#this fic has been like a year-long labour of love at this point so i am advertising it here to get people to read it

[blessyouhawkeye]

Chapters: 2/6 Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, everyone else is here too but we spend the most time with these three Additional Tags: alternate universe - figure skating, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Kid Fic, Getting Together, figure skating as a love language, Teacher Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Summary:

Lan Wangji feels like his brain is leaking out of his ears. He had been the only Chinese skater assigned to Skate America this year, meaning neither Jiang Cheng nor Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had been in attendance. Meaning Wei Wuxian had woken up at three in the morning just for him. Wangji internalizes this fact, and promptly comes undone.

Wei Wuxian hadn't forgotten about him.

(AU where Olympic figure skater Lan Wangji reunites with Wei Wuxian, his teenage rinkmate. It's been seven years since Wei Wuxian abruptly retired from figure skating, and now teaches a children's class at a local rink. This would all be a lot easier on Lan Wangji if he didn't have a Grand Prix Final to win, and if Wei Wuxian wasn't so damn good with kids.)

hello everyone i am engaging in shameless self promotion - the second chapter of my wangxian figure skating au is now up :) 

[slytherizz]

In the Shadow of Us - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

Summary: Sebastian Sallow has spent the past 5 years rotting in Azkaban.

The only thing keeping him sane; the hate he has for the woman who put him there and the man beyond the wall. Now that same witch, the one he'd once loved, needs Sebastian's help.

Theophilus Harlow has escaped Azkaban. To earn his freedom and get revenge on the man responsible for creating his sister's curse, Sebastian and the Auror must track down the man beyond the wall before he tears the Wizarding World apart.

Tags: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Smut

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, explicit language, angst, seriously angst, Hurt/Comfort

You can find the entire fic on AO3

I can't believe I finally finished my long fic. It's honestly so bittersweet that it's over. I don't know what to do with myself so I thought I'd post the first chapter here.

Part 1 'Whatever it Takes' is not necessary to read Part 2 'In the Shadow of Us'.

Chapter 1

Sebastian listened to the waves crash against the rocky cliffs below, the storms that surrounded the cursed slice of land in the middle of the sea never seemed to rest. The only signs of life, if you could call it life, were the clanking of chains and the muttering from those who’d already lost their minds. The air was always damp, and condensation clung to the walls of his cell. He watched as the water dribbled down from the barred window onto his half rotten mattress on the floor. Sebastian had spent his first month dragging it around to every corner to try and find somewhere it would stay dry but after years, he had given up trying.

He could feel them approaching, feel the coldness, the emptiness. It felt as though a black hole had dragged his soul from his body, as floating rags of a dementor came into view through the bars. A skeletal hand of flesh stretched over bone, clinking along one of the bars. Sebastian brought the blanket he had around his bare feet to starve off the chill, crunching himself into the corner to get as far away as he could. It never worked but he still tried. Every time.

All he could feel was the darkness in his soul rising like water, ready to fill his lungs and drown him. As the tattered robes that hid the monstrous face peered in through the gaps, Sebastian knew there was no point in fighting it, any happiness he had had been lost years ago.

The curse struck her directly in the chest, and she crumpled to the ground screaming in agony. The curse licked at her as she clawed at her skin. Guttural wails of pain echoed off the walls. She was convulsing, so viciously he thought she may swallow her tongue and choke. She was pleading for it to stop; for him to stop.

She was above him, her head thrown back in a raspy gasp of pleasure. She was writhing above him, coming undone under his touch as she was brought to climax. How he’d kissed her, hands fisting possessively into her hair. She’d stroked his cheeks as they came down from their shared ecstasy, her eyes burning into Sebastian. The last time he’d had her, right before she’d turned him in. At the time he’d thought was love. Now he knew it was goodbye.

Sebastian’s throat was raw as he gulped down breaths, the world was slowly coming back into focus. He’d buried his fingernails so far into his palms he could feel the sting where he’d broken the skin. His head was spinning.

“You alright, mate?” rasped a voice from the other side of the wall. Sebastian let out a groan in response and the faceless man behind the wall chuckled. A tinny hollow sound, of a man who knew the hell that Sebastien had just experienced all too well.

“Peachy,” Sebastian groaned, sinking his head back into the mattress. His heart was beating wildly, and his breathing was laboured. He felt cold and empty. He didn’t know at what point she had decided he was too cursed, too broken. But he’d stopped hoping one of them would come for him. Sebastian knew there was nothing left for him outside of these walls.

Sebastian had spent the last five years in Azkaban alongside the voice beyond the wall. Sometimes he wondered if he’d lost his mind and the voice was just in his head. But at some point, he’d stopped caring and the lines became blurred, somewhere between reality and a nightmare.

There was no way to survive in a place like this. It was designed to break, and drag every joy, happiness, pride, comfort out of your soul until there was nothing left. What had once been a fire within him, a passion that had kept Sebastian alive, was now cold. The only embers that burned anywhere in him anymore, keeping him from the brink of insanity was the rage. The hate that crept in. For the woman that let him tear himself apart for her, before turning him in. He traced the tattoo on his wrist. The rage was the only thing he had left, they couldn’t take that from him.

“Tell me about before we got here, mate. You know it’s the only way to keep the fire burning.”

***

Sebastian wakes with a start. His heart is pounding in his chest and his body is damp. Whether this is a cold sweat from the nightmares, or from the rain coming through the bars, he doesn’t know. The differences between the reality and dreams make no difference to him anymore. His reality is a nightmare, regardless.

“You there?” Sebastian rasps into the darkness. He needs to hear the voice, the only constant that keeps a grip on his sanity. He’s met with silence, and the crashing of waves as they beat against the dark monolith. Sebastian presses his ear to the wall, but he hears no scratching, no breathing.

Maybe the owner of the voice had died. Sebastian didn’t know whether to be terrified or jealous. Maybe the voice had been another trick of the dementors this whole time, to ignite a fire of hope in him, giving them more to feed off. Sebastian shook that idea from his head, these kinds of thoughts make people go mad in here.

Sebastian had forgotten the name of the voice long ago. It hadn’t mattered, all that mattered was the stories they told each other. The ones that kept the fire lit.

He told the voice his story of the relic, how he’d killed his uncle trying to save his sister and of the goblins that used that ancient power to curse her. He laid bare the story of the girl that left him to die after he’d torn himself apart to save her.

He knew the voice had been one of Rookwood’s men, but he had chuckled in that hollow tinny way when Sebastian told him how he’d set so many of their camps ablaze.

Sebastian knew this was not a good man beyond the wall. But Sebastian was not a good man either.

Sebastian curled up on the rotten mattress and closed his eyes. Maybe he would be back in the morning. Maybe Sebastian would die in his sleep too, it didn’t sound too bad.

***

Sebastian was sat on the iron chair in the cold windowless room in Azkaban, his hands were shackled, and the chains linked through a loop in the table. The cold metal of the chair stung his skin through the threadbare cotton of his Azkaban robes. Grey and striped, they hung off him, not much more than skin and bone. Sebastian leaned back in his chair the chains clanking and pulling taut when he tried to cross his arms, not enough give in the length. Not long enough to strangle someone, or himself.

He'd been abruptly dragged from his cell this morning, by some of the intimidating wizard guards in the prison. Or was it afternoon. The sky was always different shades of grey here, he never knew the time. Sebastian supposed that was the point.

The door clicked in front of him swinging open and in the doorway stood the last person he ever expected to see. Ever wanted to see.

“Hello Traitor. Long time, no see,” his face stretched into a cruel smile, his voice a little hoarse from disuse. Her face was blank unreadable, lips pulled into a hard line.

“Leave us,” she gestured, to the two guards flanking her. They exchanged a weary glace at each other, but her eyes never left Sebastian. He was doing his best at looking unfazed, stretching out his limbs as far as the chains would allow.

“Ma’am, we aren’t allowed to leave the prisoners alone-, “ the older of the two guards began, keeping a hand on his wand in the holster strapped to his chest, as if expecting Sebastian to strike at any moment. What exactly the man expected Sebastian to do, wandless and chained was a mystery. At least they thought him formidable enough to be capable of daring escape attempt.

“This is a Ministry matter. I have no problem speaking to your superiors. I said leave us,” Sebastian surveyed her for the first time in years. Her hair was pulled back at the temples in two soft braids, just as she had always worn it to battle. Some of the fullness of youth had left her face, where she had once been pretty, she was now striking. But her features were drawn and grave, her eyes guarded. She looked older and Sebastian wondered how his own features may have changed in return.

The pristine scarlet of her robes was the only drop of colour in a lifeless room. Scarlet robes, a gold badge adorned on her chest and a wand holster strapped to her arm. The marks of an Auror. Sebastian let out a low chuckle. Of course, she would have become an Auror whilst he had rotted behind bars.

With a scowl the accompanying guards shared a nervous glace to each other, obviously recognising the malice on Sebastian’s face. She levelled them with a hard look of authority, and they reluctantly shuffled out of the interrogation room, bolting her inside, regarding him as though he were some sort of wild animal that they had just fed, like he could pounce at any moment.

“Sallow,” she acknowledged him for the first time. Her voice sounded the same, but it was colder than he was used to. She took the seat opposite, seeming a lot less worried than the guards had been about proximity to a convicted murderer.

“I presume this isn’t a social call to see an old friend,” Sebastian said, as casually as if he was receiving her for tea. He lounged back in his chair, ignoring the biting chill of the iron into his skin.

“No,” she regarded him, taking note of his relaxed posture, his careful words. She was cautious and assessing, she had none of the fire that Sebastian knew her to have. She may try to hide it behind pristine robes and authority, but Sebastian knew it was there, lurking behind guarded eyes.

“The Ministry needs your help.”

Sebastian laughed a low hollow sound and bit out, “Why the fuck would I ever help you?”

“Because it will buy you your freedom, Sallow,” her voice had a professional, clinical edge, containing none of the fire that he knew her to have. He was laughing a little hysterically now, and briefly thought he must look a bit insane. Good, he thought, let her think that I’ve gone mad, let her think about me and what she’s done. The sound seemed to set his former friend on edge, and she dropped the mask of authority for a moment. Despite her unease he purred. At least he knew he could still get under her skin.

“What would I do with freedom?”, he chortled bitterly, “I have nothing to go back to. No family. No friends. You made certain of that last one. Inside or outside is irrelevant. And you’re the last person I would help.”

“Fine. If not for freedom, for revenge. On the men who cursed your sister.”

“Goblins cursed my sister,” he seethed through his teeth. He hadn’t heard her name aloud in years. Sebastian couldn’t even tell the man beyond the wall. Couldn’t bring himself to say it. He only heard it in his in the waking nightmares the dementors brought. Even all these years later, the mention Anne still put him on edge. Especially from her traitorous mouth.

“No, they didn’t. It was Victor Rookwood. Rookwood is dead but I know you’re familiar with Theophilus Harlow. You’ve shared a wall with him for the last five years. I’m sure you’ve noticed his…absence,” only for a second Sebastian saw something flicker in her, the ghost of that old fire he knew so well. But as quickly as it was there it was gone “Harlow was Rookwood’s right hand man. Particularly for his skills in curse development. He created the curse that Rookwood used on Anne- “

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” Sebastian spat, sitting forward abruptly in his chair and the chained groaned. She didn’t flinch.

“‘Children should be seen and not heard’ Rookwood said those same words to me the night he tried to take my life-”

“You’re fucking lying,” he bit out. Goblins cursed his sister. And she had cursed him.

“Sebastian,” she sighed exasperatedly “just listen to me. Harlow is dangerous. Rookwood may have been the mastermind but Harlow…he’s a sadist. He developed curses using that ancient magic reserve far beyond my understanding. I know you studied Anne’s curse more than anyone, studied your parents work on ancient magic. With Miram and Fig gone along with their research, there’s no one in the ministry with the knowledge of how these reserves work. How Harlow might use them, again. I know you studied your parents work and as the last one to speak to Harlow. They’re willing to offer you freedom, in exchange for your cooperation in tracking him down. I know you remember it, the research. If we can’t stop him, your sister won’t be the last one to suffer.”

Sebastian was silent, and his eyes burned into her as if his gaze could cause her a fraction of the pain he’d been in for the last five years. After five years, she comes to him and has the audacity to ask for his help. There was a man once who lay waiting for her to come for him. But that man had died in Azkaban.

The silence that between them hung like death. Neither of them moved. Sebastian was used to waiting. The scarlet of her robes seemed to taunt him. He’d once envisioned himself wearing those robes. They had planned to do it together. That flicker of rage, the one which was keeping him alive was starting to grow, and the spark was starting to burn. The man behind the wall. The one that had started this. He had cursed his sister and Sebastian in the process. There were only two people to blame for the last five years. The woman across from him and the man beyond the wall. Harlow. How many times they had spoken of revenge. As they had stood on opposite sides of the wall, they now stood on opposite sides of a war. A war that Sebastian would finish.

She looked like she wanted to say something else but hesitated, her lips parted slightly before she thought better of it and pulled them back into a hard line. Finally, she sighed and got to her feet.

Just as she reached out to rap on the door, Sebastian bit out through clenched teeth. “I’ll do it.”

She froze, and turned her back to him slightly, fixing him with a cautious eye.

“But not for you. For Anne.”

[laiqualaurelote]

If these haven't been asked yet for the ask game: M and P!

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

I had this wild idea for an Accidental Baby Acquisition fic in which Crystal has an unplanned pregnancy (this is about 10 years after the events of Dead Boy Detectives and she's in her mid-20s) and though she has no desire to involve the father (yet another of her douchebag exes) she decides she does want to have the baby. Charles is thrilled because baby! but also terrified because what if it turns out he's like his dad after all? Edwin goes through the five stages of grief in 24 hours, from denial ("this agency cannot afford to have a baby! how will Crystal get any work done?" "this is why we should have had the maternity leave discussion a long time ago, Edwin" "what the bloody hell is maternity leave?!") to acceptance (Charles: "Let me talk to him. You go get some sleep." Crystal comes back the next morning to find the entire office covered in books on pregnancy and that Edwin has already drawn up diet plans/classical music playlists/the baby's entire linguistic education pathway. Charles: "I tried to stop him. Really I did." Edwin, hysterical: "We are doing this right! We are going to have the best baby!" Crystal: "Oh God.")

Also ft:

the Night Nurse's horrified realisation that she is actually going to have to midwife Crystal through this thing

Jenny's horrified realisation that she is now an aunt. Great-aunt, even

Crystal's ancestors having way too many opinions on the whole process

"Edwin Payne, you stay the fuck out of my womb!"

Crystal going into labour while on a case, in another dimension

Charles cutting the umbilical cord with his magic sword and bursting into tears upon getting to hold the baby for the first time

Crystal insisting on breastfeeding during client consultations (Victorian gentleman ghost: "This is an outrage, madam!" Edwin: "Sir, if you are unable to take your eyes off my colleague's breasts then I suggest you take your plaint elsewhere. This is a progressive workplace.")

Edwin attempting to solve mastitis through magic

the boys taking the baby on nighttime excursions so Crystal can get some sleep

the baby loves being in the backpack (Charles' theory is that it reminds her of being in the womb. Crystal: "Charles Rowland, do not put my fucking baby into the same bag as that bomb!" Edwin: "Crystal! Language!")

at some point they discover the baby is an interdimensional being which is a whole other headache

Charles keeps referring to all this as "the Infamous Baby Debacle of 2034" and nobody can make him stop

The last chapter would be from the child's POV:

"Hi my name is Niko Surname von Hoverkraft and I can travel between dimensions. My mom is the most powerful woman in the world. My godfathers are dead and I'm not allowed to talk about it. I'm not related to Niko Sasaki but I wish I were because she's so pretty and it snows all the time in her dimension. I was walking outside in London with my godfathers. It was London so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of people stared at me, I guess because they can't see my godfathers so it looks like I'm talking to myself. I put up my middle finger at them."

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

Everyone thinks I'm an architect - I would love to think of myself as an architect - but actually I plan very little in advance. I think the best metaphor would be architect-gardener, in that I build a little trellis and let the story grow on it how it will.

Thank you for playing this fic ask game!

[fiveredlights]

matthew and callan is literally the reincarnation of maxiel i'm so curious about them so like the monza really happened because of that jealousy incident? TELL ME MOREEEEE

long response under the cut, thank you for the ask anon! love rambling about my fics, if it was a full time job i would excel at it! (plus a little snippet from the bonus scene i’ll probably post from monza)

matthew and callan are really interesting because i had full intentions to seperate them from maxiel as much as possible—i thought it would be very boring to just have max and daniel and then their next gen counterparts in a fic—but then they grew legs and ran away from me. like i promise i wasn’t trying to make them maxiel 2.0 but i guess maxiel is just too strong sometimes… i think i truly realised this chapter when michelle texted daniel and she was like “oh me and max text sometimes” and i was like wait……. why does that sound familiar….. then i gave up and fully leaned into it

now anon one thing about me is that i have shit poor memory. like i am the human equivalent of a goldfish so when you said monza jealously incident i was like “what jealously incident???” and honestly i am still not exactly sure what that means…. i think (maybe) you’re referring to the authors note where i mentioned that matthew was unreasonably upset over callan’s new partner and i now realise that i should’ve given more context in that this happens after monza. matthew does not hit callan because he’s jealous that callan has a partner.

i’ll give you the texts but like i’m really emphasising that they’re deleted for a reason… to me it is just incredibly out of place and it was never gonna make it in

there are no real motivations (that we know of) that cause the monza incident. i think it’s sometimes the case that teammates just crash, you know? but also from callan’s perspective, he’s had a bad start to the second half of the season, a q1 knockout, a dnf throught his own doing, and also why the fuck was matthew with his sister??? and also he hasn’t beat matthew in the head to heads since monaco (of the ones that i’ve shown) and that was back in may.

matthew has slowly started to infiltrate into his walls even more, and he doesn’t NOT know how to deal with it… here’s a little bit from the bonus scene:

“I know what it’s like to…care about someone who's destined for greatness or whatever,” Daniel carefully says and Callan isn’t stupid.

He’s seen the times. He knows Matthew is slowly creeping up on his laps, taking a tenth here or there and it’ll only be time before those tenths mean being ahead of Callan.

(Depressingly, he suddenly realises, Matthew has been ahead of Callan. It’s been like that since Monaco.)

The media says they’re siblings, they say they’re friends but sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. Sometimes he’ll catch Daniel looking between them like he’s expecting something there, searching for some invisible thing Callan quite can’t define yet.

Sometimes, he thinks Daniel knows exactly what’s running through his mind when he looks at his teammate.

Sometimes, Callan thinks he’s right.

at this point callan knows there’s ~something~ there but does not want to open that door. he wants that door BOLTED. matthew has no clue. all teammates must surely act like this and if you remember, he specifically states that he watched max and daniel as his drivers growing up and we know how batshit insane they were in 2016-2018 so… in a roundabout way this could be daniel’s fault if you think about it

matthew’s also been pretty lucky. he’s only had one bad season with the team, his first one where callan has had to sit through bad cars and bad decisions since 2025. this is the first time in four years things have started to work. so yeah, maybe he’s a little bit annoyed that the matthew gets to reap all the benefits whilst he’s been labouring away for years on how to get this car moving.

i don’t know if that answers any of your questions i just came back from dinner and blurted it all out…

[gatheringfiki]

GatheringFiKi Interest Survey 2023 - Results

Hi folks,

First of all, huge thank you to those who took the time to fill in our recent survey. We have now reviewed the results and have a couple of points we’d like to share.

1) The Headcount:

The first, biggest and most welcome surprise from the Survey is that there are so MANY of you! And most of you are new faces, which I think is just wonderful! Welcome, welcome, one and all!

The total of 23 people took part in the Survey (admittedly some of whom I have never seen take part in any events, but I have high hopes).

When I was leaving for my travels in September 2022, a similar Interest Survey presented a bleak picture, very different to today, with a number of people having clearly moved on (though not all!). Personally, I think it was the right call to accept and acknowledge that, re-subscribe those truly interested today, and re-focus my efforts and events targetting where it's actually wanted.

Please remember that if you ARE interested in taking part in our events, you can always ask to have personal notifications delivered to you whenever one is running - just message @linane-art

Of course, I am fully aware and very grateful that, apart from the folks taking part, there are also quite a few of you who consume the new content, read, watch, like, comment, reblog or just silently marvel and enjoy their (guilty?) pleasure. I love and appreciate you all.

2) Your Favourite Existing Events:

12 Days of Christmas - 18 votes

FiKi Week - 14 votes

Trick or Treat - 12 votes

Drabble Challenges - 11 votes

Durin's Day Gift Exchange - 11 votes

Kink Bingo - 9 votes

H/C Bingo - 8 votes

AUpocalypse - 7 votes

Fandom Raffle Exchange - 5 votes

Show Some Love - 5 votes

Fic of a Fic - 4 votes

Fanfic Rec Bingo - 2 votes

Secret Admirers - 1 vote

Round Robins - 0 votes

No surprises near the top: 12 Days has just ran and is beloved by everyone and FiKi Week is like THE Gatheringfiki event.

Trick or Treat also ran recently, but I think you also have a particular penchant for everything spooky/autumny.

Drabble Challenges are quick and easy, and I think a natural choice for a 'top up' event next to the big ones. I wonder if those of you who haven't experienced the speed and the 'write off all your other weekend plans'-ness of this event will think of it. :D

DDGE surprises a little, because it's a big commitment of an event, but I guess maybe because we're not running the Raffle regularly any more, and it's a similar enough thing? Or like a Big Bang? And there's nothing else that promotes actual collaborations. Intriguing.

The Bingos - always heat up the temperature in the room. I think those of you who want them, want them like burning. I also think (looking at hit counts), that there are also many more of you who, ah, enjoy the fruits of our labours, but like... anonymously and silently :D So long as those are not ran too often, I think they're a blast, and it's been 2 years.

AUpocalypse juuuust about makes it, but I think it has a special place, as it's the one event where artists can participate easily and have a fully free reign of what they create.

Please remember that if you are an artist and you're not sure how you can take part, we have this here handy guide for you.

Raffle is probably too big for the headcount we have, rec-type-events have not been popular for a few years now, Secret Admirers still out of favour (why???) and nobody liked Round Robins - fair enough.

3) Other Comments we got / possible New Events:

'A Dead Dove Event' - what is it, I've never comes accross it? Please message me on priv ;)

'Bring-A-Friend Event' - The incest thing will make some people uncomfortable, and those that check us out 'as a courtesy' are unlikely to actually get hooked. I think, by all means, spread the word if you know folks who might enjoy our fandom, but mostly it needs to be discovered on your own. Awareness of GF is the key.

'FiKi Bingo' - We already run 2 bingo-type events and a FiKi Week. I think that ticks both the desired format and desired content boxes.

'Valentine's Day Event' - there is nothing like that per se, but it is no coincidence that the Kink and H/C Bingos usually run around the time when everyone is feeling loved-up ;)

'I don't feel comfortable sharing my own content' - that is perfectly okay and your own choice. Nobody is going to try and push you. But I will say that if you have a supportive fandom, feedback can do wonders for your self-esteem and practice makes perfect. Otherwise, thank you just as much for your silent support.

'Discord Server' - I thought about it, but I think it'll be more of a problem than help. I don't know how to set it up, don't have the capacity to moderate it, only some people would be interested and many people will resist change. We've always said that Tumblr is our native platform and on Tumblr we will remain - don't want to dilute the fandom accorss multiple platforms, sorry.

'October Advent Calendar' - I'm sorry, I don't quite see how it would be different/better than Trick or Treat, except longer? Plus, 12 Days, which runs right after, has that element of 'something new to discover' every day ;)

'FiKi Mad Libs and Frankenstory' - see: Round Robins Event. And it scored 0 points, the poor thing :(

'Visual / phrase / poem / porny inspiration' - visual is addressed by 12 Days. Phrase/poem will be addressed by FiKi Week ;) Porny will be blocked by Tumblr :(

'Reblog-focussed Events' - Yes, agreed, but in the competition for calendar availability, all our rec-type events consistently lose out to out content-creating events. So we resort to caveating all our summary posts with pleas for reblogging and commenting. :/

I also wanted to take this opportunity to thank everyone for the wonderful and humbling words of encouragement I’ve received. I do what I do because of the people in this fandom and I will continue doing so for as long as there is interest in it. It’s what being in a fandom means to me, and hopefully it inspires some of you too :)

A Calendar of Events for 2024 will follow in a separate post.

Wishing you all a cracking New Year, filled with inspiration, joy, passion and feels, hopefully all whipped up by those problematic 2 little a$$holes...

~gatheringfiki

[genavere]

I'm honestly not sure how you could have missed the fact that ravewood was a reposter? People have talked about it extensively, and the art they reposted never matched their url. If you need me to do the labour for you, https://www.tumblr.com/genavere/724723129006604288?source=share here's your most recent offense. https://www.tumblr.com/54prowl/696176793830506496/a-couple-of-things-i-check-to-know-if-the-person?source=share Here's a guide to take notes from, because the post I linked here has so many blatant signs of reposting that it's laughable. Also it doesn't stop being art theft just because it's funny. If you're reblogging stolen work just because it makes you and other people happy, that's still art theft and it's still morally wrong. If your fics that you worked hard on were reposted without credit, I'm sure you wouldn't be too delighted with that. I've given you the resources so please do better.

"If you need me to do the labour for you, https://www.tumblr.com/genavere/724723129006604288?source=share here's your most recent offense."

Remember how I said there was one that I was questionable on? Yeah, that was the one. It's has now been deleted. After you politely informed me it was indeed the one, I did a google search, couldn't find the original artist to credit, so I deleted it.

Did I do my diligence on it? No. Why? It was posted in 2020 and I didn't do a deep dive of the blog. I don't check every account.

"I'm honestly not sure how you could have missed the fact that ravewood was a reposter? People have talked about it extensively, and the art they reposted never matched their url."

Ravewood was one of the first users I came across when I came back to tumblr last year and was looking for Fairy Tail content. After being on the platform again for a couple of months and getting my toes wet, that's when I took off my rose-colored glasses and realized what they were.

At that point in time, I knew no one in the fandom and was hungry.

An important note about people on the internet: Not everyone is in the loop, not everyone is in social circles, and not everyone sees the warning posts right away, either.

Is it an excuse? Yes, and I acknowledge that and the mistakes I've made.

So, now that you have schooled me, thank you for doing the labor for me.

Here is also somethings from that blog you recommended, along with the link for anyone interested:

"Also it doesn't stop being art theft just because it's funny. If you're reblogging stolen work just because it makes you and other people happy, that's still art theft and it's still morally wrong."

Regarding when what I meant by making people happy: it's the memes.

Check out this funny video that I reblogged:

It was great fun watching that. The poor guy that is shaking, I felt sooo bad for him.

How about this one about the grandson of Ulysses S. Grant writing gay vampire fiction:

Lovely information about a gentleman who has defied social norms and prejudice to be with his husband for so long and to write what he is passionate about.

"...because the post I linked here has so many blatant signs of reposting that it's laughable." "Please be more careful when you're reblogging fan art. On more than one occassion you've reblogged stolen fan art which gets spread around even more and that's so unfair to the artists."

If your original message had said: "Hey, this one [link] that you reblogged is stolen, would you mind taking it down or crediting the artist?"

I would have been like: "Oh shoot, sorry about that! Thank you for letting me know!" and taken it down. Would have been appreciative, even.

But you weren't.

Right out of the gate, you were standoffish. The tone felt like you said your piece and were not willing to have a conversation. Not willing to be helpful in letting me know which of the many stolen fanarts you accused me of.

That tone carries through into this ask.

Do I usually try to make sure I reblog credited art? Yes, and as I learn more about how things should be, like trying to attach the original tags the person put, I adapt.

Do I always catch everything? No, cause I am human and sometimes you just can't do better.

"If your fics that you worked hard on were reposted without credit, I'm sure you wouldn't be too delighted with that."

Would I be happy if my fics were reposted without credit? No, cause I would like to know what people think of them and I would not be able to see if they enjoyed them or thought they were trash.

Has this happened? Yes, and with original works, too. Happened to a book that I had self-published, which meant potential lost revenue.

Would I blame someone who reblogged from someone else it if I found out? No. I would let them know that it had been reposted without my consent and ask if they could edit their post to give credit, or take it down and reblog mine.

"I've given you the resources so please do better."

You did give me a resource, which I appreciate.

But, please note, that you could do better, too. Kindness goes a long way, and is a far better teaching tool.

On a last note, how about this one I also reblogged:

[bittercape]

2022 fanworks roundup

For a year where I, by all appearences, did nothing at all for the first half, quite a lot happened.

ART

I painted Bucky and Clint as pirates for the Winterhawk AU Bang, and was claimed by two amazing writers. The resulting fics are from the water thrown, discarded by veryrach and free as the wind that blows past me by flowerparrish, and they're both amazing <3

For the Winterhawk Big Bang, I made art for Hold Your Nerve by Inktastic1711 and for don’t care what you did (as long as you love me) by veryrach.

For the Rusty Quill Big Bang, I made art for The Haunting of Elias Bouchard by With_the_Wolves

FIC

I would have tried to sort this into fandoms or ships, but honestly they do get a little bit mixed up. So, chronologically:

Boris the Soviet Love Hammer

Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, 11k, explicit

For the Winterhawk Big Bang I wrote a shenanigans-filled adventure featuring my favourite things to write: Competent Clint, Thirsty Bucky and Helpful Tony. Hopefully, one day, someone will see fit to draw mermicorn Clint like the world deserves. This fic is blessed with art from amoredition.

of people wrapped up tight in the things that will kill them

Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton/Jason Todd, 7k at 19/31 chapters, mature for violence

For whumptober, I haven't yet managed to finish Bucky, Clint and Jason's no good very bad day. Now that kinkmas is over (more on that later) I will hopefully have time to do it.

Raps at my window, waits at the gate

Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, 2865 words, explicit

At this point I had fallen into the DC hole courtesy of Jason Todd (new blorbo!) and the magnificent fic Give Thanks To Broken Bones by thepartyresponsible, who is one of the most brilliant writers out there and I recommend everything they've ever written. After this brief flailing break: My first adventure in DC features new OTP Jason Todd/Slade Wilson (because I absolutely cannot resist a grumpy old bastard) and my favourite type of Tim Drake, the slightly unhinged version. Regular readers might be able to see a pattern here.

What Spring Does With the Cherry Trees

Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, 32k, explicit

The Winterhawk Olympic Big Bang made me finish this, which has been in progress for more than a year and the is the longest thing I've ever written. This is a bit different from my usual pace - it's a slow story that lets Clint and Bucky take their time to grow closer and fall in love. For this story I was lucky enough to collaborate with three artists: Dr. Girlfriend, VexedBeverage, and Call-Me-Kayyyyy. All their works are embedded in the story.

Baguettes At Dawn

Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, 45k, explicit

Another labour of love on which veryrach and I have been collaborating on since February. It's a silly and fun bakery AU, spawned from a single pun I brutally eradicated from Rach's soft & delicate desires; hopefully, close to 45k of sourdough and madeleines later, the slaughter of a single pun was worth it.

American Thighs

Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, 3k, teen and up

For the Winterhawk Wonderland Exchange, I got back on my bullshit and wrote fake dating, a meat market of a christmas party, and a devious Natasha.

For the Batfam Kinkmas Exchange I wrote a whole pile of works. That's what happens with new blorbos, I'm told.

The Seduction of Jason Todd

Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, 3565 words, explicit

Truth be told, I struggled a lot with this. I got my assigment, grasped the wish for fluff&smut like a baby koala, and then I realised fluff does not come naturally to Deathstroke the Terminator. Sincere apologies to the disproportionate amount of friends who had to suffer through my wailing about this for six weeks; but I do think it was worth it in the end.

Man of Milk and Honey

Michelin Man/Jason Todd, blessedly short at 1k, explicit

I don't know what to say about this. A comment about how the Michelin Man was made of ice cream combined with the prompt and the general vibes in the server planted a seed in my mind and I had no choice but to inflict it on everyone else. You have been warned.

Take Of Me What You Please

Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, 2667 words, explicit

I wanted to write a treat for Jack, who saw me hovering at the edge of the pit, and joyfully dragged me in. Incidentally, I also fullfilled my own Christmas wish, so no vicarious motives here.

Get Me A Taste Of Some Chaos

John Constantine/Jason Todd, 4k, explicit

I could not resist the detailed and varied request, and so we have 5+1 times John Constantine met Jason Todd, featuring swords, tentacles and various magic bullshit.

Get Into Your Slide

Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton/Jason Todd, 2476 words, explicit

Rach is, for all intents and purposes, my partner in crime, and my main cheerleader, my worst enabler. She deserves the world, but rather than that, I wrote her some porn for Christmas. Or rather, due to scheduling reasons, for New Year's.

Lay This Body Down

Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, 1621 words, explicit

There's a long and involved story about one word prompts and the Birdwatchers server, but the relevant part here is that I signed up for the word Bind at the very end of a long marathon, and decided to combine it with a kinkmas treat. Mostly to push myself to get it done. Shibari and kink discovery.

Total word count, excepting the works on which I am listed as co-creator but haven't written a single word:

117.267

My previous record was 61k in 2020, it's no wonder it feels like a lot this year.

[sitp-recs]

Kept in Cages by @sweet-s0rr0w

Artwork by @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm

Harry/Draco (2022, Explicit, 77k)

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all.

Meanwhile, on Level One, ex-Golden Boy Harry Potter is stuck in another interminable policy meeting, completely unaware of the mysterious comings and goings just three floors below. But when a giant snake emergency requires the assistance of a Parselmouth, Harry finds himself thrust, unprepared, into Draco’s weird and wonderful world – and naturally, he can’t keep away…

“All these creatures, and you. You’re not… bothered, you know? They’re all pretty powerful, but you know exactly how to handle them. You’re not scared of them, or anything like that.”

Behold everyone, the magical creature fic we all deserve!! Forget Fantastic Beasts, I would give anything to see this incredible journey on the big screen. From a moving plot to lush visuals, impressive world building and a poignant slow burn, this has all the elements that would make for an incredible movie, and a award-winner at that. The amount of care that went into every tiny detail, the brave decision to explore Harry’s loneliness and deteriorated mental health, plus Draco’s breathtaking characterization and arc, the unique creativity surrounding the magical creatures and their lore! This fic is so rich and detailed it even pays homage to other beloved Drarry works and I had so much fun trying to identify the little references. It’s very clear this was a labour of love and I’ll try my best to make it justice highlighting my favourite elements that deserve some extra appreciation.

First and foremost, the plot. This is NOT your usual “down and out Draco & depressed Harry” meet-cute kind of story. Having Draco secretly work with creatures was such a clever and inventive plot point, he has a quite devastating background and I love the mystery surrounding his post-war life that we slowly puzzle together alongside Harry. The first chapter is a banger and immediately captured my attention with Harry’s chaotic and loud routine as opposed to the quietness of Draco’s Beast Division. You’ll find yourself immersed not only in their main story but also in a brilliant side plot involving politician Lucius in the Muggle world. It was so well-thought, intriguing and original, I loved it!

The pacing also deserves a shoutout, for a long fic this was such a smooth read that I basically devoured in two days. The narrative is a mix of intriguing, funny, heartbreaking and romantic. My kind of long fic! The slow burn is absolutely impeccable, charming and organic, realistic but also full of UST (whoever thought a pet bathing scene could be THAT sexy? SS is showing her devotion to Suds here 😏). And omg this Draco is delicious, competent and stubborn with his dark overalls and tough, capable look (we get it Harry, that’s just your objective assessment!!!) and his single-minded, no-bullshit but gentle approach which is exactly what Harry needs to spark his curiosity. They both start this story so lost and lonely and it’s a privilege to see them find themselves (and each other) along the way. Their personalities complement one another beautifully and we notice all the nuances of Harry’s improving mood as he finds a safe haven and a new purpose working with Draco.

Here you’ll also find INCREDIBLE creatures and complex side characters, yes please! I cannot handle adorable Pandita, hilarious Potter the Jarvey, the baby Mooncalf!!! They have quirky and vibrant personalities bringing Harry and Draco’s funny and tender sides to the surface. I’m also very much here for this fascinating Muggle Narcisa and Ministry boss Hermione. This fic is a magical, heartfelt journey and getting to see Harry and Draco’s “happily ever after” was so satisfying. Each boy broke my heart in different ways but they get to heal together and they get to stay together and oh my heart, but they’re so good together. I love the idea of them exploring the wildlife in blissful domesticity afterwards, with bonus points for those sexy times full of scar worship and fat appreciation (done in a very thoughtful, gentle way!). And speaking of smut, I love that Draco’s pride and confidence counter-balances his inexperience, and Harry’s thirst for him is so relatable and adorable “your bloody arms and all the scars, ugh just leave me alone!!!” same Harry, same 😂

I had a blast discovering this wonderful world SS created for them, her genius mind and love for the ship present in every scene. It warmed my heart and made me appreciate even more all the hard work she put into telling this story. The world building is rich and well executed and I didn’t want it to end. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Draco and Harry and those lovely creatures but the healing journey was so special it felt earned. Lastly but just as important to mention as this is an essential part of the story: we have the absolute privilege to contemplate sixteen (!!!) mindblowing art pieces by the one and only Joy and they’re so full of heart and meaning, I felt truly spoiled. The mooncalf dancing scene, in particular, will be forever imprinted in my mind. This is the best read to indulge tonight or tomorrow to celebrate the weekend, go ahead and treat yourself!!!

Read on AO3

[seijorhi]

Final Girl

Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou & Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

And please check out the incredible fanart @lausterdomyamong created for this fic here 💕💕💕

TW blood, gore, violence, minor character death, implied non-con, pregnancy mentions, nsfw

Your lungs are burning. 

You haven’t run like this in years, your thighs are screaming at you for a reprieve. With every step it feels like the soles of your bare feet are splitting open but you can’t stop, not for a single second.

You can’t stop. You can’t stop. 

Keep running.

It’s dark, and you can barely see.

Stumbling like newborn foal through the thick undergrowth, tripping over the roots that catch at your feet. Your legs are scratched and bleeding, and there’s a nasty scrape along your arm from where you’d fallen and tried to cushion the blow, but you shove it all down and you keep running.

You can’t hear much over the sounds of your laboured breaths and your own heartbeat hammering away inside of your ears, but you know you must be making a racket. Branches breaking, leaves crunching underfoot as you clumsily dash through the woods - keep running, keep going.

Being quiet won’t save you if they catch up.

The loud whoops and the hyena like laughter that echo out through the trees behind you spur you onwards. Faster, you have to run faster.

This is nothing but a game to them. 

“Wait- wait, just stop for a sec… do you hear that?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you scoot closer to his bedroll, “Really, babe? The campfire stories weren’t enough for you? Do you not want me to sleep at all on this trip?”

There’s a teasing little grin on your face, not that your boyfriend can see it in the darkness of your tent. You expect him to laugh, grab you by the waist and pull you under him - make some quip about his wicked intentions of not letting you sleep a wink, but he doesn’t.

He stiffens, pushing himself back upright onto his palms, head cocked to the side like a dog listening for the faintest hint whisper of a sound.

“Babe-”

“Shh!” he hisses, and it’s more shock than anything else that has your mouth falling shut. His hand reaches across to grab yours in the darkness and he squeezes it just once. An apology maybe, or a reassurance that you’re still there with him. “Can you hear that? I think… I think there’s someone out there.”

You swallow uneasily, goosebumps prickling at your skin. If this is part of some stupid joke, you’re gonna kick him out of this tent and make him bunk with his friends for the rest of the trip. He’s never been one for mean spirited pranks, but this is freaking you out.

“It’s probably just one of the guys-” or an animal, or the wind, or his own overactive imagination. You guys are out in the middle of the woods after all. 

“I’m gonna go out and check,” he whispers, pulling his hand from yours and pressing a quick kiss against your cheek. “Stay here.”

There’s a road, a long stretch of winding highway that you’d driven along for what felt like hours when you’d first arrived with your friends. There’s no possible way for you to know if you’re going in the right direction, but if you can just make it there, then-

The thick scent of smoke invades your nose and for you falter - just for a split second - searching for the source. There, maybe two hundred yards away to your left, you spot the orange glow flickering between the trees and your stomach lurches.

Dark figures flit through the clearing, maybe a dozen of them, half illuminated by the bonfire. You can hear their laughter, the shouts and drunken revelry as they party the night away. They don’t have a care in the world, and why should they? Real monsters belong in horror movies and scary stories, not lurking in the shadows of the woods. 

Leave them.

The vicious thought takes you by surprise, but for one awful moment, you consider it. The promise of fresh new toys to rip apart and break, drunk and blissfully unaware, surely that would be enough to tempt them away. You’re just one girl… 

(The truth, the one that sits heavy in your stomach, whispers that you know better than to believe they’ll ever let you get away.)

Your heart pounds against your ribs, your legs unwittingly slowing down. You don’t have time for indecision; it’s them or you.

If leaving them to the wolves meant that you walked away from this, if you could make it back home-

There’s a shout, a scream that rips through the crisp autumn night before it cuts off with an abrupt gurgle. A loud thud followed by a laugh you don’t recognise - one that sends a chill running down your spine. More voices, more screams. Footsteps and a splatter of something dark and viscous against the side of your tent.

There’s a hoot and a chuckle, closer this time, and you hear a sob that’s all too familiar. Pleading. 

Your friend begging for her life.

“Shh, shh, shhh. Aw c’mon sweetheart, don’t be like that.”

Another hiccuping sob. “Please… p-please I don’t wanna die…”

“Kuroo-”

There’s a petulant huff, a loud voice interjecting, “s’no fun when they’re just sitting there.”

Kneeling frozen in your tent with one hand clamped tightly over your mouth to stifle your own terrified cries, you squeeze your eyes shut, not daring to draw breath. 

Somebody sighs - the first one, you think. “Y’know, I think Bokuto has a point… Do you like games, sweetheart?”

There’s no response - at least not one that you can hear - but she must have nodded, because the voice continues, “Glad to hear it! Tell you what, we’re gonna play a little game, and if you win, we’ll let you go! Sounds fair, right?”

“We’ll even give you a headstart, just cause we’re nice guys! Whad'ya reckon ‘Kaashi? A minute? Two?”

There’s a short silence, filled only by the sounds of her ragged whimpering. “Two,” the second one - ‘Kaashi - decides. His voice is deadpan, smooth, cold and blunt, but there’s an underlying current of something excitable - the barest hint that he’s not quite as disinterested as he sounds. “She won’t get away.”

No.

You veer, sprinting towards the camp. 

The others died while you hid like a fucking coward, too scared to do anything to help them (it wouldn’t have made a difference, but you should have tried) you can’t do this again. 

You can only imagine how you must look, a strange woman sprinting out of the woods, barefoot, your nightgown torn and filthy, blood streaking your skin. You can pinpoint the moment that they catch sight of you, one of the guys doing a double take and jerking so badly he almost falls off the log he’s perched on. “What the fuck?!”

Another turns, eyes wide and gaping, “Dude, she’s fucking pre-”

“RUN!” you bellow, just in time to see an axe arc through the air beside you and embed itself smack bang in the centre of his skull with a sickening thud.

“Now that’s a bullseye!” Bokuto hollers, maybe thirty feet behind you and gaining quickly. “Didja see that, Akaashi?”

Screams erupt from the other campers, scrambling frantically to their feet as their friend collapses lifelessly to the ground, blood still spurting gruesomely from his wound. 

“Don’t go gettin’ cocky now, the night’s still young,” Kuroo drawls, swinging his baseball bat - the dark wood flecked with dried blood, rusted nails crudely hammered through the barrel - experimentally through the air a few times. “And last I counted, I was still two up on you.”

There’s no time to humour the fear that rips through you like wildfire. You grab the nearest camper - a girl not much older than yourself, staring wide eyed and trembling at the body in front of her - and yank her forward with you. “Run,” you hiss again.

The others scatter, drunk and clumsy - a split second too slow. 

A boot lands on the fallen tree stump, its owner springing gracefully over it. Akaashi’s machete gleams in the moonlight, sweeping gracefully like an extension of his arm as he slices downwards. Blood sprays, drenching his front, and another body falls to the ground - this one missing half a face. 

It’s brutal. Chaotic. 

Ruthless. 

You can’t look back, you can’t help them. The girl is screaming at you, yelling words you can’t hear, trying fruitlessly to tug her wrist out of your grip, but you don’t relent. You don’t slow down, not even as dread fills your stomach and tears burn unshed in your eyes. You can’t help the others - not as Kuroo’s bat comes swinging out of the darkness, tearing flesh and muscle from bone, not when Bo yanks his axe from his victim’s head with a foot planted on his chest, immediately giving chase to another with a wild grin, not when Akaashi’s machete, slick with blood, cuts through her friends like butter - but you can save her.

Just one person- 

“Kitten, come back and play!” Kuroo shouts after you with a sickeningly fond chuckle.

- so long as you don’t stop running.

The camp is eerily quiet, even the crickets have stopped. You have no idea how long ago they left to hunt down your friend, how long you’ve sat, sobbing in silence, too scared to breathe, waiting to see if they’d come back. 

Your friends are dead. Your boyfriend is dead. 

You don’t realise how badly you’re shaking until you try and move - almost falling flat on your face when your arms give out. They’re gone, but every noise, no matter how muted, feels deafening and you try not to flinch as you drag yourself towards the mouth of the tent. You don’t have time to prepare yourself for the carnage waiting for you across the camp ground, you can’t think about the fact that people you love have been torn apart and murdered while you cowered away frozen in fear.

The grip you have on your emotions, your sanity, is fragile, but in your terrified hysteria, you understand one very important thing - they could come back at any moment, and you cannot be here when that happens. 

You cannot stop and cry for your friends, you cannot afford to break down when you see their bodies hacked up and scattered around you - you won’t even look - you just have to take the car keys fisted in your right hand, get to your boyfriend’s truck and get the fuck away from this nightmare as quickly as those wheels can take you. 

Crawling on your hands and knees you slowly pry open the tent flap, biting your lip and wincing at the quiet hiss of the zipper. 

The cold night air hits you like a slap in the face, but it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming coppery tang of blood that settles on the tip of your tongue as you breathe it in. You bite down on your whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your leaden limbs to move - you can’t afford to stop now, you have to get away.

You won’t look, you won’t look, you won’t-

“I was wondering when you’d finally show yourself.”

Ice douses your system, your heart lurching. Your eyes shoot open, darting towards the source of the voice - there, leaning calmly against the thick trunk of a tree only a few feet away from you is a man. Tall and slender, with dark hair and delicate features, you’d probably go so far as to call him pretty if it wasn’t for the blood splattered garishly across his pale skin and the teasing grin tugging at his lips. 

Absolute terror renders you helpless as he pushes away from the tree and takes a single, calculated step towards you. “Kuroo and Bokuto won’t be long, they’re just finishing up with your friend.” His pretty smirk widens as your eyes well up with tears and a gasping sob finally rips its way free from your chest, “but I don’t think they’ll mind if we get started without them.”

You’re following the well trodden path, praying to god that it’ll lead you back to the road, to any kind of safety. The shouts and screams behind you died out a few minutes ago, but you can’t let yourself think about what that means - it’ll only slow you down and you’re so close.

“Wait, wait, stop! We ha-have to go back!” the girl cries, trying once again to pull you to a stop. “My friends-”

“I’m sorry,” you pant, glancing across at her - and you are. Her eyes are wide and terrified, swimming in a pain you know all too well. It’s selfish and cruel, and it’ll tear her apart just like it has you, but if you let her go now… “It’s too late for them, we need to keep-”

“Baby, you know you can’t hide from us!”

Bokuto. Your heart seizes just as the girl shrieks, and you risk a glance over your shoulder, slowing just a faction. 

They’re closing in, all three of them, less than twenty yards away.

Panic and desperation bite at your nerves - you can’t let them catch you, not now, not when you’re almost free. But your body is aching, your muscles on fire and your stamina is shot to pieces. You’re on your last legs and they know it. They don’t even have to run anymore, they’ve worn you down completely - it’s a miracle you’re still standing.

And it’s childish and petulant, but you just want to scream and cry and yell and beat your fists against the ground because it’s not fucking fair!

You were so close.

Your grip around her wrist slackens just a touch, and the girl takes the opportunity to rip her hand free from yours. You expect her to run, to flee like a bat out of hell and leave you crumpled in the dust, but instead she turns to you with a withering glare, “This is all your fault. You brought them here. You did this.”

The accusation hits you like a slap, but before you can even open your mouth to protest (she’s not wrong, you know she’s not wrong) she grabs you by the shoulders and with all the strength she has left, shoves you back in the path of your pursuers. You stumble from the force of the blow, not expecting it, and for a moment you feel yourself start to fall, instinctively curling in on yourself to protect your belly-

Strong arms catch you before you can hit the ground, pulling you against a warm, muscular chest. “Gotcha,” Kuroo breathes, his tongue darting out to lick at the blood splattered across your cheek.

Vaguely, you register Bokuto’s low, furious growl as he launches forward, his axe raised high. The sharp, piercing screams are cut off quickly - violently - as he buries it in her neck with a snarl. He swings again and her head tumbles clean off to bounce across the forest floor, but he keeps going, swinging again and again and again until her body is nothing but a bloody, mangled mess for the animals to scavenge. 

Your vision blurs, and it takes you a moment to realise that it’s tears welling up in your eyes as Kuroo’s hands run up and down your sides, drifting protectively across the gentle swell of your stomach. “You did good, kitten,” he coos, Akaashi and Bokuto coming up either side of you. “But it’s time to come home now, don’tcha think?”

A hand cups your cheek, drawing you to meet Akaashi’s twisted, lovesick expression, “Gotta reward our pretty little girl for playing her role so well,” he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the delicate skin. 

“Maybe we can fuck another kid into her,” Bokuto adds with a grin, his previous rage all but forgotten, sated along with his bloodlust thanks to the butchered corpse lying a few yard away. His golden eyes, half lidded and burning with lust, flicker across your face for just a moment, drinking in every last drop of crushing defeat and despair before his lips crash down on yours in a savage, bloody kiss.

This was nothing but a game to them - one you never had a chance in hell of winning. 

[heich0e]

Liv Liv Liv no stress if you don’t feel like sharing but do you still have plans for the Miya twins love triangle fic set in the same universe as the Sakusa vampire fic? I have not stopped thinking about it since you mentioned it

hi sorry my brain is mush bc i planned and pulled off an entire work conference in a week after it was dropped into my lap but here's a snippet in place of a proper answer hope that's ok

tags: vampire!au, vampire!atsumu/human!reader, human!osamu/reader, love-triangle, angst, WIP snippet

“I didn’t invite you in,” your words are shaky as you squeak them out, eying the silhouette of Atsumu's imposing form as he stands unwelcomely in your entryway.

“One time is enough,” he says simply, shrugging a little as though it's not a revelation that shocks you to your core.

“You lied to me,” you say, horrified, and the words taste sour in your dry mouth. You'd taken him at his word that first time, resolved never to let it happen again.

You should never have trusted him.

“I had to," Atsumu says, taking another step into your apartment, forcing you to move further in as well. "I needed to see you again.”

His nose twitches slightly, like he's caught the scent of something he hadn't noticed before. You see the realization unfurl slowly across the lines of his handsome face.

His eyes widen. It frightens you.

“You smell like him.”

Osamu.

He takes another step forward, and you another step back.

“Were you… with him?”

There's an implication in his words, one you know there's no point in denying. It's not just the scent clinging to the sweatshirt you wear that clearly doesn't belong to you: there are traces of Osamu pressed into every inch of your skin, just like his touch had been less than an hour prior.

You move to take another unsteady step back, but you stumble on the edge of your area rug that you hadn't foreseen being underfoot in your haste.

Before you can hit the ground, before you can even let out the yelp that rises in your throat, Atsumu has you in his arms.

He holds you close, steady and sure, your quivering legs swept out from under you.

His ruby eyes stare into yours, mere inches from your face, but they're even more terrifying this close—the vermilion seems to ripple the longer you look into it.

And yet you can't find it in yourself to look away.

Your heartbeat races in your chest, panic gripping you as tightly as he is.

“Please, ’m not gonna hurt ya. I could never do that,” Atsumu sounds desperate, his voice nearly breaking on the words. “Can I just… hold ya fer a minute?”

He sounds so sincere. So earnest.

So close to what he used to be.

That treacherous nostalgia washes over you again, the same one that had plied you to invite him in that night two weeks ago, and you feel yourself nod slowly before you can think better of what you’re doing.

He pulls you into his arms before you have the chance to take it back, his face nuzzling into your collar.

It's strange, the sensation of his body wrapping itself around yours— sinew and muscle and skin bound together in a form you don't understand the chemistry behind, but have long been taught to fear.

Being held like this feels like it did once, only different.

Just like him.

“He’ll kill you when he finds out, you know that right?” you whisper as your trembling fingers reach up and curl through the short hair at his nape.

He used to love it when you did that.

Atsumu's face remains buried into the collar of Osamu’s sweatshirt hanging off your frame, breathing deeply. You realize that like this, holding you, it's the closest he’s been to his brother in two long years.

The longest they’ve ever been apart.

Atsumu presses his nose a little further into the material, exhaling a shuddering breath that soaks into the cotton. It feels cool against your skin.

He swallows thickly, the sound wet and laboured.

You watch his lashes flutter and then pained red eyes meet yours.

“I know.”

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

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Author’s Notes: Hello Hello! So this fic is a little different as it's the first gift fic i've ever written. This was a gift for the wonderful and talented @wild-karrde on her birthday. It's a little "What If?/AU" ending for the series of fics she's written (The "Karrde-verse" if you will). This is purely me making up what could happen and has no basis on any future plans for the series, so there's no spoilers for the future of her fics here, but there are spoilers for her already written fics: "In Command", "Guarded" and "Reunion". If you've not already read those, go check them out!! Disclaimer: all the OCs mentioned in this fic are Karrde's and I have no baring on their wonderful creation.

Pairings: Captain Rex/ofc!Senna Aven/Atiniir, Hunter/Gregar Typho, Crosshair/ofc!Iden Vena, Echo/Sabé. Mentions of: Tech/ofc!Kestia Nodala and Garazeb Orrelios/Alexsandr Kallus.

Summary: With the wars and fighting over, members of the rebellion had finally set out and taken the chance to pursue their own lives outside of the conflict they'd known for so long. While they may be apart for now, their found family always finds time to see each other again.

Warnings: General - Fictional swearing

Word Count: 3.2k

The morning sun was low, casting a beautiful peach hue across the horizon. Senna’s bare feet quietly padded out onto the patio, while she cradled a cup of caf darker than the backdrop of the galaxy. The heat permeated the cup and warmed her organic hand as she went to take a sip, sighing as the bitter drink bloomed down her chest.

Across the farm, she spotted her husband, battling with one of their farm assistant droids who was giving him the runaround. A fond smile overcame the Jedi’s face as she watched the former captain curse after the runaway droid before shaking his head and returning to tending to their crops. They’d been blessed with a plentiful harvest this season which was set to bring them in enough credits to get the ball rolling on their retirement plan. Senna still could pinch herself, after everything they’d both faced over the majority of their lives, the universe had finally brought them their happy ending.

With that glowing feeling in mind, she set down the steps from their home and out into the farm.

Rex’s forehead glistened with a sheen of sweat from his manual labour, a look she never grew tired of. “Hard at work I see.”

“Someone has to be,” he teased with a cheeky smirk. He dropped the plough he’d been using and cracked his back, stretching his arms above his head to the point where his shirt rose up his abdomen ever so slightly, catching Senna’s eye. Ever the captain, Rex of course caught her in the act. “See something you like, Master Jedi?”

“Maybe I do,” she replied before stepping into his space. Rex’s hands found her shoulders, gently brushing down them before pulling her into a soft kiss. Even after all these years, these little moments with Rex managed to set her heart racing like a teenager falling in love for the first time.

All too soon he pulled back, running his hand down her left arm and cradling her mechanical fingers in his. Senna didn’t miss the way his thumb smoother across the worn-in Jaig Eyes etched into her ring finger, or the small smile on his face as he did so.

She squeezed his hand in hers before lifting the other to take another sip of her caf. “You excited to see everyone later?”

“Can’t wait,” Rex replied with a bright smile. After most of them had parted ways following the war, there was no denying the family bond between the companions they’d made over the years. They’d made a pact to always remain in contact, and to do a big meet up a few times a year when their busy lives managed to align.

“Come, let’s get you cleaned up. We better get started on cooking.”

“Yes ma'am.” Rex’s soldier voice came out in full force with his reply. “You know, we wouldn’t need this much prep time for food if you didn’t invite Wrecker.” He grumbled under his breath as he trudged back up towards the house behind his wife.

While Rex got himself showered and ready, Senna set about gathering the ingredients they’d been stockpiling for this very day. A plethora of local fruits, vegetables and meats, along with a few special imports, all sat spread out among the obnoxiously long makeshift dining table they’d cobbled together. Trying to fit sixteen people into their home around one table was a feat of engineering if Senna did say so herself. But they’d cracked it in the end. Some of their neighbours had old materials they didn’t have any use for, so in the end they were able to bolt together a few different shape and height tables along with a variety of chairs in different styles.

She heard Rex jogging down the steps, turning around she saw him pulling an apron on and his face was all business. “Alright, where do we start?”

They’d spent hours chopping, peeling and marinating for all the dishes they were looking to provide. They worked as a cohesive unit as she followed Rex’s lead and they moved around their cosy kitchen. It always made Senna chuckle internally. It seems they always managed to make just as good a team off the battlefield as on one.

A pinging noise grabbed Senna’s attention, directing it to the oven where one of their main courses was ready to go. She pulled a large meat joint from the oven, the steam from the heat settling on her brow as she heaved the dish onto the countertop. She wiped her forearm across her forehead, attempting to dislodge the flyaways from her face that had curled onto her damp skin.

While she took a moment to cool down after tackling the oven, her eyes fell onto the clock and immediately widened. “Hells it’s nearly fifteen standard.” Senna exclaimed as she looked down at herself. She had forgone the apron, leaving her clothes covered in various spice mixes and oil stains.

Rex chuckled at the state of her and nodded towards the stairs. “You go get ready, I can handle it from here.”

Twenty minutes later, Senna descended the stairs, now ready for their guests. However, she was stopped in her tracks by the smells of glorious food wafting through their home. “Dank Farrik we’re good.” she announced as she walked up behind Rex and wrapped her arms around his middle while he stirred a large pot of Joopa Stew, a meal he’d mastered from his time on Seelos and one that always gave him that look in his eye when he thought back fondly on his time with Gregor. “He would’ve loved this.” Senna said quietly as she squeezed Rex in a soft hug.

“Yeah, he would’ve.” Rex replied while giving her a small smile and reaching down to squeeze her arm in return.

The hum of ship engines pierced through the sounds of nature outside and Senna’s heart jumped with excitement. “They’re here!” she yelled to Rex before dashing to the front door.

The all chrome shuttle was powering down as Senna reached the door. The ramp slowly extended out to reveal Hunter and Typho with two little identical Pantorans in tow. Hunter had one of the twins perched on his shoulders, Senna thought it might be Padmé, allowing the little girl the chance to be a few centimetres taller than Gregar, and it was clear she was loving every minute of it. Typho followed suit, his large hand clasped around a teeny tiny blue one as he led their other daughter forwards towards the house.

It’d been a few years now since the couple had adopted their young daughters. They were on a relief mission with the Rebellion when they came across the two orphans, the Empire having abandoned them to the streets with no support. After they’d brought the two tiny pantorans back to base and had them cleaned up and well fed, It’d not taken much for Hunter and Gregar to decide to take the twins in as their own children. At the time, it was the most natural conclusion as the two men just radiated the energy that they were ready to be fathers.

“Mr and Mrs Atiinir, it’s good to see you again.” Gregar called out warmly, the skin around his eyepatch creasing as he smiled.

“Ah the Typhos!” Senna replied as she went to greet Gregar in a tight hug, before squatting down in front of Hunter and Gregar’s other daughter.

“Auntie Sen!” she squeaked before launching herself with a surprising amount of force at the Jedi, causing her to fall flat on her backside as she caught the tiny bundle of joy.

The woman laughed, affection welling up inside of her as she cradled the little one close. “Good to see you too, Kestia.” Senna looked up to see Rex clasping each of the men in a hug before Hunter handed off his pantoran backpack to the clone captain, who restored the young girl's height once more as she was placed on his shoulders.

“Daddy, look how much taller I am on Uncle Rex’s shoulders!”

“Alright alright, no need to rub it in.” Hunter grumbled with a fondness in his eyes as Gregar and Senna chuckled at his expense. The former came up behind Hunter and placed his hands on his shoulders before leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Gregar spoke softly to Hunter whose face broke out into a flustered flush, still so easily riled up by his partner.

Hunter cleared his throat, trying to will away his blush before speaking. “We the first ones to arrive then?”

“Yeah, we think Wolffe, Fives, Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair and Iden will be coming together from the military base. Echo and Sabé should be here any minute and I think they were picking up Omega on route.”

“It’ll be good to see them all again.” Hunter replied, clearly looking forward to reuniting with his old squad and closest siblings.

“No Ahsoka?” Gregar asked.

Rex shook his head before explaining, “she’s off on a mission at the moment, but she sends her love along with the Ghost crew.”

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

After the Typhos had been settled in, two more ships landed across the farm. The first belonged to Iden and Crosshair, who’d passed on the option to share a ride with the four brothers flying from their base of operations. The second, was those very brothers, who were taking a surprisingly long time to walk across to the house.

“So, how’s married life treating you?” Senna asked Crosshair while Iden caught up with Gregar and Hunter.

“Not much different,” the sniper grunted. His words had caught Iden’s attention and made her roll her eyes at the man.

“Ever the romantic.”

Crosshair replied, his confidence still in full force. “You knew what you were signing up for with me, Lieutenant.”

“And I question my choices every day,” Iden joked before dipping down to give her new husband a quick peck. Senna couldn’t help but smile at Crosshair and Iden’s antics, the sniper had truly met his match with his beautiful wife.

Not a second later, Padmé and Kestia came dashing inside, and Crosshair’s rough demeanour immediately softened at the sight of his nieces. The sniper hooked an arm around Padmé as she ran past, making the young girl squeal in delight before he pulled her onto his lap.

The sniper leaned down conspiritally to talk to the little Pantoran. “You miss me?” he questioned and she gave the most enthusiastic nod, to the point Senna feared she may hurt her neck. Crosshair gave a small smile. “Missed you too kid. You been causing havoc for your dad for me?” His question made the young girl giggle.

“Don’t corrupt her.” Hunter complained to his brother with a smirk, who rolled his eyes at him for having ruined his fun.

Senna’s attention was redirected when the front door burst open, making the hinges rattle as Fives stood in the doorway looking pleased with himself. “Honey I’m homeeee! You miss me?”

The Jedi shook her head with a fondness at having her friend burst back into her life in such a characteristic way. “Like a droid misses it’s processor.”

“I was actually talking to Rex.” Fives clarified with a smirk as he leaned back against one of the countertops next to where Rex was cooking. Senna huffed before shoving Fives in the arm, falling straight back into their easy banter.

Next through the door were Fives’ fellow travel companions, the first being Wrecker, who bounded in excitedly. Senna and Rex had no time to escape before Wrecker cradled them both in a bone-crushing hug. “Missed you guys!”

“Back at you, Wreck.” Rex groaned out the reply against his lungs wishes.

After her organs returned to their original places in her body following their hug from Wrecker, Senna watched as Tech and Wolffe strolled in. Without even saying a quick ‘hello’, Tech was straight onto the technical talk, his eyes locked onto his datapad as usual. “Before we came, I found out about a device which may help with your harvest monitoring. I took the liberty of setting up a prototype which I've installed in your barn.”

“That’s great, thanks so much Tech.” Senna said with a heartfelt smile before knocking Tech’s datapad out of the way and clasping her friend in a tight hug. “Now come here. I missed you, Goggles.”

“And I you.” the genius replied genuinely before relenting and wrapping his arms around the Jedi.

“Uncle Tech!!”

“Hello little Nebula.” The genius greeted Kestia Typho with the nickname he came up with while the little girl latched onto his leg with an iron grip. He smoothed a hand down her lilac hair and she beamed up at him. Gregar watched on with a smile that nearly brought Senna to tears as she thought about what it must mean for both Gregar and Tech to share these moments with the little girl.

Senna knew Tech had never had another partner following the death of the queen of Naboo that he loved dearly. There were many nights after where Tech and Senna would sit and chat, well she let Tech talk while she listened to every word he had to say. The clone had never anticipated falling in love, especially not in the way he did and with such a powerful and head strong Jedi. But Kestia Nodala had been everything to him in the short time they had together, and when she passed, Tech knew that had been it for him. He’d never feel with another person what he felt with Kestia. As hard as it was to accept she’d gone, decades later, Tech held the love they had so dearly to his heart. Senna knew how grateful he was to have even known her at all and she could sympathise. The times she’d been away from Rex, on good terms and bad, had been the hardest things she’d ever had to do. Now, Kestia Nodala may be gone, but her legacy lived on in Hunter and Gregar’s little girl. The way she gravitated towards Tech so naturally, it was almost as if she knew.

Across the way, Rex had clasped Wolffe in a brotherly hug which started off as awkward as it always did before Wolffe finally relaxed into the affection and returned the gesture.

Finally, the last ship descended into the designated parking zone, and eventually Echo, Sabé and Omega all strode up the few steps to the house.

Hunter was first to the door as the trio stepped through, making a beeline for Omega who despite being a grown woman, still locked her arms around her big brother’s neck as if she were only ten. “Hey kid.” the former sergeant greeted.

“How’s Alara?” Wrecker asked the young Jedi with a large grin of barely concealed restraint which Omega returned.

“She’s good, the students absolutely love her. For a non-Force sensitive, I think the temple would be lost without her at this point.” Omega’s cheeks tinted rose as she spoke highly about her girlfriend. There’s no question she’s related to Hunter then, Senna thought smugly.

Sabé was immediately commandeered by Iden and Gregar the moment she set foot into the house, leaving Echo to catch up with Fives, Wolffe and Crosshair who all clapped the man on the back in welcome.

After all the greetings were done, everyone settled around the large, makeshift table to start their feast.

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

Everyone’s plates were piled with layers upon layers of food and Senna could almost laugh at the image of her and Rex a few days prior panicking that they didn’t have enough to feed everyone. Oh how wrong we were, we’ll be eating leftovers for the foreseeable.

Across the table, scattered bits of conversation were being relayed. “We got a message from Kallus by the way, he’s settling into Lira San life pretty well by the looks of things. Also think he and Zeb have made things official.” Fives announced in between bites of his food.

“Kriffing finally, was sickening watching those two make doe eyes at each other during the rebellion.” Wolffe grumbled, making everyone chuckle.

“Want to watch your language in front of the kids, Uncle Wolffe?” Fives teased mercilessly.

“Call me Uncle Wolffe again-”

“Sorry, Uncle Wolffey.” Wolffe’s glare hardened further as he dropped his spoon into his meal and turned his full attention to Fives, who was not phased by the commander’s threatening gaze in the slightest, still grinning like a loth cat. Beside Fives, Echo rubbed a hand down his face, clearly perplexed that his brother simply never learned.

Thankfully, before things could escalate further, Rex stepped up behind them and placed a hand on each of their shoulders with a chuckle. “That’s enough you two.”

It still blew Senna’s mind to this day that Fives, Tech, Wolffe and Wrecker all managed to live together without killing each other every other week. Aside from the cutting sarcasm three of them shared, as a group, they couldn’t be more different people. Yet somehow it just worked. Wolffe and Wrecker got on like a house on fire, it seemed during the times Wolffe struggled integrating with the rebels, Wrecker’s easy companionship and encouragement to join him on the blaster ranges had helped bring the old commander out of his shell more and more, which had been a relief for all of them to see. Fives’ energetic nature matched with Wreckers’ perfectly, making the two of them complete menaces to Tech and Wolffe. But in the quieter moments, when Wolffe and Fives would share war stories and memories from a time so long ago, Wrecker would regularly assist Tech with whatever experiment or invention he was tinkering with. The unlikely quartet had remained with the rebellion turned New Republic following the fall of the Empire. The dark cloud of the Emperor’s influence had left havoc and destruction in its wake on many worlds which were now struggling to rebuild. The four clones were part of the relief teams, helping different colonies and species create new lives and homes on their war torn worlds.

Senna sat there for a moment as she took everything in, the pleasant chatter of her big family all settled around the table. Rex as he joked with his brothers, while Omega relayed stories to Hunter as his eyes glowed with pride. Tech’s subtle glances at little Kes, smiling as he watched his niece assist Echo in giving Fives absolute grief, every bit the strong woman she was named after. Gregar, Iden and Sabé reminiscing about the past. Crosshair and Wrecker as they joked amongst themselves, the previous fractures in their close relationship long forgotten. For some reason, Senna knew that moment right then would be forever etched into her mind as one of pure bliss and happiness. The result of everything they fought all those years for finally came to it’s head as they sat all together in freedom for the first time. Senna’s eyes stung ever so slightly as she marvelled on her found family. She thanked the Force for giving her such a beautiful moment, before she returned to her surroundings and aided Kestia and Echo in their teasing of Fives.

Across the room, Rex caught her eye, having noticed her time of reflection. His voice echoed softly in her mind. Everything alright?

She gave him a content smile that held everything she felt in that moment. Never better.

Back to Masterlist

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 6

Hi , do you got any fluffy johnlock with cuddling

(submitted by here-4-tha-ship)

Anonymous asked: hiii got any johnlock fics where sherlock wants a hug but he feels embarrassed to ask john? thank you sm <3

—–

Hi Lovelies!! I sure do! And enough to do a new list too!! So thank you, people don’t ask for this enough these days hahhah! Hope you enjoy!!

See also:

Hugs & Cuddles and Tooth-Rotting Fluff (Pt. 2)

Hugs & Cuddles Pt. 2 /…/

…/ Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 /…

Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 4 

Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 5

A Better Fate Than Wisdom by flawedamythyst (G, 1,339 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, John’s Sexuality Crisis, Pining Sherlock, Happy Ending, Fluff) – Nearly four hours pass between their first kiss and their second.

Evermore by SosoHolmesWatson (G, 2,068 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4,  5-Year-Old Rosie, Love Confessions, Song Fic, Parentlock, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Disney Songs, Beauty and the Beast) – For the past years, John and Sherlock have lived at Baker Street again, raising Rosie together--as friends and nothing more. Ever since the little girl has watched her first Disney movie, she is obsessed with princesses. When John comes home one day, he finds his friend and his daughter in the middle of a reenactment of her current favourite. Part 1 of Made of Music

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The shape of the world around us by Salambo06 (E, 15,058 w., 5 Ch. || Lumberjack John / Botanist Sherlock, Different First Meeting, John Has a Beard, Light Case Fic, Flirting, First Kiss / Time, Masturbation, Love at First Sight, Horny Sherlock, John’s Bum, Bottomlock, Tenderness, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Shy Sherlock, Sexual Fantasies) – Looking through the bush, Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken as a man passed in front of him. Sherlock frowned, trying to get a closer look despite the bush. The man was wearing a red plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, and Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off the man’s arms. Muscular, slightly tanned with golden hairs along his forearms. For some unknown reason, Sherlock found himself imagining them around his waist, holding him tightly. Closing his eyes for the briefest second, Sherlock shook his head. Opening his eyes and looking back to where the man stood only a moment prior, he found himself alone. Great, now his only chance to find his way back to town was gone. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

A Hooligans’ Game Played By Gentlemen by scullyseviltwin (E, 15,213 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Rugby as Foreplay, Porn with Lots of Plot, John POV, Ogling, Body Appreciation, Cranky Sherlock, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Touching, Heavy Petting, Blow Job, Botttomlock) – In which John wants to get back in shape, does so, joins a rugby league and has sex with Sherlock Holmes. In that order.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Love... and a soft place to land.

Request: Hey! can I request a Harry x reader where the reader finds out she's pregnant and going through the pregnancy with Harry? It can even be when they're still at Hogwarts if you want!

A/N: Thank you for the request!! I’ve written this post!Hogwarts as I don’t feel comfortable writing teen pregnancy (I hope you understand!) but nevertheless I hope you enjoy! The title is a quote from A Discovery of Witches, I use the full quote in the fic and I have put that in bold so you’re all aware. There’s loads of cute moments in this; I wrote it in one sitting and made myself cry at one point.

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: pregnancy, odd cravings, she/her pronouns, FLUFF - ALL THE FLUFF.

Word count: 2.3k

The two lines staring back you confirmed your suspicions.

The nausea being the main symptom that had you counting back the days to your last cycle. Realising the lateness had you leaving Harry in bed while your rushed to a muggle chemist, buying three tests. The chemist gave you soft smile as she rang them up, asking whether you’d be paying by cash or card. You tried to return the smile, but knew it was a watery one.

It wasn’t as if you and Harry were actively trying to avoid pregnancy, you just hoped you’d have a little more time to have him to yourself before sharing him with a son or daughter.

Rushing home, you find Harry still in bed, snoring away and utterly oblivious to the world.

You shut the door to the bathroom quietly in the hopes of not waking your husband. You’d have woken him sooner, but the idea of getting his hopes up for something he had wanted since he slid the golden ring onto your finger, only spurred you on to make sure you were pregnant.

Your heart soared and your stomach dropped as the two lines appeared on each test.

A knock on the bathroom door has you dropping the test still held in your hands.

“Love, you’ve been in there a while, is everything okay?”

You clear your throat, swallowing around the lump there, “I’m fine, love. I didn’t wake you did I?”

Harry chuckles, “No, I woke up when I rolled onto an empty side of bed. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You pick up the dropped test, placing it next to the others. Unlocking the door, you say, “You better come in.”

Harry wastes no time entering the bathroom. He scans the room quickly, checking for whatever the problem could be.

He does a double take at the sight of the pregnancy tests laid next to the sink.

His eyes do a circuit; the pregnancy tests, your face, then dropping to your stomach.

His eyes do this three times before he whispers, “Are you pregnant?”

You grin, handing him one of the tests, “It seems I am.”

“You’re really pregnant?” He asks again; disbelief lacing his voice.

“Yes Harry. I’m pregnant – you’re going to be a father.”

“How far along are you?”

“I’m not sure, I need to make an appointment with a Healer to make sure.”

Harry nods; the smile never leaving his face. He drops the test into the sink; his arms circling around you. “You make me unbelievably happy; you know that?”

You laugh, letting some tears fall. Harry kisses them away, “I think you’ve made me the happiest man in the world. I thought nothing could rival what I felt when I saw you walking down the aisle to marry me, but this. This is something else.”

“Harry Potter, you are a sap.”

He kisses you; long and languid – his happiness pouring into it. He pulls away; the both of you breathless. He drops to his knees before you, pressing kiss after kiss to your stomach. The sight of it has you crying again. Harry stands back up, pecking your lips once more before rushing out of the bathroom, “I’m going to make you an appointment at St. Mungo’s, I’ll be right back.”

You laugh to yourself; your hand dropping to curl around your lower abdomen where in nine months, a bump will be sitting.

You grin as you hear Harry’s excited chatter on the phone; ever grateful that St. Mungo’s installed phones a few years ago to make the booking of appointments easier.

You pass by him on your way to the kitchen to begin breakfast. Your hand runs across his shoulder, and the smile he gives you in reply is breathtaking.

Your earlier worry about this being too early in your marriage has now dissipated.

Now, you couldn’t wait to begin this journey.

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

Two months after you tell Harry your news and the elation has worn off, the panic begins to set in. You work through it logically; borrowing book after book from your local library, setting up appointments at St. Mungo’s with the help of Draco who offered as much advice as he could give – he’d had his son almost a year ago now; he was happy to help in any way he could.

Harry took it in his stride; coming to every appointment, following the progress of his unborn son or daughter. From the moment you told him, his heart had stretched wider to be able to fit the love he already felt for his unborn child. Harry thought it would burst the moment he heard his child’s heartbeat on the ultrasound. However, he couldn’t help but feel panicked. This baby was going to be loved, there was no doubt about it – it would have enough aunts, uncles, and cousins to never be bored and Harry already adored the baby with his whole being.

But he couldn’t ignore the nagging doubt stemming from the little voice in the back of his head. The voice had him doubting his abilities to be a father; after all, his own had died when he was fifteen months old and then Sirius was ripped from him at the Department of Mysteries – he had never gotten to truly know his godfather who was supposed to guide him through life in the absence of his own father. Every chance to have a father figure was ripped away by death, and it led Harry to question his abilities and his readiness.

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

It comes to ahead on blustery night in March, four months into your pregnancy. Harry lays beside you in bed; propping himself up on his elbow as he watches you eat your latest craving – cheese and onion crisps with a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate. His nose crinkles as he continues to watch you eat, but he’d make sure it was always available at a moment’s notice.

The room is quiet save for the rustling of the crisp packet. Harry runs a hand over his face; he hadn’t been sleeping well these past few night – his doubts keeping him awake until the early hours of the morning.

It’s hard to miss the panic settling in his blue eyes. You run a hand through his hair, asking, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Harry blinks away the tears forming, whispering, “What if I’m not a good father? I’ve never had a father figure to guide me.”

Your hand falls from his hair to his chin, where you grasp it, keeping his eyes on you. “You’re going to be a wonderful father, I know it in my bones,” You hum, “All children need is love, a grown-up to take responsibility for them, and a soft place to land. I know for a fact you can offer all three.”

He buries his face in your stomach, where a small bump has started to form, “I can’t be sure though,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’ll be sure enough for the both of us.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“If I remember correctly, you tripped me up in the corridor. Sent me flying into a statue.”

Harry snorts, thinking of the memory, “It was love at first sight.”

“More like I wanted to throttle you.”

“But you soon fell for my charms,” He flirts.

“How could I not? You were so apologetic, and you carried my books for the rest of the day – meeting me outside my classrooms. I’d fallen in love with you by the end of the day.”

“I could tell. I felt like the king of the world.”

“I bet,” You chuckle, “I knew Ron took the mick though didn’t he?”

“Of course, but I shut him up when I told him to make a move on ‘Mione.”

You laugh again; lapsing back into silence as you both return to thinking of the same memory.

“Are you feeling any better?” You murmur after the bout of silence, referring to his earlier panic.

He nods, shifting his position from laying on his side to sitting up against the headboard next to you. “We have each other through this.”

You take is hand, tangling your fingers together. “We have each other through this.”

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

Arthur Weasley is the one who takes Harry aside on a random Sunday in June.

At this point, you’re seven months along in your pregnancy and your son is making every effort to squeeze your bladder to the point it bursts. Harry isn’t ashamed to admit that he shed a few tears when told he was going to have a boy; it meant that he could take the reins his father and Sirius had left behind.

As you’re waddling to the bathroom at the Burrow, you overhear the conversation between Harry and Arthur.

“How are you feeling, Harry? How is (Y/N)?” Arthur asks. From your spot on the stairs, you can see through the railing that Arthur has his hand on Harry’s shoulder and a caring expression on his face.

“(Y/N) is great; taking it all gracefully.”

“And you?”

Harry sighs, “I don’t know how I feel. The closer we get to the due date, the more nervous I become.”

Arthur chuckles lightly, “I felt the same way with Bill… I felt the same with all of them.”

“Does it ever go away?”

Arthur shakes his head at your husband, “No, it doesn’t. You find new things to be worried about. But Harry, I’m here to help you. I know I’m not your father or your godfather, but I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Harry pulls Arthur into a long hug; surprising the patriarch of the Weasley family. When Harry pulls away, you can see the tell-tale signs of tears.

Harry sniffles, “You’re as good as, Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur sniffles too, “You’ve become a great man, Harry. You’re going to be a great father too. Molly is beside herself with excitement to meet the little one.”

You wipe the tears running down your own face, taking the final few steps to the bathroom where you blow your nose on some tissue.

Harry was going to be just fine.

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

The labour is long and intense, and for a while, there’s the worry that you’ll need to have an emergency c-section. Harry is by your side through it all; he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. He wipes your forehead with a cool cloth after each contraction; he holds your through each push – bones be damned if they break.

With a loud cry, your son enters the world just after midnight on a quiet night in August.

There are no words to accurately describe the feelings that coursed through his body when the midwife asked him to cut the cord. It was the first look at his son, and then and there, Harry made a silent vow to never let his son question his talents and abilities whatever they may be.

Wrapped in a pale blue blanket, he’s placed onto your chest with a cry. Immediately, the tears begin to fall down Harry’s face. Nine long months and his son has arrived; and you, you took it all so gracefully, sniffling slightly as you welcomed him into the world.

You hand Harry his son; being careful to make sure that the head is stable before letting yourself relax slightly into the hospital bed. The midwife hands you a cup of tea and a slice of toast, and you thank her gratefully for all that she has done for your new family. She pats you on the head before leaving, letting the new family have time to themselves.

You watch Harry with a tender expression on your face. He had been so worried for so long, but as you watch him walk his son around the room, murmuring to him absentmindedly, you know that he’s going to make a wonderful father. You never had any doubt about it.

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

A few hours later, there’s a small knock on the door and Hermione’s voice rings out, “Harry, (Y/N), it’s us. Do you mind if we come in?”

You nod at Harry, adjusting the babe at your chest. He opens to the door, being pulled into a hug immediately by Ron. Hermione enters the room with a bouquet of pale pink roses; your favourites. She sits the vase down on the other side of the room so as to not disturb the baby too much with the new smell.

Hermione tiptoes over to you, “I’m sorry we didn’t send an owl.”

You shake your head, “I wouldn’t want you stay away anyway.”

Tears line her eyes as Ron and Harry join you at your bedside. Your son gurgles, shifting in your arms, aware of the visitors here to see him. Hermione holds a hand to her mouth, eyes flickering to Harry, “He’s got your eyes, Harry.”

Harry nods, “I know. But he has his mother’s hair, and her mouth and nose.”

You hush your husband, “He’ll be the carbon copy of you, I know it.”

Silence falls in the room as the four adults continue to watch the new life slumber in his mother’s arms. He shuffles for a minute, finding a comfier position before settling back into his dreams.

You shift your gaze to Hermione, silent tears falling down her face. “Would you like to hold your godson?”

“Godson?” She whisper-asks, “Me?”

Harry places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing, “We want you and Ron to be godparents.”

Ron sniffles, reaching a hand up to wipe at his eyes. “Harry, mate, we’d be honoured.”

At those words, you hand your new-born son to his godmother who holds him like a pro. She dips her head down to sniff at his head; smiling at the new-born smell.

Hermione lets her tears continue to fall as she stares down at her new godson in awe. Ron’s arm is tight around her waist as he asks, “What name did you decide on?”

Harry’s voice breaks as he replies, “James Sirius Arthur Potter.”

*******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe​ @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​ @mytreec​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @teheharrypotter​ @chaoticgirl04​

[theodora3022]

Solitude Madness

BSD Fyodor Dostoevsky x reader

Setting: Confinement can make people crazy. Before all of this happened you would never dreamt about submitting to an evil man like Fyodor. The demon does have his way of breaking down even the toughest minds.

Notes: This may or not relate to my quarantine and seasonal depression and my need for a cuddle session with my favourite rat man. There will be no torture in this since I am not familiar with writing graphic violence.

Word count: 1.1k(Sequal to a fic, but my muse kind of ditched)

Warnings: Stockholm syndrome, self-indulgent garbage, implied abduction,mindbreak, mentions of surgery, general Yandere content

When was the last time you had seen the sun again? How long have you been trapped in this dark underground facility? 

You are well aware who can answer those questions, but you refused to ask him anything. After all, Fyodor is the one responsible for your present condition. 

You hate this, you never wanted this, being in this little cell against your will, just because you are the object of his affections? Has he ever heard of what love is?

True love is seeing your loved ones happy, whether they are with you or not. If they are happy, you should be content and guard their happiness. You were happily enjoying a normal life in the sun, but now this damned Russian terrorist had dragged you into eternal darkness, all in the name of love? He calls this selfish obsession, this bone-chilling possessiveness love? Just what made him this way?  “You are absolutely insane.” “Glad we are in agreeance, dear.” Those amused chuckles made you look away trembling, leaving another scar on your already scarred mind.

You are a nuisance, a distraction to Fyodor’s grand plans. He hates this feeling of you being out on your own, where anyone could just whisk you away as you are such a helpless little creature. Surveillance feed from hidden cameras failed to satiate his desires before long, Fyodor has to do something to make sure no one(else) hurts you.

You have been screaming and crying less whenever he comes into sight, Fyodor could consider that to be good progress. He fully understands that nobody likes to wake up in a strange place one morning and that loss of freedom. Why else do you think you have been getting away with punishments for yelling at him? The last person who dared to do so is no longer in the land of the living. But you are different, Fyodor is surprised to find himself willing to be patient with you, to tolerate your inconvenient behaviours. Which makes him wonder when this state of transition would pass, what would you be like when you finally accepted your place here. How long? A few months? A year?

Call him as many names, scream whatever sharp words as you like. One day you would understand you belong to your god, your master Fyodor. There is no need to force you to do anything, you will do them by your own “free will” soon enough.

You are particularly quiet today, no noises whatsoever when he brought you the meal. Just curling up against the wall, hugging your knees with a grim expression. 

Well, just as he expected. Long periods of isolation can do amazing things to one’s mind, he knows that all too well. This nearly effortless tactic is surprisingly effective.

That day begins like any other. He was about to put the food tray down and return to his work as usual, but this time he felt a little pull on his cape.

“Don’t leave...please-” Now, now. What do we have here? Are you clinging on to the edge of his cloak? Do you want him to give you some much-needed attention? Has his little mouse finally learned how to behave?

Fyodor might not have hurt you or starved you just yet, but countless days would go by silently, without anything to keep you occupied within these empty walls. No one to talk to, nothing to keep your mind off these horrific conditions, all you can do is sob in that corner like a miserable animal. What date is even today again? It was bearable at first, but as the days went by you had become quite desperate for attention, to the point you do not care who you got it from. The endless boredom scares you so, this horror of being alone scares you also. You had imagined all sorts of things following your abduction, such as torture, but you failed to account for what to do with this utter silence and isolation. It may not hurt physically, yet it feels much worse. 

And that is exactly what Fyodor wants you to perceive. Everything is going just according to his little plan. 

Why would he apply violence when he can do this? That is for brutes, never for someone intelligent like him. He would hate to cause you any physical harm, as he does not have a doctor on-site for treatment. When it comes to your mind, however, that is a completely different story. Your mind will shatter by itself, so Fyodor can build up an ideal darling with those broken pieces, and he rather not perform that troublesome procedure again.

That scared expression you made when he pretends to not hear you is just so endearing. Feeling your grip tightens, almost tearing his cape off his shoulders, Fyodor finally stopped. Letting out a sigh, he turns back to face your trembling form.

“Do you need something, my little mouse?” That smile, that vile smile dipped in venom, the only thing that could peak your interest in these empty walls.

You do, you need some company, any company will do.

“I…” Your remaining conscience screams in the corner of your brain, do not submit, he is the one to blame! But it was ignored, unfortunately. What is dignity again?

Your captor was shocked when you straight up jumped up and wrapped your arms around his slender shoulders. He did not expect you to be this...passionate. 

“Fyodor, please. Do not leave me here alone any longer. I will do as you say, I’ll do anything!” Gods, you really are doing this. Begging for this rat’s mercy like a pathetic dog. But you had passed the point of having dignity. His chest feels surprisingly warm, compared to his icy fingertips, and you buried your face on those fluffy decorative fur trimmings. Soft, you should really have done this sooner. You belong to him now, so why not exercise the rights you have instead of being a brat? 

This is perfect, the result is almost the same as what he expected. Your affectionate nature has only been a pleasant surprise, and Fyodor is surprised about your resilience. Now all he needs to do is just sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labour.

[alexfeelyx]

I got some interesting responses on my previous post about the topic (and I will get around to responding to those momentarily) but I had another thought and I figured that necessitated a separate post to contain my incoherent ramblings.

I think my approach to Adult Literature is complicated by a few things, as of right now.

1. I have been unable to read almost anything at all for roughly the past ten years or so. Typical ADHD kid experience, voracious bookworm turned borderline illiterate adult. I have read adult fiction, but almost none of it as an actual adult.

2. Apparently my experience with this is far less universal than I thought, but I struggle with experiencing narratives as anything other than the POV character. Whatever happens in a story is, for the duration of the time I spend in the world of the narrative, happens to me, or something very close to that experience. Hence I am easily made uncomfortable by descriptions of harrowing experiences. The chapter that provoked my previous rant contained a vivid description of threats of sexual assault (it was only a threat within the narrative as well, a What Could Happen that was defined outright as a lie even before it was uttered, so therefore doubly fictitious), but unfortunately that does not make me feel less like the actions described are being done to me.

3. I have loved a good deal of morally grey or outright villainous characters in my time, but as of late I have trouble relating to Bad People™ in fiction. I scramble to figure out who I'm supposed to Love in a narrative, who I'm supposed to see as my Avatar. By default, or by definition, it is usually the POV character, since I experience the things they experience the most directly. (Although not exclusively, see the above example.) Let's just agree that Mycroft Canner does not make themselves an easily loveable and relatable character, and the emotional labour they make me put into relating to them is not inconsiderable. (For the sake of this argument I am not sinking to Mycroft's level and will try to avoid gendering the characters.)

4. Most of my experience with experiencing narratives from the past few years has been almost exclusively through video games, where the player is making their own choices and tailoring the narrative to their own preferences. It's a far more clear-cut kind of thing: as long as I did my very best to be kind, merciful, Morally Correct™ and compassionate, I can achieve the Golden Ending (although not always without sacrifices, looking at you, Dragon Age franchise). But in general, my narrative experiences have been very much about... having a protagonist who follows my morals, makes my decisions, and earns the happy ending I have strived to achieve for them and for myself.

Even those narratives frequently make me feel like they call for a fix-fic, like, stat. But with Terra Ignota I keep feeling like I keep being punished with Bad Shit Happening without having deserved it.

I am very aware that this is entirely my fault, so I guess this is more just... me musing about how I ended up with such a weird and unfruitful relationship towards narrative storytelling, I guess?

Did this ramble have a point to it at all? Doubtful, but there you have it

[skyriderwednesday]

Hair

There's always an unmanageable phase to growing out your hair, and Havelock has hit it. Fortunately, Sybil is very keen to offer her services.

(The fabled 'Sybil brushes Havelock's hair fic', G rated but a teensy bit spicy for a moment or two, background VetSybVimes, 1835 words)

Also on AO3

Havelock's hair was... becoming a problem. It wasn't unruly as such, and the weather this year was not yet humid enough to affect it - his hair was used to humidity. No, the main issues he was facing could all be attributed to length. His hair had been longer. It had been far longer -- but he had been fourteen when his hair had reached his waist and he had not had the concerns of leading an entire city. Presently, it was just reaching the bottom of his shoulder-blades. He could hardly tie it tight enough, it would come loose after a handful of hours when it never had before. It would fall in his eyes, tangle with his glasses, tangle with itself... Put simply, more needed doing to it. He could not any longer simply comb out the most obvious tangles and tie it flat away, his hair had volume and (metaphorically) a life of its own. He could not remember how he had managed it as a teen. He might have braided it. Sybil had said last night that she liked it long, that it suited him, and given he deeply disliked having it cut...  "If you were the one to have to deal with it my dear, you may not be as fond of it," he had replied. That had been in error. Sybil always liked a challenge. She also had always greatly enjoyed his hair.

"Hello darling," she said warmly as she swept into the room. Havelock looked up wearily from his desk. "Good morning Sybil," he said, pushing loose hair out of his face. Sybil advanced across the office, conventions of politics and rules of tyranny meaning nothing against the tide of determination she exerted. Havelock let it overtake him, not having slept well enough to summon an effectual barricade of stubbornness. Sybil represented the theoretical unstoppable force by default, and presently he felt like a perfectly moveable object. "I see I've arrived in good time..." she said, reaching immediately for his hair. He lamely leaned away from her, knowing full well there was no point to doing so. "It would appear so." Havelock pulled a face as Sybil kissed his temple. "Oh, you are miserable dear," she said, touching his hair again. I wonder why that could be? He did not say out loud. Silently he moved his inkwell to where it was not liable to be knocked over. "Darling," Sybil said firmly. He had long noted that Sybil appeared to be able to read his mind at times. He turned his eyes heavily towards her. "Yes?" "I can come back if I've interrupted you," she said calmly. "No," he shook his head, and loose hair tickled his nose. "We had best have it sorted." "Right," she patted his shoulder, causing him to fail in an endeavour not to sneeze. Rather loudly. "Bless you, dear." "...thank you," he said, blinking. Sybil moved back a little, studying him. "Darling, you look as if your brain just fell out of your ears." "It feels that way," he replied, still a little dazed. "Well, stuff it back in and we'll get to your hair. I'm sure you haven't got all day." Havelock made a mildly disgusted noise. Sybil laughed. "Come on, dear." She walked around the front of the desk towards the fireplace. Havelock stayed where he was and shut his eyes. He wasn't having the best of mornings. He hadn't slept well, his back hurt, his leg was stiff… he had gotten nowhere with the backlog of yesterday, and now Sybil had decided they were going to do his hair. There was a noise. He looked over. She was moving the coffee table. "Sybil…" "I'll put it back when we're finished dear," she said, dusting off her hands – though if there had been any dust on the coffee table, he would have had to have a stern word with the servants. He watched her sit on one of the sofas with her legs out in front of her and open her handbag. She started to take things out of it. Multiple combs, a hairbrush, hair ties, pins… To think he ordinarily managed with a single comb, a piece of ribbon, and his fingers. "Darling," Sybil said warningly.

Havelock tried not to sigh as he got to his feet and laboured across the room. Sybil took his arm gently and guided him to sit against her legs. He put his head back into her lap and folded his hands onto his lower chest. She gathered his hair out from under him and smiled fondly. "Now this is an angle I haven't seen you from in a long time," she said. "You haven't needed to," he replied softly. "It used to be every week when I was home," she mused, picking at the ribbon that had been vaguely holding back his hair. "Glasses, dear." He took them off and relaxed into the process. That's right… Sybil had managed his hair when it had reached his waist. She must have tried to teach him, but he had a strong sense that he had usually been half asleep the moment she picked up the hairbrush. He tuned back in to her muttering to herself. "Gods, Havelock, what kind of pig's ear–-" Sybil made a triumphant noise as she managed to untie the ribbon with the aid of a sturdy pin. "I apologise for that," he said. "No worries dear," Sybil dropped the twisted ribbon onto his hands. Flattening it was now his project for the next ten minutes. "No, I haven't needed to," she said, resuming the previous train of thought as she weighed a wide comb versus the hairbrush. "You would have thought that someone would have taught you to properly care for your hair at some point, but…" "It's not a skill they teach to boys," he said, echoing a similar conversation that had been held between them long ago. "No," Sybil said, choosing the comb and beginning to detangle from the ends up towards his roots. "They should though," he replied, holding the ribbon close to his eyes as he worked to smooth it. "Exactly," Sybil said. "And then you went away for so long and when you came back you had cut it. I half-thought I'd never forgive you for that." "I couldn't manage it," he said, tilting his head back, "and the image was important." "Oh the image," Havelock could hear her rolling her eyes. "Everything was about the image. Is that why you stopped seeing me?" He sat up and turned around to her, the ribbon forgotten about. "Of course not. Our paths had diverged, and there was so much mess to clean up, and–-" Sybil's fingers brushed around his jaw and under his chin, gently closing his mouth. "Hush, darling, I didn't mean it." She turned him round and lay him back against her knees. She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. "I understand. At the time, I was alone in a big house and angry, and I thought I hated you… but I'm glad to have you again now." He sighed deeply. "I am too…" "I love you darling," Sybil said, "I've always loved you. Now, I think I should finish your hair before one of us starts crying." "'One of us'?" he said. "Come now, we both know it would be me." Sybil snorted, "Havelock!" "I can cry if I want to," he said mock sulkily, "it's my office." "Well don't start now, I need that ribbon straightened out." He retrieved it from the carpet, "Yes ma'am." "Don't start that either." He smiled at her innocently. "I don't know what you mean." "Behave," she said, gently hitting him with the brush, "or I might pull your hair." She meant it. Yes ma'am, he resisted saying aloud for a second time. The first stroke of the brush tugged his hair anyway. He glanced back at her. "Sorry, dear."

He melted into the sensation of subsequent strokes, silently revelling in the odd scrape of the bristles against his scalp. The task of smoothing the ribbon continued autonomously, and his breathing deepened in content. Then the brushing stopped. Sybil's fingers entered his hair. He hummed in query. She shushed him. Then she began to massage his scalp, down into his neck, relieving tension he hadn't known his muscles had been holding. He moaned in quiet bliss. Sybil hummed. Her warmth increased as she leant over and pressed her lips to the top of his head. "Don't you think we should do this more often?" she whispered. Havelock had to remember how to speak. "Yes…" he breathed, "I do." "Good," Sybil kissed his head again, "though not in your office." She withdrew, leaving him with a pang of loss. She was right. As uncomplicated as their arrangement felt from the inside, it could result in unfathomable complications if walked in upon. After all, onlookers would see the leader of the city and a married woman. There would be scandal, words such as 'taking advantage' would be used…

"Have you finished with that ribbon, dear?" she asked. Havelock looked down at it in his hands. He had forgotten he was holding it. "Ah… it appears to have become crumpled again." Sybil looked down over him. "Well, it's better than it was," she said, faintly amused. "I won't need it for a few more minutes anyway." He nodded, and Sybil brushed out the tangles her fingers had caused. She sectioned his hair, gently straightening his head before beginning to braid it intricately from his crown to the top of his neck. It was tight, sturdy, but not uncomfortable. He felt pins and ties weaved into it. It was a style that locked his hair in place, and would keep it there until she could do it again or until he decided to take it down. Most likely the former. "Ribbon please, dear," Sybil said and he dutifully passed it up to her to tie the last loose portions of his hair at the base of his neck.

She sat back to admire her handiwork, "Beautiful, darling, even if I am saying so myself." He hummed warmly. "Thank you so very much." "You're always welcome," Sybil said and kissed the top of his head a last time. "Now..." she looked at him analytically, "we do now have to get you up from down there." "Ah," he said. "I had… neglected to think of that." "So had I… It makes it harder that you're sitting on my feet." He half shook his head and enjoyed that his hair wouldn't make him sneeze this time. "It would be harder if I were between them." "Could you turn around?" "That would involve crawling and may appear compromising." Sybil hummed in deep thought. "I should have allowed you to do this last night," he said. She shook her head, "Sam would have laughed at us for twenty minutes before helping." "Yes, he would..." "...under your arms?" Sybil suggested.