#singular fic

[a-drifting-mannequin]

Deviation

Fandom: Sonic (MOVIE)

Pairing: Stobotnik; Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone

Warnings: Not beta-read

Summary: Stone and Robotnik worked with each other for a long time. First out of spite, all because Commander Walters felt like Robotnik needed a handler. Later on, however, they could almost see themselves as colleagues, work partners that complained constantly about their superior and picking up dirt from their co-workers.

As of late, Stone realized there was a change in the doctor’s attitude towards him. And something was also wrong with the badniks.

OR

Badniks expose their daddy’s love for Stone.

Fic for @thisbellrings on Tumblr!

****

Robotnik’s machines has always been viewed and regarded as a marvel to Stone. Something that should be taken seriously, to be praised and to be documented in whole.

Not the government nor G.U.N thought about his machines that way. Robotnik’s machines were like toys to them. A new project to test run and another thing to destroy just for mere entertainment.

The projects weren’t deemed important to Stone. Hell, he didn’t even care enough about it to actually complete the whole blueprint. Robotnik definitely didn’t care enough to put more effort into it.

The only machines that he ever really cared about and cared to improve constantly were his babies. His own creations with no inference. His badniks.

Stone admired that about the man as much as he admired every other part of him. About the way he treated them with care like a worried father. The constant baby talks that the agent would sometimes stumble upon were no less endearing to hear. The talks don’t just limit inside the lab. Robotnik did it in front of several others before where Stone was present to hear it all. They mocked him for loving a machine more than loving in actual person, which resulted a series of insult and a broken nose.

To think that each badniks had their own unique implemented AIs to run their systems. Stone always thought that Robotnik was always the one controlling them. No one in their right minds would think a robot liked to follow them around, watch them make coffee and bump against their arm whenever a praised was directed at the drone.

Stone thought the constant head bumping was because the doctor wanted Stone to stop, because it was annoying to hear his assistant praise a non-sentient being. Even though the doctor constantly does it himself, Stone never thought to confront the doctor about the badniks’ strange behavior from time to time. After all, if it wasn’t happening frequently or was affecting his work in any way, then Stone was perfectly content with having them follow him around like they do with Robotnik.

One day was particularly strange, however. Thinking back on it, Stone assumed the badniks malfunctioned, but it didn’t seem likely since they always got their maintenance routine performed by the doctor. Stone got a hand in it, sure, but it was just mainly passing Robotnik the necessary tools to fix them.

It had been late afternoon that day, Robotnik hunched over at the main console while his fingers flew across the holographic keyboard, glowing a bright cyan under his hands. Stone had insisted that Robotnik use an actual keyboard but was aggressively refused because of the annoying tapping noise each key made that would repeatedly throw Robotnik’s train of thoughts of the rails.

Stone had been in the break room at that time, brewing the espresso into the cup he had gifted the doctor a while back while also waiting for the milk to steam. A badnik had been present at that time, one of the smaller models at least. It stayed hovering over his shoulder, watching his every movement, replying with a small beep to everything Stone said or questioned.

Stone couldn’t help but thought how the smaller models of the badniks looked like an egg, white and oval shaped just like the real thing. Sometimes, when he saw a swarm of them, Stone couldn’t but giggle at the sight of little semi-sentient, robotic eggs flying around in the air. He never questioned Robotnik about their design, and he felt like he would be berated if he did.

After the latte was made, Stone questioned himself what to draw on it this time. Before, when he had just started working for the doctor, it had been simple patterns like the tulip pattern since it took less time to make, and hearts were too intimate. Later on, however, he drew the heart pattern in many different styles and sometimes Robotnik’s face with little hearts around it if he had time. Those ideas were getting old, though.

Stone wanted something new, something refreshing if not hard. It could be simple but had to be something different.

As his mind wandered, so did his eyes. They eventually landed on the little badnik still hovering near him. Their design was simple yet intricate. The appearance didn’t seem like much, but Stone had seen the workings of their system from the inside before.

He knew it was a long shot, but he lined up his aim and took the shot either way.

“Could you just position your something like this?” Stone asked the drone, using his hand as an example.

The badnik registered his hand movement with a simple beep, immediately spinning around to the position that Stone requested. The agent smiled softly at the way the badnik held completely still for him to draw it into the doctor’s latte.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” It was simple and slipped out almost naturally. Robotnik didn’t like it if anyone else called his machines that way, but he seemed to make an exception for Stone.

After the drawing was complete, Stone picked up the cup and proudly showed it to the waiting badnik. Although the lining of the latte art itself was a bit messy and admittedly kind of wonky, it still turned out great in Stone’s opinion. And he wasn’t alone on that. The badnik chirped and collided with Stone’s forehead gently, it was like giving fist bumps but with affectionate head butts instead. Stone chuckled, giving the badnik’s dome a gentle pat before making his way to the doctor, badnik in tow.

Stone entered the lab, making sure his steps were audible lest he scare the doctor out of his skin again. Immediately, Robotnik registered his footsteps, removing one hand off the keyboard and positioned beside him, letting Stone use his hand as if it was a cup holder.

The agent beamed at the simple gesture. Stone would usually just place it on the table, announcing to Robotnik about his prepared latte. After a while, Robotnik got impatient and tired of always reaching for the cup himself after it was placed down. So, the sight of Robotnik reaching out willingly to wait for the cup to place directly into his hand had become a common sight.

However, Stone was stopped dead in his tracks by the badnik from before. It hovered in front of him, almost refusing to move as it just close the distance between him and the drone.

Stone just stared at the badnik, confusion evident on his face. It didn’t do anything weird, to say, just gravitating towards him as if he was a badnik magnet. Two or three more came to join their sibling, fussing over Stone as if he was an intruder and they needed to scan him for any weapons. Stone tried pushing the badniks away, but it didn’t seem to work very effectively.

“Stone!” Robotnik yelled, eyes not leaving his monitor. Stone immediately perked up at the mention of his name, his hand paused from pushing a badnik away from him. “Latte. Yes-ter-day.” Robotnik said, emphasizing by removing the hand that was on his keyboard before to jab his index into the palm of his waiting hand.

Before Stone could move out the way of the badniks that were present in front of him to deliver the coffee to the doctor, more badniks were summoned for seemingly no reason. The badniks just figuratively stared at him, moving closer and closing in on the terribly confused agent. A few hovered near his legs, as if inspecting his physical fitness. Others examined his torso, scanning his face and ruffling his hair. Stone just stood still, now holding the latte in both hands to avoid it from spilling accidentally.

“Doctor?” Stone spoke up eventually, trying his best to push through the continuous waves of badniks coming towards him. Admittedly, he didn’t know if he should try. “I-uh, do have it, it’s only that- “

The excuse was cut short, an audible sound of his teeth smacking together was heard throughout the lab.

“Stone, of all the days to- “Robotnik yelled, both of his hands dropped to the arms of his chair as he turned around to face the sorry excuse of an agent he got.

Similar to Stone, Robotnik was also rudely interrupted. Well, maybe not, but he did stop mid berating to look at Stone’s current situation that somehow stopped him from bringing the doctor his latte.

The sight was... a little ridiculous at best.

Stood behind him was Stone, nervous and confused with at least fourteen badniks surrounding him, bumping and scanning him. In his hand was the latte he was supposed to bring to Robotnik, still steaming. Stone looked up from where he was staring at his feet before having a badnik nudge against his forehead, forcing him to look back down.

“I’ve been swarmed.” It was barely above a whisper, but somehow still loud enough for Robotnik to hear the nervousness in his voice. Robotnik just grabbed the back of his seat with both hands in disbelief

If Stone was still a new agent, this behavior from the badniks wouldn’t be surprising. But Stone wasn’t new, and he had already become a constant occurrence in the lab. There are signs that he had been here for a while, and all the badniks have registered him as one of their main handlers (because Robotnik was and always had been the first).

Both were silent for a while, save for the sound of machinery whirring as the badniks fussed over Stone for seemingly no reason. Stone stared back at the doctor, big brown eyes in clear distress, the cup that’s still in his hands started to warm the meat of his palms but not to the point that it hurt.

After a few more minutes of observation and staring into each other eyes, Robotnik sighed and turned away. Waving a hand behind him, Robotnik clenched and let go of his hand, all the badniks immediately obeying his order and flew off in different direction.

Stone sighed and smiled brightly as he approached the doctor with nothing in his way, handing him the now cooling latte.

“Your latte, with steamed Austrian goat milk.” He announced, handing the cup to the visibly frustrated doctor.

 To Stone’s relief, Robotnik accepted the latte, nonetheless. “Syco-friend, I’ll leave you to the mercy of the Badniks.” The doctor threatened, grabbing the cup with a glare to the agent who stood beside and behind him a little.

“Understood, Sir.” Stone replied, knowing well that the threat didn’t apply to him as harshly as the other agents before him. He couldn’t help but smile at that thought.

‘They have been more affectionate to me in front of the Doctor as of late…’ Stone thought. It hung heavily between him and Robotnik. Heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Robotnik, on the other hand, wasn’t frustrated of Stone. He hadn’t felt frustrated towards the oblivious man for some time now. But, as his superior and an important asset to G.U.N, he had a reputation to keep up.

‘The Badniks don’t even attempt to be subtle…’ He thought, forcing down the heat that threaten to flush his face.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

NOTE: The number of badniks mentioned in the fic is accurate to the original post (me thinks)

[eraserbread]

u are suguru's best friend with benefits, and u ruined anime night... ✧ ୨୧ - check out part one

→ afab!reader, est "relationship", fingering, pillow talk, nsfw

you're shivering, crying around soiled cotton and hooked on your friends fingers. he's had you like this since last episode, thick thumb kissing over your swollen clit every few seconds if you're lucky.

the scene on the screen breaks, a mindless little chibi insertion giving suguru just enough time to lean down and kiss your neck. he suckles at the skin like he's trying to mark you, right there where your shirt won't cover. he'd be impossible to hide.

"truly the most beautiful girl i've ever seen..." he whispers into your skin, tongue hot as he licks over the expanse, tasting your needy sweat. "always obedient—dripping wet whenever I walk into the room."

"mfhfh—eughh."

"yeah?" he whispers, lifting his head just enough to catch your gaze. he's exhausted, you can tell. it's as if his skin loses it's sheen once nighttime hits. in any case, he's glimmering and godly. "even with a stuffed mouth, you just can't stop." he's speaking over a soft, seductive chuckle, tv light reflecting the hollows in his cheeks as he kisses your skin again.

but, he's trying to illicit sound out of you. if he wasn't, he wouldn't be curling his fingers in that slight upward slant. he wouldn't be telling you everything you wanted to hear—kissing you like you're made of glass.

"baby gonna cum?" he gasps like he's surprised. your thighs are shaking, eyes fluttering as the tip of his thumb scratches and pokes at your messy cunt like he's trying to pull something out.

you're nodding without much thought, tossing your head back onto the mess of pillows and arching your back. it's so intense in a way only sugu can achieve. he leans over for the remote, pausing the anime before returning to you. his two fingers are crooked cruelly, scrubbing against your sensitive, silky walls as he fucks you.

it's painful just how close you are—just how much you want to rip these underwear out of your mouth and scream his name until the neighbors complain. you're fisting at the sheets under you, lungs tightening in your chest, begging for anything.

you can't get air, you can't see anything but him.

and like the snap of a taut rubber band, you're convulsing and cumming all over his fingers. not even making a sound. thoughtful to the core, sugu is leaning down, lips hovering over your forehead as he coaxes the aftershocks down, whispering against your skin, "beautiful, so beautiful... c'mon, I want to hear it."

"mmh!"

"fuck it." he grunts, fingers warming inside of you as he yanks the useless cotton gag from between your lips. you're immediately scrambling, jelly-like hands flying up for purchase somewhere on his sticky skin.

"oh, m— my god, i need you so bad." when suguru pulls out, you're surprisingly cold and empty, stretched cunt fluttering pathetically around nothing. your skin is flushed and sticky, eyelids glued shut from sticky tears.

and you're so elated, because suguru is crawling on top of you, closing both of your naked thighs in his strong grip. you know what you're getting—you're so spoiled rotten, your best friend knows exactly how to treat you.

so when he's pulling the thickness of his cock free, all worked up in the face with a tight chest, you're trying to find breath you're sure you won't be able to chase again.

because it's been hundreds of times of this same exact view–sugu's bedroom, midnight, blue tv light casting the prettiest shadow of him over the white walls. the anime is forgotten, now, droning on and on invisibly as he slips inside, whispering how much he loves the way your warm cunt twitches around him like it's familiar.

and it is, it's too familiar.

and that's the issue.

[enviedear]

my modern!jace hcs and thoughts…

request ⊹ jacaerys masterlist

౨ৎ ┄───────╮ got a bit carried away with what was supposed to be hcs... but i can't help it! modern!jace scratches an itch somewhere in my brain—especially lawyer/law student!jace. don't question the family dynamics too much for this au. i don't have the brain capacity to rearrange and fix that mess <3

╰───────┄ ౨ৎ

twenty-two and a recent graduate. he majored in law with a minor in public policy. his younger brother, lucerys, makes frequent comments about how boring it all must be, but jacaerys velaryon loves it. he’s following the family line, after all.

he took office at one of his mother’s law firms, a by-product of having a family in the affairs of state. however, the firm is actually headed by his mother’s aunt, rhaenys. his mother, rhaenyra is in the middle of an election, running opposite otto hightower—a man jacaerys is lax to admit kinship to.

on paper he’s an associate, in practice, he’s whatever his family and their board need him to be. he likes it that way—being dependable.

he has such a large family, even disregarding those somewhat estranged. if you asked him to directly place everyone to their respective titles he couldn’t, so he settles for the ease of endless uncles, aunts, and cousins.

his schedule is usually packed—so when he is free, he likes to spend his time well. his best friend, cregan, gets him out of the house most the time. an easy task since the stark family owns numerous ski resorts. a perfect respite from his life of public service, at least that’s what cregan says.

jace absolutely hates the media, not necessarily social media though. his instagram stories are frequently full of reposts or camera roll dumps, his twitter constantly active but he mourns public likes. he loves to engage with factitious headlines about himself and his family, to his mother’s chagrin. he’s blocked on all social media by the estranged hightower news, headed by his mother’s old friend turned step-mother, alicent. a topic the family attempts to gloss over when in public.

has a laundry list of fashion houses at his disposal. he went viral once for “mogging” in armani at his grandfather’s funeral. he drunkenly admitted after the service that he figured viserys would have deemed it a rather lovely suit, despite the occasion. mostly, he shares his uncle laenor’s love for couture, a man who is firm in belief that a bit of pageantry never hurt anyone. almost exclusively wears canali for everyday wear, a luxury his paychecks find no issue with fulfilling.

listens to every single book he 'reads'. his airpods are constantly in his ears but he rarely opts for music. he listens to the greats on repeat, or at least that's what he calls them—near constant loops of orwell and machiavelli. he has a guilty pleasure for brandon sanderson novels though.

jacaerys is embarrassed to have a chauffeur for any and all events with his family, but he does an excellent job at hiding it. he’s is chronically good at masking any signs of disdain. his family would tell you he’s perfectly agreeable— his brothers, lucerys and joffrey, know him better, can spot his muddled ill temper through anything. he can hold his tongue most of the time, far better than the rest of his family, but he’s known to have his moments.

on his own, he drives a aston martin valour. wrapped olive green with burnt orange accents. it was pricey, a fact his uncle corlys never ceases to remind him of, but he loves it. gave it a name and everything—vermax.

the only cousins he talks to regularly are the twins, baela and rhaena. they flock together during board meetings, three ideal images of the pristine image their family attempts to portray. he and baela are most like minded, so much so that the rest of the board jokes they’re reading each others minds.

on the opposite end of the spectrum, alicent’s children— aegon, aemond, and helena, are of much different minds. the eldest of the them is prepped to take over his grandfather’s media empire. a complete disaster waiting to happen given aegon’s incessant and very public bad behavior. jace figures the young man more of a puppet if anything. the second born is somehow an even worse case, behavior less public but far more… sadistic. aemond is known in well to do social circles for his vitriol, mouth constantly fixed to land a cutting blow.

the youngest, helena, is actually quite sweet albeit heavily reclusive. she’s the founder of several successful ventures, thrust into the spotlight at a young age. these days the most the public get from her is a monthly blog update—refined and well crafted—detailing a mix of what she learned that month and a few run-on sentences about insects. but she always finds time for him at their disjointed family events, no matter the animosity in the room. she’s one of his favorite people to talk to. jace swears that somehow, she always knows just what to say.

on sunday’s he winds up at one of his uncle daemon’s golf courses. am agreement he took up after the death of viserys. his uncle is lonely without his brother, and he’s never had to tell jace that for him to know it. jace is rather shit at the sport, but he’s found that as long as daemon has a drink in his hand, nothing will be commented on. sometimes luke will tag along just to gloat, his younger brother has always been at golf.

every christmas he takes his siblings on a hunt. just like their dad, harwin, used to. it’s gotten to be a big deal after so many years. his mother often reminds him, jokingly, that he is the reason their home has become the holiday stomping grounds. he’s replied back many times that at least that saves them from the hightower’s grounds, and their brutish security detail. headed by one criston cole, he’s has never gotten a good feel for the man—or the men under his command.

jace can’t fall asleep without some form of auditory stimulation. he blames laenor, always gifting a young jace pirated lullaby cd’s… for some reason. nowadays, he’s usually a listening to a history podcast before bed. never picky on the topic or timeframe, he could listen to the tales of the past forever.

additionally—jacaerys loves linguistics. if you looked through his search history you’d find the following searches: why do we feel different when speaking in a different language? / are there languages with no numbers? / what happened to the transatlantic accent? / “where did the word ‘cocktail’ come from?

he has successfully created and maintained a masked dj persona after a drunken dare in ibiza from rhaena. he’s booked a handful of gigs, all without his name attached to it. rhaena keeps it a secret, at the promise she gets to accompany him at her own whim.

jace has only ever publicly has had one relationship. he dated cregan’s half-sister for a few years, sara. sure he had to deal with his best friends griping for a few years, but he really did love the girl. they broke up due to their schedules, moreso, his schedule. he promised baela he won’t make the same mistake in his next relationship.

he never has trouble finding people to fawn over him, but he does have a horrible issue with committing. not that he wants to play the field or hurt hearts, but he truly believes no one will ever give him the grace he needs to feel secure in the relationship. he feels like he already has too much baggage, carrying his own and his family’s. at this point, he’d rather have a few hookups as opposed to being let down—jacaerys hates that the most about himself, above all else.

that’s why he so confused as of late. unable to seem get his mind off of someone—something completely unaccustomed to him. you’re fresh at the firm, relegated to coffee runs and still straight to the book but god—jace thinks you're perfect.

he didn't even fully grasp his fixation on you until asking himself why on earth he keeps volunteering you to sit in on his client meetings. he almost shutters everytime he remembers the stupid excuse he forced out after you dared to ask him why—"i just write so slow, and i don't want to miss anything." a lie. jacaerys could tune out a client for an entire session and still win a case, but he determined early he'd rather bask in yout presence instead. however diluted he must keep his feelings...

[strawberry-omonade]

Internet rule 1446: for every obscure fandom, there’s some person on tumblr who uses the characters for their piss kink fulfillment

[rokkucha]

sometimes i think about how she wishes it went down differently but doesn't even know what outcome she would've wanted

[erinwantstowrite]

pspspsps fantastic four fans,,,, where could i mayhaps learn more about them? i want to include them in LoF (as like. background background background characters, not a center, and idk if they'll have a plotline. just mentioned and there, for the most part) but i wanna make sure i get it right. as far as i'm aware johnny storm is like 4 years older than peter parker? and i read like. one fic with them in it but it was spidey torch and i did not know what was going on i was just glad to be there

[dreadfuldevotee]

"Armand wants Louis because hes the closest thing he can get to Lestat" WRONG‼️

Armand wanted Louis when they first laid eyes upon eachother! He wanted Louis looking down into audience after him! You see the moment Armand clocks LouClaudia are Lestat's fledglings in the green room- but all that, "felt ya'lls lust for eachother" energy comes before the other shoe drops. Armand wants Louis because he's different. Not just from the coven, not just from himself but from anyone he has ever known. Louis De Pointe Du Lac is a singular wonder to him. The shadow Lestat casts is a wrench among the boxful of wrenches thrown into the cogs of their romance, but Armand would have loved Louis even if their lie was the truth. The greatest engima about Louis is his humanity, how he loves it and is also bores of it on a whim. The thread of compassion and woe it winds through him. Armand loves the light he gives off entirely on his own. There is no other man in his image or mind, Louis is one of a kind. That's all that matters

[verridaiya]

—Dream Blooms (Sylus' POV)

"I've been waiting here for you."

I started writing this fic at the same time as part 1, because I wasn't sure if MC's point of view had enough angst compared to a Sylus POV. And now after seeing the reactions to part 1... haha, good luck? I apologize in advance and offer tissues as compensation (maybe it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be?)

Synopsis: Sylus contemplates all that has led up to finding you in this life, until the past comes back to haunt him.

Contains: Heavy spoilers for Beyond Cloudfall and Abyssal Blossom, Sylus x MC/reader, gender neutral MC/reader, angst/hurt (comfort in part 3 tho), could technically be read before or separately from part 1, includes some of my theories & headcannons about the BC myth

Word Count: 2.7k

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

Sylus does not consider himself lucky.

There have been many deals gone sideways, misfortunes lining up neatly one after the other and then falling like dominoes. He’s had to claw, rip, and tear his way through dead ends and out of backed corners. And his failures weren’t from the lack of effort; after a third contingency plan goes wayward, he knows it is just fate mocking him yet again, as it has been through all of his long lives.

But he is not the most wanted space criminal and the infamous leader of Onychinus for nothing. What he lacks in luck he compensates in sheer power, skill, persistence. Why rely on random chance when he can ensure that he always gets what he wants? He’s had lifetimes to perfect his skills, to try again and again and again, until he gets the results he desires. Every success he’s had—and they number far more than failures—has been because of him, and him alone.

And right now, looking down at your sleeping form, he considers it his greatest success that you are here, in his arms.

You had come down with a fever recently, the same one that has been making its way through Linkon as of late. With your work as a hunter and with the public, it was almost inevitable that you would catch it, though you tried your best to hide it from those around you. Nothing escapes his—or rather, Mephisto’s—eyes though. Sylus could tell just how bad it was when he showed up unannounced at your door, duffel bag in hand and steaming soup in the other, and you let him in without protest.

He palms his phone absentmindedly in one hand. Sylus intended to get some work done while you napped, so he can focus solely on you when you wake. But right now, with the press of your body against his, your chest rising and falling gently with each faint snore, your face peaceful and relaxed—Sylus can’t help but be pulled into the siren’s call that was your very existence, demanding his attention even while asleep. To appreciate that he was here, in your presence, in the first place.

He has been searching for you through countless years and innumerable lifetimes. He had spent far, far too long alone, seeking you in the farthest reaches of the cosmos. You, the most important missing piece of his soul, an absence that gnawed at his bones and nipped at the gaping hole in his chest.

It seemed like the curse from your first life still lingered. Fate was still determined to drive you apart, to break the defiant bond you forged together and to fulfill the destiny you were doomed to have—that he was your archenemy, that one will inevitably kill the other. If fate could not pit him against you, it will widen the fissure another way and drive you apart physically.

His supposed destiny coiled around his neck like a noose, a rope pulled tighter and tighter every time his search came up empty. But the absence of you is still a presence nonetheless, and he clung onto it like a lifeline. The yearning, the desperation, the grief—he held onto those unusual emotions close and savors what only you can bring out in him. It was the only thing that kept him alive, kept him from going insane from apathy.

The string pulls tighter still, when he finally finds you, his gaze finally where it belongs—on you—and you gaze back at him as if he were a stranger. No, worse yet, as if he were an enemy, with hatred in your beautiful eyes and a snarl on your lips. As if the events of your first shared life never happened. It had taken so much coaxing and far too many miscalculations to convince you that he means you no harm, all the while working through the heart wrenching despair that you don’t remember.

He feels victorious, that he has earned your trust again despite all the odds stacked against his favor. Here you are, tucked safely against him, fully vulnerable in your sleep and relying on him to tend to you while a fever rages through you. His whirlwind mind can finally slow in your presence, the calm in the eye of the storm.

Sylus leans in to press a small kiss on the top of your head, breathing in the warm heady scent of you, savoring your proximity.

He will defy destiny as many times as he needs to, in every lifetime, to find his way back to your side. Weave his own string to connect himself to you, one dyed red with his blood, tied to his heart, his very being, so that it may never untether.

He is pulled from his musings when his keen ears pick up the change in your breathing, ever aware of your presence. You’re awake.

Not long after, your delightful voice reaches his ears. A drowsy murmur of his name, heavenly on your lips.

“Sy?”

Sylus looks down to your precious form as you blink at him sleepily, swaddled in blankets and nestled within his arms. He finds it adorable, that the first thing you seek out when you wake is him. Affection coats his words as he replies, “Awake, darling? You should go back to sleep, it’s not nearly time for you to get up yet.”

“I had a strange dream again.”

“Another one, sweetheart?”

As you hum and nod your answer, the towel on your temple threatens to slip with the movement. He reaches up to remove the cooling cloth, taking the time to mentally prepare himself.

Sylus suspects these dreams are memories of your previous lives, slowly resurfacing. His instincts were correct in that the power of another Aether Core in your body might help you recover your forgotten past. Not that you knew that these were memories; you still talk about them as if they were nothing but wild fantasies.

Something inside him clenches every time you tell him of a new “bizarre dream”. You’ve lived so many lives without him by your side, where he is unable to find you. Each new memory-turned-dream is a reminder of the many times he could not be with you, of the centuries he’s spent looking for you, aching and alone. Yet he wants to hear you talk about them regardless, because they are a part of you, and he longs to know every facet of you so that he may cherish you fully.

You have yet to dream of a life where he is present.

Until now, when your lovely voice tells him, “You were in it this time, Sylus.”

His gaze snaps to you. If he was pretending to be productive before, he makes no effort to do so now.

“Oh? Do tell, kitten.”

He shuts his phone off mid-text, letting his evol drop it onto the coffee table. This protocore shipment can wait another day; there is nothing more important than hearing your dream right now. And if it was really just a dream, a figment of your imagination- well, time is never wasted when he’s spending it with you.

Your heavy-lidded eyes follow his movements as he shifts from underneath you and to his side. You lift your hand up to his head as he settles, deft fingers reaching to pet his hair and caress his face. Tingles erupt where your fingers trail and he fights to lean into the touch like a cat.

You seem to be lost in thought, eyes fixed to the top of his head, when you say, “You had something on your head. Something sharp and twisting. Rough. It was beautiful, though. You were beautiful.”

Sylus freezes. He knows exactly what you’re speaking of. Of all his previous incarnations, he is most intimately familiar with this one. He can almost feel those spiraling horns of his original form again, a phantom weight that settles heavy on his head, the hardened scales that trail down his face.

Can it be? Did you truly dream of his truest form, of your first life with him?

He wants to know more. Needs to know more.

He knows that he’s failing to keep his voice at its usual bored and impassive cadence when he asks, “And? Can you tell me more about this dream of yours, kitten?”

You blink at him slowly, processing his words. He can almost see the gears of your head turning. You look ready to fall asleep at any moment now. On any other given day, Sylus would let you rest and recover, let the conversation lull until you fall into slumber. But this time, just this once, he allows his own wants take priority. He takes your hand in his, coaxing you to stay awake and focus.

You speak softly, a far-away look in your eyes. “We were standing in a lovely field of flowers. They were breathtaking, Sylus. Such a vivid, dazzling red. There was a black spire in the distance, I think.”

You remember. His breath hitches imperceptibly. The valley of datura flowers. He has only been there once with you: on your last flight together, when he was falling to his death, greatsword in chest.

His heart squeezes as if the blade is still lodged there. The first memory that you’ve regained was your last moments with him. A part of him is elated that you are finally beginning to remember him. He will no longer have to carry the weight of these memories alone. That finally, finally, he will be reunited with you, all of you, past and present. The other, smaller part wishes you to never remember, dreading that you have to relive the pain of his parting a second time.

Your first life together held nothing but tragedy. But still, that nothing gave him you, and all the gifts you showered him with and taught him to cherish. He wants you to remember everything, so that he may finally return the favor in full.

He is distracted from his thoughts when a soft red glow emanates from your hand, threaded with gold. Sylus feels the resonance flow through him, your power thrumming like a pulse and your warmth finding its place in his too empty heart, now filled. His own evol rises to answer yours, ever at your beck and call, a soft surge of energy manifesting in the air as familiar ember-and-smoke tendrils. The curtains sway faintly, caught in the hush of energy.

Looking into your sleepy eyes and fever-heated face, Sylus doesn’t think you even realize what you’re doing. He feels the wash of your emotions like a gentle tide. Contentment, warmth, a feeling of loss, a spark of recognition, of déjà vu. A flickering image of a valley covered in gleaming red flowers appears in his mind’s eye, fuzzy around the edges from your sickness.

He cannot stop the burst of hope that flares in his rapid-fire heart, unbidden.

He severs the connection between you, though. He does not want you to feel the pressure and urgency of his emotions, as he struggles to keep them in check. This is the first time you have dreamt about him. He needs to be there for you, a strong and comforting presence beside you as you piece together the tragedy of this memory. The curtains sway once more, then stills.

When you try to apologize, he dismisses it easily. He has no need for your apologies, ever, but what he does need is to know what else you can recollect.

“What else do you remember?” he quietly implores.

You stare up at him for a second longer, brows furrowed, before acquiescing and closing your eyes. Whatever was crossing your mind—most likely his own emotions you felt during the resonance—seemed to be forgotten for now. The sweet melody of your voice fills the air soon after.

“We were up in the air flying, somehow, before we landed in that blossoming valley. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I felt like I was in a whole other world. When I turned around to look at you, I saw you sitting there amongst the flowers. Red, like shining rubies. Red like-”

Red like the jewel of his heart, pierced. Red like the blood upon your greatsword, as he pushed it deeper. He waits with bated breath for the breaking of your heart, ready to piece it back together.

“Red, like rich wine,” you finish softly.

Something tickles him at the back of his mind, an instinct raising its head, leaving him unsettled. Something was wrong. This was not the reaction he was anticipating from you. No, you were too…calm.

What were you remembering?

A coldness trickles into him as you continue on happily, a smile in your voice. “I decorated you with those flowers. We were so carefree, unworried and relaxed. It was just us, no one else, in the valley that was our playground. I think I was teasing you, or maybe you were teasing me. You said something about seeing the other side of things, something taunting. We ended up play-fighting, rolling around and sending petals up in the air.”

No.

Sylus can’t breathe. He clenches his eyes shut, anguish tearing through him.

This…this never happened.

No matter how many times he desperately yearns, how many times he spits at destiny, sinks his claws into fate, battered and bloody, hoping to carve his own desired path, he cannot change the inexorable truth of your first life: that there was never a chance for your love to grow beyond its initial roots.

He was too young and feral to give these things to you when he first met you. He barely had a grasp of what love was, then. And after that fateful day, when he exchanged half his soul for yours, he never had a chance to. You had been taken from him by the Legion, stolen while he was too injured to do anything but watch, broken, from the shadows. There were only stolen moments when your hearts beat in sync and your entwined souls reverberated that he was able to appear before you as a half-apparition, in the Sanctuary that was your cage.

There was never a chance for him to give you this lovely desire of yours. Could this be simply just a dream, a fantasy this current version of you concocted while entangled within intangible memories?

But he remembers how sure you felt of its reality, when you resonated with him. That startling sense of déjà vu coursing through you. Could it have been a dream your previous self had, of what could have been? Something you never found the chance to tell him? Or perhaps he wasn’t there for you to tell him, perhaps it was after he- after he left you, for the last time.

Perhaps dreams were the only source of comfort you had, after he departed.

There is so much he does not know about the twilight years of your first life. Did you go on to survive and thrive, as he told you to? Were you able to fulfill all your desires and live to your lovely, greedy heart’s satisfaction? Or did you die, grief-stricken and alone, surrounded by enemies that he was not there to protect you from? Dreamt of things he could not give you, places he could not take you, because fate tore him from you before he ever had a chance to?

So many answers he desperately yearns to know and the only person who can give them to him cannot recall.

Fate pulls its string tighter around his neck, taunting him. You finally remembered something from your first life together, and he could not be more fucking heartbroken.

“Sylus?”

He opens his eyes at your soft voice, sucking in a sharp breath into his suffocating lungs and exhaling shakily. Worry glimmers in your eyes as you peer up at him, innocent and unaware.

Something in him howls in anguish when you part your lips to say, “It was just a dream, Sylus.”

Air fans softly against his face as you breathe, your chest rising and falling steadily. He focuses on it, clings onto it as if the mechanical motion gives him oxygen, life. You’re here now, he’s here now. There is little he can do but hold you, in this life, and not let go.

[morallyambiguousfrog]

Tim, sitting upside down in a rolly chair: Hey Sash, would you still love me if I was a worm?

Jon and Martin, swiveling around: a WHAT?!

[crybaby-bkg]

serial killer gojo who likes to stalk you on campus. watch you from across the cafeteria. follows you to your male friends dorm, who ends up maimed the next morning.

who gets tired of never being seen, even though he’s brighter than a fucking dying star on campus, and yet you never notice him. who gets tired when the campus is empty and you’re all alone. finds a knife that’s almost bigger than your head and chases you across the open fields.

he’s laughing, the whole time. his head thrown back and his smile wide as the blade hangs limply at his sides, as if not in threat. as if your heart doesn’t beat so hard against your ribcage, that you think you hear the bones crack with every thud. like your bleeding heart may burst from your skin and splatter onto the ground before you.

he’s a killer, but he’s kind. he’s a killer, but not to you, never to you. holds you so sweetly when he catches you, because of course; he was always going to catch you. licks away your tears and smiles at you, disarming, everything and not. his eyes too ocean wide, his teeth too bone white. you see your reflection in his incisors. you see prey. you see your reflection in his eyes. you see love. it’s always been love for him.

all you have to do now is accept it.

[a-drifting-mannequin]

Incoming

Fandom: Sonic (MOVIE) Pairings: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone; Stobotnik Warnings: Blood, swearing, mention of organs (is brain an organ?)

Summary:

What happens when your agent gets kidnapped? The answer is simply too obvious:

Go after him, kill anyone and everyone in sight, bring him back and then start lecturing at him for being careless.

Stone would admit that he had been careless. His confidence, his ego got the best of him, made him separate from his team to go and finish this himself. It had become a common occurrence for Stone to willingly split up from the rest. It was also a common sight for him to come back, either drenched in the enemy’s blood, his own or both. Unfortunately, Stone was caught like a fish in a net this time. He had failed to recognize their traps fast enough and now it was too late to flee and crawl back. Maybe the doctor was rubbing off on him.

He was sure they knocked him out with a blunt object, and then later drugged him as if he would be able to wake up from that kind of blow. Through his chloroform induced sleep, he felt himself being dragged across the floor, through multiple hallways and down a tight corridor. Unfortunately, his mind was hazy and filled with fog, so he was unable to map out where they were dragging him.

When Stone awoke, the room he sat in was cold, dimly lit by one light bulb dangling back and forth on the mold covered ceiling. Stone could see his own breath coming out in small, visible puffs, fading away too fast as another punch was thrown at his already bruised face. Now with a little more threatening intend, Stone guessed. They’ve been going at this for a while now.

Stone had given up on fighting against his restrains long ago, maybe a few minutes at best. Having his hands cuffed behind him and have said cuffs chained and secured to the concrete floor beneath him had proved to be semi-useful information. These idiots knew how to trap their prey; he’ll give them that. Maybe he would even compliment them and give them a gold star for their efforts.

His arms felt strained, and his elbows were starting to hurt from being held behind the back of the chair he was still sitting in for the past hour. Stone could taste his own blood in his mouth, dripping down from his broken nose and from the scar on his forehead. He didn’t quite remember how he got it; everything was a blur until it wasn’t as pain spiked through his body and senses.

The men surrounding Stone were relentless, shouting and commanding him to spill any information he held regarding G.U.N.’s technology and its provider and maker. Stone knew that the only person that they would be talking about was Robotnik. His doctor.

The agent tuned out most of their insistence shouting, glancing away every so often before being dragged back into reality by a blow to his shins. His eyes felt heavy, his brain was still foggy. Stone bet he would’ve fell asleep some moments ago if these fools weren’t making an effort to blow their vocal cords out to keep him awake.

Stone looked up and past the strands of hair that had fallen over his face, eyeing each man, taking note of their physique in order to find a way to take them down later. A cough interrupted Stone’s train of thought as more blood came up from his throat, staining the concrete floor underneath him. Maybe he was in worse shape than he initially thought.

“One last time punk, because you’re really getting on my nerves.” One of the men said with a polite smile that wasn’t working very well. Forcefully grabbing onto Stone’s undone hair and yanking his head upwards, the man eyed him with a brutality Stone knew all too well. A guttural grunt came from the battered agent, which only served to fuel their cruelty.

A silent chuckle escaped Stone un-promptly after a minute of staring, startling a few men who looked at each other like he was a psychopath. And, in a way, he kind of was. If the doctor had influenced him this much, Stone would wear that title with pride for everyone to see.

His eyes burn, his throat felt like sandpaper, and he was in desperate need for a warm bed and some water. If holding these fuckers off meant G.U.N.’s tracking team could work faster, that was fine by him.

“I’m not telling you anything.” Stone spat, voice rough from all the beating he had taken in the last hour. As expected, another punch directly into his already battered nose. Stone was surprised he wasn't choking on his own blood right now.

Usually, Stone would be able to put up with these kinds of treatment. This wasn’t the first time that he got tortured for information. He had endured far worse, only to be near the gates of death before any of G.U.N.’s rescue team managed to get to him.

Maybe that’s why he was considered a valuable and important asset to them. Because he wouldn’t speak a word about any of G.U.N.’s operations, because he would rather die than have that kind of information be placed into the hands of complete and utter morons, whose only goal in life was to obtain power but has no idea how to use it to their will.

Any other agents in his position would’ve folded easily, would’ve given up any information that they wanted to save their own hide. Stone didn’t blame them; he would do the same if he was already getting tired of being used as a personal punching bag for a bunch of airheads.

But, to his own surprise, he hadn’t got tired of it yet. He refused to give up.

This wasn’t about G.U.N. anymore. This was about the doctor, about Robotnik. This was getting personal real fast.

If these idiots think they could get any information from Stone regarding his doctor, then they would end up with a corpse to clean.

Stone’s train of thought was cut off again by a telltale sound of a walkie-talkie buzzing. The biggest guy in the room pulled it out from where it was strapped to his belt and leaned in with a quiet question. Stone couldn’t hear what he said.

The sound on the other side of the walkie-talkie almost made Stone laugh. Instead, another rough cough escaped his dried throat.

Pained screams, useless begs for mercy rang out in the little confined room. All were cut short with sounds similar to gunshots followed by incoherent threats and a laugh that made Stone’s heart flutter. One guy sounded like he got punched.

“What the fuck is going on out there?” The guy yelled into the receiver of the walkie-talkie, glancing between the room and the device he held.

One final line buzzed through made the room go still, but Stone continued to feel ever more alive.

“He’s coming towards the room you’re in! Hurry the fuck up and get what we need!” Then, the intercoms fell silent, the desperate man on the other line buzzed out of existence.

The walkie-talkie was dropped to the floor, all the men in the room eyed each other with unconcealed fear. Some whispered among themselves, others started and tried miserably to form a plan that would work against their new attacker.

Stone’s shoulders started to heave, shaking with how hard he was trying to hold in his laughter. The way his body shook didn’t let him blissfully ignore the ever-forming pain in his arms and around his wrists.

One of the men turned his attention back to Stone, taking his silent laughter as mockery. Which, in all honesty, it kind of was. He stalked over to Stone with heavy steps made more pronounced by his boots, pulled the agent forward by his tie and sneered at him, trying to appear threatening while Stone smirked up at him, flashing a bloodied smile before his face was gripped by the chin.

“You better tell us what we want to know before we finish you.” The man screamed, spit flying onto Stone’s cheek. Fear and anger lanced in his voice, his grip showed desperation to live but clearly was doing the wrong thing to ensure his own safety. “You don’t have a lot of time left, you sick government dog!” the insult was hollow, used only when you want to provoke anger within you victim. A very useful tactic, but very overused.

Stone did the best he could and managed to spat onto the man’s face despite how hard his face was being held. “I’m not telling you anything.” Stone muttered again, knowing that this was the second time he said that now. These fools really need to learn how to listen.

From behind the guy that still had his ugly mug up against Stone’s bloodied visage, the sound of the wall crumpling could be heard. Mechanical whirring filled the room, followed by a laughter filled with bloodlust and unrestrained anger and impatience.

“My my, what do we have here?” Robotnik said, his voice became a waking call to the agent who was still chained like a dog. Footsteps could be heard, meaning the doctor wasn’t just levitating off the ground. Gentle, soft footfalls but maybe it was a cover for the destruction he was about to release.

Three men from the corner of Stone’s eye got grabbed and held in the air, each one getting their brains blown out agonizingly slow, making a show for the rest who knew what was coming. Stone wondered if dissecting one’s head and then crushing their brain was considered ‘blowing someone’s brains out’.

‘Face-gripper’ still refused to turn around, to face the painful defeat that was very deserving for a man like him. His eyes no longer looked into Stone’s, staring off to some unknown distance with the same fear you would see in a prey’s eyes.

Stone wanted to move, to see his doctor’s face. He wanted to say something, to scream for him. But he couldn’t. not when that hand still held his face uncomfortably.

“I kindly ask you to let go of what’s mine.” Robotnik’s voice dipped, almost low enough to not be audible but enough to give off a dramatic threat.

Mechanical claws crawled up on the man’s form, slowly circling his waist and wrists. Sharp metal tips danced across his skin in a way that shouldn’t be threating, making sure that they had a good grip before the sharp ends of the claws clamped around with unspoken deadliness.

Stone’s face was gracelessly let go, leaving him coughing and choking due to having his tie suddenly yanked and let go.

Looking up fully, Robotnik almost beamed like an angel. The angel of Death, draped in red and black, soaked in the blood of sinners.

“Hello, sycophant.” The doctor said with false sweetness as he approached, a wicked grin curling on his lips. Stone couldn’t tear his eyes away from the beauty in front of him.

His hand was still gloved as always, but now they were drenched in blood that was undoubtedly caused by the doctor himself. That magnificent hand came up and lifted Stone’s chin with its pointer finger, raising his gaze a little more. Fingers curled around his jaw, titled his face from side to side, brushing over open wounds and pressing down on his bruised lips. That hand cradled his face, examined him with the kindness of an angel but also the fury of a god. The doctor made sure his thumb pressed against the agent’s broken nose with some force, which elicited a pained groan from Stone but no objections about his examination came.

After Robotnik was satisfied with his examination, his hand cradled Stone’s face once, his other hand brushed strains of hair from his forehead to get a better look at the wound there before landing on the other side of his agent’s face.

“You look like a mess, Stone.” Robotnik commented, but the usual bite wasn’t there.

Stone smiled again, this time more genuine and filled with adoration for the doctor. He leaned into the touch, not caring if he was leaving himself open for Robotnik to take a hit at him. “Thank you, Doctor.” If the roughness of his voice bothered Robotnik, he didn’t show it on his face.

Instead, he summoned two badniks with a snap of his fingers. One was used to get Stone out of the chair while another was sent to go finish off the leftovers of this pathetic operation. His gaze eventually returned to the agent that now rested his bloodied face in the palms of the genius, eyes closed and a content smile on his face. His breath sounded uneven, streams of dried blood graced his upper lip.

If he didn’t know any better, Stone would probably be asking for a death wish right now. This fool didn’t even know if this is the actual Robotnik or not.

“Get up, Stone. We’re going back to the lab to get you patched up.” Robotnik announced in a rather soft and caring tone, but his face remained neutral. If the blood wasn’t being drained from him at this moment, Stone was sure his face would be flushed.

He didn’t get the chance to actually get up, however, as he felt claws picking him up with ease. The same ones that had finished nearly over a dozen men from before, still covered in blood and tattered fabrics from their suits. The same ones that the doctor made, holding him with care and gentleness.

They slowly lowered Stone into the arms of Robotnik, being as careful as possible with precision.

“You’re in big trouble for being careless, Stone.” Robotnik said, eyes filled with fading bloodlust, sweetly looking into Stone’s near bloodshot ones.

“I know, Doctor. Thank you, Doctor.” Stone muttered, feeling the exhaustion settling in. His limbs felt heavy, the pain that was previously there fading into a numbing buzz.

Before he fell unconscious, he heard something from the doctor. Maybe because of the exhaustion, maybe it was a last-ditch effort so his brain wouldn’t feel so bad when he died.

“I’m glad you’re safe, my dear sycophant.” The words that fell from the lips of his beloved doctor felt natural. But Stone insisted on mishearing it.

[z-eel]

sniper Remus, who works for the head of house Potter and is tasked to kill the head of house Black

head of house, Regulus, who managed to get two assassins as his bodyguards, convincing Remus to join his side as well

head of house, James, who's unaware of the betrayal and thinks he still has Remus under his control

[zirkkun]

i have been working on one singular fanfic, which is going on 50k+ words atm, since like the beginning of December and this is all i have to show of the plot atm please take my offering

[dispatchwithlove]

I just read an amazing post about how Shepard and the Normandy are Garrus’s normalcy, his home, which is why he goes to Omega after her death, why he doesn’t really move on with his life like others, and why he immediately agrees to rejoin her in ME2 and it gave me the biggest feels.

It also reminded me of this bit I’m working on for Singularity. These two just mess me up 😩

Garrus watches Shepard walk out of the medbay. Her body is a vague form, dark at the center but the edges are blurred. He blinks his heavy eyes believing she’ll shift from phantasm to reality, but her shape flickers and even after everything that happened on Omega he can almost believe the person walking away isn’t really her. Her determined step is unquestionably familiar, though. It fills him with too many feelings that wind like ribbons and ball beneath his keel.

She steps through the parted doors and slips that low-hanging hood over her rust-colored hair, hiding herself, just before the doors slide shut. And she’s gone.

Logically, her being alive is impossible. She died. Footage from a severed piece of the Normandy showed her lax body drifting, the main PLSS hose dangling, disconnected, trailing precious crystalline grains of oxygen, until nothing trailed at all. And yet two years later there she was, sitting on his work bench, wrapped around him, a smile he’d missed for every day of those two years shining up at him.

Garrus blinks again, and again, slowly looking at his surroundings, gathering his bearings through wet, heavy senses.

He’s on the Normandy, he knows that, but he isn’t certain whether the familiarity is in the stiff bed beneath him and the bare walls around him, or in Shepard’s scent hanging around him, something soft cut by salty sweat and electric snap that’s soaked into her clothes and hair and skin after a fight.

She’s alive.

[simonkleine]

I specifically excel in creating plot outlines and failing to get past the halfway point in any of them. Just started this one today, so at least there's progress.

[eliashirsch]

God Tier Top Gun Fanfictions. A Masterlist. (1/3)

As of 15th May 2024, these are some of the BEST stories I have read in the fandom. Of course, this is completely subjective and there are many personal factors as to why I crowned them God Tier. 

Mainly:

Reading it for the first time: ‘Oh, this is really good, I’m going to be thinking about this for the rest of my life’

When compiling the list: ‘Oh my god, this fic, man, this fic!!’

There are many other fics that match the first criteria, but for it to be on this list, I needed to have these two reactions.

REMINDER! READ THE AUTHORS' TAGS AND WARNINGS!!! They’re there for a reason. PLEASE make sure you understand where the story is going to be before reading!!

Without further ado, I present to you, my roman empires:)

Winner Categories:

1. Best of the Best Authors (1/3)

2. Best of the Best Series (2/3)

3. Best of the Best Fics (3/3)

4. Honorary Mentions (4/3)

Best of the Best Authors

Authors that I trust with my life, whose work are ALL incredibly well written. 

COMPACFLT @compacflt

They’re the first person to pop in my head when I was thinking about making this list. No amount of time and words will be enough for me to describe how good their work is. Seriously. It’s on a level I’ve never seen before for fanfiction. The world building, the characterization, the prose, everything. COMPACFLT has a way of understanding these characters, it makes so much sense and fits so well with canon. I’m just at a loss for words. Genuinely the reason I converted to Icemav supremacy.

When We Get Around to Talking About It 

Goose has been dead for a week and a half when Iceman loses his first wingman in a dogfight with six Soviet MiGs over the Sea of Okhotsk. Goose has been dead for thirty years when Iceman loses his second wingman to a surface-to-air missile on the tail-end of a mission he's responsible for: he's sent his family on a suicide mission to destroy a uranium enrichment facility in Russia's Far East. This is the story of those thirty years in the middle. (Or: Tom Kazansky rises through the ranks while trying to stay a good man. If he ever was one to begin with.)

This was the first story I’ve read from them. And it’s so… I don’t have words.  It’s told from Ice’s perspective, filling the gaps between TG and TG:M with added Icemav and Hangster. In my mind this is canon:D

Debriefing (& Other Stories)

"We can start here, I guess. If we're talking about us," Pete says. "Nineteen-eighty-six. The first thing I thought, when I saw you in that O-club, was: Iceman is off-limits. Capital O, capital L." Despite himself, despite the fear, Tom laughs a little. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?" "Well, first off, we were competition. And yeah, you were attractive, but then you opened your mouth and I swear. You were just an asshole. Goose is trying to introduce you to me and here I am thinking about how much of an asshole you are. Shut up about Cougar, asshole." "It was supposed to be a friendly competition!" "Yeah, right. So that's what I was thinking: he's attractive, clearly doesn't know how to talk to other men, might be into the proposition if I framed it the right way. But he's an asshole, so this competition is just gonna be friendly." Pete pauses. Then he says, "Ice, you wanna get married?" And that's how they start talking about it. (Or: they finally get around to talking about it. Plus a couple extra stories for good luck.)

Sigh and send COMPACFLT a loving look. This Maverick's POV adds so much to the story without being repetitive. COMPACFLT deliberately tells their story like puzzle pieces, and they complete each other—just like Icemav, if you will. 

The Slider oneshot is truly something else. I was so eager for the upload and kept an eye on their account for updates religiously. To flesh out a character that barely has any source material is an incredible skill to have. And the Bradley oneshot… Omg… My favorite characterization of Bradley, period. 

Tremors & Aftershocks

They both come back to their senses and stop openly crying again eventually. The stitches fall out of the thirty-year-old wounds and the scars fade back to skin-color. Life stops being so painfully raw after a couple weeks back home. You get used to miracles the way you get used to anything else. One day at a time. [Or: 40 years of extras, from 1982-2022. Some true love, some heartbreak, some miracles.]

To me, this one has a different feeling from the other two. More focused on Ice and Mav’s relationship as opposed to the whole plotline. It’s tender and bittersweet and feels like being hugged for the first time and then told that you wouldn’t get another hug in thirty years time.  

What impresses me most is that, if you go to COMPACFLT’s Tumblr account, you’ll see the thought they’ve put for these stories are INSANE. They’re so educated on the military and its history and it adds so much to these characters. I’m not American and all my writing for Top Gun will always stem from google searches and other fics. If you’re a nerd like me and like to read about other’s analysis about topics they know nothing about, I suggest you go to their account and have fun.

COMPACFLT, you have captured my soul with your writing. Thank you for your service and I wish you well in life.

AortaArgent @aortaargent

If you’re looking for an author who can write smut like nothing else, go to their profile. Better yet, click here, and scroll down to the threads they made about girl!Mav and get horny real quick. It’s a shortcut to heaven really. (And yes, I’m still upset that they seem to have left the fandom, but I still hold the stories they’ve left behind close to my heart:)) My favorites:

like a shotgun (needs an outcome)

“Ice gave me a handjob when we did this,” he argues. “Oh, that’s what gets you moving? Seeing who comes first?” With that, Slider takes hold of him, wrapping his hand around and keeping his fist steady. “Go on, baby girl. Fuck it like a good little -” He squeezes Slider’s balls a little harder than he’d imagine is necessarily pleasant. For Slider. It's definitely nice for him. “Fuck,” Kerner chokes out, weakly. Ice sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “I told you he bites.” In which there are multiple realisations, improbable numbers of pilots hanging out in a shared shower, volleyball games and verbal tennis. Yes, it's compulsory to wear your dogtags in the shower - never know when you could need identification. (Only kidding, it's for added fuckability.)

It’s so hot... but believable at the same time. BDSM is just one of those things where you read about it and can tell if the author has experience or is just extremely well-informed. 

Eye to Eye 

“Maybe it’s not just us looking to get a piece of you,” Wolf says. He’s right by Maverick’s head, and a shiver rolls down his shoulders in a sweeping tide at the soft click of each word against his ear. “Maybe we offered. You’re so pretty, Mav. It’s not a hard sell.” His hands twitch with the effort of not reaching up to tear off the blindfold and find out if they’re telling the truth or just winding him up. It’s possible. Occupied, blindfolded, he might not have noticed the door opening. More guys could have been in the showers. Two hands circle his ankles, firm over his boots, and hold him steady. Someone else has his left hand, kneading the tendons down the back of it. Anyone and anything is plausible. A continuation. Finally.

HOT DAMN. That’s all.

AortaArgent portrayed Ice and Mav’s relationship as absolute and secure while having fun with Mav’s dynamic with the other guys. All of their works are mind-boggling and simply amazing!

thecarlysutra @icemankazansky

Need I say more? Carly’s one of the most prominent members of the Top Gun fandom. Actually, I trust any member of the Top Gun Old Guard. With Carly, there’s something about their writing that makes me think of discovering an old box of CDs you used to watch relentlessly, dusty and worn, but the nostalgia rushes back and it’s achingly familiar. You can tell they’ve been writing for Top Gun for so long the characters kind of became their own. And when you click on any fic they wrote, you can fall and trust they’ll catch you. My favorites:

and i promise, you're the locksmith

“Is something going on in your neighborhood?” Maverick asked. “Like … a pest problem or something?” “You could say that,” Ice said. “Like … a coyote or something?” “Suitors,” Ice said. Maverick's attempts to woo Iceman are somewhat complicated by the promise Ice has made: Anyone who wants to marry him must catch his cat, which wears the key to his house around its neck on a silver chain. Inspired by the Tumblr legend.

This one’s so cute!!! Ugh, I’m never going to get tired of reading Icemav fall in love over and over again. 

Dreams of Impact

Maverick's trip in Darkstar takes him further than he ever imagined possible.

Sigh for the second time and send hearts Carly’s way. Basically, Mav gets transported to another universe and weird things happen. I love fics that dabble with the universe, the what-ifs, the what could’ve been. Do you ever have that moment when you make a decision, look back and wonder how life would be if you chose differently? Click on the link and read 🫵

aelibia @topgunreacts

God. aelibia’s just too good. It’s like banger after banger after banger. If you’re looking for an author whose work is a guaranteed good read, click the link and it’ll show you magic. They have Icemav ranging from tender and soft to angsty, portraying all different sorts of love and a way of writing explicit sex that I’ve never found anywhere else. 

I can’t even pick which one’s my favorite because they’re all my favorite. Especially the series they wrote, oh my god. I love them all. However, one that I reread religiously and being giddy over is this:

Wine Dark Sea

Raised by a selkie mother bound to a human man, Ice returns to the human world as a teenager with a singular purpose: to find the source of human strength, and claim it for himself. But after a careless mistake binds him to another human man, Ice is forced to reconsider his most fundamental beliefs: What is the meaning of strength? And what is the cost of freedom?

It’s so silly at times and heartbreaking most of the time. I especially love the later chapters where the evil is defeated and Ice is just being a silly seal while Mav’s being the supportive partner that he is. This fic is the SOLE REASON that my favorite animal is a seal. Thank you for opening my eyes to something that has been so obvious from the start, your majesty aelibia.

I also humbly present these seal drawings because the image of Ice galumphing around a Navy base, complete with wet smacks and people shrieking in horror makes me laugh everyday. That, and the scene where Mav is surrounded by four fat harbor seal pups and reading a story to them. Eleven out of ten. 

This one’s my favorite:}