I haven't had a Tumblr in years, but I think I might try writing a bit again. So now I gotta remember how to do this crap. 😅

The worst thing about writing smut is that you can't ask someone to peer review it. Like, I'm not gonna ask my friend (who's not even in the mcyt fandom) to read over my Majorwood smut-shot where Scott is in heat I'd honestly rather kill myself than do that

Oooo.... VP smut prompt? I would love to see your take on Pete's thoughts/perspective during the first time they have sex post-canon/hospital!

Pixeeeeeel, thank you so much for sending me this prompt, you're so sweet and thoughtful 🥺 This is actually something that's been in my thoughts for as long as I've been a fan of them: VP's first time post-canon is a very, very intriguing subject matter to me, though I believe my view of it isn't that... well, interesting. As I've mentioned before in an Ask Game, I don't believe VP will be having much sex post-canon (or at least not much penetrative sex) due to everything that has happened to them. Now, the following is just one idea that came to me as I was playing with your prompt in my head. I'm insecure af about it, but I'm sharing it regardless because that was the point of asking for prompts in the first place hahaha. [CW: blowjob, handjob, cockwarming]

Pete's head was fuzzy, but not as much as he needed. There was warmth at the pit of his stomach, spreading through him in slow bursts as Vegas was opening him up with his fingers, but it dissipated immediately after every thrust. The noises Vegas was making while sucking Pete off had been tantalizing at first, almost effective, but they were beginning to aggravate him.  It wasn't enough. Fuck, it wasn't enough. Vegas himself had grown rigid below him. He had started this by going slowly, teasing Pete with a good time, but his movements now were frantic and desperate. He looked seconds away from breaking. Pete's breathing had grown shallow.  They had foolishly wanted to recreate it. It was the reason Vegas had used the rope, tying Pete's hands above his head before doing anything else. (He forgot the part where Pete offered the rope to him, and presented his wrists to be bound. He didn't really mind Vegas' transgression. He had made his choice already.) They should have known. This wasn't the same room. They weren't the same people. There was a lot more to mourn than just a tiny hedgehog. "Vegas." It was the third time Pete addressed him. Vegas groaned loudly around his dick, pressing his teeth onto the soft skin. Pete hissed. "Please don't bite it." He was certain it wouldn't hurt as much as the car battery, but he wasn't eager to find out. Vegas gasped as he took Pete's cock out of his mouth. He removed his fingers from Pete's hole and squeezed Pete's thighs aggressively with both hands. His nails dug into them; it would leave marks for sure. "Why aren't you hard?" he yelled, the pain clear in his voice. Pete could see the agony in his eyes, the unshed tears. There wasn't anything he could do about it. "Untie me." He was capable of doing it himself just fine, but that would make everything worse.  Vegas reacted as if he got slapped. "Pete, no, no I can... Pete, I can-" "Vegas," Pete said, his tone harsh. He mellowed it as he added, "it's ok, just untie me." Vegas did so with trembling fingers. Pete could see the thoughts circling around his head. He could almost hear them. Once free, he sprang into action, ignoring the numbness in his hands. He grabbed Vegas' half-hard cock and started stroking it, his movements clumsy and amateurish, his other hand grabbing Vegas' T-shirt in order to bring him closer for a kiss.  Vegas yelped and laughed as he returned it, his breath hot on Pete's lips. He tried to help Pete jerk him off, but Pete didn't let him. It wasn't difficult to get him there, anyway; he was fully hard in a matter of minutes. "You wanted me to fuck you, baby?" Vegas asked with a smug expression plastered on his face. He was staring at Pete and his attempts at putting Vegas' cock inside him, with no success. "You could have just asked." It sounded so fake, Pete barely managed to hide an eye roll. "Don't call me that," he murmured. He could feel his face heating up. "Just... help me out." Vegas smirked and entered Pete with ease, moaning in satisfaction. His eyes fluttered as he did, which gave Pete the advantage he needed to immobilize him, before he could move further. He had Vegas trapped on top of him with nowhere to go, using his limbs to keep him in place - his legs on Vegas' lower back, his arms on Vegas' torso - and his voice to put some sense into the idiot who couldn't see how overexerted he had gotten from all of this. "Vegas, stop struggling, you'll hurt yourself." He didn't listen. He kept fidgeting violently, growling as he bit Pete's shoulder in frustration, trying to break free. He kept at it until he was out of breath, until his muscles gave up on him. Vegas hid his face at the crook of Pete's neck, and cried. Pete relaxed his hold. He was caressing Vegas' oily hair, waiting for him to calm down. "I miss you," he told Pete when he stopped, his voice hoarse from the bile still stuck in his throat. He sounded so small and vulnerable. It made Pete want to cry, too. He couldn't. Instead, he abided by the words that were tattooed on his skin. "I miss you, too."

The husband selection gives me ideas👀

I actually think Malleus might put himself up as an option, if he knew his favorite child of man was the bride, because I think the idea of being chosen would be very meaningful to him. Especially if they don’t know who he is, and just want him for him and not his power. Darling would have a time tho, they think they’re getting to marry a friend instead of a total stranger and surprise! Their dorky/mysterious friend is actually the leader of the compound they live in:D

I’m also very curious how picking Floyd would turn out. I want to think Darling and Floyd end up happy to everyone’s surprise. Bonus points if Azul was banking on you not picking anyone so he could claim you during the next bride selection (even as one of the last men in the world tako is still struggling)

-🦩 anon

Omg Malleus definitely would! I think he might put himself up anonymously or he'd put himself under an alias (most likely the nickname you've chosen to call him if the two of you met and befriended one another prior to selections) just so that he won't be immediately recognized. After all, he doesn't want to be chosen and pursued by someone who is only after his status or power. Being voluntarily chosen is quite meaningful and romantic to him! It works very well when you're finally living alongside him because you're much closer now and he won't have to fret over his precious child of man's safety or discomfort in the less luxurious dormitories. Malleus will bestow upon you all of the comforts you could ever wish for; you need only ask and he shall spoil you. He'll be attached to you all of the time, hovering near or around you, his silent, soothing presence a warm reminder that he will always be here for you.

I like to think that being Floyd's bride is very rough in the beginning because the both of you are getting accustomed to one another and this arrangement. Floyd accepts it surprisingly quickly, but his fast-paced, sporadic lifestyle might take his darling shrimpy by surprise. He does fall for you eventually and it's definitely to possessive levels because you're a precious resource that he isn't willing to let go after he's formed such a nice connection with you. He's willing to share you with Jade if Jade likes you enough.

Azul suffering in an apocalypse... orz I'm not surprised. ;;; if he had his eye on you, he would definitely have the foresight to claim you for himself before anyone else can choose you. Though if you are Jade or Floyd's bride, he's certain he can work out a satisfactory deal that allows for everyone to have you. He's desperate, but luckily he can blame such pathetic desperation on the state of the world.

☾ He saw her at daybreak ☾

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3.1 | Part 3.2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 |

Tag list: @minim236 , @bohemian-nights , @neocil , @nettysnest , @avidreader73 , @jordanjanellejoyy , @azaleapotterblack , @yourlittlehoe , @partypoison00 , (feel free to tell me if you want to be on the taglist or not)

There was something soft there…warm and innocent…but it didn't last. Aemond let his hardened edges return as he fought to glance away from her for just a moment, "ao sagon sȳrī gōntan hae lo iksan pirta, hae lo iksan toliot gōntan. Iksin nyke nūmāzma naejot dobotēdāves se udrimmi syt ao," you're behaving as if I'm wrong, as if I'm overreacting. Am I meant to ignore the obvious for you? 

"Ao ȳdra daor emagon naejot…" you don't have to…, Rhaena found her voice gritting, she wasn't getting anywhere with this and the song was nearly over, "Īles iā hinikagon, yn nyke ērinnon. Iksis konīr daor mirre hoskagon naejot sagon ēdas isse bona?" It was a risk, but I succeeded. Is there not any pride to be had in that?

In an instant, Aemond's hand reached up to cup her cheek, it was a soft hold at first, he let his thumb caress her cheek as he gazed down at her. But then his hand slid slightly down her neck, his grip tightened as he clutched her jaw and forced her eyes to lock with his. 

"Kostagon sagon ao ȳdra daor gīmigon skoros ao nūmāzma naejot nyke…skoros ao lanta nūmāzma naejot nyke," maybe you don't know what you mean to me…what you both mean to me, his voice rasped as his eye trailed down her throat and towards her belly, "skorkydoso jakegon ēdruta nyke gīmīmagon ziry," how else must I explain it. 

As if his words were punctuated by the music, the instruments stopped just as he did. 

Chapter 8: Soaring Over A Harvest Moon

haha what if i did one of those fic rec lists...?

new trek blogs following me while i'm here like

'small jobs 7 this small jobs 7 that. what about small jobs 6?' well. the thing about small jobs 6 is. um. 😳

Now that Bill vs Bill is over, I am left in that horrible void in between the end of one project and the start of the other. I mean, I have Raised Spirits and Confessing It to get to! But like. Effort.

There's also a sort of epilogue to Bill vs Bill I was thinking of writing but who knows if I'll get to it!

I'll pick one eventually! I'm just indecisive. Once more into the Writing Mines with me.

Is there some sort of schedule for on another ocean??? when will the next update be plz i'm dying and only u can save me

the update schedule is just whenever i am able really xxx sometimes every few weeks.... sometimes once a month... sometimes every few months........ XD as for the next chap i am aiming for before august but. well.. fingers crossed<33 dont die tho omg 🫂

the media and reporters have been surrounding and HARASSING me these past few weeks so i thought it would be best to come clean... yes, the rumors are true-- there is another Joel Miller oneshot in the works😣😣

( i'm gonna take a nap but i have an updated muse page that can be found here!! like for a short starter but please specify muse??? )

i think if the only kind of Transformers smut you've read is sticky, you owe it to yourself to read some of the other. like please. check out plug'n'play or spark-merging. it's what you deserve

Have a drabble in mind but can't decide how exactly to go about it

I could either do vampire!eddie with human!steve or have them both be human

i'm just warming up to sharing my writing again but just y'all wait

If You Dare, Chapter 1

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @krispy-kream​’s birthday! Sharon wrote the first obiyuki fic I ever read, and truly sealed the deal on this being one of my forever OTPs-- and she was also one of my first friends in this fandom...after I replied to a reply she made on someone else’s review, telling her than if she needed ideas for a Knots continuation, I certainly had some...She was also one of the few Hakizana shippers in fandom at that time, and so it’s only fitting that she’s my #1 Hakizana fic requester when her birthday comes around 🤣

When Izana wakes, it is alone, in a bed that is hardly his, with the fire all gone to ash.

He can hardly expect anything else; an outpost is not an inn. There is no kindly matron to oversee its running, no servants who know how to keep a king in the way he has become accustomed. No, in places such as this he is an interloper, a man whose very presence demands upheaval-- starting with this room, stolen from the post’s own commander.

A request he would have rather not made, but it is expected, an insult if it was not offered-- and an even for unforgivable one if he refused. But such sacrifices must be made if he wishes to arrive at Wirant in good time, or at least long before its lord can anticipate him. Any more advanced notice and he might as well be serving Makiri Arleon the upper hand on a platter.

Which is the last thing he needs, considering just who brings him breakfast this morning.

“The pickings are slim,” she warns him, cheeks rosy from the checkpoint’s chilled halls. “But I do believe I managed to convince the soldiers on duty to make us something edible.”

In Wistal, Haki is every inch a king’s betrothed, her skirts artfully folded to fall just so, the fabrics both restrained in ornament while still the highest of quality. The very same sensibilities that had drawn him to her as a potential bride when he visited Lilias all those years ago: both luxurious while not ostentatious, practical without being prudish.

The only hint of that woman here is the attention to details. There may be no exquisite embellishments, but her costume is well-kept, not ragged even if it is travel-worn. It is not unlike the dignified practicality his brother’s precious herbalist has come to be known for, though no discerning eye would ever mistake his betrothed for anything like a commoner.

“If they are anything like the guards in Wistal,” Izana drawls, taking in the porridge and dry toast, a generous rasher of bacon beside it. “I will keep my hopes moderate.”

“Come now,” she murmurs, setting it on the desk that serves as his table, a smile curving her mouth. “You can do a little better than that. Any cook in Wirant is due to be twice of one in Wistal, just from the seasoning.”

Izana huffs, smoothing out the twitch at the corner of his own. “You Northerners put far too much stock in your spices, and too little in the quality of your cooking.”

“Spoken like a true Southerner.” Her foot darts out, as if she might hook a chair’s leg like one of the guards-- but she stills, retracting her boot before she can do anything so unladylike, glowering at the seat with a mouth so knotted up in consternation he has to smother a laugh.

“Allow me,” he murmurs, sweeping the chair up behind her, letting her settle into it as if it were a formal dinner instead of a hasty breakfast in a commander’s commandeered quarters.

“You have my thanks.” Her legs cross neatly at the ankle, tucking up beneath the seat. A proper position for a young lady, though in clothes cut as her are now, he cannot help but find it...charming. Unexpectedly so.

“My pleasure,” he assures her, oddly warm, before he sweeps back into his own seat. As Haki leans in, serving herself from the plate of bacon between them, he must admit that as humble as these quarters may be, the view he has across this table is as pleasurable as any he might have in Wistal.

More so, when she smiles up at him through the first bite, hand lifting up to curl over her already pursed lips. Haki has always been a pretty girl-- inoffensive, he’d once sniffed, after Earl Arleon’s carriage had rolled away-- but now that he knows her, that she’s lived among the castle for these few months, she is more than just a handsome face. She has become, quite against his will, a welcome one.

Ah, how it rankles that not all of his Father’s ideas had been bad ones.

The porridge is hardly appealing, but a lack of lumps and a few speckles of spice give him hope that it might be the best of what the post offers. At least, the best thing that is not a cooked cut of an animal, dripping in its own fats. A dish he’ll work his way around to, once his stomach wakes, but for now he wants something palatable, even if it is not quite appetizing.

It is, of course, when the first spoonful is halfway to his mouth that Haki ventures, solicitous as always, “I trust you slept well, Your Majesty.”

It had taken years-- long, hard years of raw knuckles and bruises beneath his clothes, of pain so great he could not lift his arms into his jacket and made a fashion of it instead-- to train him out of spontaneous reaction. There are no rogue smiles for Izana, no brows he does not hoist himself. Not a single muscle twitches when he does not tell it to, and today--

Today, Izana has never been more glad of it, for it is only that iron control that keeps the spoon in his hand and the porridge safely in it. That his jaw snaps shut instead of dropping like a fool’s is already miracle enough for one day.

“As well as could be expected,” he manages, his drawl catching like silk on splinters. “A place like this can hardly be expected to have all the amenities of the palace. Or it’s--” he allows his words to hang while he busies himself with selecting a piece of dry toast-- “comforts. But then, there are few places on the road that can claim them.”

Haki may lack his immaculate control, but still, she gives no more than a short, stilted breath. “Perhaps if you had patience to wait for your entourage, you would not have such lean service.”

He lets his lips part in grin, one that is not quite impish but has certainly not graduated to devilish. “Ah, but then your brother would anticipate me, and he is so much more amenable when he cannot make plans.”

There is a a certain satisfaction in watching the way his betrothed’s mouth cants, both amused and irritated both. “Makiri would be so glad to hear that you find pleasure in his service.”

With a sincerity he hardly means, Izana drawls, “I’m sure.”

He expects to fall into a companionable silence; one in which they both consume a breakfast that tends more towards filling than satisfying, but still are careful to pass along their compliments to the chef, preferably through his displaced commander. There is no reason to be leisurely, and neither of them are of the type that need to fill the air to be sure of themselves. And yet--

“You are sleeping though, are you not?” It’s concern that creases her brow, her gaze tracing beneath his eyes. “You are not...having troubles when you lay down at night?”

“No.” His stomach churns as he pushes the porridge around in its bowl, moving it more than he consumes it. “I am fortunate that our journey has been so...demanding. I dream just as soon as I fall to the mattress each night, and do not wake until I am roused.”

A convenient little truth, so long as he does not say what by. Even so, more mornings than not he has woken with the dawn, not his dreams.

“I will admit,” he says, so lightly, as if each word isn’t being pulled from him like a tooth. “I wake far warmer in Wistal than I have since we left.”

Haki may be as pretty as a child’s doll, but her face is not made of such stern stuff as porcelain. That delicate flush of pink should not please him so, but it does; a small victory, won before he has even finished his toast. “And you...miss it?”

It is with a careful evenness that he replies, “I do. I have grown...quite accustomed to such comforts. But,” he hurries to add, a smile stretched across his lips, “I suppose I will have to do without for a while yet.”

“Will you?”

“I...” The sharpness of her words strikes him silent before their meaning makes itself plain. “I had assumed so?”

One elegant brow arches, a challenge. “Do you think so little of the comforts Wirant may provide?”

“Not at all.” The platitude flies from him before he can quite think it through, a reflex rather than a reply. “It is only...”

“Only...?” There is a sly tilt to her mouth as she informs him, “You might be surprised by what comforts could be found, should you only think to ask.”

“Ah...” His palms prickle where he lays them on his lap, heart drumming out a discordant beat beneath his breast. “I see. Well, then we should speak plainly--”

“Why?” A woman should not seem so innocent asking such a question, and yet his betrothed is every inch the wide-eyed maiden, eyelashes batting becomingly against the round of her cheek. “It is so much more amusing to speak in circles, is it not?”

If there is one reason for Izana to be grateful to his brother, it is this: he had practice aplenty for pretending patience. No sigh escapes him, just a simple exhale as he forces his shoulders to keep their casual slope. “Your brother would not appreciate it if he were to hear that you were overnighting in my chambers.”

“What business of it is his?” That troublesome mouth curves, framed by a casual brush of her fingers. “We have done nothing he could possibly take offense to.”

Spoken like a beloved younger sister indeed. Izana smothers a grin, ducking his chin to take in another bite of barely seasoned porridge. In his experience, there are few things he can to right in Makiri Arleon’s eyes, and none of them include anything that an attentive husband might do to his wife. At least, so long as the woman meant to fill that role was his sister.

“I think he might take exception enough to finding you in my bed, no matter what happened beneath the sheets.” He lets a laugh escape him. “And I doubt he would be moved by any evidence to our innocence.”

Haki waves her hand, as if she could clear his concerns like smoke from the air. “There’s no need to be worried about Makiri. He’s as tame as a housecat.”

“To you perhaps.” His mouth twitches, threatening a smile. “But he does not have the same affection for me. And I do not mean to give him any reason to call his banners and force me to say my vows at sword point.

“Ah,” she hums, mouth wrapping around the sound with deliberate care. “I see. So you are scared of him.”

“I am not afraid of Makiri Arleon,” he scoffs, leaning back in his chair, ignoring the unsettled sensation in his stomach. “I do not fear any lord. But poor relations with your brother could lead to tension among the northern earls, and that is a state of affairs we can ill afford to have.”

It is easy to forget that Haki is her brother’s sister, she is fair where he is dark, and poised where he is passionate. But as the humor drains from her face, it leaves only the steady intensity for while her brother has become known, her mind working quick as a mill wheel during the rains.

“Touka,” she says tonelessly, her knuckles white where she grips her knife. “You mean you are worried about Touka’s coup.”

“I am less worried about Bergat’s plans--” especially since his brother had seen to charming the fool’s heirs so thoroughly-- “and more concerned that some of these lords were simply looking for a pretty face to pin their hopes.”

She nods, a curt gesture, more at home in a war room than a bed chamber. “They made him a figurehead instead of a cause, you mean.”

Izana blinks, his carefully constructed explanation collapsing behind his teeth, utterly unnecessary. “Just so. And though Makiri has no great love for me, I trust that he is loyal. But if I were to flaunt my station beneath his own roof...”

“Ah.” Her mouth cants, curious. “You mean to say that the other lords might find opportunity in your argument.”

“In his displeasure,” Izana informs her, stern enough to earn a smile. “I have no intention of being disagreeable.”

A flash of her teeth peek through her lips as she muses, “I suppose one could hardly question a king.”

“I do not plan to make myself an issue, regardless.” He dares a glance at her before fixing his attention back on his porridge. “A strong king does not need to make a show of his power to remind his people that he wields it.”

“Of course.” She sounds sincere-- but too much so, enough that he suspects she find more excuse than explanation in his words. “And I suppose it has nothing at all to do with my brother defeating Sir Mitsuhide in the yard only a few weeks ago.”

“Sir Mitsuhide is distracted.” His grin is real as he recalls their spar; the big man had gone down like a sack of potatoes the moment he remarked at how fine a pair Kiki Seiran and her little traitor made. A pity he won’t see how that little drama ends in its final act. “But that’s neither here nor there. I have no intention of doing anything so base as meeting either of them in the yard.”

She hums, neatly stacking her spoon and fork over her empty bowl. “If you are finished, my lord, should I see to it that the carriage is readied for us? I know you’re eager to be off.”

He waves her off, leaving his silverware stuck in a half empty one. “No, no carriage for me today. I think I would rather ride into Wirant.”

A carriage was an announcement, a statement of class. But to ride in all unnoticed, to make it nearly to the lord’s office before he is announced-- that says something too. A message Makiri will hear much better than any formal meeting can make.

“Is that so?” Something sparks in her eyes, quickly extinguished. No, not extinguished, banked. “Then I will tell him to saddle my mare as well.”

Izana blink. “You wouldn’t rather the carriage?”

Haki sweeps to her feet, cheeks flushed with vigor, and-- there is something to the way her joy fills the room, inviting him into it, that is more intoxicating than any perfume, more alluring than any stretch of skin. His heart gives a single, terrible thud, and, ah, so this is what his brother sees in his herbalist.

“Of course not,” she hums, lifting his dishes into her arms. “I have always said: the North is best experienced by horseback.”

The yard is not empty when he arrives in it, a mere hour later. Or rather, it is not just the handful of horses and men he expected but instead--

“Your Majesty.” Makiri is not a man who smiles, not in the same easy way his sister has, but oh, he is grinning now, ear to ear and so satisfied Izana’s teeth ache. “You’ve finally arrived.”

“Lord Makiri,” he does not grit out, letting his own mouth spread into a smile. “How pleasantly unexpected.” His gaze drifts just over Makiri’s shoulder and-- “Ah, and brother. You are here too.”

Miserably, Zen replies. “Yeah.”

“Since you are always so keen on getting to business, I thought we might get the jump on it.” Makiri’s smile is all teeth. “It’s a lovely day for an inspection, isn’t it?”