#wip: join the dots

[sp00kymulderr]

Uh oh…had a thought…oh no

Joel calling transmasc reader Daddy…in a gravelly, turned on voice…’fuck, Daddy…look at your cock, you gonna fuck my mouth with it huh? Gonna stuff me full?’

[zreamy]

things i know that i can't have (teaser)

jake's life was hard enough before he fell for you—balancing uni, football, and being a good christian son. in some cruel twist of fate, sleeping with you has only made things harder—and, according to sunghoon (and scripture), damned him to hell the first time he thought about it.

genres: college au, (established) fwb to lovers, smut, fluff, angst

teaser warnings: minors dni, smut (yn sends nudes and jake jerks off)..........extremely dramatic (jake is going through it basically)

teaser word count: 1,125 (chose peace)

fic word count: probably around 35k???

post date: apr 3 !!!

message from zo: yeah uh huh zreamy finally finished a jake fic.. yeah uh huh (i say as i'm still writing this fic.. im affirming #lawofassumption ..sigh whatever whatever) the wip page is literally cursed !!! it is it is it is .. anyway.. jake nation will always win accept me please jake nation.......

r/Christianity 

u/footballfan1511 | 2m

How bad is premarital sex, really? (Need quick answers!!!)

I (20M) have been having sex with my friend (20F) for three weeks now. I knew it was wrong, but she’s everything (very hot, totally, completely sexy), so I didn’t care. BUT I just saw this verse (Matthew 5:28-30) and apparently it’s a sin just to THINK about it??? 

The last time we did ‘it’ was this morning before church (sorry), and I was supposed to go over there tonight, but I’ve been freaking out about that verse all day…….. idk what to do but I really like her, so much, and I still want this, with her. Please give me advice .. 

Every Thursday night. Ten p.m. sharp. Almost no exceptions. You call Jake, talking shit for as long as it takes one thing to lead to another. Tonight is an exception—you had friends over, rescheduled for midnight. Jake lies in bed, hair still damp from his post-football training shower, counting each minute as it passes. 23:55. His leg is shaking. 23:56. He sits up straight, jolting as if waking from a nightmare, nerves sharp and restless as his thumbs fly over the keyboard, texting Sunghoon. 

Jake: What about phone sex?

Jake: Like if I don’t think about her while I do it? 

Sunghoon’s groan reaches Jake through the thin walls of their shared flat. Drawn-out and long-suffering. Read receipt. 23:57. Three dots. 

Hoon: I can’t tell you what to think, but if you’re asking me then you probably alr know

Hoon: Also..??? Do you think you can jack your shit on the phone without thinking about her 😭😭😭

Jake snorts despite himself, much too loud for the quiet. Echoing as if even the room disapproves. He closes his eyes, shakes his head. Palm to his cheek. A low smack, half-joking, half-sincere. Guilt snakes around him, a hot, unwelcome coil that won’t ease. Jake gets the sense that the choice ahead — to answer or not to answer — might drastically skew his life one way or another. 

A minute early. 23:59. Your name on his screen. Phone humming in his hold, pulse lashing his throat. On the other end of the line, before he has the chance to weigh his options, you dead the call—making his decision for him. 

Jake’s heart stumbles, clumsy in his chest. He thinks of the verse, sharp and prickly—crown of thorns on heavy head. He has been thinking about it since Saturday morning. Extra training with Team B, avoiding you, six-thirty wake-ups to join Sunghoon at the rink. Ice-cold mornings melting into afternoons. No matter what he tries, it always comes back. Lustful intent, adultery, with her. And despite his best efforts to pray for rapture, Thursday has come, and Jake has lived to see it. 

A minute late. 00:01. Your name on his screen. Hovering thumb. He knows that phone sex and sex-sex aren’t the same thing, Matthew didn’t even have a phone—but if he could’ve, and he could’ve known you, and you wanted him? Jake sighs. He should answer. If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off, and throw it away. The words sink their senile claws into him, holding on for dear, frail life. His phone stills in his palm. 

You don’t call again. You never have. If this phone call is going to happen, it’s up to Jake to make it so. This knowledge and its weight multiply by the second. An itch he doesn’t try to scratch, knowing he won’t be able to reach it. Another agonising nine minutes trudge along. 00:10. His phone buzzes on his chest, and he knows it’s you before he looks. Two texts.

YN: Said you’d stay up for me Yunie :((( 

YN: You don’t think I’m worth the wait?

Reading your messages through the notifications, he’s having a hard time convincing himself not to reply. Not to tell you he waited, that of course, you’re worth it. His guilt loosens, making space for his desire to reassure you—he cannot rule out the possibility that this desire outweighs his guilt. Silence settles in his room, stretched thin and strange around him. He sighs. 

YN: Attachments: 2 images

YN: Wanted to hear your reaction, but you can tell me when you’re up ig.

YN: Night, loser :P 

Butterflies, sudden and bright—teenaged. Foolish. Tucked under the notification, the photos dare him to look. His curiosity clicks it, and the first picture fills the screen, yanking his breath from his lungs. 

Most of your face is cut off, showing only your lips—pouty and glossy and pretty. Pulling at him in a way he’s not quite equipped to name. This would be enough for him, an innocent selfie, you and those pretty eyes, that smile. More than enough—pulse quickening just thinking about it. His gaze lingers on your lips, stuck for a while. Then, unintentionally, his eyes flick lower. Hair fanned over your pillow, breasts peeking out from under black lace. Fuck. A sight he’s seen a million times, but somehow, each time feels like the first. Jake gulps. Holy shit. He ignores the throbbing in his pants, how much tighter they are—he won’t give in. No matter how badly he’s craving it. He’s stronger than that. With his eyes, he traces your lips. Ogles until his screen dims, locking the picture away again.

Picture two. Fuck. You on your stomach, grainy in your webcam. Arched back, black lace panties over your hips. Fuck. The lingerie, the shape of your body.. Seeing you like this, so perfect and all for him—it’s taking every last shred of his self-control not to get in his car and rush over to you. Want, need, tugs at him. A tether he can’t break. His phone locks. 

Enough is enough. He drags his feet all the way back to the shower, oppressive cold water hitting him. Doing absolutely nothing for his revolting need. This isn’t working—not the water, not the attempt at self-control. Not when he’s already hard and aching against his stomach. Soft breasts. Round ass. Wet—his hand moves instinctively, forehead resting on the cool tiles. He closes his eyes, your body clear in the dark. Full lips. Arched back. He’s breathless when he finishes, head bowed as heat coils low in his stomach. The water carries his release away. Nose crinkled as it swirls around the drain, cringing at the sight—guilt, shame curling around him.

Again, he dries off, pulls on clean pyjamas, and drags his feet to bed. On his side, he closes his eyes, your body like a brand behind his eyelids, thoughts filling the quiet in his room. Exhaustion however, is its own kind of mercy, and eventually, pulls him under.

[unfortunate17]

May Never Make it Out Challenge

Post a 1-5 paragraph excerpt of a WIP / fic idea that may never make it out of your drafts but is near and dear to your heart

thank you to @tooindecisivetopickaurl and @in-amor-veritas for the tags. I'll no-pressure tag @skibasyndrome @spennufall @malinowaj @phneltwrites and @hergrandplan

here's a very self indulgent science fiction au that i've been working on on & off for over year. i actually have more than 12k written it's just too weird to actually share LOL but...here's like 3k of it ♥️

---

SIMON: SESSION 3

"I have a surprise for you."

"Oh?" Wilhelm asks, trying to keep his voice calm. Erik's words from last night are still fresh in his mind as he makes his way from the entrance to the middle of the room where the two chairs stand as usual.

Simon's seated on the floor this time, cross-legged. Wilhelm hesitates before taking his usual seat on the chair instead of joining Simon on the floor. The boundaries between them are still a little blurred. It’s difficult to understand what would startle Simon and what would make Wilhelm himself uncomfortable.

"It's not a song," Simon clarifies, a bit unnecessarily as there’s no piano in this room, "It's - a surprise. You have to close your eyes." Wilhelm watches as Simon gets to his feet, eyes subconsciously tracing a path from his slim shoulders to his slender waist. By the time he manages to rip his gaze away, a faint shade of pink is dusting across Simon's cheeks. Strange for someone without blood. "Wille is that okay?"

“What?”

Simon smiles like he’s heard a very funny joke. “Can you close your eyes?”

"Oh - yeah, sure," Wille nods. He curls his fingers into his sweats and shuts his eyes.

"I'm going to leave the room for a minute."

Wilhelm opens his eyes, a sound of protest rising in his throat, "You - has Erik said -"

"I'm just going back to the bedroom," Simon explains patiently. If Wilhelm's sudden reaction has piqued his curiosity, he doesn't let it show. "The passages are connected. I won't be anywhere I don't belong."

Simon's already halfway to the door before Wilhelm can get himself to respond to the wry words thrown his way. "It's not that you don't belong," he finds himself arguing. Simon freezes at the doorway, but he doesn't turn around to face him. "That’s not what I meant."

The response comes after a long moment of silence. "I'm not like you, Wille," Simon says softly, "Now please close your eyes. I want this to be a surprise."

Wille shuts his eyes. Mostly because he doesn’t know what to say.

The room is silent without Simon, the only sound is his own shallow breathing and the faint ticks from the CCTV cameras moving about the room. Simon is watched twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Wille’s not quite sure how he hasn't asked about them yet, how he manages to live - exist, whatever - like that. He knows that if he were in Simon’s place, he would’ve gone insane by now..

Simon is gone for less than a few minutes, but it feels like much, much longer. The room is uneasy without him, like something is not quite right.

When Wilhelm hears the door slide open again, he squeezes his eyes shut harder, bursts of multicolored dots appearing behind his eyelids. "Simon?"

There's a warm hand on the back of his neck. Wilhelm jumps, his eyes flying open involuntarily. He swallows at the sight before him. His tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Is it a stupid surprise?" Simon asks quietly, a hint of uncertainty coloring his voice.

Wille thinks he’s forgotten how to use his vocal chords. He shakes his head, keeping his eyes trained on Simon's as he reaches out to gently take one of his translucent hands in his own.

A smile flickers across Simon's features then, eyes squinting in happiness, tongue pressed to the backs of his white teeth. He relaxes, shoulder’s loosening. "How do I look?" he asks, "Do you like it?"

Wilhelm leans back in his chair, scanning him from head to toe. Black boots with little zippers up the sides, dark jeans covering the length of his legs. His arms are covered by a soft looking navy sweater; the peek of a white tee shirt visible through the V-neck. "Yeah,” he nods roughly, “You look - nice." Every nerve in his body must be burning, Wille thinks hysterically, what with the fucking heat Simon's body seems to give off.

"I spent a long time picking it out," Simon admits, squeezing his fingers, "I wanted to - I wanted you to like it. Like me. Sometimes it looks like you do, but you're embarrassed by it. So I thought, if I was more like you, then - you might."

Wille pulls his hands away, noting the way Simon flexes his wired fingers as though he misses the feel of it. "What're you doing?"

"I -" Simon looks at him, wide-eyed. Innocent. "I want us to go on a date."

Wilhelm stands from his chair, steps a few feet to his right in order to take in Simon's delicate frame. He hesitates, then decides that the question probably isn't as loaded as he's making it out to be. "Okay," he says, as casually as he can muster. His pulse is jackhammering. "That sounds like fun. Where would we go?"

Simon's expression ripples, something catching his features far too quickly for Wilhelm to read. "A movie," he says, "An ideal place to observe culture, ideals of beauty, self, and fantasy. Then maybe a walk through a busy street. We'd get a concentrated but shifting view of human life."

Wilhelm stays silent.

"Do you think about me when we're not together?" Simon asks now. He takes a step forward. When Wille doesn't move back, he seems to take it as a sign to close the space between them entirely. He fists a robotic hand in Wilhelm's long-sleeve. His voice is smooth, sexual in a way Wilhelm has never heard. "Because I think about you, Wille. I like to think about you watching me on the cameras."

Wilhelm thinks this is what it means when people say their life is flashing before their eyes. His breathing is obviously unsteady and he wishes he'd worn jeans, or at least thicker pants. He's embarrassingly hard on camera and Simon's done nothing but talk to him. "Simon," he begs, "I’m not sure what you - "

"You give me indications that you're attracted to me," Simon whispers, fingers smoothing across his chest. He tugs at the waistband of Wille’s sweats, "Your micro-expressions are - "

"I'm not sure how micro they are," Wilhelm grits, teeth clenched. He tries to imagine Erik in the observation room, tries to conjure up the image of him watching his exchange with muffled laughter. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to calm the rush of blinding lust that pools in his stomach at the way Simon’s blinking up at him, eyes deep and dark and wide. He takes a shuddering breath and pulls Simon’s hand away from his pants.

Immediately, Simon's face falls. He takes a step back, "I'm sorry," he says, "You’re aroused, but also uncomfortable."

Now, Wilhelm's face feels like it’s on fire. His gaze darts up to the cameras, their steady, blinking almost incriminating. "It’s fine, Simon. Our time is - I'll see you tomorrow, okay?."

The acute disappointment on Simon's face makes him want to take back the words at once. He swallows, turning towards the door. But, Simon stops him once again, his fingers brushing the edges of Wille’s shoulder blades.

"Will you ever take me on a date?" Simon whispers. It sounds like the words are being torn from his body.

Wilhelm closes his eyes, trying to keep his breath steady. "I don't know," he admits, more honest than he’d have preferred to have been in this room. "Have you ever been outside this facility, Simon?"

"No," Simon murmurs. His hand smooths across Wilhelm’s back. "I've never been outside these two rooms."

Wilhelm nods. He turns slightly to remove Simon's arm from his back, the grip of his hand wide around Simon's clothed elbow. The touch is different somehow, more charged than anything they've shared before.

"Will you take me?" Simon asks again, "Wille?"

And Wilhelm needs to leave. Right fucking now.

________

Wilhelm’s breathing hard by the time he’s out of the room, the ghost of Simon’s fingers still dancing on his neck, his face an ever-present image in his mind. He leans against the table in the observation room, ignoring the way Erik’s watching him closely..

“What the fuck,” he manages at last, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears, “What in ever-loving fuck was that?”

Erik simply calmly adds another spoonful of sugar to his tea. He's leaning back lazily in his chair, screens still blown up with the view of the now empty room. Wilhelm decidedly doesn't look to see where Simon is now. “What was what, little brother?”

“What was he doing?” Wilhelm’s all but yelling now, “Why is he - he’s coming on to me. Why would you make him do that?”

Erik takes a sip of the steaming liquid, an amused expression spreading across his face, “You’re the only other person he’s ever met besides me and I’m basically his father. Doesn’t seem too far-fetched that he’s got a bit of a crush.”

“Fuck,” Wilhelm runs a hand through his hair, trying to get his racing heartbeat under control. “Why would you do that?” He asks finally, “Give him - a sexuality?”

Erik sets down his cup and leans forward on his elbows, “Why not? Sexuality is a fundamental aspect of human life. According to most psychologists, sex is considered a primary reinforcer.” He snorts, “Gives him something to look forward to with you around now.”

Wilhelm takes a seat gingerly on the edge of the table, knee bouncing almost involuntarily. “Why me though? Why make him attracted to his tester?” He tries to keep his question as neutral as possible, but it’s obvious from the way Erik’s face twists with perverse pleasure that he’s given too much away.

“You're asking me if you can fuck Simon, right?” Erik laughs, open-mouthed and shameless.

Wilhelm cringes, cheeks blazing, “No - fuck you, Erik. That’s not what I -”

“You can,” Erik throws him a smirk, “His body is wired with neurotransmitters. He has a complex network of signal paths that mimic nerves. Strip him of those clothes he's just put on for you and he's anatomically accurate, a concentration of sensors down there. If you engage him in the right way, it'll create a pleasure response, and he'll give as good as he takes. He'll even finish, even if the actual mechanics of him coming - ”

Something in Wilhelm runs cold at the words. He steels his back, tries to make himself look as tall as possible even if Erik could stand and dwarf him with mass alone. “That’s not what I fucking asked,” he says darkly.

“Maybe not," Erik mulls as he gets to his feet, "But it’s what you want to know.”

"No it isn't," Wilhelm argues hotly as he follows Erik out of the room. Instead of taking the staircase to the right back up the kitchen and living room, they make a left turn at the end of the corridor. There's a completely new hall here, one that Wilhelm's never seen before. Not for the first time, he wonders how big the facility really is, why one lonely man would need so much space.

They walk in silence for a minute, passing a range of anatomically accurate paintings, mostly of naked young men and women. Wilhelm doesn't ask about them, keeping his eyes trained on Erik’s back. "I want to know," he says instead, repeating his thought from earlier, "why you made him attracted to me - his tester. Why program him like that? Is this to cloud my judgment? A defense tactic or something?"

Erik snorts unkindly. They stand in front of a smooth metallic door, much like the other ones he's seen around in the hallways. Erik clicks the button on his remote door slides open with a smooth hiss. "You don't have access to this room. Just saying."

"Erik," Wilhelm grits, "Why is Simon flirting with me?"

"For fuck's sake, Wille," Erik's voice is tense, coiled, clearly irritated and condescending all at once. "I programmed him to be gay, just like you were programmed to be fluid or whatever the fuck you’re calling yourself this month."

Wilhelm frowns as he steps through the doorway, "Nobody programmed me to be anything."

They're in some sort of lab, smooth glass cases covering bits of blue gel, boxes - clear and cardboard - line an entire wall, most of them filled to the brim with papers to the point where the lids strain outwards. Along his left are sections of android bodies - limbs, torsos, hands - lined in glass cabinets. Towards the back of the room are more parts, specifically a collection of heads. Skull-forms, some with complex carbon-fiber and pneumatic muscle structures, ready to frown or smile. All are noticeably missing the synthetic meshed-flesh covering that Simon has. A row of synthetic faces hang separately up on armatures, much like hats on hat-stands, waiting to be worn.

In the middle of the room is what appears to be an operating table.

Erik moves towards it, picking up a skull as he goes. "Don't be ridiculous," he rolls eyes, clearly amused, "You decided to be queer? No, of course you didn't - you were programmed by a complex combination of nature and nurture. Just like Simon has been programmed." He motions for Wilhelm to follow him as he sets the skull down on the smooth metal of the table. "And frankly, this sounds like your insecurity talking. You're attracted to him; he's attracted to you. His flirting isn't an algorithm, because for the record, I didn't program him to like you."

Wilhelm allows the words to sink into his skin for only a moment before he stomps down on the giddy warmth that irrupts in his stomach. For fuck's sake, he's a scientist; he needs to stop thinking like a teenager with a crush. "Is this where you built him?"

Erik watches him for a long moment, clearly interested by the change of subject, or more accurately, Wilhelm's need to change the subject. "His version of the womb if you will. Want to know the biggest challenge when it came to making him?" Wilhelm moves to nod before he realizes that it's a rhetorical question, "Facial expressions. Humans read and express them on a basic level, we're born with it hardwired into us - they span every culture, every language. It ended up being the main downfall of some of the earlier prototypes - "

"Earlier prototypes?" Wille can't help but jut in. Realistically he knows that Erik's been working on this little hobby of his for over a decade, there had to have been other models, simpler ones, ones that didn't work as well. It's still a strange idea though, that there were others before Simon. That there might be others after him.

Erik raises a dark eyebrow at him. "You thought he was alone - the only one?"

"No," Wilhelm admits, "I just - I knew he wasn't the first. But I did think he'd be the last." His voice is tighter than he'd anticipated, a fierce curl of protectiveness that’s obvious even to himself.

"You feel bad for him, little brother?" Erik leans against the table, looks him dead in the eye.

Wilhelm shakes his head, tries not to let his voice betray him.

Then, Erik sighs. "Simon doesn't exist in isolation - not any more than you and I do, at least. He's part of an evolutionary continuum, version 12.8 to be exact. Every version gets a little bit better, a little bit closer to that all-consuming fear. The androids that'll make the human race obsolete."

Wilhelm cracks a weak smile despite himself. He rolls the thought around in his mind like a marble. "So - do you think he's it? You know - singularity?"

There are a few beats of silence, nothing touching the moment except for the sound of their breathing, even though Wilhelm feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. He wants to know the answer almost as badly as he doesn't.

"I don't know," Erik says at last. He shoots Wilhelm a strange look, "Shouldn't you be telling me?"

"Fair enough," Wilhelm reasons, cocking his head. "Anyway, what about facial expressions?"

"Christ," Erik shakes his head, runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair, huffing a laugh. "He really does make you emotional doesn't he." Wilhelm flushes despite himself, "I hacked everything," Erik says abruptly.

Wilhelm blinks, "You - "

"I took all the data pouring in from cameras, cell-phones, every single one, across the globe - and redirected it through social media. Gives you a limitless supply of human facial and vocal interaction. Simon's mind is made out of structured gel - do you know what that does, Wille?"

Wilhelm shakes his head, "I don't know what any of this does to be honest."

"Don't exactly blame you," Erik shrugs casually. He sets the skull on the table, before he pinches it with two fingers. Wilhelm watches in fascination as the gel keeps its form even after Erik lets go, hardening into its new shape. "This is state of the art stuff, hasn't been released to the public yet. Structured gel is a new building material my company found a few years ago. Earlier AI models always used circuitry, but we had to get away from that. Our minds don't necessarily work in sequences; it'd be inaccurate, simplistic. AI minds need to be able to restructure and rearrange at a molecular level, but still hold their structure when required. For example, Simon’s mind holds still for memories, but shifts for thinking."

Wilhelm reaches down to poke at the skull. It feels like Jell-O, but tougher somehow, more durable. "What about the software?"

Erik smirks, "You're a thinking man, Wilhelm. Why don't you give me your best guess?"

"Social media," Wilhelm guesses. Then, he huffs a breath of laughter. “I guess, since you need to filter his data, social media is perfect - it gives you the ability to work with dense graphs based on familiarity rather than raw data from search engines. Most companies use social media to map out profits, what items are popular, who's trending.” At Erik’s encouraging nod, he continues. “It's a map of people's thoughts. But not just not a map - it's - it's more like a - blueprint. Because it's not what they're thinking, but how they're thinking, isn't it? It makes it so that Simon can be fluid and patterned, but also impulsive and chaotic."

Erik gives him an appraising look, clearly impressed. "Well done, Wilhelm. I hope this'll help you in future sessions."

Wilhelm stills, hand faltering where he reached for the gel skull again. "What do you mean?"

"I'm showing you this so you'll remember," Erik's gaze is cool, collected, casual, but it makes Wilhelm feel like he's been dunked in ice water. "Simon is not a boy. By definition, he has no gender, no sexuality, no identity. He's synthetic gel and hydraulics."

Wille averts his gaze from Erik to the skull on the operating table.

“A machine.”

[a-ikus]

curiosity killed the cat and satisfaction won't bring it back.

pairing: touya todoroki x f!reader w/c: 1.3k warning/s: lots of world building lmao, sci-fi/horror au, eventual smut + body horror notes: helllooooo!!! another repost i apologise but this is the prologue to a longer fic im working on, just a lot of world building in this inspo/acknowledgements: playlist

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates + voting • kofi • askbox

it was a dream come true when dr. kurogiri had accepted your internship application, a world famous astro-biologist, astro-geologist and astro-botanist, one of the last to work in an actual expedition team. you hope working beneath him will finally sate the curiosity you'd grown up feeding into.

nearly all crews formed in the space boom had disbanded, old hangars once housing ships torn down to become labs, rusted metal tossed aside for tempered glass, engines exchanged for supercomputers, pilots turning from aerospace to the astro-sciences to study all they'd discovered during the boom. 

kurogiri and shimura's team was one of the last left, the latter inheriting the hangar and his ship as a teenager, his lucky morgana. he was young, not even eighteen when he did his first expedition, returning to earth famous, dr. kurogiri and commander shimura's name's well-known in your household as you grew up; both for his age, of traversing the stars in solitude, and for his discovery: shimura wasn't the first to find life, certainly not the last. he was the first to recover such an organism alive. to bring it back to dr. kurogiri's lab, to maintain the alien life for years. something no one has ever come close to again.

he'd been a respected, house-hold name ever since that fateful expedition. at only nineteen, he'd met his pilots, touya todoroki and shuichi iguchi. by the time you'd joined his team, he'd built a whole crew; in-house mission specialists, toga himiko and bubaigawara jin, payload commander, hikiishi kenji and flight engineer, sako atsuhiro.

watching the crew from the lab, you'd always been curious about him, about his reputation, of his crew. staring through the window, you watch toga bound around the hangar, skipping as she pokes bubaigawara's shoulder, remembering the hushed warning your friends had whispered in your ear the night you'd gone out to celebrate your internship; that shimura's team was crazy.

cursed.

rumours had swirled ever since shimura returned from his first expedition, stumbling from the ship that left him orphaned, only a bandage in place of his left thumb, index and middle finger, limping down the runway holding a gnarled gash at his side, skin and tendons split, torn and jagged at the edges like something had tried to tear him in half. like wildfire, a rumour spread that his ex-mentor had set him up on his exploration, an attempt on the young commanders life, to kill him before he could tell the world of the life he'd found. the legend of shimura's curse only spreading more when iguchi and todoroki were named pilots on his second expedition.

from what you'd heard through the trusty grapevine, the pair were once pilots for the air force.

allegedly, their final mission resulted in one of the worst explosions in recorded air force history. iguchi, unconscious from the blast had suffered burns to most of his body — losing one of his legs, his right covered in grafts, his torso mangled by the fire, angry scares from the tip of his fingertips all the way up the side of his skull, not a single hair growing on the left side of his body, dark brown stubble dotted over the other half of his face, the jagged patch of hair atop his head buzzed, dyed a soft pink. he'd been closer to the explosion, the censored files making it clear he was lucky to survive. that he wouldn't have without todoroki.

EXPLOSIVES INCIDENT RESULTING IN GRAVE INJURY TO AIR FORCE PERSONNEL january 1st | east hangar casualties: 2 victim/s: shuichi iguchi, male, 21 rank: officer injuries: third degree burns to 30-40% of body, smoke inhalation. AMMENDED: third degree burns to 35% of body, left trans-tibial amputation.

victim/s: touya todoroki, male, 23 rank: first officer injuries: third degree burns to 15% of body, second degree burns to 40% of body, smoke inhalation.

INCIDENT REPORT: at the time of the explosive - believed to be carbon bisulphide - officer iguchi was inside the cockpit of LV-011 knocked unconscious inside the aircraft after the initial explosion. surveillance captures first officer todoroki running towards LV-011's burning wreckage, dragging iguchi from inside the aircraft, both officers suffering wounds from the fire as well inhalation related injuries. alarm both victims are reported to have been wearing civilian clothing at the time of the incident, the victims in the midst of locking the eastern hangar at the time of the explosion. first officer todoroki's report pending. first officer iguchi's report pending.

your nosiness was cut short only moments after it began, each report after the initial one required authorised access, all you knew was both men were honourably discharged soon after, before they'd even woken up.

the next day, you couldn't help but stare through the glass window once more, todoroki and iguchi working side by side, like they had been their entire career. todoroki ditched his uniform, shedding the thick material in favour of a black shirt, standing beneath the big spacecraft. he stretched his arms above his head, tapping the bottom edge of the wing as iguchi spoke, the shiny scars snaking over his fingertips stealing your attention easily, the dark patches of scarred skin stretching over his hands and wrists. like a winding path, it leads you to the next scar, a large span of disfigured skin where an angry flame had engulfed his arm, a long winding path of marred skin curling around his bicep and shoulder blade, disappearing under his shirt at his back, although, you see a sliver of it continuing around his collarbone before it vanishes again beneath the shirts neckline.

from what you'd heard, his arms and torso were the worst, the flames licking at his skin as he dragged iguchi out, spreading from iguchi's clothes to his as he tugged him from the burning wreckage. the scars elsewhere had healed to a light, raw pink; the patch of skin up the side of his face, singing half of one of his eyebrows off, and a patch of skin at his jaw and the side of his throat burnt smooth, and a patch of white hair missing just above his ear.

your eyes are glued to him as he speaks, one and a half eyebrows drawn down in a thoughtful expression, icy blue eyes glancing between iguchi and morgana, back and forth as the pair spoke. until the electric blue met you.

in a few short strides, he's at the lab door, "your parents never teach you it's rude to stare?"

his tone is light, a playful lilt as he pokes his head through the door, staring down at you at your desk.

"i-i didn't- i wasn't trying to—"

"second degree," he gestures to his face, to his throat, the pink skin shining under the sterile white lights of kurogiri's lab, your eyes following his fluid movements, watching his scarred hands as they dragged the neckline of his shirt down.

"and third." he splays his palms in front of you, like he's trying to convince you he's innocent of something, twisting his wrist to show the uneven patches of scar tissue spanning over his wrists and forearms , even tugging the hem of his shirt up to show you the same swirling scars at his hips, nearly covering the entire sliver of his stomach you can see.

"what happened?" your voice is soft, like your tone needs to be gentle on the tender, raw skin.

"some tanks beneath the ship exploded, they say it was a freak accident, the steel overheated or something," he gracefully glides into the lab, leaning on your desk, "iguchi says it was an accident, i think it was an attempt. but i'm like a cockroach, they should've known i'd come crawling out of there."

he winks, his eyelashes long and dark unlike his snow white hair, and your shoulders sag, relaxing more around him as he joked, "so, newbie, tell me at least a little about you, other than you have a staring problem. start with your name, i'm touya."

your eyes twinkle, a heat burning your cheeks as you repeated his name, the weight of his given name on your tongue so much heavier than reading it in articles and reports. dropping your pen, you offer out your name, and your hand.

© all works belong to @a-ikus and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[anneapocalypse]

Junelezen Day 7: Death

“You saw them too,” Alphinaud said, tentatively, as they were hustled out of the infirmary on the orders of Hospitalier Captain Abel, who insisted that Estinien have several more days of rest. “Didn’t you? At Estinien’s side, on the Steps of Faith. Ysayle, and…”

“Haurchefant,” Ariane said quietly. It was not so painful to speak his name; no more painful than to wake every day in a world without him in it. “Yes.”

She could see the relief on Alphinaud’s face, that he had not imagined it. “It is said that the souls of the dead pass through the aetherial sea. That some linger there, their aether undispersed, for a time. Do you think…?”

“…that it was truly them?” Ariane had pondered the same, ever since that moment. She herself had been drawn to the aetherial sea, time and again, brought before the Mothercrystal. Many would consider that an impossible tale. What grounds had she to doubt, at least, the possibility? “To be honest… I don’t know.” She paused by the aetheryte outside the Congregation; evening had passed into night, and a gentle snow was falling, leaving dots of moisture on her glasses. “The things I’ve seen, since joining the Scions, since the Echo… who am I to say? You and I both know the sort of things that hopes can conjure… and with the Eyes spilling aether everywhere… I don’t know.”

Alphinaud looked down at the frosty cobbles. “I had thought the same.”

“And yet…” Ariane said, taking off her spectacles to wipe them on her collar, only leaving them smeared and wet. Defeated, she put them back on. “I confess, a part of me should very much like to believe it was them. There would be some comfort in that, wouldn’t there?”

“There would,” Alphinaud agreed. “To believe that those we’ve lost yet watch over us…” He let out a long, white breath in the chill air. “Urianger speaks sometimes of Grandfather doing so. Not what we found down in the Coils, not some summoned likeness… but him, Grandfather himself, watching over us from the aetherial sea, guiding our footsteps… I think he would like very much to believe it. Mayhap I would as well. Alisaie and I came to Eorzea to understand… to find out why he left us. Mayhap I would like to think he never truly left. And yet…”

“And yet,” Ariane said quietly, “he is still gone.”

Alphinaud looked up at her. His blue eyes shone in the light of the aetheryte, and at once he looked terribly young. “How are you… truly?”

Ariane drew a deep breath. “It’s… been hard. So hard.” In spite of herself, her eyes welled and stung in the cold. “Still is, if we’re being honest.” She blinked hard behind her already blurred spectacles. “But I’m still here, Alphinaud. I’m not going anywhere. I can say that much.”

She could see the relief on his face as he managed a smile. “Thank you. For everything, Ariane. For being a true and steadfast friend. I cannot thank you enough.”

She swallowed, and even with tears in her eyes it was not so hard to smile. “You too, Alphinaud. You too.”

(Excerpt from Harsh Light, WIP, not yet posted)

[b33tlejules]

gonna take a spin on the "10 posted fics" and ask u for a compilation for your favorite top ten drawings/sketches/concepts, published or unpublished to tumblr dot com. i see ur shit and it's fucking banging. have a great day

aughhhh you're so kind thank you for letting me join in 💕💕💕💕

top ten Jules Bangers Of All Time In No Particular Order:

1. First Rhan drawing that made me realize Oh Yeah This Is Them

2. Teo :)

3. Argent Booba

4. My favorite Rhargent screenprint scan

5. JULIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 💕💕💕💕

6. My falling girl sidestep animation that got me a follow back from Malin on bluesky

7. WIP of a comic cover for Teo's villain persona Ouroboros

8. The original sketch for my Applauding God drawing

9. My 1st piece of fhr fanart (💕HG💕)

10. This absolutely insane piece I threw together for artfight last year

if you've scrolled this far i tag YOU 🫵🫵🫵 to share your top 10 pieces of art (published or unpublished) and tag me i wanna seeeeeeee

[tossawary]

Happy November, everyone! Here's a late collection of the icons that I've been using for the last few months. The lines and dots one is the new one! I saw some Art Deco wood carving recently that was cool and wanted to borrow the style.

The rubber duck cassowary is from July, because a loved one is really into ducks recently. The black and white cassowary is from August, for no particular reason. The Starfleet cassowary is from September, because we started doing a catch-up on things like "Strange New Worlds", "Lower Decks", and "Discovery". The cassowary made of dots is from October, just because I saw another piece of art that I liked.

Fandom news: I finally finished "Some Unknown Corner", my Qijiu reunion fix-it fic!!! Which took me WAY longer than initially expected. Part of it is that I've been spending more time with family lately (saw some people I hadn't seen in years last month), which means less time to write but has been very nice, and part it of seems to be that I'm just a little busy and burnt out at the moment.

I'm not currently planning on joining any fandom events at the moment, or making any firm fic plans; I'm letting loose and just relaxing. I will be TRYING not to be possessed by some unwieldy project. Trying!!! I'm definitely not (intentionally) writing any novels this month. For now (at least the next couple months), I don't think I'll be posting any new fic unless it's a short one-shot or already complete longfic. November and December tend to be some of the busier months in my personal life. I have some WIP projects for other fandoms that I'd like to shove out the door and use to cleanse my palate a little, but again, the main goal right now is taking it slow.

If you have a fandom project right now that is stressing you out, I offer you permission from a random stranger to take a break from it, if you want one! Enjoy a nap on the couch and some good food and a walk, if you can and if you like! Fic will wait.

Thank you for all the lovely comments and messages and such! I appreciate them very much and will be trying to casually catch up on those again. ❤️❤️❤️

[biscuityskies]

Last line challenge

I was tagged by @meebles and promptly had a small crisis over if I should use the most recent line I had written or the last line of the fic… and then I wrote some more and this satisfies both facets 😅

This is from my @codywanfirstkissbingo wip called pinch points!!

It’s bad enough that he almost told Cody he loves him. Despite coming up on a full year since that happened, he still thinks about it at least once a day - in no small part because it still holds true. The way Cody’s scar puckers when he smiles, the way his face lights up when he laughs, his sheer level of competence in everything he does. Obi-Wan wants to keep seeing him like that: happy, carefree, at ease.

Which is why they’ve been operating as normal for the past year.

Well, perhaps a touch friendlier than normal; Obi-Wan openly refers to Cody using his name rather than his station, now that he knows his thoughts on the matter, to which Cody replies with Obi-Wan’s name rather than the “sir” that had been ingrained into his being. They spend a touch more time together, too. Time not spent on flimsiwork or pulling reports or filing inventory requests or updating the Council is still spent in Obi-Wan’s quarters; flecks of golden paint dot the floor from where Cody has found a level of comfort there - silent as he decorates his armour while Obi-Wan reads the latest reports, but open to conversation if there’s something that particularly piques Obi-Wan’s interest.

They’ve also found that they both sleep better with someone by their side, courtesy of that night on Snokota, and have on a few different occasions found themselves in the same bed, bodies pressed tightly together to feel the other’s heartbeat, to know they’re both still alive. Cody had quietly murmured one morning that it reminded him of when he was younger and he was closer in proximity to his brothers, they would sleep in piles like they had seen the troopers do that night. It’s safety and warmth and that quiet reassurance that he’s not alone.

Obi-Wan is happy to be these things for Cody, since Cody is all of them for him.

No pressure tags to @ferretrade @c-c2224 @lttrsfrmlnrrgby @bluemaskedkarma @dontbelasagnax and anyone else who wants to join!!! <33

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday-!!!

As promised last week, this week brings fun times with a dragon for my WIP >:3 It's a bit of a long one, almost 900 words, so I'm putting part of it under a read more. It's definitely not all cutesy like last week - a bit more... I don't know. Gritty?

Tagging @hircines-hunter @skyrim-forever @friend-of-giants @moriche @oblivions-dawn @illumiera @madam-whim @pocket-vvardvark and anyone who wants to share a WIP, though obviously with no obligations to do so <3

---------

There was a tension in the air as Elyse and Lydia followed the eastern road out of Whiterun, their pace faster than that of their usual walking. Elyse had contemplated even taking Mist just to travel quicker instead of going by foot, but she didn’t know how the horse would cope around a dragon, nor did she want to put her at risk of being eaten by it. It was safer for her in the stables, for certain.

Puddles dotted the road from the recent rains, the water splashing up the boots of her armour and coating the steel with mud every time that she stepped on one. She would have tried to avoid them, if not for the fact that her eyes were firmly fixated upon the skies. She had seen the distant shape of a dragon once or twice in the general direction of the standing stone, so at the very least, it hadn’t moved on in the time it had taken Fjora to return to Whiterun, and for her to get ready and leave.

“Look!” Lydia’s voice broke her focus when she suddenly called out, and Elyse stopped in her tracks to turn to face first the housecarl, but then in the direction she had been pointing.

It was the body of Fjora’s partner, half concealed by shrubbery.

Pursing her lips together, she slowly approached the body, and had to fight back the queasy feeling which was forming in her gut as she knelt down beside him. Blood had stained the yellow fabric adorning the armour, all radiating from a single wound in his chest… and it was that wound which caught her eye.

“Fjora said that her patrol partner was killed by the dragon...” she stated when Lydia joined her in kneeling down. “That doesn’t look like an injury from a dragon. It looks like that of a blade… If it was a dragon’s claws or teeth, there would be multiple wounds, and they would be bigger...”

“You think he was killed by something other than the dragon?”

“... I don’t want to assume the worst, and that Fjora used the dragon attack to cover this up, but... It’s a possibility. Maybe somebody attacked them at the same time as the dragon, and Fjora thought that the dragon had gotten him, but…” She slowly rose to her feet, not wanting to look at the wound for any longer. “I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel like a dragon did this. And I don’t want to leave him here, but…”

“Our responsibility is the dragon. We can bring him home when we are done.”

Elyse was silent after that, but nodded in agreement. With that now playing on their minds, they began to make their way down the road once more, approaching the turn in the road which brought them closer to their destination.

A large shadow swept overhead not long after the pair had made their way past the Ritual Stone, and a chill went down Elyse’s spine as she knew for certain what it had come from. A hushed whisper of reassurance came from Lydia as she pulled her bow out, turning to try and see in what direction the dragon had gone in.

Elyse did much the same, attempting to see if there was an opportunity to shout, an uncomfortable yet wholly familiar feeling bubbling up within her – a sensation she had felt every time she had fought a dragon since the first... Paarthurnax had explained it to her once, it being something that comes with possessing the soul of a dragon. It being within their nature. The desire for power, to dominate, to win. Her mortal side kept her in check... But apparently for a dragon, it takes millennia to overcome.

A column of fire suddenly erupted from further down the mountain, near to the White River, the stream of flames mingled in within a cry of ‘yol’. Elyse ran over to the edge of the path, only stopping when she felt some loose earth crumble beneath her foot, then clenched her fists when she realised that the Thu’um wasn’t the only thing within the flames.

“It’s attacking people down there,” she whispered as Lydia made her way over to her,  “I’m going to go further down the path and shout at it. It’s almost guaranteed it will go after me when I do. As soon as it’s close enough, aim for the wings.”

Lydia nodded. “Got it.”

She sucked in a breath, then broke out into a sprint. Balgruuf’s warning about a Stormcloak camp being nestled in the mountains lingered in the back of her head, but that was far from her biggest concern at that moment in time. If she were to take too long, those people...

 Before long, she came to a halt, and turned back around to face the dragon down the mountain. She hadn’t shouted for any reason beyond calling for Odahviing in quite some time, a few months no doubt. But even with that break, she still knew exactly what to do, and a yell of ‘joor zah frul’ was directed at the beast.

A shrill roar filled the air.

[loveanddeeptrash]

Reset

Sylus Prologue

1.8k words

Tags: injuries, blood, angst incoming, kidnapping, betting

A/N: Each character is going to have their own prologue before I give them all their own dedicated chapter that's gonna be full of angst. Sylus was the hardest one to write for, I don't know why.. I'll try to pace myself since some of these wips are already written, but I don't want to overwhelm the community with my writing right now.. Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think~

| Next: WIP | Masterlist |

If Sylus was being completely honest, whenever you were away in Linkon or off on one of your many boring hunter missions, he was always bored and itching to start trouble. Since, if there’s trouble, you’d be forced to come and fix the issue. So imagine your surprise when you receive a message through the Hunters Association telling you that the owner of Onychinus had been kidnapped and held for ransom. Kidnapped! You could hardly believe it. This had got to be some mysterious plot planned by the big, scary boss man himself.  With a resigned sigh, you drove to the N109 Zone and began investigating; all the while unknowing that the hostage himself was watching over you through the video feed he had access to throughout the entire zone.

Sylus was enjoying watching you hunt him down, it was a game to him. Give you a few clues here and there, some wanderers sprinkled about for some added difficulty, and he’d just be there, at the finish line, to congratulate you for a job well done. Thank you brave hunter, for rescuing him. Luke and Kieran were already betting behind him on how long it would take you to realize that this was all a ploy to get you to hang out with the Onychinus gang. Mephisto was even cawing up a storm as the avian also seemed to want to join the betting pool. So imagine his disdain when a few people of the N109 Zone began to give you a real reason to actually investigate his disappearance.

There wasn’t a real network or plan he worked on to get everyone in the zone to work with his silly game, he just trusted in the conniving ways the other denizens of the zone would act in while you went about your way. Yet the pure fact that someone actually planned to kidnap him and put him up for ransom rubbed him the wrong way, almost causing the man himself to cut the game short and go out there to deal with it himself. Crossing his arm, Sylus held his chin with the other free hand and contemplated on what to do next. He could do nothing and let the game play out however it ended, or he could intervene and expose that he had planned his own kidnapping to get you to pay attention to him. So he chose to do nothing. His own pride refused to let him admit just how much he had missed you. Not just yet anyway.

Watching you connect the dots he had left you was a highlight of his day, such a shame that his enemies were realizing that they could do whatever they wanted while he was ‘away’. He made a mental note on the ones that were pushing their luck, planning on dealing with them after he was ’saved’. For now, the man kept watch over you as you went around. There was an amused grin on his face as he listened to his two henchmen commentating a play by play on your every action as they excitedly theorized on the reason you would do certain things. His mind began to wonder, picturing how his day to day life would be if you just quit your boring hunter job and come work for him. Oh, the fun adventures and troubles the two of you would get on; fighting wanderers, seeing amazing sights you’d never experienced before, searching for treasure, him adorning you with every splendor he could find. The mere idea made his grin grow more and more - but then he saw something that soon took it away.

As you moved about, he noticed a few unfamiliar men following you from a distance. They weren’t anyone he could recognize off-handedly, which meant that they weren’t originally from the N109 Zone - meaning they were enemies of both you and him. Especially if they were following you. On his turf. “Luke, Kieran,” he called over, inviting them closer with a curled finger as his eyes never left you on the screen. His two henchmen stepped closer and quieted down when they saw how serious their boss was acting. “Look into them, they’re trying to mess with my plan and we can’t have any of that,” he ordered, brows furrowing as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. 

“Right away Boss!” one of the twins saluted, scurrying away.

“We wouldn’t want our key player to make us lose our bets,” the other followed after, leaving you with Mephisto.

“Look after her,” Sylus tilted his head to the bird, not waiting for a reply before going back to sifting through a couple of the other camera angles he had access to.

Mephisto simply cawed and flew out the window.

Even though he didn’t recognize who these trespassers were, there was no doubt that their goal was either you or him. There were a few people who knew that you interacted with the boss of Onychinus, but he hadn’t done anything too vindictive recently to his standards so that meant that they were after you. And the only ones brazen enough to go after you in his territory was Ever. Sylus hadn’t expected them to pull such a cheeky move against him, and he was livid that they decided that today was the day they were going to try to steal you away. Again. Now his little game wasn’t all that important anymore, your safety mattered more than pulling the strings behind the scene just to get you to spend more time with him. And it pissed him off, the problem was never supposed to actually threaten you.

You seemed to have gotten cornered in an alley out of a camera’s view, and that was when Sylus knew that the game was over. He stood up and headed out of the room, stopping by the armory to grab a gun before heading out to find you. It was a good thing he knew the general area you were in, and he immediately teleported himself nearby in a stormy swirl of black and red. Turning the corner, Sylus found you surrounded by mercenaries, these he did recognize. What they were doing wagging their tails for Ever he’ll never know; but it didn’t matter, he’ll soon deal with them once he made sure you were safe. What he didn’t expect was that one of the cronies threw an orbed that triggered a protofield before he could react, effectively sucking you and them into a protofield.

Panicked, Sylus immediately outstretched a hand out and used his evol to manipulate the gate to the protofield to remain open. Yet, because of what he was doing, the man couldn’t go in himself and make sure that you were fine. He knew that you could take care of yourself, but he didn’t trust whatever Ever was trying to do inside with you. A caw caught his attention, glancing to his shoulder when a pair of talons landed on him. “Go inside, make sure she’s fine,” he commanded, fury causing his face to scrunch up with a scowl. Mephisto cawed again and dove right in, his nerves calmed down a little more now that he had eyes in there. His grip on the gate slipped from his grasp and the protofield closed in front of him, glaring at the spot where it would appear once you cleared it. But that meant he had to wait, and Sylus was a very impatient man when it came to risking your safety.

It was maddening. Having to wait and unable to do anything to help you, Sylus beginning to pace back and forth in a tepid attempt to calm himself down. Only an hour passed when the protofield opened again, an exasperated caw resounding as Mephisto managed to drag you out of the gate. Sylus grabbed you before you managed to hit the floor, cradling you in his arms as he examined you from head to toe. You looked pretty banged up, but you had a heartbeat and that meant you were still alive. Glancing over at Mephisto beside them, the man simply stood up and teleported them all back to his base. “You can give me your report later, we need to tend to her wounds first,” Sylus commanded, taking you to his room.

He took out a med kit and began cleaning and dressing your wounds, deft hands handling the tools with precision. Sylus furrowed his brow more and more as he saw how hurt you had been. It was stupid, he should have stepped in before they were able to throw that activator towards you. The more he thought about it the angrier he got at himself. How many times was he going to wait and see how things played out and risk you getting hurt before something irreversible happened to you? Thoughts continued to spiral as he kept bandaging you up, ignoring the bloodied clothes in case his need for revenge flared up. Sylus was going to make it up to you and you had no right to refuse him, he needed to spoil you as penance.

Only once every injury of yours was tended to did he finally relax, letting out a sigh as his eyes closed. His hand held yours and squeezed it tight, leaning in and resting his forehead over yours. “Don’t scare me like this, Kitten,” he begged, his voice deep and worn from concern. “I would burn the world down if you left me,” his voice fell to a whisper, desperate love spilling out from every pore of his being. Sylus rubbed his cheek against yours and just felt content that you made it through another ordeal, pulling back and opening his eyes to look at you.

His knuckles gently ran down your cheek, watching as you slept away with a tender smile. Yes, this was enough for now. As long as you woke up and played along with his insipid antics then he wasn’t going to destroy anything, his enemies notwithstanding of course. For now, Sylus needed to look into what Ever was trying to do with you this time so he stood up and stepped away. Stealing one last glance at you, the man walked out and closed the door behind him.

“Mephisto,” he called out, hand outstretched for the bird to land on, “Bring up what you saw inside the protofield.” The crow cawed and flew towards his office, followed soon after by the man himself. At his desk, Sylus turned on his screen and let Mephisto connect in order to relay what he saw. It was blurry and full of static at times, but there were snippets of salvageable video he could decipher once he scrubbed it clean of interference. His eyes fell to his phone as he saw an update on what Luke and Kieran were up to, but Sylus would check on them later. Right now, the man needed to temper his anger in preparation for what he was about to find.

How dare they try to steal his most prized treasure away from him? His fury would know no bounds if he found out that they had hurt you deeply.

Borders made by: Cafekitsune

© Picca Shimon 2025

This is my only account, I only post here and AO3. I do not permit reposts or translations of my work.

[backjustforberena]

Please feel free to unleash the Rhaenys ramble 👀✨

Oh, there's always a Rhaenys ramble ready to go. Honestly, give me a word or a scene or an idea or a headcanon or whatever and I'll just go for it because that's where my head is at and, frankly, it's a hobby at this point. It's enjoyable.

But where I was last night, and still continuing on today, as I've made a few gifs to queue up and have been looking over some WIPs and headcanons set around that time, is Rhaenys in Episode 07. And trying (and failing) not to get obsessed over the iconic - well, in my head it's iconic - fireplace argument between Corlys and Rhaenys because it's so beautiful to look at, so layered and raw between the couple, beautifully acted and, of course, the first scene filmed of the whole series.

But then, also, just looking at Rhaenys overall in that episode: as a woman of grief, of anger and of love. Of her with her granddaughters, as well. Of her being politically-minded and also sick of performance, of being tightly controlled in all her splendour only to be left screaming on the floor like an animal. And I love how, always, she seems to be the more angry one out of her in Corlys. In every scene that calls for it, she is the fiercest.

Rhaenys Targaryen is in 6 scenes in 1x07. She only has any meaningful dialogue and conversation in 1 of those scenes. 2 are completely silent. 2 have superficial and very brief dialogue (consoling her granddaughters - only a few lines), and the other one only has her screaming.

Rhaenys has always been a woman of few words: she is economical. Even in the scenes where she is centre-stage, she's often very precise in her language. Radically unemotional, even - as usually these conversations are in a political sphere, if not in context then at least in subject. And in group scenes, including those at court, those on the council, other events, she rarely speaks or even takes centre-stage.

But what we get from Episode 07, I think, for Rhaenys, is some form of reckoning: a refocusing, an awareness of what matters to her and a motivation to see things done, to have something from the tragedy, and to protect and defend what was left to her. I think Laena's death was igniting something in her - but I think Laenor's death then killed it.

I'd love to know the before's and the after's of that episode. Rhaenys and Corlys finding out about Laena's death ("It was a raven that brought me news of Laena’s death. I existed for weeks in torment… refusing to believe what I’d been told. It was only when I saw my daughter’s mortal remains that I could begin to mourn her."), then receiving everyone - organising the funeral, enduring mourners and company and family and seeing her son so miserable. Being reunited with those girls who so easily and quickly become the centre of her world. The slow, agonising split between her and Corlys that becomes a complete fracture by the end of the episode.

And after the episode: how long does she scream for, what happens then? How is Laenor buried and who comes? When does they learn of Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage? When does Corlys leave her? How does Corlys leave her? ("After Laenor was slain... I couldn't bear the face you. (then) I fled to the Stepstones seeking mine own death.")

Even moments IN the episode, just joining up the dots. All those little moments she must have had with her girls, with Corlys. We know from BTS footage that as soon as Viserys leaves, Rhaenys and the girls excuse themselves from the wake. Does she take them to their room? Get them food? Stay with them until night falls and they must sleep, at which point she goes down the Hall of Nine and that's when we get the fireplace scene? When she's just come from a picture that her daughter wanted: her daughters in her childhood home - but it's all wrong because Laena isn't there.

So yeah, many thoughts, always whirring.

[tinytalkingtina]

WIP Weekend

Thanks for the tag @sourw0lfs!

I know I still have a number from last weekend in the inbox, but this weekend I actually will have the time to get to them, huzzah!

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll write 3-5 sentences and/or paragraphs from that WIP. No limits to the amount of emojis you can request, please feel free to send multiple

🐶 B.A.D. D.O.G. (sequel to the college AU puppy play Stomeddie/Stommie fic) is nearly there! Hoping to have time this weekend to make a final push <3

🧜‍♂️ Participating in the STMonsterCalendar Mermay Bingo event, with 2/4 fics for this completed so far. Still need to work on the SFW paired buckingham/steddie fics, but been having fun doing research on waterparks and fleshing out what were supposed to be super short 300-500 word fics. They'll both probably end up closer to 1k, oops. Gonna publish the first of these probably this coming week though!

🏴‍☠️ Eddierotica: "Eddie writes the world's worst erotica about characters who are just poorly disguised versions of himself and Steve. They're not dating." continues! Loving the enthusiasm for this one, hoping I'll have more creativity in the tank to do this justice haha. For what I've been picturing as Steve's live reaction please see this coincidentally perfect photoset Djo recently released. 💥Steddie Big Bang: Secret fic is at 5.5k now, and written out some fun consequences to the worldbuilding choices in this story. This can't be publicly shared yet, so if you send in this emoji feel free to pick another fic as well, and I'll write 3 sentences for both.

Tagging some folks to join in and work on their own WIPs this weekend :D

@vthx @hbyrde36 @pearynice @queenofshenigans @onirislanding

@dame-zoom-a-lot @fkinkindagauche @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @queenie-ofthe-void @yesdangerpls

@apomaro-mellow @strangerthingswritersguild

Enjoy a SFW snippet from 🧜‍♂️ below the cut featuring Eddie's gay longing

Just as he managed to get his group seated, tinny speakers stuttered to life and began to play a jaunty naval-themed tune: it was time for the show to begin. Eddie’s heart beat faster in anticipation of seeing him again. One by one, the mermaids appeared, decked out in bright colorful tails and waterproof makeup to match. Each one was “more lovely than the last!” as the announcer proclaimed. Except that wasn’t true. Because Mermaid #5, with his fire engine-red tail, was the only one Eddie had eyes for. As he swam around, Mermaid #5’s blonde-highlighted hair swirled in the current. It made the perfect halo for his beautiful face, with it’s strong nose, sparkling eyes, and infectiously warm smile. From his vantage point in the arena, Eddie could just make out moles dotted all over his mermaid’s body. And, oh, what a body! Mermaid #5 wasn’t jacked up with bulging muscles like Schwarzeneggger. No, he was all lean lines from swimming strapped into a tail all day. He even had visible abs from some angles, like when he was picking up and tossing another mermaid to fly and flip in the air. Eddie swallowed a sigh. Surely, Mermaid #5 had to be the prettiest boy in the world. And the prettiest boy in the world would never know how smitten he was. Eddie was too much of a coward to even ask around for the guy’s name, much less strike up a conversation. Sure, the sparkling stud Mermaid #5 wore in his ear was promising, but the guy had to already be taken by someone (that hypothetical lucky bastard). Which meant he’d have to be content with pining from afar and bemoaning his fate to Chrissy evening after evening. Not that she was any help, egging on his hopeless crush and laughing at how he tripped over himself to hide whenever he spotted anyone with frosted tips coming his way.

[endwersed]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by the wonderful @hedwig221b 🩷

I'm giving my brain a (brief, I promise!) break from my current WIP to work on the start of the top voted idea from my recent long fic poll - thank you to everyone who joined in with that! My planned next story is going to be an A/B/O neighbours AU, where Derek is a firefighter and Stiles is a single parent. I've actually got the whole first scene already done, so... here's that! 😊

-

It is already gone midnight by the time Derek stumbles into his apartment building, exhaustion running bone deep as he crosses the lobby as quickly as his aching legs and weary feet will carry him. The imposing wall of mailboxes slides quickly past his consciousness as he steams by, the key to his own bitingly sharp where it digs into the meat of his thigh through his pocket, but he won’t take the time to stop and check it. Not tonight. Not with every strained muscle in his body screaming at him to dump himself into bed as soon as is physically possible.

Stuttering to a stop before the chipped-metal doors of the elevator, he summons what truly feels like every ounce of strength left within him to raise a hand up to the little grey button to his left. It takes him a moment of slow, sluggish, heavy blinks before he notices that grey has not shifted green, is not lit up with the promise of an imminent arrival. It takes a few moments more for him to realise there is a note, taped up to the door before his sapped-stupid face.

OUT OF ORDER

There it is. Spelled out right there, right in front of him. A stark white sheet of paper, blocked out with this bold, bright, blood-red lettering that makes his temples throb that kick harder. Out of fucking order.

“Fuck,” he mutters out loud, stinging eyes shut as he palms at his forehead. “Can today get any fucking worse?”

A question as rhetorical as it is futile. It’s not like there is anybody around to answer him.

His teeth grind together as his hand falls away from his face, dropping to hang limply down at his side. It is a real, genuine internal struggle to fight against the agitated claws that want to slice through his fingertips, and it is only his years of practice that keep them buried inside his skin, keep his palms safe from anything worse than the blunt score of ordinary nails.

Forcing his eyes open again, he twists away from the broken elevator and stomps the few paces it takes to be able to push through the solid door that leads him into the dimly lit stairwell.

Eight-oh-two. The number to his apartment, all the way up on the eighth goddamn floor. This truth puts an unreasonable and infuriating number of steps between his drained body and the familiar comforts of home right now.

Back when he first moved into this place, a little over a year ago, signing on for an apartment on one of the highest floors hadn’t even registered as a thought, as something worth even taking notice of. He is a werewolf, after all, with werewolf strength and werewolf stamina. An alpha werewolf, at that, and with all of the preternatural advantages that come along with that particular status. A few measly flights of stairs were nothing, not to him.

That arrogance is coming back around to bite him in the ass now, though. He was perhaps a little too hasty when he signed his name on that dotted line; perhaps lacking in the foresight needed to anticipate the apparent inevitably of returning home off the back of the shift from hell, only to find himself staring down the barrel of concrete stair after concrete stair after concrete goddamn stair.

He bites back the fatigued groan that wants to rip from his chest and lifts his leg to drop the first boot down onto the first step. Fantastic. Now only a hundred fucking more to go.

Climbing and climbing, heavy footstep after heavy footstep, his entire body singing its raucous protest with each and every stride onwards and upwards. He makes it up one flight, then two, then three and four and five, and it is when he is turning the corner for the sixth, rolling his neck to stretch out the deep crick in his joints, that his ears catch onto a nearby sound, quiet and unexpected.

It sounds like… shit. It sounds like a kid. It sounds like a child, a boy, young and scared and alone, definitely nowhere near old enough to be roaming the halls of this not-very-nice apartment building in their not-very-nice neighbourhood, this late at night and without any supervision.

Instantly, Derek stops short. He tilts his head to the side and holds his breath, listening, tuning into the sound of the boy humming a tune that Derek does not recognise, softly and shakily. The footsteps that Derek can hear are light, aimless and hesitant. The siren call of home, of bed, leaves him in a flash. He turns to follow where his ears can lead him.

With each hurried pace forwards, with each hastily rounded bend, the sound grows louder, easier to pinpoint. The humming in constant, quiet and rhythmically repetitive, but those footsteps falter, more than a few times, halting with a short catch of breath, a skipped beat of a heart. As Derek draws closer, his nose wrinkles around the sharp, sour scent of fear.

The kid isn’t far now. Derek can tell, because the boy has stopped moving entirely. Listening in to the faint thump of a back hitting a wall, the slow slide of fabric against painted plaster as the boy slides down it, another soft thud as he meets the carpeted floor beneath. He carries on humming, never deviating from that same, lilting tune. But Derek can still hear the small, broken, hiccupping sobs, choked and breathless in a way that makes Derek’s heart clench, makes him break into a speed he would not have considered himself capable of, only moments ago.

He is practically sprinting as he crosses that final stretch, pushing through another set of heavy doors and out into the hallway of a floor he has never ventured to before, until – he finds him.

Curled up on the floor, with his knees tucked up to his chin and his arms wound tightly around his shins, is the child. He cannot be much older than six, if that. He is wearing pyjamas, fire trucks printed all over the soft cotton pants, a large one taking up the middle of his chest. His brown hair is a messy mop on top of his head, sticking up wildly close to his temples, and his face is pale around his flushed cheeks, spilled tears staining tracks against his skin.

It is clear that the boy hasn’t noticed him yet. Derek can tell from the way his face stays buried against his legs, his wet eyes screwed shut and his lower lip wobbling with his tears. Derek slows himself down to a cautious kind of pace, careful to press on with light feet to avoid spooking the boy with any sudden noises.

At only a few steps away, Derek pauses, keeping his hands held out in front of him. He silently curses himself for not bothering to take the time to shower and change back at the station. He doesn’t need a mirror in front of him to remember that his white tank top is a mess of black soot, his face smudged with smoke and dirt. He knows that he hardly looks like the kind of adult a frightened little kid is likely to trust.

He has to give it a try, anyway.

“Hey,” he says gently, and the boy’s wide eyes snap up to look at him. “Are you lost?”

Now, Derek is not typically very good with kids. Something about him tends to just… scare them. Laura says it’s his face. Derek generally tells her to fuck off. He doesn’t necessarily disagree, though. Today, add in the fact that the last fire of the night left him looking like, well, this, and he finds himself at even more of a disadvantage than usual.

No answer comes from the boy. He simply blinks up at Derek, his eyes red and damp. He sniffs, a breath that trembles as he pulls it in, and he unwraps one arm from his legs to wipe at his cheek with the edge of one sleeve. His heart beats unsteadily as the scent of his fear takes on a bitter, panicky edge.

Derek lowers himself down to the ground, dropping down to his haunches, intentionally unhurried. He meets the boy at his level and does everything he can to look even just a little less terrifying than Laura always tells him his resting face is.

“It’s okay,” he tries again, hands clasping between his knees. “I just want to help you. Do you live in this building?”

A heavy beat passes in silence. He breaks into a soft smile when the boy finally gives him a slow nod.

“That’s good, that’s great,” he carries on. “Do you remember what floor you live on?”

This time, the boy shakes his head. The corners of his mouth turn down, his eyes growing watery again, the air salty with nearly shed tears as his chin wobbles. Derek takes one look at the boy’s distress and has to swallow around a thick lump in his throat, forcing the reassuring smile at his mouth not to waver.

“It’s okay, that’s fine, we can figure this out together.” He presses an open palm against his own chest. “My name is Derek. Can you tell me your name?”

Another pause. A good few seconds where the boy simply peers at him, merely stares with those big, brown, tearful eyes, so full of nerves, wide open with apprehension. Derek makes sure to hold the boy’s gaze steadily, not allowing the curve of his mouth to slip. He waits quietly, patiently, as the boy sniffs again, chin still trembling as he tilts it up into the air.

“Johnny,” he says.

His voice is so small, shaking as he speaks. Derek lets his smile open around his teeth.

“It’s nice to meet you, Johnny.” He nods down to Johnny’s shirt. “Do you like fire trucks?”

Johnny blinks owlishly at him for a second, before returning that smile with full force. His grin is huge, crooked and gap-toothed, and the scent of fear dissipates so quickly that Derek actually finds himself a little taken aback at such an abrupt shift in emotion.

“I love fire trucks,” Johnny says, with all of the childish sincerity in the world. “Did you know not all fire trucks are red? Sometimes they’re yellow, or green!”

Derek bites at the inside of his cheek, a slight ripple across his shoulders with his soft laughter.

“I did not know that,” he replies. “I’m a firefighter.”

Johnny’s jaw goes slack immediately. Derek doesn’t bother tamping down his next breath of laughter.

“That is so cool.” Johnny pushes forwards onto his knees, hands flat to the itchy carpet as he inches a little nearer. “Do you get to ride in the trucks?”

“I do,” Derek says.

“That is so cool,” Johnny repeats breathlessly.

Derek can feel his eyes crinkling with the spread of his smile, head tilting as he takes in Johnny’s earnest excitement. This kid is absolutely adorable, he cannot help but think. His parents must be missing him very much, if they’ve woken up and realised he has disappeared into the middle of the night.

“How did you end up out here?” Derek asks.

The easy smile falls away from Johnny’s lips at the question, pressing into a tight line instead, his eyebrows drawing quickly together. His eyes drift just over Derek’s shoulder, sliding to somewhere behind him, and Derek follows his gaze with a twist of his neck, finding himself staring through the window on the opposite wall, the night out beyond it black with darkness and white with stars.

“I couldn’t see the moon,” Johnny says when Derek turns back to him, his voice melted soft and scared once again. “I just wanted to see the moon, but then I got lost, and papa always says I should sing my lullaby and find a nice person to help if I get lost, but then I couldn’t find anyone, and I don’t know how to get home, and I –“

“Hey, hey,” Derek comes soothingly in, two palms held placatingly out. “It’s okay now. You found me, and I’m going to help you.”

Biting down on his bottom lip with the one front tooth he has left, Johnny nods. He chews for a quiet second, tilting his head slightly as he considers Derek, before crawling that tiny bit closer, still on his hands and knees.

“You live next door,” he says, quiet but confident. “I remember.”

Derek blinks. He doesn’t recognise this kid at all, cannot honestly say he has ever seen him before. He isn’t exactly pally with his neighbours, though. He isn’t exactly pally with anybody except his sister. Hell, he’s barely even pally with her.

Vaguely, he does recall that he got some new neighbours, a couple of new people moving into the vacant apartment beside him, maybe just a little under a month ago now. Now that he thinks about, he is relatively certain that it was a guy, an omega, a single parent with a young kid. It would make Derek’s job of getting Johnny home a whole lot easier, if true.

“Are you sure?” Derek asks.

Johnny nods, quick and sure.

“I’m sure,” he answers. “You have a doggy. He’s brown and he has floppy ears and you call him Buddy.”

Oh. Okay. Well, that clears that up, then.

“You’re right. I do have a dog called Buddy.” Derek puts his smile back in place as he extends a hand out. “Can I take you home now?”

Derek can sense Johnny’s hesitation even before he smells the faint wave of worry in the air.

“My papa says I shouldn’t go with strangers,” Johnny mumbles.

“Your papa’s right,” Derek replies immediately. “But I’m your neighbour, and I just want to make sure you get back home safely. Is that okay?”

One more long pause. One final slow nod. Johnny fits his small hand into Derek’s palm, fingers curling around Derek’s knuckles, taking Derek’s help as he clambers to his feet, limbs clumsy as he arranges himself into a standing position. Derek rises up with him, rolling up to full height and finding that the boy barely comes up to his waist.

A tilt of his head lets Johnny look up at Derek. That lopsided smile is back on his face as their eyes meet. He keeps his firm grip on Derek’s hand as they stand together.

“Okay,” he says. “I’d like to go home.”

“Okay,” Derek echoes back. “Let’s get you home.”

Any earlier exhaustion has faded into nonexistence as they climb the stairs in tandem. Johnny chatters away about what seems to amount to literally anything and everything that comes into his mind, and Derek is more than content to simply listen as they ascend, supplying a little him here or a quiet ah there, just to make sure Johnny knows he’s still listening.

It is only a few more flights until they reach their floor, Derek swinging the door open for Johnny to pull him through. Derek leads them deftly through winding halls, all the way to the far end, where Derek knows his apartment is, and, apparently, Johnny and his papa’s, too.

“Derek,” Johnny says, tugging at an attention he never actually lost, Derek humming an acknowledgement, anyway. “Can I meet your doggy?”

“Not tonight.” Derek holds back a laugh at the immediate pout that juts Johnny’s lower lip out. “We need to get you home, your papa will be worried about you. You can meet Buddy another time.”

Johnny’s eyes go wide as he gapes up at Derek. Derek smiles back down at him.

“You promise?” Johnny asks.

“I promise,” Derek vows.

A few more paces, and then they are coming to a stop in front of a closed door. Johnny falls quiet all at once as they stand before it, chipped metal numbers nailed into the wood, reading out a number close to Derek’s. Eight-oh-three. He wastes no time in raising a fist and knocking just beneath them.

Seconds pass. He does not hear even a shuffle of movement coming from inside. Maybe Johnny’s father is out. Maybe he woke up and discovered his kid missing and is out looking for him, roaming these halls in search of his wayward son. Derek tightens his hold on Johnny’s hand and knocks again.

This time around, something stirs to life on the other side. Bedsheets rustling, a lamp flicking on. A grumbled curse under breath and bare footsteps padding along a wooden floor. The click of a lock, a moment before the door inches cautiously open.

It really is just that, though – an inch. There is barely enough space between the door and its frame for Derek to peer through, to see into the darkness of the quiet apartment, to make out the shape of a sleep rumpled figure standing just inside, narrowed eyes fixing Derek with their suspicious gaze. If Derek didn’t have his superior vision, this would mostly be a blur to him, right now.

He is a werewolf, though. He can see what humans can’t.

The omega in front of him is clearly just roused from a deep sleep. His dark hair is a mess, entirely reminiscent of his son’s, and he is wearing nothing but a loose t-shirt, falling down slightly over one bony shoulder, a pair of boxer briefs keeping him modest on his lower half. He has freckles sweeping across the soft slope of his nose, moles dotting the height of his cheekbones, a sharp jaw and a pink mouth, currently pulled all the way down into a severe sort of frown. Even in these shadows, Derek can see that Johnny gets his big, brown, soulful eyes from his papa.

Absently, Derek wonders how the hell he didn’t notice an omega who looks like this moving in next door. He pushes the thought quickly aside and plasters a trustworthy smile onto his face.

“Yeah?” Johnny’s father prompts, his voice sleep-rough and palpably impatient.

“Uh, hi,” Derek says. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

Derek tips his head pointedly down towards the space just at his side. He watches on as the guy follows with sceptical, unhappy eyes, right up until they take in the sight of his son, still holding tightly onto Derek’s hand, pressing firmly up against Derek’s leg. The very moment his gaze lands there, is widens with shock, not a second passing before he is swinging the door abruptly open with the harsh knock of his shoulder.

The heart beating away behind his ribcage ratchets into overdrive. The scent filling the air snaps instantly into fear.

“Johnny!” His face shifts into fury as he stares at Derek with apparent disgust. He reaches out immediately to snatch Johnny’s hand out of Derek’s, pulling the boy quickly into the apartment even as he still sneers at Derek. “What the fu– heck, dude? Who are you and why do you have my son?”

Derek takes a sensible step backwards as he throws two palms up.

“I found him downstairs,” he hastens to explain. “I was just helping him get back home, that’s all.”

“Derek lives next door, papa,” Johnny chimes in, blinking up at his father with a dopey grin, free arm clinging around the leg nearest to him. “He has the doggy. You remember the doggy, right, papa? The one with the ears?”

For a second, Johnny’s father just blinks right back down at him. His teeth grit together as he lifts the hand not gripping onto Johnny’s to scrub roughly over his face, skating up to run through his messy hair afterwards. His mouth purses around a shuddering sigh as he leans down towards his son.

“What were you doing downstairs in the first place, kid?” he asks.

It doesn’t look like Johnny wants to answer that one. Not for his father, at least. He drops his head to stare at where his socked feet are scuffing into the wooden floors, his mouth studiously shut and his eyes fixed anywhere but at his worried papa. Derek wonders just how many times this kid has gotten in trouble for pulling stunts like this before.

“He said he wanted to see the moon.” Derek isn’t entirely sure why he hasn’t backed off for his own apartment just yet, but he jumps in to help explain, all the same. The omega’s sharp gaze snaps back to him and Derek tries not to let himself be too bothered by the mistrust in his eyes. “I think he just got a little lost. Right, Johnny?”

“Uh huh,” Johnny mumbles, still not looking up.

Johnny’s father’s mouth is parted as his eyes swing between Derek and his son.

“He wanted to see the…” He trails off with a shake of his head, a crease between his eyebrows as a sigh pushes out from his lips. He drops down into a crouch, lifting a finger to crook beneath Johnny’s chin to tilt his head back up. “Johnny. What have I told you about wandering off without me?”

“Not to do it,” Johnny whispers.

“Exactly,” Johnny’s father breathes. “So why, kid?”

Instantly, Johnny’s chin wobbles. Derek genuinely has no idea how this kid’s father stays strong in the face of that. Especially not when his eyes go glassy, eyelashes starting to clump wetly together.

“I’m sorry, papa,” he says quietly.

Johnny’s father pulls him into a tight, quick hug. He lets Johnny press in closer, lets him tuck his little face into his neck, the fingers of one hand carding gently through the dark mess of Johnny’s hair. Derek simply watches silently, helplessly, and a little awkwardly, on.

“Don’t cry, sweetie,” Johnny’s father says softly. “I’m not mad. I just – I need you to be safe. Okay?”

“Okay,” Johnny sniffs wetly. “I am sorry, papa.”

“I know you are.” Johnny’s father presses his mouth to Johnny’s temple, a moment of touch before he pulls out of the hug just enough to look Johnny in the eye. “Now, I want you to go into your room and get back into bed. I’ll be in in just a minute so we can talk a little more. You understand?”

“Yes, papa.” Johnny turns his gaze up to Derek with a small, still tearful smile. “Thank you for helping me. I can’t wait to meet your doggy.”

“You’re more than welcome.” Derek offers a real, genuine smile in return. “I’m sure Buddy can’t wait to meet you, too.”

Sparing a final, impish, excitable grin in Derek’s direction, Johnny allows his father to guide him further inside the apartment with a firm hand pressing against his back. He throws an overly enthusiastic wave over his shoulder as he disappears into the darkness. Derek can’t help the fond smile that sticks to his mouth as he watches the kid go.

That smile slips entirely when he tears his gaze back to the boy’s father. This guy looks decidedly less impressed by Derek than Johnny did. With one eyebrow arched, he folds his arms defensively over his chest, pinning Derek in place with a long, hard, parental sort of frown, a clear accusation clinging to its edges.

“So,” he says. “You.”

Derek feels his eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead.

“Me?” he replies. “What about me?”

The omega catches his tongue between his teeth. His big, brown eyes are narrowed down to slits.

“You just happened to be lurking the halls at,” he pauses to glance at something on the wall beside him, “one o’clock in the freaking morning?”

Derek forces himself to stay rigidly still, forces himself not to give into the almost overwhelming urge to capitulate into some kind of false confession under this guy’s harsh unwavering glare. He tips his chin up and shoves his hands as nonchalantly as he can into the depths of his pockets.

Even more so than his first encounter with Johnny, he is achingly aware of how the events of his shift have left him looking right about now.

“I work down at the fire station.” Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t get anywhere near the levels of enthusiasm from Johnny’s father as he did from Johnny when he reveals this career path. “I was just getting home from a shift when I heard him walking around on his own. Figured he could use some help.”

Johnny’s father purses his mouth, openly appraising Derek with the slow drag of his eyes. They sweep down and up the length of him, from his old jeans to his dirty tank to his smoky face. Eventually, the omega blows a sharp breath out through the slight parting of his lips, letting his eyes widen from their suspicious squint, at least just a little.

“Fine,” he sighs out. “I guess I should probably say… thank you, then.”

Derek scoffs a laugh at the complete absence of sincerity in his tone. He gives a short, disbelieving shake of his head as he stares incredulously back at this guy.

“Don’t strain something on my account,” he replies drily, before letting his own eyes narrow right back. “You know, you’ve got a good kid there. Smart. He only agreed to let me help him because he recognised me as your neighbour.”

Johnny’s father clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He rolls his eyes as he uncrosses his arms, letting them hang loosely down at his sides.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “He’s obsessed with your dog.”

“I gathered that.” Derek hesitates a second before ploughing on. “He really is welcome to meet him, if he wants. If it’s okay with you.”

It looks as though Johnny’s father barely even registers this offer. He waves a flippant hand in the air between their chests.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he says. “Look, it’s late. Thanks for not turning out to be a creep, I guess. I’ll see you around.”

Derek already has his mouth open around a response. A cutting, caustic, offended retort to this guy’s apparent indifference, apparent agitation, that Derek literally jut helped his son get safely back home. But, before a single word can pass through his gritted teeth, the door slams shut, right in his face. Echoingly loud and blatantly final, leaving Derek standing out alone in the harshly lit hallway.

He sighs. He was looking forward to getting his ass home, he supposes.

Digging his keys out of his pocket and only grumbling under his breath a little bit, he takes a quick sidestep until he can stand in front of his own front door, until he can shove the key into the lock and twist his wrist to kick it open. He hears the instant shift of Buddy waking up inside, soft paws against the wooden floor as he pads from his bed in the corner over to where Derek is stepping over the threshold.

The door snicks shut behind him as he crouches, scratching fingers going right to the spot behind Buddy’s ear that he loves. He is granted a low rumble and a wagging tail for his troubles.

“Hey, Buddy,” he greets. “I met a big fan of yours tonight.”

Buddy pulls his head away from Derek’s hand in favour of rolling himself onto the floor, belly-up in open invitation. Derek breathes out a laugh even as he immediately dives in to give pets as so politely requested. He lets his mind drift to next door as his fingers move through soft fur.

He wonders just how much of a scolding Johnny must be getting right now. He hopes the kid will actually listen this time around, will actually let the warning to not go roaming around the building late at night ever again on his own sink in. He tries to imagine how Johnny’s father must be feeling, scared and relieved all at once, such an instant flood of overwhelming emotion at being handed the kid he hadn’t even realised he had lost.

It would explain why he was so rude to Derek, just now.

Or maybe he’s just a dick. Who knows?

Either way – there is no point dwelling on it. In all honesty, that is very likely the first and last interaction that he will ever have with that pair, with that father and son, that omega and his kid. Derek should be putting his mind to more important things right now, like getting his ass into the shower, and then getting his ass into bed, precisely where it should have been a damn while ago already.

“C’mon,” he says as he stands up, Buddy rising with him. “Time for bed.”

If he happens to dream of big, brown eyes and a panting, pink mouth…

Well. That’s nobody’s business but his.

-

Low pressure tags! @crownofstardustandbone @dear-massacre @demonicfaerie @eevylynn @like-lazarus

@lucky-bishop @patolemus @raisesomehale @seaweed-water @violetfairydust

[javierpena-inatacvest]

WIP Wednesday

Look at me posting a WIP on a Wednesday!! Y'all, idk what's in the water this month but uh.... this is currently going on, soooooooo yeah 🤠 This is def not the norm for what I write, but the horny thots are really pushing us to try new things, apparently 🤷🏼‍♀️

nsfw (18+) snippet below the cut 😵‍💫

SO YEAH. THERE'S THAT. I'd say don't look at me, but you can pretty much stare right into my soul at this point if I am choosing to put this on the world wide web of tumblr dot com 🙂

Tagging some mootie patooties and Javi Hoes if you wanna join! @jolapeno @honeyedmiller @notjustjavierpena @tonysopranosrobe @pedrospatch

[drsteggy]

Get to Know Your Author

Thank you for the tags @amelias-calamity-quintet and @hurricane105 !! I love tag games!

1 How many works on AO3? 44

2 Total AO3 word count? 278,273

3 Top 5 fics by kudos?

- the original version of Uneasy Lies the Chosen of Farore

- Reunion

- Eternal Shipwreck of our Hopes

- the revised version of Uneasy Lies the Chosen of Farore

- (Nothing but) Flowers

4 What fandoms do you write for?  Legend of Zelda, a variety of games

5 Do you respond to comments? YES. Posting fic is an invitation to play. So if you come in, I’m joining you.

6 Fic with the angsty ending? Tempest this tells the story of Urbosa right up to when she fell in Naboris

7 Fic with the happiest ending? The Dragon at Lanayru which ends with a proposal

8 Do you get hate? Lol yes, it has gotten served to my tumblr in box and it’s why I dumped Fanfiction dot net

9 Do you write smut? YES. I enjoy writing it even though I find it very taxing. I currently have two smut pieces that are in the whole editing stage which is remarkable for me and I really can’t wait until they are ready to be read. At least one ought to get me some anon Tumblr hate lol.

10 Have you ever co-written a fic? I have not.

11 All time favorite ship? All time hmmmm. It’s currently ZeLink Fever here but man I adored Mulder/Scully

12 WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I don’t want to say doubt but my existential crisis “ but who was Mipha to me” thing. Like it has a good start but it’s been sitting on a burner forever. Oh and the food truck thing. Every time I see food trucks I think about that one.

13 Writing strengths? Action sequences. I do good combat and I think my smut is solid- I write them similarly.

14 Writing weaknesses? I am not super sure. My grammar skills are relatively weak, I think. I don’t really think about writing formally so I get lost when people start talking about the meta of making stories sometimes.

No pressure tags toooo…. @unmaskedcardinal @st0rmyskies and @portraitofalinkonfyre since that was a fun bunch of reading last time

[maskedemerald]

Writer Things Bingo

Sooooo... new tag game anyone? I thought it would be fun to make a bingo board for writer things to get to know each other (also doing a trope/about the WIP one but need more squares - feel free to drop your favouite tropes if you want)

First here's my card, I got a bingo!

Rules: Want to join in? Click this link!

You'll get a random board, feel free to use the link again to get one to your liking if you want. Fill it in by clicking on the ones that fit you and see if you can get Bingo! Or even a Full House!

Tag a few people and share it about if you want!

My Tags: Gently tagging @scribe-of-stories @allie-and-the-words @card-queen @sm-writes-chaos @the-real-lyra-vale @squarebracket-trick @jasperygrace @pb-dot @wmlittlemore-is-writing @akiwitch @aalinaaaaaa @cat-esper @chayscribbles @thetwentiethdisaster @i-rove-rock-n-roll @ashwithapen @vaultofqueenorion @sparrow-orion-writes no pressure to actually do it I just thought it might be fun!

ps. I know there are some other writing bingo cards out there but most of what I found was for fan fic or fan fic challenges. If someone sees this who has their own bingo board for writers feel free to tag me (even the fanfic ones if you want) and I'll do yours too! The more the merrier! Two cakes and all that jazz!