#i was thinking about this fic last night

[keferon]

The tac net crash chapter is one of my favorites so far~

Ah and. Guess what. I just discovered that including this post, I made 50 pieces of fanart for Mistakes on mistakes until.. I’m so sane and normal about this story can you tell👍

[qprpbj]

soooo like if i wrote a fic. completely hypothetically. 5 times ponyboy needed soda around to fall asleep and 1 time soda needed pony around. would anyone tune in. bc i don’t know a soul in this fandom 😭

[shootingthe-stars]

jily zombie apocalypse au

wolfstar vers closeups under cut :)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Extended Parting

Synopsis: After being separated from you for so long, Childe finally finds you again.

Foul Legacy x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Warnings: Mentions of blood, physical injuries, fear, pain, crying, allusions to being attacked

Original Request by Anon: requesting requesting! beep bop beep bop ! more foul legacy × reader hurt/comfort, perhaps? :3

hear me out- in the format of a scenario; just pure comfort, reader is perhaps sent of to a dangerous mission/commission while childe is away doing his own thing. when he is going back home however, he stumbles across a group of fatui, taking the reader hostage & hurting them. foul legacy's reaction to his "allies" hurting the love of his life? and how he would take care of the reader after, assuming the reader got pretty severe injuries (even though they're not fetal).

Im a big sucker for this big boi getting all soft when the reader is hurt, and i wanna see more of him just holding the bleeding reader in his arms while trying to comfort them

~ * ~

Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and eight minutes. That’s how long you’ve been apart, how long Childe has gone without being in your presence, and he’s hated every second of it. Important commission, hah! No commission could be so important that it took you away from him for this long- almost half a month! All of your other missions took you a week, tops, and even then he could barely handle it, missing you more and more as each day passed without a single word or letter. Of course, he admits, it’s not like Childe didn’t also have his own duties to attend to during this time, this extended parting. As usual, he was forced to store Ajax and Childe away, slipping on the mask of Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, and taking delight in violent diplomacy. But even fighting and bloodshed did little to satiate his longing for you; how much he wished to see your wonderful smile and that keen twinkle in your eyes, hear your lovely voice, cradle you in his arms and kiss your cheeks- Childe groans, burying his face in his hands. It makes him irritable, constantly yearning for you, and Foul Legacy is even worse. His Abyssal half is constantly clawing at the back of his mind, worrying his talons and whining as he asks why they haven’t seen you yet? Where are you? When will you be back? He wants cuddles something fierce, desperately seeking out the attention and affection you always give him only to find that you’re nowhere near. They’re both so lonely without you, only each other for company, and Childe has to physically bite his hand to prevent Legacy from simply snatching control of their body away and flying off to find you. With a sigh, the Harbinger wipes the blood from his blades, then his hands, and finally his face, ginger hair all wild and unruly. At the very least, today was when he would finally return home to Liyue. He never thought somewhere other than Morepesok could be considered home, but it turns out that “home” is wherever his heart is, and he gave it to you long ago to keep safe from everything that hurts.

Home… Childe’s mind drifts back to the house you both share, a small smile instinctively tugging at his lips. With a quiet snap of his fingers and a salute, his underlings are dismissed- they’ll be going back to the Fatui Headquarters in Snezhnaya. Childe, however, packs his supplies near the road back to the harbor city, waving the agents away, and the moment they’re out of sight his smile widens into a full-on grin, a delighted gleam in his azure eyes. 

Even just thinking about you seems to bring out the best in him, Foul Legacy chirping happily in the back of his head when Childe reassures him that yes, they’ll be seeing you again soon. If you’re done with that horribly long commission of yours, that is, which he’s sure that you are- even the most arduous never take up to three weeks. Despite being exhausted, he finds a spring in his step, dust swirling as his boots land against the dirt path. You, you, you- he’s going to see you again, his beloved and most treasured. Childe almost glows with energetic joy as he jogs, as if he never fell into the Abyss at all. His hand twitches, Foul Legacy begging and pleading to be let out after spending so long locked away, but Childe hushes him gently. You’ve said that you like it when he’s kind to Legacy and Legacy is kind to him- they are part of each other, after all, and you love both of them- so he tries to treat the monster as a friend rather than a weapon, and with a huff Legacy settles back down. Something faint and distant as the moon pierces the night, and Childe pauses, ears pricking. He tilts his head to listen, and for a moment he hears nothing but silence. Until- there, there! A scream! It’s far off, over the next hill, but unmistakably there. Even from a distance Childe can hear the desperation, the terror burning into his bones like a raging fire with a familiarity that makes him stop in his tracks.

No… no, it couldn’t be. It can’t be- Please, please let him be wrong- Childe’s feet carry him towards the sound, dread spiraling and twisting in his gut as another awful shriek rings out and he looks up, eyes widening. He was right. Oh, he was right, and he wishes he wasn’t, because it’s you. It’s you, gripping your weapon like a vice and covered in blood, expression filled with panic and fear and pain. It’s you, still in your adventurer’s gear, bag packed with whatever stupid, insignificant item the commission wanted. It’s you, surrounded by Fatui agents- not his, thank the Archons- the rest of them laughing and sneering. It’s you, hurt and scared and looking as if you’re about to collapse onto the ground and never rise. It’s you, and Childe’s veins freeze over with cold, splintering ice. You’re pressed against a ruined wall, swiping the blade in your hands at the soldiers, who merely snicker at your weakened attempts. The leader- one of those Electro vanguards with a giant hammer- smacks the weapon aside and seizes your arm, and you let out an involuntary yelp of pain as tears prick in your eyes. The yelp is all the motivation he needs, and Childe barely feels his restraint shatter like glass. They never even saw it coming, Foul Legacy throwing his spear and ripping the agents apart as fast as lightning, vibrant purple sparks searing the grass as he roars, driven only by wrath and fury. The vanguard who grabbed you so violently shouts in surprise and horror- then everything goes silent, apart from Legacy’s heavy breathing, claws dripping with blood. He exhales, curling his talons into fist with a tight crackling noise, letting out a low, guttural growl of rage. You bite down fiercely on your tongue, trying to stay quiet, but you can’t help but gasp in pain as the slashes in your body flare, and Foul Legacy’s anger burns away as quickly as a dying candle. He turns and rushes to you, chittering frantically, only to freeze when he sees you stiffen, petrified with fright. His chirps and trills lower to soft croons, gentle and sweet and familiar, crouching slowly to your height and holding out a hand. He tentatively inches forward, hand extended and palm up, claws curling delicately around your wrist when you desperately reach for him. “A-Ajax…?” Legacy’s Abyssal heart cracks, and he swiftly gathers you in his arms, whimpering and nudging his forehead against your cheeks as you cling to him and let out anguished, hitching cries. You suck in a breath when his talons ghost over a wound, and Legacy almost sobs with despair. Some part of him- the rational, trained soldier that is Childe- tells him to get you home, heal you, make sure that you’re well- he carefully gets to his feet, holding you close to his armored chest and adjusting your head so it’s pillowed by his lavender fluff. You shudder with pain again, and Legacy gently licks his tongue over the shallow scrapes on your face, cooing softly; with a flutter of his glimmering wings he takes to the sky, his arms cradling you like you’re made of crystal and gold.

He lands near your shared home not ten minutes later, hastily unlocking the door with the key he always sees Childe using. The house is quiet and a little dusty from being empty for so long, but your bed is as soft as ever as Legacy delicately lowers you down onto the mattress. Childe is the one who tells him what to do, again, guiding his claws to gently wrap your wounds with snow white gauze. None of them are fatal, and Legacy thanks his constellation with a grumbling sigh of relief. A quiet croon slips out when he sees you fading in and out of consciousness, sweetly cupping your cheek with a clawed hand- he’s shaking. Why is he shaking? He’s not the one who nearly died- but your hand comes up to weakly grasp his, and Legacy’s heart melts and breaks and patches itself up all over again.

Your lips twitch into a shaky smile, exhausted, your fingers resting on Legacy’s and soothing the minute trembles running through his body. The Abyssal creature- your wonderful, sweet Abyssal creature- blinks slowly at you, crystalline eye filled with tears that drip down his crimson face and pool in the divots of his mask as he fights to contain the sobs that threaten to break out, and when you reach up your other hand, covered in bandages, to caress his cheek, his breath hitches and he collapses into your arms, burying his head against your neck and weeping. In a whispered voice you coo and murmur and hum to him, repeated words of “it’s okay, I’m here, I’m okay”, and he tries so, so hard to do it back to you, his own sounds cracked and stuttering, something along the lines of “don’t leave, I miss you, I’m sorry”, or as close as he can say with a mouth made for biting and gnashing. Your hands lightly tug him closer- or rather, your hands tiredly loosen and he moves to follow them- until he’s close enough for you to press a soft kiss to his forehead. Legacy immediately purrs, tearful and whimpering, and your silent offer of lifting up the blanket is met with an instance moth monster at your side, curling around your body and holding you close. He’s careful not to squeeze you, trying to get as close as possible and mold his form around yours as you rake your hands through his fluffy coppery hair, drawing more deep, comforting rumbles from within his chest, the type he makes when you’re dreadfully ill.

Cats’ purrs are healing, so you’ve heard. Perhaps Abyssal beasts’ purrs are much the same. Slowly, your eyes begin to droop, and you yawn, exhausted and worn. Foul Legacy quietly nudges you, a croon of reassurance falling from his fanged maw, claws dancing over the wraps on your skin now stained brilliant red. It hurts, it hurts like fire- but you’re safe. Safe in your bed, and in Legacy’s arms, and the tension leeches from you and dissipates into nothing. You vaguely hear a soft melody, low and rumbling and familiar from when you’ve sung Foul Legacy to sleep, and the arms around you tighten ever so slightly as the sun finally dips beneath the horizon into the locked box of night. Two weeks, three days, eight hours, and thirty minutes. That’s how long Foul Legacy refused to let you out of his sight, even after your injuries had closed and healed.

[pixlatedvampire]

You gave those wounds to your god, Enki. Did you think they would heal so easily?

(Uh Oh! Someone gave the priest catholic guilt!)

[ween-kitchens]

mildly frustrated at how many 'we need to talk about lizzie more' posts ive seen and the distinct lack of actual posts of art or writing about lizzie that ive seen cross my dash

like guys i thought we wanted to talk about lizzie and not the fandom's problems when is that happening

[wikiangela]

I feel like some people forget, or are straight up too young and new to fandom to know, how fandom, fanfics, and ao3 work, bc I'm honestly baffled, tho I probably shouldn't be but either ive never been this deep into fandom to witness it, or this is some new insanity

like, you know the main idea with fic writing should be just to have fun with characters and ships you love, right? it can have nothing to do with canon or endgames or even shit we want to actually see in a show, not every fic is spec

and the thing is, you don’t have to read something if you dont like it, that's why we have filters, and most importantly, you don’t go on someone's clearly tagged fic and talk shit about the ship the fic is for, what the actual fuck

keep the discourse here, bringing it into ao3 comments now is just so rude and childish wtf

[tending-the-hearth]

my favorite hc is that the chb head counselors (specifically the ones who were there and experienced the manhattan battle) are best friends.

they have sleepovers in the poseidon cabin (since it's just percy and tyson), they have monthy group outings where they just go out and get to be kids, sally invites them over at least once a week for dinner, they walk to activities together, they're so clingy it's ridiculous.

the campers who experienced the battle get it, because there's only so much death and parentification a literal teenager can take before needing to rely on others, so seeing percy carrying will piggy-back out of the med cabin, or watching clarisse chasing one of the stoll brothers around camp, or seeing annabeth, chris, and katie engaged in a heated debate over which area to plant the newest strawberry field, it's all normal to them.

they will absolutely die if they are not within twelve feet of each other, they legally have to be around each other at all times or else they will lose it. when percy got back to chb after his disappearance, the head counselors spent the day inside the poseidon cabin, all piled together in a demigod puppy pile, percy at the center with clarisse's elbow in his ribs, katie's knee hitting his temple, one of the stoll brothers attempting to use his knee as a back rest, pollux's hand dangerously close to smacking him in the face, and the biggest, happiest smile on his face.

[desceros]

lucidity (link to ao3 here) 2k

(Donnie doesn't do well in the light.)

f!reader, rated m. dredge au. established relationship, internal conflict, pining, yearning, thoughts about breeding, basically sad donnie thinking about knocking you up. no sex, but references to it abound.

[mangostarjam]

🚨ALERT🚨 ALERT🚨 OOPS I HAVE ANOTHER BRAIN IDEA🚨

Listen hoshina is smooth faced and all that but…. All men shave at some point…

Hoshina Soshiro shaving. That is all.

-🐌

snail anon you have no idea how this plagued me last night but i didn't have time to DO anything about it until now HERE YA GO

ohh it's about the intimacy of it all. waking up rumpled and sleep warm, his arm heavy and solid draped across your waist. you feel it scraping against the exposed skin of your shoulder — stubble — as he nuzzles into the nape of your neck with a tiny groan.

"tickles, soshiro," you mumble. it gets lost in your pillow but he drags you closer and makes a sound in the back of his throat.

nobody would ever suspect that hoshina soshiro, vice captain of the third division, gets clingy in the mornings.

he's always put together and sharp, snappy, neat in front of everyone. nobody knows that it takes him a cup of coffee at the bare minimum to function in the mornings, especially when he's been pulling so many late nights going over reports and training against invisible foes.

"five more minutes," he grumbles. the short hairs on his chin are scratchy and you wiggle as it sends a shiver down your back. "quit movin' like that."

"you're tickling me," you complain. he pinches your side in retaliation and snickers when you yelp. "hoshina soshiro i will elbow you."

"bringin' out my full name? am i in trouble?" he presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, featherlight and careful. "c'mon, ya dope, settle down."

"make me."

you feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. "don't tempt me with a good time," he murmurs. the rasp of his sleep heavy voice sends heat snaking down your chest. "i've got a meeting this morning. tease."

"shouldn't you get up soon, then?" you reach down to lace your hands together with his. "c'mon, sleepyhead. i'll make your coffee while you shave that monstrosity off your face."

soshiro laughs quietly into your shoulder and squeezes your hand affectionately. it takes some more grumbling and coaxing, but eventually the two of you roll out of bed, and later you watch fondly as your vice captain leans over the bathroom counter to drag a razor along his chin.

the scent of freshly brewing coffee follows you into the bathroom as you wrap your arms around his waist and press your face into his shoulders. "you waitin' for your good morning kiss?" he asks. you meet his eye in the mirror and pout, tucking your chin over his shoulder. "gimme a sec. i don't wanna miss any spots."

soshiro tilts his head towards you as he shaves the other side of his face. "hurry up," you whine, "you're a blade master, what's taking you so long?"

"alright, ya dope." he rinses off the razor and washes his face clean, accepting the towel you hold out for him and patting his face dry. as soon as he's done, he's caging you against the bathroom wall, pressing his lips to your forehead as you squeak in surprise. "good morning," he mumbles, pressing another kiss to the tip of your nose.

you tilt your chin up, tugging at the loose fabric of his sleep shirt to bring him closer. "good morning," you whisper, smiling as he finally kisses you properly. it's light, filled with affection and care, and your heart flutters in your chest as he presses another kiss to your jaw. "soshiro..."

"hm?" he kisses down your neck and the spot by your ear, nipping the lobe lightly just to hear you yelp. "just gettin' my fill before we start the day."

"you're terrible."

"you love me."

"i do."

[ruvviks]

The Dobrynin family is a corpo family through and through, rooted in Arasaka and Orbital Air going back by several generations; though their powerful position within the corporate world ends with the children of Nadya and Matvey Dobrynin. With Vitali and Daniil fired from Arasaka and Kang Tao respectively— the former indirectly getting his parents fired, too— and Roksana having refused to set foot within a megacorporation from the start, the family begins crumbling apart at the very seams when clashing interests lead to grudges, betrayal, and pointless acts of revenge. ↳ read the unrevised fic here if you're interested!

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @roseeway, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@kanos, @swordcoasts, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @strafethesesinners

[steddie-my-heart]

Thinking about Sweet Home Alabama AU Steddie.

Trans Eddie and Steve married right out of HS after Eddie gets pregnant. When they lose the baby, Eddie bolts for NYC needing to live his life. Ends up becoming pretty famous on the music scene. Starts dating someone famous too. They get engaged. Eddie now has to go back home to Hawkins to get Steve to sign the divorce papers that he's been returning for the past few years.

Lots of snark and fighting between the two. The whole party is still around - some married with kids. Lots of fun memories.

Eddie finds out about Steve's glass-making business. How he was trying to better himself to get Eddie to come back.

[rexscanonwife]

If you have an f/o that loses many people close to them, imagine them allowing themselves to grieve in front of you. To be held in your arms as their shoulders shake with the force or their crying because they need to let it out or it'll consume them from the inside out. They can be vulnerable with you, they can fall apart with you, knowing you'll help them pick the pieces back up.

[bloodydeanwinchester]

you guyssss my favorite thing in fics is when dean climbs onto cas’s lap to kiss him. these fics immediately get ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ from me

[the-kipsabian]

hi have a lil collection of zack/chris fics i finally got around uploading yayy all rated mature but its the all-smoke-but-no-fire type of stuff. theres implications but no actual act. read the tags that are probably lacking but i cant brain at 4am anymore ough

handle me so right

i can become anything under your touch

i want to show you

how i look at you is something i cant explain

[laundrybiscuits]

Eden actually likes her name. When she thinks about the muslin-draped horrors she could’ve gotten stuck with, like poor Suzie, she feels guiltily glad she dodged that bullet. If she’d been the one who had to shoulder the impossible burden of being named Suzie, who knows how she might’ve turned out.

Eden is a word that could go a lot of ways. It’s almost as good as Lilith or Isis or something. It’s the kind of name that could be sexy, in the right hands. The kind of name you could say on stage: ladies and gentlemen, introducing the one and only Eden—

That’s where the picture stalls out, though. Eden Bingham is pretty awful, no matter how you spin it. She wants to pick a stage name like some glamorous Hollywood actress, but she hasn’t decided exactly what she wants yet. She thinks it would be real elegant to pick something French, like…like Verne. 

There’s a battered paperback tucked under her mattress at home, where sticky, prying little fingers can’t get at it. She’s not a fast reader, but she’s read it about a million times by now. Sometimes when she can’t sleep, she’ll take it out and just squint at it in the moonlight, tracing her fingertips over the faded elephant on the cover. It’s a story about some guy who was so bored he decided to travel all around the world, and nobody stopped him. He could just go. He didn’t have any kids or anything that he had to take care of or look after; in fact, there was some guy whose whole job was to look after him. 

For a little while, Eden thought about borrowing the main guy’s last name, but Eden Fogg sounds kind of old and stuffy. She could take the French valet’s name, but she’s not completely confident she knows how to pronounce Passepartout, and she’s terrified she’s going to say it wrong and nobody’s going to take her seriously ever again. 

The author’s French too, though, and his name seems a lot easier to handle. So, lately she’s been looking in the mirror and saying Eden Verne, hi my name is Eden Verne real quiet to herself, just testing it out. She’s not sure about it yet, but it’s definitely better than Eden Bingham. 

Eden Bingham is just a handful of years away from Edie Bingham, who spends her time looking after a house full of kids and wears shapeless floor-length dresses. But Eden Verne could be someone who travels and wears exciting makeup. Eden Verne drinks and swears and smokes, and she never has to deal with kids ever again. Beautiful, sophisticated men and women alike despair for love of her, but she never lets anyone stay more than a night. 

Anyway, she doesn’t have to figure out if she can carry off Verne yet, because the stupid boy she followed halfway across the country introduced her to his friends as Eden Bingham, so she never got the chance to decide if she was going to say something different. She probably wouldn’t have, but—maybe she would. Maybe. She’ll never know.

The thing with Argyle fizzled out pretty quick. He’s cute, and making out with him is fun, but he doesn’t ever seem to want anything real out of life. Eden can’t understand him at all, and worse yet, she’s pretty sure he doesn’t understand her. When they’re high, they communicate just fine giggling about the cosmos, but that’s not enough. She’s sure there’s supposed to be more, even if she’s not entirely sure what that means.

She broke up with him on an impulse, and sometimes she regrets it. He’s a good guy. He’s not like any other guy she’s ever known. He’s willing to drive clear across the country, which is what she liked about him to begin with. Maybe that’s as good as it gets for her.

But she can’t take it back now. It’s not even that she thinks he’d say no, necessarily; she just can’t handle the idea of trying to walk back something like that. She’d die of humiliation before the words made it out of her mouth. 

So Eden’s just here, in Hawkins, staying in her ex-fling’s best friend’s step-dad’s spare room because it’s still marginally better than having to hitch home to Utah. Argyle is planning to drive back to California in a few weeks, so she’s going to just ride with him then. In the meantime, she’s going to have a nice, quiet vacation in Indiana, doing whatever it is Midwesterners do in the summer, and then she’ll go home and nothing at all about the life of Eden Bingham will have changed.