Happy anniversary to you too,” You said back, grabbing one of his hands to toys with his fingers. You did this whenever you became a bit nervous as a method to calm yourself down. “This really has been the best year of my life.” You could feel the smile growing on his lips that grazed your shoulder.

“Gonna give you a lifetime of best years ever.” He told you with a level of confidence in his voice that rebutted all the conflicting anxieties stirring in your mind. You let your muscles go, all the tension relating and melting into him.

“You’re so sure about me?” You asked, craning your next a bit to make eye contact with him.

“I don’t think I’ve been more sure about anything in my life.”

[atrxides]

Jessica x Leto with the prompt "falling asleep in an uncomfortable position to be near the other"

I wrote this instead of finishing my new chapter cause it's angsty and I just want jessleto happiness🧍🏻‍♀️anyway, enjoy xoxo - atrxides

___

Jessica sighs as she places the last name card on the seating chart.

Perfect.

She has been working on finalising the seating plan for the upcoming Atreides Gala for the past few hours. Taking into consideration the attendees' personalities and advantage of allegiance before placing them and she's quite satisfied with her work.

Jessica rubs the back of her neck as she stretches back against the couch, gaze instinctually falling on the man beside her.

Leto had joined her an hour or so ago in their private study after a particularly busy day and had promptly fallen asleep twenty minutes in, though not after pestering her to stop and come to bed with him.

It wasn't that late, but he had been exerted by that point. She had shot him a look that he understood quite well, and he fell silent beside her as he observed her.

Jessica had just smiled when she heard the first snore minutes later.

Leto, still asleep, is half-sprawled on his side of the couch in what Jessica can imagine is quite an uncomfortable position. Legs hanging off the couch and neck thrown back over the arm.

She should probably save him from upcoming agony, but she can't help taking in his adorable expression, mouth hanging open slightly, allowing light snores to pass through.

Jessica knows if it was any other time in their life, he'd have curled up next to her and laid his head in her lap- Leto has always been clingy in a sleepy state- but space on her lap has significantly decreased as her stomach has swollen with their growing child.

Leto has been trying his best not to crowd her too much, aware of how uncomfortable it can be growing another human, even for a Bene Gesserit as skilled as Jesssica.

She's loved him for it, he never let his attentiveness of her waver even if it meant some physical distance.

She runs a hand over her belly as she sits up again, ready to go to bed now that she's finished.

Jessica moves to her feet and moves to the other side of the couch, she lower her hand into Leto's hair as she attempts to wake him.

"Leto." She calls softly, getting only a distant hum in return as she runs her hands through his dark curls.

"Leto, darling." She tries again, this time hearing a sleepy Jess in response as Leto slowly blinks open his eyes.

Jessica smiles down at him, hand moving from his hair to his cheek and he happily leans into it, turning to press a kiss to her palm and then to her wrist before nuzzling his cheek in her palm again like a cat.

She shakes her head fondly at his antics.

"We are going to bed before you permanently damage your spine." She remarks playfully, and Leto groans, not wanting to move.

"Come here?" He mumbles, gesturing to the tiny space next to him, and she shakes her head once more.

"Absolutely not. I am not risking pregnancy back pain on this couch whilst there is a perfectly good bed down the hall." Jessica says, tapping the tip of his nose with her finger before offering her hand to help him get up.

Leto rolls his eyes playfully and accepts her hand, groaning as he gets up, unoccupied hand moving to sooth his aching neck.

Jessica gives him a sympathetic look and the hand on his neck moves instinctually to her swollen belly as soon as he stands before her.

They share a smile as Leto smooths a hand gently over where their child grows.

Jessica moves her free hand to the back of Leto’s neck, softly applying pressure to it to relieve some of the pain she's sure is lingering there.

Leto leans forward to pace a kiss on her forehead, then to her nose, then her cheek, finally moving to her neck where he nuzzles into the skin under her ear.

Jessica doesn't stop the soft goosebumps that break out over her skin at the action, instead revelling in the warmth of his touch.

"Missed you." He murmurs into her neck before lifting his head to look at her.

Jessica uses the leverage of her hand on his neck to bring his lips to hers in a gentle kiss, both their eyes falling shut at the familiar action.

They share a few more soft kisses before Leto rests his forehead against hers, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment.

"Take me to bed." Jessica requests softly, and Leto gives her a smile and one last peck on the lips before he turns to the door, leading her by their joined hands down the hall and to their bed.

___

[dandelion-wings]

For the ask meme 💚🧡❤️ Noelle/Barbara - 🦁

Thank you for the ask! :> These prompts were a challenge to combine and the 'cuddling' one did get a little lost, but I hope you find the result satisfactory anyway. Also, I'm pretty sure you meant the lion emoji as an identifier rather than part of the prompt, but, well. XD I couldn't resist.

---

Barbara comes back to herself to find Noelle pressed against her side, one hand on her back, looking at her with soft-eyed worry. She doesn't seem disturbed at all by the blood smeared over both of them, or Barbara's undressed state; her only concern is for the slash down Barbara's arm.

"I tried to heal it," she tells Barbara as the lion-thoughts roll back and let Barbara understand her words again, "but it didn't seem to take."

"It doesn't, in that form," Barbara whispers. She's all too aware of just how *close* Noelle is pressed, even with her armor and skirts between them, and that Noelle hasn't seemed to notice doesn't make her feel any better about it. "Not until we're human again. Normally it isn't a problem, because the lioness is stronger than I am, but...."

"That's why they waited to attack you in it, wasn't it?" Noelle looks indignant now, pushing herself up to sit beside Barbara, one hand on the hilt of her claymore. Her hand, though, stays on Barbara's bare back.

"Probably. I'll have to tell my- Master Jean about it. If they go after her...."

"The Knights of Favonius won't let that happen. We'll deal with that!" Noelle's determination fades back into concern when Barbara shifts under her hand. "Right now, though, we should worry about you. Can I look?"

Barbara's first instinct is to say that she can heal herself, but--she doesn't have her Vision. She has to rely on Noelle right now. Some of her blush as she holds her arm out is that, and not her naked state.

Plenty of it is that, though. "Noelle... I don't suppose you could find where I left my clothes?"

"Certainly. And I packed extras, just in case, so we can go together. Just let me...." Noelle presses her hand over the wound, her Vision glowing, and an amber light flares beneath her palm. Barbara feels the sting of the wound fading away. Noelle beams at her. "There we go."

"Thank you," Barbara tells her, still embarrassed, and tries to sit up a bit without- without showing off *everything* to Noelle. She knows that knights don't really care, that the locker rooms serve to train prudishness out of the apprentices, but she isn't a knight, and she does care, and this is *Noelle*. Even if Noelle doesn't seem affected, which is more disappointment than relief, that it *is* a disappointment is reason enough-

When Barbara looks up, Noelle has gone pink.

She's still gripping Barbara's arm, and she's looking very carefully at Barbara's face, eyes raised as if to avoid looking any lower. It can't be the blood; Barbara knows how much is smeared across her face, and Noelle has already demonstrated that she's not squeamish. Despite her raised gaze, she's not quite meeting Barbara's eyes.

"That was everything, wasn't it?" Noelle asks. "Do you need healing anywhere else?"

Barbara swallows. "I don't think so. Noelle...."

"I should... check. To make sure," Noelle says, leaning in, and now she *is* meeting Barbara's eyes, wide-eyed and nervous and just as determined as she'd been a moment ago with her hand on her claymore.

Barbara shifts, rising a little to meet her. Their noses bump together, and Noelle squeaks, but then Barbara tilts her head and this time their lips meet properly. Noelle squeaks again, in a more pleasant register. There's something thick and heavy in Barbara's chest that she takes a moment to identify as a purr.

She's certain that she doesn't need any more healing. But she's quite happy to let Noelle double-check.

[curator-on-ao3]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you so much for tagging me, @divinemissem13! ❤️

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 127

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 660,997

3. What fandoms do you write for? Star Treks, mostly Strange New Worlds, Lower Decks, Picard, and Voyager.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Tuvok’s Secret (G): Tuvok has a secret — and he trusts only one person onboard to keep it. (Kathryn Janeway & Tuvok)

Feet on the Ground (G): Something solid slams into Kathryn’s back. She stumbles forward, bumping Mark, who in turn careens into someone else. Kathryn turns to glare at the probably inebriated party-goer who didn’t watch where they were going. But, instead, she looks up to achingly familiar dark eyes and the curves and lines of a tattoo that Kathryn spent the last eighteen months telling herself she didn’t miss. (Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway)

The Halo Effect (M): Tom Paris and Kathryn Janeway didn’t intend to fall in love. (Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris)

Fly Me to the Moon (E): Kathryn Janeway and Tom Paris never met each other years before Voyager. Never served on a covert mission together. Never fell in love. Never planned a future together. Nope, never happened. Because a secret like that could lead to some … complex dichotomies. (Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris)

Bad Ensign (T): Harry Kim finds out he missed out on an important part of the Starfleet Academy experience. Hilarity and dirty jokes ensue. (ensemble, friendship fic)

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes. If someone was kind enough to leave a comment, I’m going to thank them.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I used to not know how to answer this question, but I recently got a kudos on Honey, I’m Home and while that story definitely isn’t “sit down crying” angst, I feel like maybe it qualifies? (Though In the Doorway might also fit under that criteria? Both stories are Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris, but they only get together in one of them.)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Either Feet on the Ground or Youthful Exuberance (Some Kind of Love). Feet on the Ground has Janeway and Chakotay finding their way together after their Delta Quadrant trauma (note: Chakotay is afraid to leave the Sol system for fear of getting pulled into the Delta Quadrant again — Prodigy!Chakotay didn’t exist yet when I wrote that but, from what I’ve heard, he could possibly relate). Youthful Exuberance lets our heroes, Christopher Pike and Una Chin-Riley, have all manner of ups and downs, but the tags promise a 100 percent happy ending and I was determined to deliver.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not that I’m aware of, usually.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes. Vanilla because I find that interesting to write. (I’ll read all sorts of stuff.)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I write crossovers within the Trekverse. The two craziest allowed Tuvok and Geordi LaForge to have tea together (Asunder [T] Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris) and Shannon O’Donnell Janeway to tell Benny Russell how much his writing has meant to her (Meeting of the Minds [G] Shannon O’Donnell Janeway & Benny Russell, Kathryn Janeway & Benjamin Sisko).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Other than by ChatGPT, not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes, In the Doorway was translated into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, and am doing so again.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? NCC 1701

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? There’s one I technically finished about Tom Paris and Owen Paris in the aftermath of Owen’s beta canon torture by the Cardassians. But it’s really dark and I don’t know if I’ll ever edit or post it.

16. What are your writing strengths? Adaptability (to prompts), brevity, details.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I’m having trouble lately with voice and lack of vocabulary variety.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? If necessary, a beta fluent in the language can be very helpful.

19. First fandom you wrote for? I consider that to be Voyager, but recently reflected on an even earlier fandom for me.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? My most recent fic always holds a place in my heart, so Disarmed (Mirror Una Chin-Riley/Mirror Christopher Pike) is special to me, and also was an interesting mental stretch because I’d never before written sex that the characters think is good but I think isn’t good. But my all-time favorite? Youthful Exuberance (Some Kind of Love). It’s my novel length love letter to Chris and Una, and it means a lot to me.

Tagging: Tumblr has been doing this fun thing lately where I don’t see posts from people I follow. So, if you actually see this, please consider yourself tagged with no pressure. Also, in addition to the wonderful people tagged by @divinemissem13, I’m tagging @grissomesque @fiadorable @emilie786 @genius2mania @lorcaswhisky @enterprise-come-in @marymoss1971 @sun-lit-roses @kejsarinna @iamstartraveller776 @isagrimorie @emonydeborah and the fantastic folks I’m not thinking of right now because I have tag anxiety.

[savebatsfromscratch]

No.15 Can’t Keep a Bog Burglar Under Bars and Bark

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50863048

Words: 1,096

Cws: Being trapped, helplessness.

Notes: I tried to write it a bit like the books. :3 Camicazi is a really fun character to write.

Prompt: No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.” Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

Camicazi stretched her arms out to either side of the hollow tree, fighting that first sting of fear that came with finding herself trapped somewhere. Far above her, the door to the tree trunk prison slammed shut, cutting off the Berserker’s unpleasant laughter right as it started. But though she knew that that meant she probably couldn’t be heard by them, she screamed insults anyway.

“Come back here and fight like GIRLS you ugly tear jerking Gronkle necks!” She had to admit that her insult game wasn’t what it normally was, but it made her feel better, so she kept at it, “I’ve met HOOLIGANS with better prisons than this, you chain covered poor excuses for warriors! What is this, the Isles of the PEACABLES?! I’m almost GLAd you threw me in here, it’s going to be so easy to get out you’ll be THANKING me for helping you find the flaws you- You…”

Suddenly, Camicazi became rather aware that the only other sound in her tree prison was the echoes of her own screams, and she faltered, a brief spike of doubt piercing her heart as she tried to peer nervously through the darkness. She was, of course, unable to do so, but she tried not to let it get her down. She tried really, really hard.

…But her efforts weren’t nearly as effective as she told herself they were, and the second time she started up her insults, it was clear even to her that they were pretty half hearted.

“Oh~,” She sang, feeling along the unrelenting walls as if she would find any flaws in their construction, “If you boys knew the tricks a girl can think up to get out of your jails, you’d be pretty embarrassed I’d say,”

She attempted to climb the smooth walls without her climbing boots, but only managed to get a few feet before sliding back to the slimy ground, landing with a very un Bog Burglar like grunt. She hopped right back up to her feet, continuing her sing songy teasing, even though she was struggling to fight an encroaching darkness on her mind.

She had been searching for a way out for several minutes now, and she hadn’t even found a singular flaw to exploit. Usually it only took her a few minutes to get out of a cell, so, though she hated to admit it, this was getting scary.

The last time she’d been in such a secure prison, she’d actually needed someone’s help to get out, maybe she couldn’t- No. She refused to admit it. She was a Bog Burglar! The most slippery of all the slippery tribes in the Barbaric Archipelago! (And she was even more slippery than most… or so she liked to think.) No, of course she didn’t need help! She could do this all by herself, just as she always had before.

…But it probably wouldn’t have hurt to have Hiccup with her right then.

Cammicazi stopped her taunting.

“What am I thinking?” she muttered, angrily wiping away some annoying little tears that had threatened to fall from her eyes, “I’m the daughter of the CHIEF, I don’t need some… some boy to come and save me! I can get out of here myself!”

With renewed vigor, she scrambled up the wall again, digging her nails into the tough wood until she lost her grip and tumbled back down to the rotting floor. No matter, she could try again!

She took a higher leap this time, actually running up the wall for the first several feet, and then carrying that momentum into her climb as she went back to scrambling. This was fairly effective, and she managed to get her thin fingers around a small ledge after a decent distance traveled. She hugged the wall as she caught her breath.

In the darkness of the tree, she could not see how far she had climbed, but the optimistic part of her brain did a happy little flip at the idea that she might be near the door she had been thrown in through. (Ha! She would like to have seen those Berzerkers pull off THAT little trick!)

However, her optimistic side did not seem to be right. Or, at least, whatever door there had been up there seemed inaccessible to her now as she reached the top of the hollowed out prison. In a panic, Camicazi reached a shaking arm out from her safe hold, trying and failing to reach the other side of the tree in the weak idea that it might be close enough for her to investigate by touch. 

How was that possible?! The door just… wasn’t there.

She reached back to the side of the wall, feeling her hold slipping from her shaking hands but unwilling to give up her search that easily. She felt along the hollowed out woods, feeling for any semblance of a crack that might suggest an opening for a door. Panicked, she traced her hands over lumps in the wood, the scratching skins of spiders that must have once been alive, and so much else, but a keyhole or an outline to a door was nowhere to be found.

And, of course, that was when her fingers finally gave out, throwing her through the musty air until she hit the ground with a painful crash. Camicazi fought back a sob, she knew she was lucky that she hadn’t severely hurt herself in the fall, but she couldn’t help but feel unlucky overall.

How could it be that this prison was getting the best of her? She was CAMICAZI! Master escape artist and heir to the Bog Burglar throne! She couldn’t let some stupid tree make her lose her touch! There had to be a way out! There wasn’t a way to make a prison that was totally unescapable without killing her to get her there! After all, she had gotten out of the Roman fort, why couldn’t she get out of here?!

In the whirlwind of emotions that she was feeling, she did her best to lose the small voice that reminded her of exactly how “well” her attempts at escaping the Romans had worked. She didn’t need that right now. She didn’t need to think about the clear and obvious fact that she had already long missed her chance to escape.

As far as she knew, she was never getting out, not without help, not without Hiccup.

She grit her teeth, sat up, and squared her shoulders. Even though that was true, it didn’t mean she couldn’t stop trying.

[ladyhoneydee]

30 Day Song(fic) Challenge: Day 7

It's past 12am as I write this, but I finished the fic before midnight, so the clock can fight me!

Today's Song(fic) Challenge prompt was "a song that hits harder live". Despite having attended two concerts at this point in my life, I am skewing the prompt to mean any live version. And so that brings me to the One World: Together At Home live version of Hozier's "Work Song", which I love more than the studio version and has lived rent free in my mind since 2020 because of the way he sings the line "I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me". Amen, sir.

across the void (i'll crawl home to her)

Game: Breath of the Wild

Pairing: Zelink

Word Count: 684

Keywords: yearning, atmospheric, literally undying love

He’s not supposed to remember the love that sent him to his grave. And yet the muscle memory of a love stronger than the black hole of death sends him staggering out of the place he was reborn, toward the light. Toward her. 

Read the fic on Ao3, or under the cut!

Fluid sloshes against the walls of a tank and spills over the side, droplets pattering on the uneven stone beneath as gravity calls them down with a siren song. The form within the tank twists beneath viscous blue liquid. He isn’t meant to wake yet, but his sleep has grown more and more restless over the near-century. 

It hurts her heart to see him, the gashes on his body carved in her service filling in with scar tissue rather than flawless new skin, and the gaping death maw of his chest only superficially plugging over, and so she’s kept her gaze far away, only glancing back every few decades. It’s sick, probably, sadistic, but it’s easier to watch the carnage in the fields than her lover in the vat. Her responsibility for both pains is the same, but the clean blood of an unknown has an easier flavor on the tongue.

His spine arches, and for the briefest of moments, his belly breaks the surface tension of the water. It’s the first time a single inch of his skin has been touched by air in a human lifetime. Though he still sleeps, goosebumps erupt over his entire body. Whether from the chill of the cave air, or from anticipation, no one can say.

He’s not supposed to remember the love that sent him to his grave when he wakes. She tells herself it’s better this way. Better a clean slate than a shattered one.

His consciousness is a dark, shifting green; lake weed in twilit water. It twines ever closer around her ankles as the years pass. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine. 

One hundred.

He’s not ready. He’s not fully healed yet. What he’s lost has yet to be restored.

No. She’s not ready.

He wants to wake. Courage or recklessness; it matters not which guides the seeking thread of his awareness. It’s his choice. She sighs, and calls to him across the void. 

Perhaps in another world, the liquid that preserved and revitalized his flesh would drain away slowly, and he would rest on the plinth until his eyes have adjusted to even the bare ambient lighting of the cave, and then swing his bare feet to reach the floor and walk out of this womb of the earth under his own, sure-footed power.

In this world, he thrashes bodily out of the liquid before it’s halfway gone. He lands on his side on the stone with a wet, meaty slap, amniotic fluid starbursting around his form. Before his eyes even open, he’s lurching to his feet, and then crumpling down again, fawn-legs too unsteady to hold even his atrophied frame. 

Eyes shoot open. They glow spirit-blue in the dark. She doesn’t want to watch. She can’t look away.

He cannot walk, and so he crawls across the stone floor for the door. She tells him of the Sheikah Slate, and he takes it unquestioningly even as no recognition sparks in that luminescent gaze.

There’s an urgency to his motions that she can’t explain, regardless of the goddess’s knowledge running in the gold of her veins. She shouldn’t be so happy to see it. She should be simply pleased that he’s out there moving at all. She should be horrified that his exit from death’s parlor has left him as changed as her own. She should pity him for the mission set on his shoulders. 

Or is it?

Because…no one has told him yet of the person he was, of the life he lived and lost. No one has asked or commanded his fealty to the land they both used to call home. As of this moment, he is free. And yet he half-trips, half-runs from the mouth of the cave, as if following a siren song of his own. 

If her lips hadn’t calcified a lifetime ago, she might have smiled. 

He’s not supposed to remember the love that sent him to his grave. And yet the muscle memory of a love stronger than the black hole of death sends him staggering out of the place he was reborn, toward the light.

Toward her. 

[minhosbitterriver]

🎇 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 ( stray kids )

❛ You and your lover, Changbin, explore the depths of your relationship through an intimate art session, where Changbin’s skin becomes your canvas for emotional expression.

𝐬𝐞𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 + g. neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ) 2.8k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was requested a while ago by my beloved mootie, Merin! It was such a sweet prompt, honestly, and I am really happy with how it came out. Requests are currently open! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, Established relationship, Y/N is afraid of initiating any kind of intimacy, I would consider this to be vague smut — maybe it should be labeled as suggestive? Probably not actually, romantic sex, making a mess with wet paint during sex, descriptions of anxiety, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

“You have to turn around or I won’t do it,” you huff with feigned annoyance, a thin veil over your mounting anxiety. The words come out sharper than intended, a desperate attempt to mask the tremor in your voice. Changbin pouts, his lower lip jutting out in a way that’s both endearing and maddening, but he complies, turning his back to you. The playful pout is a façade, a small rebellion against the uncertainty that lingers in the air between you.

He had asked you to use him as a canvas, an unusual request that was meant to surprise and unsettle you. The idea was simple in theory but fraught with emotional complexity. During your free time, painting was your solace, a means to escape into a world where you could create beauty out of nothing. You were accustomed to painting on your own skin, using it as a blank slate for your artistic expression. But this situation was different. Changbin, your lover, was not just a body; he was a living, breathing embodiment of your deepest feelings and insecurities. His presence was electric, a constant reminder of the power he wielded over you with the slightest glance or touch.

The mere thought of painting Changbin was both thrilling and terrifying. His skin, normally the subject of your artistic fantasies, now became the canvas upon which your emotions would be laid bare. Each brushstroke would be an intimate declaration, a blend of color and sensation that went beyond mere artistry. The stakes felt incredibly high, and the vulnerability you felt was almost overwhelming. It wasn't just about the painting; it was about the raw, unspoken exchange of trust and affection that came with it. As you prepared your paints and brushes, the flutter in your chest spoke louder than words, a testament to the profound impact Changbin had on your life.

Eventually, all of your painting supplies were meticulously arranged, a testament to your preparation and anticipation. The array of colors and brushes, each placed with care, awaits the moment when they will come to life. Despite Changbin’s back being turned to you, despite the full control you have over this artistic endeavor, and despite the gentle, tender nature that defines him, an inescapable fear grips you tightly. It’s a fear that seems to rise with each breath you take, a curse that has followed you through the months of your relationship, even after four years of friendship.

You still find it nearly impossible to initiate any form of intimacy, a struggle that feels like a heavy weight on your heart. Changbin, ever perceptive and understanding, is acutely aware of your struggle. You can't help but wonder if this request to be your canvas was his way of gently nudging you past your barriers, a subtle invitation to confront your fears. The sight of his toned, bare back, illuminated by the golden sunlight streaming through your windows, is almost too breathtaking to bear. The natural light caresses his skin, highlighting the contours and making him look like a living masterpiece.

You reach for the paintbrush with a hesitant hand, your fingers trembling despite your best efforts to steady them. Each brushstroke will be a step toward bridging the gap between your fears and your desires. The internal turmoil roiling within you feels almost insurmountable, yet Changbin remains a pillar of patience and quiet support. His silence is filled with anticipation, a silent encouragement that heightens the intensity of the moment. As you begin, his breath hitches, a subtle reminder of the vulnerability and trust that this act of painting symbolizes.

“Don’t think, love,” Changbin murmurs softly, his voice a gentle whisper that seems to float in the space between you. There is a delicate fear in his tone, as if the very act of raising his voice might shatter the fragile bubble of intimacy you both are nestled within. His words are meant to soothe, to gently guide you through the swirling maelstrom of anxiety that threatens to engulf you. “Let your hand decide what to do first, like it does with every other painting.”

His encouragement is tender, a quiet plea for you to relinquish the hold of overthinking and simply trust in your own instincts. The way he addresses you, with such care and understanding, reveals his deep awareness of your inner struggle. The idea of allowing your hand to move freely, unburdened by conscious thought, is both comforting and daunting. It’s a call to embrace the organic flow of creativity, to let your artistic instincts take the lead just as they do with every other canvas.

In his gentle insistence, there is an underlying promise of safety and acceptance, a reassurance that you are not alone in this moment. His soft voice, laden with affection, is a beacon that guides you through your hesitation, offering a pathway to overcome the fear that clutches at your heart. As you absorb his words, you feel a shift within, a subtle easing of the tension as you prepare to let your hands move with the grace and freedom that Changbin so patiently encourages.

You exhale shakily, a soft, uneven breath escaping your lips as you close your eyes for a fleeting moment. The brief respite is a small sanctuary from the storm of emotions raging within you. With a deep, albeit hesitant, breath, you allow the brush to make its tentative contact with his back. The sensation is both thrilling and disconcerting, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you’re trying to navigate.

Your heart pounds erratically, lodged firmly in your throat, as if each beat is a protest against the simplicity of the act. The sensation of the brush against his skin is strangely overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel a touch of absurdity at the intensity of your reaction. The thought strikes you with a sting: why should something so seemingly simple provoke such a profound response?

You frown at the self-criticism, a mix of frustration and self-doubt clouding your thoughts. The very act that should be a natural extension of your creativity now feels like an insurmountable barrier. You remain frozen in place, the brush hovering delicately against his back, your mind tangled in a web of conflicting emotions and the weight of your own insecurities.

“First contact, good,” Changbin says softly, his voice filled with genuine warmth and encouragement. His praise, though directed at the simplest of actions, carries a weight of sincerity that pierces through your anxieties. The way he acknowledges your effort with such kindness and appreciation makes your heart swell with a mix of emotions.

Each word of praise from him feels like a tender caress, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. It’s as if his approval alone has the power to lift the heaviness from your shoulders. Yet, amidst the comfort of his support, a pang of sorrow tugs at your heart. You can’t help but feel that Changbin, with his unwavering patience and boundless kindness, is deserving of so much more than you can offer.

The realization settles heavily within you: he is too good, too pure, and his affection for you only highlights the depth of your own insecurities. The disparity between his gentle, unselfish nature and your own self-doubt feels almost unbearable. As you grapple with the bittersweet ache of his praise, the profound sense of his worth and the feeling of inadequacy intertwine, leaving you with a lingering ache for him and the love you fear you might not fully deserve.

“I can’t do this,” you sniff, your voice trembling as you pull the brush away from his back. The words are more a cry of frustration than a simple admission of difficulty. Your hands feel unsteady, and the weight of your own insecurities feels almost too much to bear in this moment of vulnerability.

Changbin remains motionless, his presence a steady, reassuring anchor in the midst of your turmoil. Despite your agitation, he does not waver. His voice cuts through your self-doubt with a calm and unwavering reassurance. “You did good, love, you made the first contact — now keep going.”

His encouragement is gentle, yet insistent, a soft nudge to continue despite the internal resistance that threatens to pull you away. The words carry an undercurrent of faith and support, a reminder that progress has been made and that there is a path forward. Changbin’s steadiness provides a counterbalance to the storm of emotions within you, his calm demeanor a beacon of hope as you grapple with the feeling of inadequacy. His trust in your abilities and his unwavering patience offer a precious glimmer of confidence, urging you to overcome the hesitation and embrace the next step.

You found yourself caught between two conflicting desires: the longing to touch him, to feel the warmth and softness of his skin beneath your fingertips, and the impulse to abandon the entire exercise in a wave of self-doubt. It was a precarious balance, and every moment felt fraught with the tension of your inner struggle. Yet, it was Changbin’s gentle, affirming praise that kept you tethered, a constant reassurance that dispelled the doubts threatening to hold you back. His words, tender and encouraging, provided a steady anchor amidst the churning sea of your uncertainties.

Changbin’s beauty, so striking and profound, seemed almost overwhelming in its intensity. The sight of him, so effortlessly captivating, made it difficult to process your own emotions. The paintbrush in your hand danced across his back with a new fervor, as if guided by an unseen force. The vibrant hues of oranges and yellows spilled across his skin, transforming his usually plain canvas into a vibrant display of color and emotion. The image you painted was a burst of fireworks, a visual symphony meant to capture the depth of the feelings he stirred within you.

Occasionally, your free hand would find its way to his back, a tentative gesture that spoke volumes more than words could. It was a gesture of closeness and reassurance, a small but significant effort to bridge the gap between your hesitations and his unwavering support. Each touch was a deliberate step towards overcoming your fears for his sake. As you put the final touches on the painting, a sense of accomplishment washed over you. The work, now complete, was a testament to the emotions Changbin had evoked and a reflection of the journey you had navigated together.

After admiring and praising your work through the bathroom mirror, Changbin returned to kneel before you, a look of dazed contentment lingering in his eyes. The intimate moment you’d shared while painting him had left an imprint on him, and it was evident in the softened, reverent way he now regarded you. His voice, barely more than a murmur, was tinged with a gentle, almost reverential tone as he took your hands in his and requested you to touch his face.

The intensity of his gaze was nearly too much to bear, a silent plea that seemed to pierce through your defenses. You almost refused, the weight of his unspoken emotions making it difficult to act. In a bid to soften the moment and manage your own trepidation, you asked him to close his eyes. His response was immediate and graceful, a serene smile playing at the corners of his lips as he complied with your request.

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted them to cup his face, the act both intimate and nerve-wracking. The contact was met with an immediate reaction — a shiver that coursed through his body, a physical manifestation of the deep emotional connection that had been kindled between you. The sensation of his warm skin under your trembling fingers was both grounding and electrifying, a testament to the vulnerability and trust that had been shared in this quiet, tender moment.

The shoulders were your next focus, and your fingertips traced their contours with a delicate touch, as light as a feather. Each movement was deliberate, a gentle exploration that sent ripples of sensation across Changbin's skin. You watched intently as goosebumps emerged, spreading across his body in response to your touch. Despite the palpable reaction, his eyes remained closed, a gesture of trust that deepened the intimacy of the moment.

Changbin's hands rested calmly on his knees as he continued to kneel before you, his posture a silent testament to his patience and willingness. He didn’t shift or flinch, his stillness adding to the weight of the moment. It was an experience that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a profound blend of emotions that left you on edge and in awe.

As you allowed your hands to move freely, a newfound sense of power and connection emerged. You ventured across his chest, tracing the ridges of his biceps and the smooth planes of his belly. Each touch was a discovery, a chance to map the landscape of his body and to feel the subtle changes in his breathing and muscle tension. The freedom to explore his skin, to feel the warmth and texture under your hands, was both a privilege and a revelation, marking a deepening of the bond you shared.

Eventually, a surge of bravery propelled you forward, and you allowed your lips to gently meet his. The contact was electric, an immediate and fervent exchange as he responded to your kiss with equal passion. Changbin sighed contentedly into your mouth, his lips moving with a depth and intensity that mirrored the emotions swirling between you. You surrendered to the warmth and connection of the moment, letting him lead the kiss as you immerse yourself in the shared intimacy.

As the kiss deepened, the atmosphere shifted, and soon the two of you found yourselves on the ground. The transition was both spontaneous and fluid, a natural progression of the intimate exchange that had begun with your kiss. In the heat of the moment, your hands, which had once traced delicate patterns on his back, now inadvertently smeared the artwork you had so carefully created. The paint, which had once been a canvas of emotions, was now spread across both your bodies.

Your hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of his skin, while he moved with a rhythm that was both euphoric and synchronistic. The paint became an unwitting participant in your passion, staining your bodies as you both lost yourselves in the ecstasy of the experience. The ground beneath you was forgotten, replaced by the intense connection and shared vulnerability that defined the moment.

His rhythmic movements were a symphony of whispered confessions of love, each tender murmur sending your mind drifting away on a cloud of pure pleasure. The combination of his words and actions created an overwhelming yet exhilarating sensation that filled every corner of your consciousness. Each whisper was a thread weaving into the fabric of your shared ecstasy, intensifying the connection between you.

The melodies of your intertwined breaths and muted moans became the only sounds that reverberated through your apartment, a private concert of intimacy and passion. The room was enveloped in the hushed symphony of your bodies moving together, a melody of love and desire that seemed to echo off the walls.

A thin layer of sweat formed a glistening sheen on both of your skins, the evidence of your fervent connection. The last rays of the setting sun cast a warm, fading light that mingled with the dimming hues of night, creating a soft glow that highlighted the tender vulnerability of the moment. As the daylight surrendered to the encroaching darkness, the scene became a portrait of intimate beauty, a snapshot of a night filled with profound emotional and physical connection.

It was no surprise when you both reached the pinnacle of your shared experience simultaneously. The strained, almost primal sounds that escaped you both were a testament to the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure that enveloped you. The intensity of the moment was almost too much to bear, a crescendo of sensation and emotion that left you breathless.

Amidst the euphoria, the purity of the love you had just shared became palpable, stirring emotions so deep that tears began to roll down your cheeks. Each tear was a manifestation of the profound connection and overwhelming affection you felt for him. Your heart ached with a fierce love, and you found yourself wanting to express it with every fiber of your being.

He responded to your silent confession with words of his own, his voice tender and filled with sincerity. As he kissed away each tear that stained your cheeks, his eyes held a softness that you had never seen before, a gentle radiance that spoke of the depth of his feelings. A tender smile curved at his lips, amplifying the beauty of the moment. His presence was nothing short of devastatingly beautiful, and in that intimate, vulnerable space, you felt a profound sense of gratitude and disbelief at your fortune. To have a lover so deeply attuned to you, so wonderfully perfect in your eyes, was a gift you could scarcely believe you had received.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

[heyriceball]

My thoughts on a peer's sobriety

“I don’t know why you need to shit on everything I like, maybe you just do it because you're insecure. When everything you like is the stupidest shit.”

This isn’t an exact quote. I’m paraphrasing here, of course. 

With the way my brain is organized I struggle to find the exact words or exact phrases someone said to me with any kind of accuracy. But I still understand what they meant. At least, I think I do.

That is to say, when I heard these words, and reflected on what I had said to prompt them, my immediate reaction was one of trepidation and resignation.

I needed to think, to ponder, as I always do when I am told something like this.

I know I can be overly critical, indeed I can be a harsher critic than even I could personally handle. This is probably something that I need to work on, especially if I am to be the kind of person I aspire to be. A person of kindness and compassion.

I had been asked to read a passage of prose written by someone who had recently given up alcohol for one year. The person in question was a dear friend to my partner, who had been the one to show me the post and she asked me my genuine thoughts on it. Of course, being so literal minded I pored over the text and immediately shared my thoughts.

It was a good message, one of personal vindication and self improvement, however one that I found to be self indulgent and quite honestly shallow, especially for the flowery language and judgemental tone. My thoughts were too nuanced to state in person and came across as crass and rude. So here I try to elucidate them.

Here is a man who has found the health benefits of abstinence and was excited to write about them in a self congratulatory way. Read in a certain way you could say he was looking down upon the plebian caste, demonizing the dark spirit of Al Ghul. Without further examination of the effects and reasons for a widespread substance problem within the general populace. Bereft of explanation or reference to the sociological and political influences that have caused such a dependance on depressant addiction within society. Ironically enough the text even makes mention of the traditional and homemade spirits found with steppe society (of which he even partook in the consumption of during this year of sobriety), which have major cultural roles for peoples within what I consider my home region of the world.

Deriding obese individuals in their middle age for having beer guts and blaming men for drinking alcohol to escape consequences of enacting sexual assault, I cant help but conjure a strange feeling that this is a man who believes that he is above the vice of alcohol and above the actions of fellow human beings. A message is being alluded to, that those who partake in drinking are doing so in a way that lessens themselves.

I feel it is a little bit misguided, even if it is honest and sincere, even if this malice I am projecting is but a reflection of his own relationship with alcohol or even my relationship with the thoughts of others.

With that being said; there is no harm in the exercise of writing these words.

As even the author prefaces the text with a note. He states, in quite a self aware way, that this writing was for himself, that if someone else can find enjoyment out of it then that is only an added bonus. Something within the words resonated with me deeply.

What I saw as a clumsy mess of unfocused intent and flowery prose was nonetheless inspiring.

By the way he so readily understood what he was writing for and how the language he used, in its meandering and ponderous tone, was primarily an exercise in personal satisfaction. 

Projectile vomited onto a page were numerous scenarios, memories of happiness, all with the throughline about how they were framed by sobriety. Unlike an exercise in satisfying the needs of a client or the sensibilities of an audience. The experience of creating something so personal, of reflecting oneself onto the page, must have carried an ambrosial quality. 

I was inspired in such a way that I seek to replicate it here, for my own satisfaction. 

Perhaps to create something meaningful is to create something that inevitably becomes problematic, in some shape or form. The only solution is to create nothing at all. 

And that is not a solution I can  live with.

I’m sure kindred spirits feel the same, and all throughout reading this passage I felt a deep connection with who the author was as a person, divorced from the ways I saw him before.

The intent of art

The quality of art

The effect of art

These things can be aligned but they can also be beautifully distinct from one another in such an impactful way. I walk away from the words that I read with a renewed interest in the role of art and how it shapes the world and is shaped by it. Like a portrait can be a mirror it can also reflect what we see in ourselves and others. In this way I want to thank the author, but I know I wouldn't be able to with the words coming out of my mouth, nor do I think I even should try to. 

His words were for himself, and nothing more need be said by me.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Delicacies of Time

Chapter 38: Before Trouble

She didn't argue with his non-answer answer. Merely sighed, scooted closer to him on the cot so she could lace her fingers with his own, and then laid her head on his shoulder.

Perfection. If they could get married right here and now, just like this, he'd be happy. But he wasn't entirely sure that she would. The idea of a marriage ceremony was something he looked down at, a natural reaction, he figured, to living as long as he had. He'd seen women and men spend everything that they had on lavish, grand ceremonies that were over in ten minutes, all for the couple to start screaming at each other within hours of their wedding night. It seemed like a waste.

There had, of course, been a time that he found the act of marrying by a well, the simple tradition his village had, to be quite nice. No money to spend, no lavishes to spare, just a holy man and two kids in love declaring it to the entire town. It was simple and lovely, though the fact that he'd done it once with Milah and how that had ended left him scarred by the idea of doing that again. Besides, their only "town well" was in the middle of nowhere. Which might work well for him, but for her…

Belle adjusted beside him, as if her body knew what she was thinking and wanted to remind him that she had a say too. Her Kingdom had different wedding traditions. And her status meant that she'd not only been well aware of those traditions but probably planned for them her entire life, even if she'd told the reporter that she hadn't. Why was it only just now dawning on him that he'd never asked her what she wanted out of a wedding? Why hadn't this been something they'd discussed the night they decided to get married?

He opened his mouth to ask her what she had in mind, but suddenly every muscle in Belle's body became tense, and he felt her head leave the place it had been resting on his shoulder as she leaned forward.

"Belle?" he asked, opening his eyes and looking over to find her staring at the table in front of them.

"Your books," she muttered quietly as if some crime had been committed. "The books we keep in the basement…they were here yesterday, but now they're-"

"Safely back in the basement where they belong," he assured her quickly doing his best to keep from laughing as she processed his words and then leaned back into him with a sigh of relief.

Of course, to a librarian, missing or out-of-place books would be a crime. Though it did his heart good to see that she hadn't brought anything out of that basement without recognizing the importance and potentially even the danger associated with that choice. He knew he could trust her with his secrets.

"Though I am curious how they ended up here…and why the shop seems to have been cleaned and reorganized in my absence…" he prompted.

He wasn't dying from curiosity to know everything that had happened while he'd been in the Underworld and under Zelena's thumb, he wasn't sure he was ready to hear about her adventures with Baelfire. But he was curious about the status quo, about whether or not Eurydice and Orpheus had delivered the hat to Jefferson, why his books were here, why things in the front of the shop seemed out of place.

"I had to figure out what was happening," she explained. "You left me no choice when you told me what she was after from you. Regina left books from our world for me in my library, but without my memories, I didn't know they were there. And no one would let me go home because they didn't want me to be alone with Zelena on the loose, so I had to bring you to me in the only way I knew how. I brought the books here.

"Last night was the first time I'd been home in a week! Showers at the apartment, meals at Granny's…everything else I've done has been here: sleeping, researching, and reading. Some days I needed to keep my hands busy, and you weren't here, so I cleaned, and I figured the books-"

It was hard to say what had come over him that forced him to turn her head and kiss her again mid-story. Only that, as she'd been rambling on as if trying to give excuses that made what she'd done "okay," he'd felt suddenly overwhelmed with emotion; emotion and gratitude. While all he'd known was a small cell, all she'd known was a cage of her own. She'd used every advantage she had in her arsenal while he'd been doing the same. And somehow, even though it saddened him how they'd both been alone, that cage felt a lot less lonely.

Perhaps they were more alike than even he realized.

"They were safe here with you," he assured her. "I trust you."

Before he could respond, he leaned forward again and captured her lips. He held her closer as he let their limbs tangle together and moved his hand lower so he could put it under her sweater because...fuck it! After the year they'd had, if they wanted to spend their time in the back room making love or feeling each other up like a couple of teenagers, then by all means-

The shrill sound of a cell phone ringing made her jump from his hands and twist around to find her bag before he could get his hand below her waist. He tried to stop her, not because he feared what was on the other end but genuinely because he wanted to continue.

And because he feared what might be at the other end.

"If that's someone calling to say there's a problem, ignore it," he insisted.

"I wish I could," she sighed.

He bit his tongue, reminding himself that her heroic and selfless nature was something he loved whether or not they were in the middle of a seduction. Though he did wish that she could prioritize a little better. Or maybe just learn to say "no."

"It's not trouble!" she assured him with a smile, staring down at the phone. Obviously it wasn't a caller, only a message from someone. "Mary Margaret was released from the hospital this morning. They're having a coronation ceremony at the diner, to tell us the baby's name," she added as if he didn't know what that was. "David asked for you to be there."

The shock of that was like having a bucket of cold water tossed over his head.

David asked for him to be there? Him, personally? Not just an invitation for Belle because she was part of their little heroic team now…but him as well? The man who had fought at the side of the witch.

Belle turned the phone over to him so that he could see the message from Ruby himself, bearing that final line that David wanted Gold there.

That was…interesting, to say the least. Was there a reason they'd asked for him? Had they discovered Zelena was missing and wanted to question him? There was a second child involved in their life now, did they need legal advice or papers filed? Or were they just trying to be polite? Probably the latter, but still…

"I suppose we could go for an early dinner," he suggested. Of course, he wanted nothing more than to take her home and have her all to himself so he could give her the ring in his pocket, among other things, but going for dinner would at least take care of one necessity before getting them home for the "among other things" part.

"I want to go," Belle stated simply, freeing him from being the one that made the decision. He nodded, and she kissed him again before they scrambled off the cot and she looked down at her bag…and stopped. She considered it again, just as she had this morning before they left the house, which told him all he needed to know about what she was thinking before she said it.

"Leave it here if it makes you uncomfortable. I'll only be for a while."

"Out in the open like-"

"Belle…" he sighed. Were they going to go through this every time they went somewhere? "Belle, the shop, much like the house and your library, is protected," he promised, grabbing the bag for her and placing it in a lower cabinet, out of sight, out of mind. And hopefully, in the future, it would help her to realize that she could hide it with him without being suspicious that it wasn't the real one.

"It'll be fine," he promised, before pulling her closer and kissing her one more time, and leading her out the door for Granny's. She followed where he led, but he felt like he could feel her tension over that which was left behind. He hoped this was just temporary, just as much as it would linger. If she felt this way about it now, then he expected that in a week or so, when it came time to switch the pair of them, then she'd be all too willing to do as he suggested and hide it. But he hoped that this wasn't the eternal response to being out and about without the dagger, then-

He stopped dead.

Belle let out a squeal at the unexpected halting of motion, but he didn't pay it any attention because he was busy. His mind, body, and every sense he had was suddenly tuned to…magic.

They weren't at Granny's quite yet, but he felt it. It tingled at his skin and made the back of his neck itch. Powerful magic, maybe even more powerful than the curse that brought them here, was in use right this moment but…where…what…

He twisted around, looking this way and that, trying to identify it. But there was no signature to it that he could recognize.

"Rumple? What's wrong?" he heard Belle question as he kept looking.

"Magic…" he said as his only explanation. He should send her along. If he couldn't identify it, then it was dangerous, and he didn't want Belle out in the open. She should go to the diner to hide and warn whoever was-

"There!"

Suddenly Belle pointed up into the sky behind them. A beam of bright orange light that he'd only seen once before was stretched into the sky like a spotlight. He'd seen that color of magic once before, and though he'd never smelled this kind of magic before, he knew that when magic was at its full potential, it could feel and taste and even smell differently than when it was only brewing, but the dregs of it were there. Impossible…

"What is that?!" Belle questioned beside him.

It was new. Something that had never been done before. Something that shouldn't be possible. An impossibility made real…

"Trouble."

[thebluewritingbench]

if you’re still taking prompts, can you do happiness #1?

Before we launch into 6b next week, here's a small fantasy of a scene that I wish the cw would give us. Happiness #1 from this prompt list again.

“I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

“Alex calls it The Honesty Policy.”

Lena takes the mug of hot chocolate Kara offers, cradling it between her hands. “The Honesty Policy?” she asks, as Kara sits down on the couch beside her.

“I imagine Kelly probably fed it to her,” Kara says. “But she was helping me try to figure out how we could get ourselves… well, back to normal, after everything, and she was really insistent that this one was worth a try.”

“What is it?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. No more secrets,” Kara says, tapping her own collarbone, then fixing her gaze pointedly on Lena. “No more lying. We tell each other things. We’re honest. We trust each other with our secrets.”

Lena nods, looking down into her mug of hot chocolate. The dim lights of Kara’s loft glow orange across her cheekbones, and in the silence, the sounds of late-night passing cars rumble up from the street below. It’s the first time they’ve really spent time truly alone together since… well everything.

There’s still a lot of awkwardness between them; turns out secrets and betrayal and double-crossing—and the fact that forgiveness was barely hatching between them when Kara was banished to the phantom zone—will do that to a friendship. There was the initial hug, of course, after Kara was rescued, when Lena wrapped her arms around Kara and buried her face in Kara’s neck and held her so tightly that Kara was certain she’d never let go, her breath coming in ragged gasps and her whole body quivering. It was somewhat surreal, the warm shock of having Lena in her arms after so many months, her hair against Kara’s cheek, the muted scent of her shampoo. They’d sank to the floor, still holding each as the ship creaked around them, and stayed there for god knows how long in each other arms.

But since then, since that initial wordless embrace that felt as much like coming home as anything, they haven’t known what to say to each other. They work together easily enough, the animosity between Supergirl and Lena finally gone, but it’s more difficult when they’re just Kara and Lena. They’ve forgiven each other, Kara thinks. Or at least agreed to forgive each other, even if there’s still work to be done. But it’s weird. It’s not like they can snap straight back into how things were before.

Hence The Honesty Policy.

“Okay,” Lena says finally. “Yes. No more secrets. A clean start.”

A clean start. It’s what they need, after an entire friendship where one or the other of them has been hiding things. For the first time, everything between them will be out in the open. Nothing left to hide.

It’s oddly freeing.

Kara takes a sip of her hot chocolate. “So, where do we start?”

“Start?”

“I think we should have just an honest conversation. I don’t want this to be awkward anymore, I want to be able to talk to you like we used to. So, in the interest of honesty, tell me something you’ve never told me before. It doesn’t have to be big—” she adds hurriedly, when Lena’s eyes widen in alarm. “Something small. Something tiny you’ve never had reason to tell me.”

Lena nods slowly, thinking. “In the interest of honesty…” she starts. “In the interest of honesty, I… I really think that those bangs were a mistake.”

Kara makes a noise of offended disbelief in the back of her throat. “I—Rude!”

“You said to be honest!” Lena says, biting her lip like she’s holding back a laugh. “They’re growing out now, anyways. It looks much better.”

Kara gives her bangs a self-conscious pat. They’re still at a slightly awkward length, but they’re long enough to blend in semi-decently with the rest of her hair now. “If we’re being honest, then,” she says. “I think that blouse is really ugly.”

Lena looks down at herself. She sounds slightly hurt when she says, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything! It’s—the pattern! The sleeves! The collar! It looks like it’s made of cheap polyester.”

“It’s designer!” Lena pouts.

“Who designed it?”

“Well, I thought that blazer you wore last week was kind of hideous. I didn’t say anything at the time, but in the interest of honesty…”

Kara laughs, and Lena’s irritated expression melts away at her laughter, something in her eyes softening. It’s an expression Kara’s been seeing on her more often, in moments she catches Lena watching her when she thinks Kara isn’t paying attention.

She’s always paying attention to Lena.

“Maybe we should just agree to say that we both have questionable fashion taste sometimes and call it a day,” she says, downing the rest of her hot chocolate and placing the mug on the table.

Lena takes a dainty sip of her own still mostly filled mug. “Fine.”

There’s a long pause, and Kara taps her fingers on her pant leg and tries to think of a new conversation starter. She finally settles on. “In the interest of honesty… how are you holding up?”

Lena shrugs. “I’m okay, I suppose. I’m anxious about Lex—I know it’s only a matter of time before he’s back on our heels. Mostly, I’m just glad to have you back.” She looks over her mug at Kara. “I think that’s more a question I should be asking you, though.”

The look of intense concern in Lena’s eyes makes her feel hot, and Kara squirms slightly, pulling her collar away from her neck with a finger. She wants to say I’m fine, but honesty is the whole point of this exercise. “I’m… still not great. Being back there it… brought up a lot. Brought back a lot. I’m still having a really hard time with it all. It’s—it’s hard to talk about.”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“I want to talk about with you at some point. I just… don’t want it to ruin every conversation I have, you know? I want some things to be normal, still. I want to pretend things can be normal.”

“That makes sense,” Lena nods. She looks small when she says, “In the—in the interest of honesty, are you still mad?”

“At you?” Lena nods again, and Kara sighs, looking away. “It’s complicated, I guess. A little, maybe? I meant it when I said I forgave you, but there’s still part of me that’s a little angry. You did a lot of things that were… really bad, Lena.”

“I know.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Kara asks, and Lena’s shaking her head before she even finishes the question.

“No. No, I’m done being mad at you. I get it. I get why you hid your identity, and I wish you’d told me sooner, but I’m not angry anymore. I don’t have enough energy to be angry anymore. I’m happier if I don’t hate you.”

“Well, I’m glad for that.”

“I would have done anything to get you back, you know,” Lena says in a rush, words spilling out like she can’t stop them. “You say I did bad things before, but I would have watched the world burn if it meant I could have brought you back.” She looks down at her lap. “Who knows what I would have done if Alex hadn’t been there to stop me.”

“Lena.” Kara reaches over to take her hand. “You know I can’t possibly be mad at you for that.”

“No?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay,” Lena whispers. Kara watches her swirl around the dregs of her hot chocolate and takes a deep breath.

There’s still one more secret between them. One more secret that has the potential to ruin their friendship. Kara thinks they’re both aware of it, on some level. Aware of the way the weight of it shifts their every interaction. The others are aware of it too, have maybe known longer than Kara has. Alex certainly has. It was she who looked Kara in the eye when they were discussing this whole honestly policy and said, “You have to tell her this. You know you do.”

She can’t risk another secret in their relationship.

“Um, in the interest of honesty,” she starts, and finds she can’t quite meet Lena’s eyes. “I have to tell you—in all honesty, I would probably just keep it a secret, if I could, but I don’t think we should do secrets anymore, so I just need to tell you that I, um, have feelings for you.”

Lena straightens. “Feelings?” she says, her voice cautious.

Kara closes her eyes. Takes a breath. Steadies herself. Opens them again. “I’m in love with you,” she says. “Um, nothing has to change if you don’t want it to, but I need… I need you to know.”

“Oh,” breathes Lena. She opens her mouth, and it seem to take several moments for the words to catch up with her. “Well, in—in the interest of honesty, Kara, I’ve—I’ve been in love with you for years.” She gives a wry little half smile. “If we’re being honest.”

“What? You have?”

“Darling,” says Lena. “I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

“The day we met?”

“Why do you think it hurt me so badly when I found out who you were? Why do you think I was so deep in denial about it that I never figured it out myself? Do you really think you were that good at hiding it?”

“I mean, I thought—”

“The disguise. The hair. The glasses.” She puts down her mug, then reaches over and gently tugs the glasses from Kara’s face, folding the arms in and placing them on the table. She brushes a strand of hair behind Kara’s ear. “You mentioned Supergirl far too much as Kara and Kara far too much as Supergirl and one time you told me you flew to my office on a bus.”

“That’s—yeah, that’s fair, actually.”

“You’re in love with me? Honestly?” whispers Lena.

“I am. I really, truly am. Why do you think I refused to give up on you when everyone else was ready to?”

“I thought that just how you are. You don’t give up on anyone.”

“I try not to. But you, I could never bear to, even when it seemed like the only logical option to everyone else. Why do you think I waited so long to tell you in the first place? I was so scared to ruin things between us.”

“Why do you think I bought you an entire media empire?” Lena murmurs, and she’s so close, hand fisted in the collar of Kara’s shirt.

Kara giggles. “Why do you think I flew all over Europe to get you lunch?”

Lena laughs, and it’s such a relief to hear her laughter again, to let the conversation flow between them. There’s a bud of hope for the future that’s been sitting in Kara’s chest for years now, and under Lena’s adoring gaze, it starts to open.

“In all honesty,” Kara says, “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Lena slips a hand into her hair, runs her thumb over Kara’s cheekbone. “In all honesty?” She leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “I’d like that.”