#{verse: the force works in mysterious ways}

[desireandduty]

Continued from @exitiosae

If the words he was telling her were not already heartbreaking, as he had the sensation of having his heart being pulled out of his ribcage and stumped upon over and over ... The way his wife responded to him was even worse. He could hear the pain in her voice, her confusion ... Probably wondering just what happened since they last saw each other. For her, it had been a few days at most but for him ...

It felt like months. Months spent in a future so chaotic, so tragic that only thinking about it brought tears to his eyes. He had seen too much, been through too much to even think about letting these events unfolds and he was willing to do everything in his power to make sure that it would not happen. He had a lot to do, and no one to trust with that kind of information. He couldn't risk it ; putting others in danger as he tried to undo what was yet to be done, so that the ones he loved would be safe.

And ... He needed to start with Padme, who died not because of nightmares he may have had, but because of how he reacted to them. Of everything that took place, so he believed that she would be much better without him around. No matter how heart shattering such decision was ... He knew it was for the best. He couldn't be selfish, not anymore.

I'm doing this for you Padme, for everyone. Please do not make this harder. He sighed, before finally letting his blue eyes fall upon her facial features, ones he would sure miss so deeply. " Because it's over. I can't ... I can't do this. You and me ... You were right to refuse me back then. We made a mistake, one that I wish to rectify. " He whispered. " I ... I already signed the papers, it's only missing your signature. "

Padme was on the verge of tears. She wasn't even certain how she was managing to hold herself together. She definitely didn't understand how things had come to this. Sure, their marriage hadn't been the easiest. Under a cloak of secrecy, spending weeks or months at a time apart from each other, with the stress of war weighing him down and her own fear for his continued safety always troubling her. And yes, this latest deployment of his had been excruciatingly long. Five whole months without him. But he'd been so happy to see her when he'd returned. And when she'd shared the news of her pregnancy with him, he'd been overjoyed. She hadn't detected any hint of a lie in his expression.

Yet here he was, after a mysterious three-day disappearance, claiming that he didn't want to be married to her anymore?! This was wrong. She knew it was wrong. He couldn't be telling the truth. How could he have changed his mind so quickly? Just three days ago, he'd been telling her he didn't want to hide their marriage any longer. Now he wanted to end it? All of a sudden, she was finding it hard to breathe, and she sank down onto the cushions of the sofa in their apartment, both hands coming to rest protectively over the curve of her belly.

"Is it because of the baby?" she asked, tears shimmering in her chocolate brown eyes as she lifted them to meet his gaze. "We don't... no one else has to know. I was already planning to go to Naboo to have him. We can still keep our secret."

She had to close her eyes and swallow hard, shaking her head at the idea as he said their marriage was a mistake. "I am not signing those papers. This is not a mistake, Ani. I love you. Are you really telling me you've stopped loving me? Whatever is wrong, no matter what is going on, we can get through this together. Don't... don't abandon me. Us. Please... just talk to me." She looked back up at him then as a single tear slid down her cheek.

[desireandduty]

She looked at him with an owlish blink for a few seconds, trying to take in what he was saying. Bespin, in her time, was just a mining outpost. Nothing special. To her knowledge, no one really lived there. But she was... how many years in the future exactly? Forty? Fifty? Things could change, she supposed, in much less time than that. While Kylo piloted them effortlessly through hyperspace, Padmé leaned back in her chair and smoothed her hand over her belly. It felt like the twins (!!) inside her were somersaulting for joy. Somehow she knew they were simply glad to be off the Supremacy, where that creeping sense of dark, festering rage and hatred seemed to seep into every crevice of the ship.

As she'd never been to Bespin, she watched with interest as they docked, taking in the opulence of the berths and the well-fashioned clothing of the uniformed employees managing what looked to be a busy space port. Apparently Bespin had come up in the world in the last few decades. When Kylo looked over at her, she rose to her feet and straightened her spine, nodding in affirmation of his question. "Our first priority should be finding some food and better clothing," she said, taking charge of the situation in a way that was all too natural for her. "Do you have any credits with you? Mine are... well I doubt the Old Republic credits are any good here." She didn't even know what would happen if she tried to show up at a banking station to access her accounts.

They stepped off the ship together, and she tried to look as casual as possible while also observing the beings around them for any sign that something was going to go wrong. They made it several blocks into the city and were just about to enter a promising second hand clothing store when she heard a commanding voice behind them say: "Halt right there and put your hands UP."

Instinctively, she froze in her tracks and looked over at Kylo as she slowly raised her hands above her head.

@desireandduty ://

And now, here they were. Pendulating in hyperspace. Kylo released the controls and monitored the instrument panel.��

"It won't be marked stolen," he answered, somewhat sullen, the wind suddenly choked from his sails. "When we reach our coordinates, it won't matter either way. We're going to Bespin. Heard of it? Your future daughter has friends there. They can help us."

'Friends' was a lavish definition. The Barons could help them, or they could shoot them on sight. Cloud City was not for dreamers. As for the bacta patch, Kylo shook off Padmé's offer with, "It's fine," his bleary eyes feigning focus on the dash, then the overhead panel—he'd memorized their positions, and he didn't have to reach far—withholding from Padmé any sign of the contrary. 

Thirty-seven miles of dyed ore and aluminum composite was the Supremacy, from which they were parsecs away, and where 'Ben,' as Padmé would come to know him, when he was not dispatched to exact the unutterable, had spent all his days, and where he had earned his space pallor. His pallor singed grey by high-energy plasma, the ochreish wet under the ruff of hair at his nape, the only sign of that old life, the only indication of pain. Other wounds were hidden under his mantle of scars and black, mild, or semi-healed, that didn't seem to bother him or weren't as enticing. 

He missed the stars. Hadn't given them half a thought as they streamed by, dancing, until the shuttle came to berth, and Kylo shrank at the sight of the gas giant churning in so much black, like a monstrous coral seeing-orb. They were here.

Every time he looked at Padmé, he felt an echo of the first shock. He could hold her gaze, but his lips trembled with hitched breath. 

"Are you ready?" 

She'd have to prove as strong as he thought she was. Chances were they could only play the variations on warden and detainee for so long. Or vice versa.*

[tanoraqui]

now that this fic is all published, I can ramble about the things that happen afterward in the timeline! Feel SO free to ask about anything you want more details of.

First off, all three posts about Dave the Balrog are 100% canon to this au, except for where they sometimes contradict the fic's worldbuilding or plot bc I hadn't settled on every detail yet. Also, Dave’s name is probably more like “Drav”, from the Sindarin “drava-”, “to hew.”

That happens much later, though - about 1980 TA. FIRST, immediately, as Celebrimbor says: it's time to save the orcs!

That is, wildly self-indulgent crossover with @ceescedasticity's fic(verse) elves, once, which isn't 100% my headcanon for orcs but it's essentially canon for this au because it makes everything VERY FUNNY in a tragic irony way. I've thought about this so much that it really deserves its own bullet-point post, but highlights include:

- Annatar attempts to conceal the fact that Curufin and Celegorm are orcs, and, y'know, have been since they died. This works until Celebrimbor identifies a bunch of the orc army's weapons as made by his father, even if the style is strange and fell, and the two of the have a HUGE fight in front of representatives of every Elvish kingdom in Middle Earth and most of an army of orcs.

- Bellow/Turgon is having the single strangest, most uncomfortable road trip of his life, and he counts the crossing of the Helcaraxë in that total.

- Turgon tries to convince Galadriel to take Celebrían and Elrond and get out of here, because inevitably this must be a cruel trick and all the orcs will be forced to turn on all the Elves. Galadriel is like, "Honestly, I've been watching Celebrimbor's slow corruption and Sauron's slower un-corruption for about 2,000 years now, and I think we actually have a shot at this. Also, bold of you to assume you can beat me in a fight."

- Curufin and Celegorm had BOOKED IT when Annatar's summoning-compulsion snapped, on the reasonable assumption that any plan the Dark Lord had for them + Celebrimbor could only be cruel to the extreme...so Celebrimbor and Annatar go on a bonus road trip to retrieve them.

- Everyone meets up by the Sea again, but instead of taking (or, obeying) the offer of escape into Ulmo's hands, Turgon and probably a bunch of other orcs volunteer to come help break the Crucible. They Deserve This.

- In the end, as usual, the day is ultimately saved - as are the souls of thousands of trapped elves - by the power of love and overwhelming violence.

AND THEN...

Celebrimbor & Annatar don't actually rebuild Ost-in-Edhil and Eregion as they were. Those days are over, and also the surviving Númenoreans kinda...regard Annatar as Absolute Evil, for some mysterious reason. And those who knew about the whole or even partial conspiracy - namely Tar-Miriel herself - aren't too keen on Celebrimbor, either.

They leave whoever wants to stay and rebuild in Eregion, leadership tbd based on the traditional system of craft-based meritocracy, and take a few decades off to lay low from geopolitics, work on their marriage, and for Celebrimbor to learn a little bit of necromancy so he can manipulate his own fëa and hröa, thank you very much.

They stay with the Witch-Queen of Calador for a while, discreetly because officially that kingdom is also not on good terms with its “former” evil-ish overlord. (The Witch-Queen of Calador and her not really sane, almost certainly unsafe, but arguably consensual relationship with Annatar really deserves her own post, too. She’s my favorite OC of this au. She really loves bats.)

Elrond & Celebrían get married! Elrond always knew his wedding would have to involve stopping drunken brawls from erupting between people who love him but hate each other, but he’d assumed it’d be Iathrim and Fëanorians, not an elderly Queen Miriel going for Annatar’s eyes with a butter knife.

Annatar regards the birth of Elrohir and Elladan with some concern, this alarming lineage now augmented by the blood of Arafinwë (cut off Melkor’s foot) and Galadriel (Melian’s pupil, hates him). But that’s nothing to how freaked out he is by Arwen, who is such an obvious Reprise of Lúthien that it’s now CLEAR that this was all a Melian scheme to assault him, personally.

He can’t just kill her now—Elrond and Galadriel and both right here, not to mention Celebrimbor. And then she’d absolutely be his enemy when she Returned… No, the only solution is to stay in Imladris for a while and become her most beloved uncle whom she would not dream of assaulting, whom she could not bring herself to injure even if circumstance and conscience forced her hand. Love has ever been the undoing of Melian’s line. The Reprise is obvious, but not so established that he cannot twist it into irony, Lúthien’s heir as his devoted student and companion rather than foe.

[smash cut to late 3rd Age Annatar watching the Music settle into place as Arwen interacts with the newest, currently toddling scion of the House of Elendil and nearly killing the child right then because no, no, thats not how this was supposed to Reprise—that’s his jewel of an elf-queen, Singer and trade-manipulator and niece, and he’s going to lose her forever? Killing the brat won’t even work, that would only make her follow him sooner, one way or another—]

Celebrimbor doesn’t want to build a city (and have his heart broken by the loss of the city) again, but he very much does want to ImproveThe World, and also to Make Things With His Hands. So he and Annatar, and whoever of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain wish to join them, set about… “Traveling” is too loose a term; just because they’re not city-building doesn’t mean anyone here wants to live on the road. They need workshops, forges, and ideally a maia-sized cat tree tall tower from which to survey their domain. They are a highly skilled work crew/technical, artistic & management consultants who change cities every 5-200 years, throughout Middle Earth and perhaps even other continents.

This what Celebrimbor and Annatar do, for most of the rest of their time in Middle Earth. A few of the Mírdain travel with them all the time. Others strike out on their own, or in similar small groups. Others stay in rebuilt Ost-in-Edhil, or Rivendell or the Havens or another Elvish kingdom, and come lend a hand when their particular talents are called for. Everyone who “died” in Númenor and was “resuscitated” by Annatar walked away with a strengthened, basically permanent osanwë connection to the simulated workshop group chat, which they’re aware of, and a location tracker and fëa-stamp saying “PROPERTY OF MAIRON, FUCK AROUND AND YOU WILL FIND OUT” which only an Ainu could detect.

They're the mysterious stranger(s) who accept an offer of hospitality on a stormy night and reward you with a magic ring that blesses your farm with fecundity. They arrive in a city in the middle of a cholera outbreak and inform the local rulers that they're here to overhaul the whole wells & sewers system in exchange for room and board; no, the local rulers do not get a choice in this. One time they do oust an evil ruling dynasty and just kinda take over the kingdom for a few centuries, but then Celebrimbor starts to get paranoid of his own growing attachment so Annatar reluctantly agrees to find and raise some honorable candidate for kingship [gender-neutral]. One of the Mírdain with them says, what about the choice of the people? And then after a lot of discussion, partly in collaboration with their local Men, they write up and seal with Power a Constitution that establishes an oversight body of political, economic, craft and etc. experts to oversee and have veto power over popular elections to kingship from a slate of candidates chosen by the current/soon-to-be previous king, on a strict thirty-year schedule. There, that should stabilize the whole messy business of mortal succession!

Also, 1300 years or so into the Third Age when this version of Gondor hits its equivalent of the Kin-Strife, Annatar takes advantage of its weakness to initiate a plan he's been contemplating for a while, especially while gaining local insight into a variety of nation-states and their management, and returns to Oroduin to forge what may he his last Great Work...a new standard of currency.

It’s called, in the common tongue developing from Adúnaic and Sindarin, the “mira”, pl. “miran”, from Quenya “mírë” (“jewel, precious thing). Where pettier currencies are based in gold or silver or the might of some particular empire, these hold value Because a Great Maia Said So—indeed, Sang So, Sang a new line into the Great Music that these coins would always have a value of…whatever he said so, if he updated a petty lyric or two of their Song. Those who use the coins don’t need to know this; they simply intuit, with coins in hand, what they are worth.

(You can lead even the mightiest empire by the nose if you control the price of grain alone, much less other commodities, or one currency relative to another. Each minute adjustment takes Power, especially to shift the natural balance of multiple interlocking goods…but Annatar is a master of the perfectly placed lever with which to shift the world.)

Maybe at some point the Valar are like, “okay, I think they don’t irrationally hate us anymore, I think this could work” and send a small group of Maiar to openly, humbly approach Annatar and Celebrimbor and ask if they might be apprentices in the craft of…whatever the fuck is happening here. Or maybe something adjacent, because Pallandro and Alatar would really like to fuck off into those excellent looking woods and hunt the remnants of Ungoliant’s spawn, and Radagast actually wandered away 5 minutes ago to talk to a bird. He’s gonna be a while. But Curumo and Olórin are listening politely!

…Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just the Jewelsmiths, slowly becoming folklore, bettering the world (and manipulating wide-scale economics) one stone at a time. (They’d still be the “Jewelsmiths” anyway, even if they included those who, in another universe, were called “The Wise.”)

As stated in the third Dave the Balrog post, they do Sail eventually, several centuries after Arwen’s death. Celebrimbor just gets tired, and Annatar can’t fix it. Ossë spends the whole voyage backstroking next to their ship and sarcastically quoting Annatar back at himself, Years of the Trees insults about being made weak and pathetic by love, until Annatar nearly lunges over the side as a wolf to tear his throat out.

[eccentricallygothic]

burnin' for you

Warning(s): Abo verse, Alpha!Ransom, Omega!You, fluff, allusions to smut and breeding kink. 

Okay, but a world where Omegas are adored and treated like the precious puppies that they are?

Your pack mainly consists of Alphas so you're one of the only babies. 

And you have never really liked the popular, rich, cocky and powerful Alpha Ransom? 

He's just not your cup of tea. 

However, that doesn't mean he has ever been mean to you to deserve it.

Or too mean, to put it more accurately. 

Not to be quirky or anything but you've never been one of those pushover Omegas that are all small and submissive just because that's how the moons fated it. 

You don't get the hype for Ransom within and even outside the pack. 

In your opinion, his cousins like Alpha Stevie, Alpha Curty, Alpha Ari, Alpha Lloyd, Alpha Petey, Alpha Jakey, Alpha Johnny, Alpha Frankie, Alpha Mikey and Alpha Cole are so much more cool and good looking. 

Alpha Andy and Alpha Robert are so hot too but they're way too scary for you to brat around in order to get their attention like you do with the rest of the pack.

Although, that is not to say that you throw yourself on the ones you find attractive or anything. 

But you get along with all of them and basically everyone, except for Ransom. 

So naturally, when it ‘dawns’ upon you on one fine full moon that he is your mate, your world is turned upside down. 

The superior wolf just grins down at you during the pack dinner while you pout, whine and stomp around before hiding yourself behind your mountain of a plate and in between Alphas Ari and Frankie. 

Ransom has always known about your dislike for him but even he is a bit taken aback by how you respond to the ‘realization’ after being questioned by Alpha Andy who is the Supreme Alpha which means everyone has to answer to him. 

“Why him?!” Curtis is amused at your protest and Steve shakes his head at your tone, having never been too fond of your brattiness. “Anyone but him!” 

Andy sighs and tries to explain the way it works and how fate knows best and works in mysterious ways and that it's no one's choice but must be obeyed. 

But much like yourself, you refuse and no one can force you to be with him because it is such a world, for once. 

You don't notice it but all of Ransom's fangirls that he used to have by his side all the time began to disappear.

He's more careful and serious around you, now always trying his level best to please you. 

But ugh, you just don't like him because Alphas like him have always cringed you out.

Well yeah, Alpha Johnny and Jakey are kinda the same so maybe you're a bit prejudiced when it comes to him.

You can't stand him okay!

But man. 

Everyone except for you notices the love-stricken way in which he looks at you, bright blue eyes filling with an unfamiliar warmth and replacing the usual playfulness whenever you come around. 

It's such an interesting inversion.

Because he's the one who follows you around during pack meetings and gatherings even though it's supposed to be the other way around. 

Like he's the puppy and you're the Alpha. 

You rarely take notice of it but he always gets things done for you. Whether they're school related, something to do with finances, or if you want to buy something, he's got it all covered. Your parents -as Omegas are considered too small to live by themselves- try to decline because you haven't even accepted him as an Alpha yet the man secretly transfers them hundreds and thousands of bucks so they can buy you whatever you want and you're too silly to put two and two together. 

The longing on his usually cheerful face is nearly depressing for his fellow Alphas on days when you dress up for an occasion and all he wants to do is to hold you and smother you in his scent and love. 

Run his hands all over your perfect body and feel the crevices, cuts and curves. Every bump and all the plumpness. 

You make his blood run hot like he's a developing Alpha in his teens. 

As if he's going through puberty all over again. 

Ransom has no idea if you will ever let him in but he's hopeful. There have been some rare cases throughout history where Omegas took a bit of time to warm up to their Alphas because at the end of the day your lot are slow babies that need their time to adjust to big changes. 

Until then, he will be patient and wait. 

Because when you finally become his -which all the Alphas assure him you surely will at some point-, he has so much love to overflow you with that it keeps him going for the time being. 

He has already bought for you two the perfect suburban house with a big garden so when you become heavy and swollen with his litter, you will have a refreshing environment to relax and walk around, definitely barefooted and clad in one of his oversized shirts.

. based on my own personal dislike of ransom hehe <3

[apocalypse-shuffle]

THE PHANTOM | ERIK (multi iteration)

—

“An Amati to be Worshipped” (Erik Destler |The Phantom of the Opera x Fem!Reader)

| Erik just can’t keep that mysterious demeanor about him in check when it comes to you. Or his temper. Or his lust.

| NSFW, 18+, minors dni, violinist!reader, (TW: stalker!erik, non con voyeurism, masturbation) questionable history/depictions of 1800’s French culture (I tried)

| picture source: shots from Ben Crawford & Emilie Kouatchou’s run as The Phantom & Christine on broadway

| 1k+ words

In one word Erik was miserable.

His truest obsession, his sweet violinist, was out sick and as such he didn’t get to peer down upon her from box five as she drew those elegant fingers across her bow and string.

He missed her sun worshipped skin like a starving man missed food. She stood out like the brightest star from the pit. Playing her violin like it came as easy as breathing, much in the way Erik himself played his many well versed instruments.

Watching the performance earlier that night had been truly disappointing. Not even Christine’s voice could make up for the lack of the melodic rises and falls that came from his violinist’s strings. It was a clear missing puzzle piece in the whole show. One that irked him down to his soul and made him vow to gut the hapless fool in your place while you recovered.

And he wanted to curse that too.

The newest stage hand had forgone cleaning up the stage after pre-rehearsal a few days ago and you, his greatest muse, had slipped and fallen.

Your decent from the stage to the pit had almost made him reveal himself from his elevated position in the rafts. You’d dropped so abruptly, so thoroughly, that you’d screamed. A wretched sound forced from your mouth that had made even Erik gasp and want to reach for your fallen form.

Erik himself, with that fear and fury still thriving through his very spirit, had only just come from doing what he promised when he saw the tears tracking down your face. He’d gutted DuBoi within an inch of his life, the worm wasn’t worth being taken to his torture chamber, and left him to rest for his remaining hours as he chocked on his own tongue.

He stomped through his passage ways now, in search of you of course. After avenging your ails he was near giddy to get back to what he’d taken up doing since your most unfortunate injury.

He rounded the narrow corner to your bed chambers in the sick bay and hummed lightly as his eyes finally lay upon your form.

You were exquisite.

He could watch you for hours, and did. With the opera house quieting down after the night’s lackluster show and Christine not being due for a lesson, his presence was not needed anywhere else as twilight descended.

You mostly read, books from Senegal that were in a French dialect he was too unfamiliar with to read easily, and worked on your music. That was always his favorite part of the night.

Whenever everyone retired to their shared quarters you would sneak off, usually to the roof, lean against the Angel statue and pull out your beaten pieces of sheet music to write on. You’d hand draw the measure lines with steady hands and the finest ink you owned and then you’d be off.

Many a night Erik had watched as you embarked on the painstaking, and very familiar, process of writing your own music. You wrote, playing on your violin to check your song, until your eyes started to droop and the sun began to peak in the horizon.

You’d cringe, sigh, laugh and celebrate on the roof at your melodies, good and bad, and Erik would watch and wish to celebrate alongside you. To help guide you into finding your musical voice. To embrace you in your combined cheer.

He longed like no other to feel the touch of another. Of companionship.

There’d been many nights that he’d fantasized of stealing you away. As far as he was concerned the light of mundane people didn’t deserve to be blessed by your darkness. A darkness that he’d cherish. That he’d compliment, even.

Your songs weren’t amazing by any measure, you were clearly a beginner, but they were yours and he lived to hear you.

He’d read you music, even hummed your baby masterpiece in his free time. Tweaked little bits and sung it to you until the subtle change in tune got stuck in your head and you’d put the tweaks to paper. Even twisting them again yourself to fit your song more preferably. He always liked your changes immensely, and was honored that you mixed parts of him into that bit of your soul.

You were doing that tonight, in fact. Last night he played a new idea on his own violin. Behind the walls as you’d slept he’d had the pleasure of serenading you and now that his melody had sneaked into your subconscious mind you were writing away.

Erik closed his eyes as you began to play. Even bedridden without an audience, and your own choppy tune being strung together, you were amazing.

He listens to you for hours. Ear practically up against the wall Erik stays up and then subsequently falls asleep with you.

When he wakes he can tell the sun hasn’t risen yet by the dead silence that meets him but he knows you’re asleep. When he rises from his seated position in the cramped pathway and looks through the peephole to the sick room he confirms his guess. The area is still lit but you yourself are passed out, having seemingly been in the midst of playing until the moon’s siren song pulled you under.

He watches you silently. Eyes tracing your figure. Your dark skin just about twinkles under the harsh lights. The yellow lighting of the gas lamp doesn’t do you justice and yet somehow you manage to enrapture him still.

Your shut eyes flutter as he looks upon you. A smile graces his lips; you're enchanting. He wants to be able to speak with you. To mark the creases of your smile up close. To trust you with the secrets of why he hides in the shadows. To feel what it'd be like to have and to hold you.

To feel you succumb to him.

Completely.

He can’t help it. Almost against his wishes his mind turns to thoughts of you beneath him. To the way your skin would yield to his hands and his to yours.

To the arch of your bodies pressed together and the sounds he would siphon from your plush lips.

It makes him squirm in place as he watches you with different eyes. Sinful ones.

His eyes travel down your body and instantly Erik knows how he’s going to spend the rest of the opera’s still hours. Your allure too strong and Erik too weak for you.

Unable to tear his eyes away from your breasts, Erik can only desire the pleasure of the flesh having his sweet violinist would bring. Your satisfaction has long been made a priority of his after all. It would only make sense for him to satisfy your more…sexual needs.

Even though he could only dream of it currently.

He imagines himself in there now. How he’d start by putting his hand to your cheek, the first touch of another’s skin he’d have in decades. He closes his eyes as his breath stutters out of him.

He would challenge the very God Christine prays to every night, a fool's errand perhaps -but one he would happily embark on, for the chance to see the stark contrast of his skin against yours.

Once more he opens his eyes to gaze upon you. He imagines after he touches your cheek he’d let his fingers trace down your throat and sternum before pausing just above your breasts. Trembling slightly, Erik thinks of caressing and cupping them, of running his thumbs over your dusk nipples. Marveling at how lovely they felt in his hands. Of the gentle sounds you’d give him in return.

Not letting himself think, he lets his hands travel over his own body, cape falling to the floor as he unclips it. He pictures leaning down, putting his lips around your right nipple, and beginning to circle it with his tongue while gently pinching the left one.

He imagines the way your eyes would flutter as he stimulates you with his mouth. Tongue gently sweeping over the stiff peaks of your nipples as you sighed your satisfaction.

Thereafter is when he allows himself to fully succumb to his rampant imagination. All his dreams of whimsy coming through in his mind's eye.

He thinks of you waking up, of skilled dark fingers moving to gently lift his head up, of the smile you’d give him.

“Was last night not enough? Have you come back for more?”

“Whatever you will give me.” Erik sends his own smile back. An action his face is largely unused to but that he is happy to make happen for you.

Your fingers run over the top of his head, through the few skant hairs there.

“Then give me your full devotion,” you say and Erik’s heart sours before he’s going back to your chest.

He says, "With pleasure," and lightly bites your nipple, pleased to feel you shudder.

He’s had the pleasure of learning recently that you were extremely responsive to touch and by god does he wish to apply that knowledge.

Erik then allows himself to fully be given to conjured images of you giving way beneath him. To him delving between your folds and the heavenly noises you make for him.

The thought of you crying out his name is what finally has him spurting into his hands, stuttering gasps falling from his mouth.

When Erik next opens his eyes, the scene of you so beautifully coming undone seared behind his lids, there are tears stuck to his lashes and pooling in his eyes.

His breath hiccups from his chest as he relaxes his hold on his cock. The spent organ flopping onto his thigh.

Erik allows himself to gaze upon you once more, something near shame threatening to claw through him as a few droplets cascade down his cheek, before the morning settles and he is once again back to the reality of being known no longer.

A monster forever bound to his faith hidden in the looming loneliness of shadows as his only company.

Its only shining light being you.

NOTES: Ohhhhhhhh. I hope y’all liked this. I just live for Erik being a needy pathetic simp.

P.S: I won’t respond cause this is a side blog but I do like comments, you can leave one.

[desireandduty]

What was supposed to be a lovely and relaxing night out on the town with her handmaidens has turned out rather depressingly for Padmé. They had only just been served their meal when she was suddenly seized with an urge to vomit. Confused, she managed one bite of her favorite dish before she had to excuse herself and run to the refresher. Although she finds it hard to believe that there would actually be a problem in the kitchen for this acclaimed Nubian restaurant, that's the only reason Padmé can think of for her sudden stomach upset.

Despite her friends' protests, she waves away the offer to come home with her, remarking that they all deserve a night off anyway. She makes her goodbyes as hurriedly as possible, because the smell of all the food at the table has her stomach churning again. Stepping out of the restaurant and into the bustling nightlife of Coruscant, she takes a moment to breathe and calm her rioting stomach.

Just as she's about to step out to the street and hail a speeder cab, she suddenly finds a young man with sandy blonde hair and the most earnest, endearing expression in his blue eyes standing in front of her. And he apparently knows her name well enough to address her by it instead of her title? Taken aback, she looks him over in confusion. "I am...," she responds slowly. But after she's taken a few seconds to assess him, she finds nothing about his presence that sets off any warnings in her mind. He's dressed... oddly, but not everyone is fashionable, even in this swanky area of Coruscant.

"It seems you've been looking for me, Luke. Is there something I can do for you?"

time travel wasn't easy. Luke had never done it before, but it was an option for them for once- to see if they could change the fate of the galaxy by stopping the death of Padme Amidala, his mother. unfortunately, the machine had taken Luke too far- he wasn't on the planet he was supposed to be when he came to, but that doesn't mean he couldn't make it work. he could still do his best to save his mother and save the whole galaxy in the process. he knows it could change the fate of himself and his sister, but it would be well worth it, if it meant saving everyone else in the process.

and who knows, maybe saving Padme would also mean saving himself- giving himself a chance to be raised by the parents he'd always wanted.

as he makes his way through Coruscant, he approaches a restaurant where a young woman is just making her way outside and his stomach flips at the sight of her. pulling out a hologram from his pocket, he looks at it and determines that she is, indeed, his mother. he puts it away and carefully approaches her, keeping his hands in sight at all times as he smiles up at her, his heart breaks at the sight of her beauty- the mother he never got to know.

"are you Padme?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer to that question. "my name is Luke S- my name is Luke." i'm here to rescue you, the words go unspoken as he looks at her. he could feel a pull towards Padme and he realizes with a jolt it's because she's pregnant and he briefly wonders if she knows that.

@desireandduty

[doumadono]

Could I request some SFW headcanons for Viking Shoto and Viking Dabi? Whatever aspects you delve into, I'm all ears! 💜💜💙💙

A/N: I sincerely hope you find enjoyment in this collection of headcanons ♥

KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU

Viking Shoto

Shoto is well-versed in ancient runic scripts, using them not only for communication but also to unlock the secrets of his Viking heritage, often deciphering ancient texts and prophecies.

Shoto has a talent for playing a unique Viking instrument known as the harmony harp, using it to create soothing melodies that bring tranquility to the hearts of those around him. With nimble fingers, he skillfully plucks the sweetest notes, ensuring that the captivating melody not only enchants but also leaves all the females utterly captivated by him.

Shoto is a master archer, his accuracy unmatched even in challenging conditions. His arrows are tipped with special materials that make them particularly effective against his foes.

Shoto's torso is adorned with intricate tattoos, featuring a combination of runic symbols and Viking patterns believed to bring good luck.

Shoto's ambitions extend beyond mere conquest. He seeks to reshape the Viking world, envisioning a domain where fear of his name is as chilling as the ice he commands.

Shoto's dedication to his craft is unparalleled. He undergoes rigorous training routines, honing his physical strength and combat skills to perfection through discipline and hard work.

Shoto harbors a deep-seated resentment towards Touya, driven by the fear that Touya might ascend to the throne after Endeavor's demise. In Shoto's perspective, the rightful heir to the throne should be him, considering his status as the youngest and, in his opinion, the most intelligent among the brothers.

Viking Dabi

Dabi's weapons are covered with a secret mix that, when ignited, produces mesmerizing blue flames. This unique touch adds an eerie beauty to his prowess on the battlefield.

Dabi is an exceptional tracker, navigating the dense forests and treacherous terrains with uncanny ease.

Dabi's loyalty to his Viking kin is unwavering. He's known to stand by his comrades in times of adversity, earning the respect and trust of those who fight alongside him.

Dabi, surprisingly, has a talent for blacksmithing. He forges weapons with intricate designs.

In quiet moments, Dabi can be found gazing at the stars, pondering the mysteries of the cosmos. This solitary ritual is his way of finding solace in the vastness of the Viking world.

Dabi possesses an extraordinary affinity for thunderstorms - amid them, his focus sharpens. When the skies resonate with thunderous roars and illuminate with lightning flashes, Dabi's combat abilities surge, transforming him into an unstoppable force.

Dabi's role in battles extends beyond direct confrontation. He excels as a strategic saboteur, targeting supply lines and strategically weakening his enemies before engaging in open combat.

On the battlefield, Dabi sports an intimidating mask crafted from the jawbone of a wolf, covering his lower face from the nose downward.

Touya never envisioned himself as a prospective earl following his father's demise. Ruling was never his inclination; instead, he was always drawn to adventures and battles.

[kayliraine]

🎸⭐️ EMA Band AU || character headcanons (pt. 2):

pt.1 pt.3

strap in, i accidentally made this kinda long loll

🗝️🥁 | Eren:

Eren gets a guitar for his birthday in late elementary school and doesn't really touch it much until one day when Mikasa comes over and tells him how cool it is. Then he starts teaching himself.

Eren plays a song in their middle school’s talent show because he secretly (but oh so obviously) wants to impress Mikasa, but his hands are so shaky and he’s so nervous that he kinda bombs it. Jean makes fun of him, and without hesitation, Eren goes swinging.

Heated, Jean makes a snarky comment about drums being a better instrument for Eren because it’d “help him vent his anger issues.”

Months later, Jean buys him drumsticks as a joke gift for a Secret Santa event. Eren takes this as a challenge.

Fast forward to "Mikasa and the Titans" as a band, Eren is their drummer and he’s amazing at it (though he will never, ever thank Jean for the inspiration).

He occasionally helps write songs too, but he’s not as good at expressing himself, and his writing is kind of juvenile.

Armin still encourages him to try, and together with Mikasa, he embellishes and translates Eren's verses.

Eren also knows how to sing but doesn't like to as much. It feels like more of a private thing to him.

Sometimes Armin will write songs for him though because he loves his voice. These songs are usually slower, more somber, and quite stripped back. Often it’s Eren singing with his guitar, Armin on keys, and Mikasa harmonizing with him.

During performances, Eren sings his one or two songs last and it’s always a surprise to the audience when he stands from his drum set. No one expects it, but he’s really good.

When he sings he goes off into another world and it’s almost as if he forgets he’s on stage.

He’s definitely the most mysterious of the group—he probably posts the least on social media, but he's still a fan favorite.

On the side, Eren posts some metal covers on youtube. He doesn’t advertise it at all—even Mikasa and Armin have to come across it themselves without him telling them. (Mikasa gets very upset he kept it a secret and he has to apologize profusely.)

He has an impressive metal growl akin to his canon titan roars.

🧣🎸 | Mikasa:

As a kid, Mikasa is by no means musically inclined. Her parents force her to do piano lessons for a while, but she quits out of frustration.

This all changes in elementary school when she sees Eren get a guitar, inspiring her desire to learn as well.

At first, she borrows Eren's guitar a lot and gets him to teach her chords and strumming patterns (and he likes to act all annoyed about it, but it's so clear he enjoys helping her).

Eventually, her parents buy Mikasa her own guitar for her birthday, and from then on, she starts learning more on her own. Sometimes she and Eren still play together though.

Mikasa is a fast learner and incredibly determined, so her skills progress quickly and she’s soon surpassing even Eren. (It makes him feel a little bad, but that feeling is almost immediately replaced with strong admiration.)

She starts learning how to sing too. She develops a silvery, sweet, and clear tone that grows more intense when she sings passionate songs.

At some point, Armin confides in Mikasa his hidden passion for writing poetry, and Mikasa creates melodies on her guitar inspired by his work—sometimes even singing his words aloud. (It makes him feel flustered at first, but it soon evolves into the two of them creating experimental acoustic songs together for fun.)

Mikasa has an undeniable stage presence. She is confident, and the way she plays the guitar as she sings seems almost effortless. She has a very devoted fanbase of people who simp over her and her cool energy.

Mikasa manages their group’s Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter accounts, (because Eren is too chronically offline to understand marketing, and Armin is a bit of a boomer with internet jargon and memes). so the fans get to interact with her the most.

She posts a lot of OOTDs and sneak peeks of upcoming songs on her Instagram story.

Many of their fans rely on her stories to get a glimpse of what Eren is actually like because he never posts and has a habit of blocking people on Twitter who say things about their band that annoy him (i.e. rumors about him having a thing for Mikasa because of the way he looked over at her during one of the recorded performances…).

Mikasa takes her musical career very seriously and is constantly on that grindset mindset.

She’s always coming up with new melodies on her guitar and sending voice recordings late at night in their group chat. It’s something fun for her to do and it comes so naturally.

🐚🎹 | Armin:

Armin takes piano lessons as a child and is literally a prodigy. He plays at all of their school’s holiday ceremonies and even participates in (and wins) competitions.

He is extremely talented: he has perfect pitch, starts learning to compose his own songs at an early age, and gets amazing grades on top of it all. He is a hardworking kid.

Along with his musical interest, Armin has also always been interested in literature and writing (He grows up to be an English or Linguistics major for sure).

He goes everywhere with a book in hand.

He enjoys telling Eren about the books he reads, and Eren listens diligently. It’s easy and comfortable to tell him things as he always seems genuinely interested in what Armin has to say, no matter the subject.

Armin develops an interest in poetry in middle school and even starts a journal where he writes his own.

He’s extremely shy about his writing at first, only really showing Mikasa because he's too embarrassed to show Eren (not because he thinks Eren will make fun of him—he just really looks up to Eren).

Mikasa inspires him to combine his two passions of music and writing by composing pieces to accompany his poetry.

It moves him how Mikasa is so captivated by his writing that she wants to help him with his music too.

In their band, Mikasa is the main singer, but Armin can also sing a little. He has a higher range and does harmonies for her in some of their songs.

It's not his thing though, so he doesn't sing otherwise.

Armin has to force Eren and Mikasa to study with him sometimes because they tend to neglect their schoolwork due to their extreme engrossment in their music.

Despite his devotion to school, Armin still does a lot of work for the band when he has time.

He’s the one who contacts venues in the area for them to perform at. He handles a lot of their social ventures despite his anxious and non-confrontational nature.

Armin really enjoys being in the band—he likes being around his friends more than anything in the world. And hearing his written words turning into beautifully layered noise makes him giddy to no end.

AAA THANK YOU FOR READING ASKNSJK EMA band inspired playlist :) :

also if you guys have any questions or thoughts about this au, don't hesitate to ask!!! I like to talk <33

[desireandduty]

Time Travel Starter for @moonofiego

Although Senator Padmé Amidala was often bound to Coruscant by the sheer volume of work that the many bills she sponsored required, she also gathered a good deal of information through her network of handmaidens, who were more freely able to travel, and the gossip mill in the Senate. Always on the hunt for something to help bring a swift end to the war, she had recently heard a rumor about the Techno Union that she decided was worth having one of her handmaidens investigate.

It was only supposed to be a quick and easy mission for Teckla, who'd been sent to Fondor to confirm that rumor that the Techno Union was developing a new class of battleship for the Confederacy that would severely outfly and outgun the Republic fleet. Teckla had confirmed it only a few days ago, but then her communications with Padmé had gone dark. Since the other part of her mission was to download a copy of the plans and bring them back to Coruscant, Padmé had decided to go and find her handmaiden herself and bring her home along with (hopefully) the plans.

But that had all turned out to be much easier said than done, and now, ten days after departing Coruscant, Padmé finds herself stranded on Fondor, quickly running out of credits, with a downed ship and therefore no way off the planet. Yet... She had managed to send a transmission to Anakin a couple of days ago, and she has every confidence he'll come to her aid soon. Until then, she's determined to either find Teckla or get her hands on those battleship plans.

She's currently working on the former goal, standing in the shadows of an alleyway entrance next to a building where several of the Techno Union leaders are meeting. With a transmitter in her left ear, she is carefully listening in on their proceedings, courtesy of the transmitter she'd hidden beneath the window a few minutes earlier. In her right ear, however, she hears the sound of footsteps approaching louder than she'd like, so she turns around to glare at and wave away whoever might be approaching her.

[desireandduty]

While he ponders how to respond, Padmé is watching him closely from her seat in the carriage. She might not be Force sensitive, but she is an astute observer and has a good memory for other beings, their faces, names, and so on. And there is something about this strangely-clothed Jedi's face that draws her interest. Indeed, his entire demeanor is quite different from the only Jedi she has any experience with: both Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi had given off considerably more aloof auras than their fellow Knight here did. She can only assume he's a Knight, as he isn't wearing the traditional Padawan braid. Perhaps the lack of robes is due to this assignment? They would not be very helpful in or around the waters of Otoh Gunga.

Even though he seems at ease and has a reasonable-sounding explanation, Padmé still feels like something is out of place, or that some bit of information is being withheld from her. Maybe it's the fact that she'd seen that fleeting, pained expression on his face before the warm smile he's wearing now had dawned upon it. Maybe it's the bizarre attire or the circumstances of their meeting. And yet, she cannot come to any other conclusion than his trustworthiness. "I see," she responds. "There's room enough in the carriage if you'd like to travel with us."

Behind her, she hears Sabé and Yané both hissing a "What did you say?!" but she ignores their protest. And then, as the next words fall from his lips, she forgets it entirely. Luke Skywalker?! No sooner has he spoken the words than realization dawns - in her eyes and her mind. That's why he looks so familiar. His eyes are Anakin's eyes staring back at her. And his coloring, the shape of his face, he looks as though she could imagine the Hero of Naboo might in another ten years or so. Even his demeanor is strongly reminiscent of the little boy she had met a year ago on Tatooine - open, friendly and eager to help. And yet, neither Anakin nor Shmi had mentioned a brother. Perhaps this is a cousin? Or Skywalker is not the unusual surname she had assumed it to be?

Unbidden, her right hand rises to the black cord around her neck, bearing the simple japor snippet that little Ani had given her. The smile on her face relaxes into one of true warmth and welcome as she looks down at the Jedi. "A pleasure to meet you. We are on our way to Otoh Gunga to meet with Boss Nass, the leader of the Gungan people, for the finalization of a peace treaty," she informs him. "While we do not expect any trouble, I am grateful to the Council nonetheless for sending a neutral party to facilitate negotiations if need be."

Once he has seated himself inside the hover carriage and they resume their travels, Padmé looks across at him and asks with genuine interest: "You said your surname is Skywalker? Are you from Tatooine by any chance?"

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐌 "𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐉𝐄𝐃𝐈" 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄, 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐉𝐄𝐃𝐈 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐒. Master Jedi. Council. There's a familiarity that this royal figure has with Jedi - and Luke's mind works a mile a minute. Had the Force put him through time? Or is this some world where the Jedi somehow lived? Was he truly alone? Ben and Yoda had never spoken of a Council in their limited teachings. And "Master Jedi" denoted respect - this individual wasn't as long lived as Hutts like Jabba, who had used the term to poke fun at him being the last of his kind, not from what he could see. She almost seemed so very normal. Human.

Still looking at her and not allowing himself to close his eyes to focus, his instinct tells him to reach out, despite the apparent danger of being discovered by Vader, and when he does, he feels so many individuals who are strong in the Force almost reach back. They brush against him, curious at such desperation and hope. Unaware just who is checking their presence: Luke Skywalker, son of Anakin and Padmé, a child of a genocide against Jedi that tore the galaxy in two. He just didn't know he was looking at his own mother.

Luke shivers at the vast Force impression that moves through him. The Force is so strong and so alive now.

He is visibly stricken by the fact others try to reach back, but attempts to recover, offering a large smile in her direction. The smile isn't fabricated, in fact. He's surprised he's here, and the hum of the Force around him is a pleasant one, reminding him he's not alone. This won't be the only time the Force does this to Luke. He will go to many places like this, go through the fabric of time and space to meet others and learn from them. And now, the Force deems he must learn from his mother.

She is dressed in curious garb - white paint or powder smeared onto her features, red accentuating her lips and cheeks. The white dress is well-made, ombre sleeves moving down to the bottom of the carriage. Long. The fabric that drapes down her arms is a peach color, peach and pink, the sheer material somehow fluffy and dainty, all at once. And behind her head, as a halo, curves something that Luke can't name -

It is unlike anything he had ever seen, and yet, in many ways, this woman reminds him of Leia. Someone he cares a great deal for. The most bold woman he knows. Leia is full of fire and carries starlight on her hairline. And this monarch is the same. He doesn't know why, but he trusts her. Maybe it's her connection, in his mind, to Leia. Maybe it's instinctual. Still, with this trust, his gut tells him to play along.

"Lake Paonga," he says, nodding his head, "I see." Naboo: a planet that was annexed by the Empire in his time.

"Yes. I am not too far off from where I need to be, then. My holomap and holocommunicator refused to work. My deepest apologies. It was on short notice that I was sent by the Council." The word feels weird to say in his mouth. Council. And the lie feels even weirder. But if the Force sent him here... was it not important to be present? The truth could always be shared later.

"Unfortunately, I was given no time to prepare and do not even know your identity, just that I needed to be here."

Luke approaches the hovercarriage now, and beams.

"My name is Luke Skywalker. It is nice to meet you. How may I be of assistance?"

[haveyoureadthistransbook]

TransRightsReadathon Sales & Freebies!

I will be collecting books that are reduced or made available for free by authors for the TransRightsReadathon here. Feel free to share any that you know of that I might have missed:

Queeird: A Collection of Unusual Trans Masculine Erotica edited by Max Turner | ebook 2,80 £, paperback 6,30 £

Androids and aliens, werewolves and vampires, furries and… tentacles? This is a collection of unusual, and at times monstrous, erotica featuring trans masculine characters. From the ridiculous to the romantic, expect kinks, quirks and tropes. All the stories feature trans masculine main characters, with a variety of cis, trans female, trans male and non-binary lovers.

Deck the Holes by WrenVLothaire | ebook 0.50$

It’s Yule, a celebration Aloysius is well versed in but never has the time of year been his favorite. But with Malachai, a partner with whom he’s come to love and cherish, this holiday may not be as somber as it’s always been. This time he has a surprise in store. Let’s just hope the owner of the home approves of the decorations. t4t, trans man MC

Tales of Genesis I-III by H.S. Wolfe | ebook free, (the book one that these short stories are based on costs 1.99$)

Out of the Rain by TinyLesbianRobot | ebook 0.50$

Echo interrupts a lazy morning with a strange request of Ender. The first in a series of shorts set in the Genesis universe and can be read as a stand alone without having read In The Garden Of Echo t4t, trans man MC & trans woman MC

The weather has taken a turn, forcing Flax and Lost to rush for shelter.  But now that they've found a place to dry off, Lost's drenched clothes are clinging to her, and Flax is finding it difficult to keep from staring... This story is a non-canon short set in the world of my novel 'Messenger': just under ten thousand words of warm, fluffy, robot-on-angel-on-human smut, a cozy and affectionate scene between women who love each other a whole lot. transfemme MC

Rien Gray's Trans Rights Readathon Sale | ebooks 60% off, $6.00 for 2 books

Follow a fellowship of sapphic knights as they’re seduced by witches, queens, goddesses—and each other—in a dark, lush fantasy inspired by Arthurian legend. genderfluid butch MC, agender MC

Valerin the Fair by Rien Gray | ebook free (+ other free sapphic books)

genderfluid butch MC

Our Monsters by Jemma Topaz | ebook 69% off, $1,23

Rosemary Dulahan, answering a strange job posting, arrives in Monstertown – a place inhabited by magical beings from another world. Navigating the politics of sphinxes, lamias, and secrets, she must learn how to get along with her non-human coworkers and maybe romance a few monster girls along the way. There's nothing she wants less than getting caught up in a murder mystery troubling all of Monstertown… but the mystery doesn't care what she wants, and she's about to discover the darker side of her new world. trans woman MC

A.A. Fairviews TransRightsReadathon Bundle | ebook free

In celebration of the second TransRightsReathon you can grab A Doctor's Touch and Peaceful in the Dark for free.  Following a trans masc vampire and queer werewolf- these stories are as sweet as they are sensual.  transmasc MC

Bury your Gays & Bound in Flesh | ebook free

Anthology of tragic queer horror & anthology of trans body horror by ghoulish books

The Fealty of Monsters by Ladz | ebook free

Winter 1917. After years on the run from a dangerous cult, twenty-three-year-old Sasza and his father have established themselves among the Odonic Empire’s ruling class. But there’s a problem: Sasza is a vampire, and vampires aren’t supposed to get involved in human governance. What the aristocracy doesn’t know, after all, cannot hurt them. Unfortunately, Sasza is far more involved than a stealth vampire should be. Not only does he work to quell the rumors of the vampires’ responsibility for an unsolved massacre, his lover is also the pro-proletariat Ilya, the Empire’s Finance Minister, who tries to recruit Sasza into the same cult hunting him. Then—the Emperor declares war against the Vampire States. Diplomacy has failed. Sasza quickly learns that he will do anything to preserve peace–including giving in to the monstrosity he spent so many years concealing from even himself. nonbinary MC

Trans Readathon by Wicked Witch Writes | ebook 50% off, $5

Your Body is Not Your Body anthology | ebook $1,99

A centaur seeks illicit surgery in an alien bodily modification club. Two medieval monks react to their transformation and demonic pregnancy in very different ways. A resourceful trans teen destroys sports bigots through the power of pluckiness...and abundant body horror. A stellar cathedral crosses galaxies to dump the corpse of God into a star before the mission devolves into a panoply of psychedelic orgies. A doxxed teen falls victim to violent assault and dishes out some harrowing retribution of their own. Over thirty Trans and Gender Nonconforming creators unite to voice their rage, and the rules of conventional Horror go out the f$%&ing window in this collection featuring murderous pleasure-bots; proselytizing zombies; acid-filled alien cops; science run amok; sorcerers, ghouls, cannibals...and that barely scratches the grave-dirt.

Blood from Stone by Bellamy Scott | ebook PWYW

Hitting a deer while driving a country road is unfortunate, but common enough that no one expects it to re-order the fabric of reality as they know it. For Sam, a rogue stag on a summer night takes his husband, his life, and his name in a single blow. As months of grief pass, he things he's begun to get used to his new reality, until an encounter with a childhood friend changes it all over again. BLOOD FROM STONE is a story of an old lady doing good deeds for bloody boys on the side of the road, of poisoned wine, and of a trans man Becoming Real.

Becoming Light by Riley Nash | ebook free

When people meet me, they see a bright faced, happy-go-lucky kindergarten teacher who will do anything to support his friends. Not everyone knows the struggle I’ve faced to become the man I am today.  Now it’s finally time for the gender-affirming surgery I’ve been dreaming of for years. But when an emergency leaves me without a caretaker, the only person who can take me in is my best friend’s aloof, reclusive, and incredibly sexy dad. The one who has no bedside manner and struggles to communicate. The one I’ve had a crush on for years. The deeper we see into each other’s worlds, the stronger the attraction gets. I’m not sure either of us can make it through the next four days without giving in. Trans man MC

​TransRightsReadathon Sale by Matthew Zakharuk | ebook 50% off, $2.50

a story of trans transhumanism + a dystopian gothic

[not-poignant]

Sorry this is so long I literally cannot help myself:

I’ve been a reader on ao3 for a long time. This year, for the sake of giving my brain something new and in order to be a mysterious hottie on the metro, I’ve challenged myself to read some published books. It has been a really fun and very interesting experience. I could write essays of personal and literary reflections.

But, favorite author mine, one difference I did not expect, and in hindsight it should have been obvious, was the vast, essentially ideological difference in what is called smut.

I started reading the Court of Thorns and Roses series and it’s good, I’m having a good time. But the thing is, everyone calls it faerie smut. And I guess it must be. When I heard faerie smut and decided to give the series a try, my faerie smut background came from ao3, namely fae tales and the ice plague.

“With each thrust I felt his love and saw the stars” really has nothing on “my entire family burnt and now my lover has his hands in my mouth and up my ass while he heats me up so thoroughly I’m basically delirious and then our sex mentor wine aunt was hungry and told me I was doing good while he drank my blood and his lover who is also the king casually reads nearby likely with bits of flesh stripped off him as an act of sacrificial love.”

The thing is, the sex scenes I’ve read in Sarah J. Maas’s series don’t really… do much. Regardless of crazy scenario, essentially every of the many erotic scenes in the fae tales verse either moves the plot forward, is essential to character development, or showcases emotional intimacy. (Which, tangent, is why you’re more recent works that generally showcase way less sexual content still feel so similar because the plot is still moving forward, characters are still developing, and the emotional intimacy is still so delectable.)

So anyway, reading book books has been really nice and a surprisingly reflective experience. I kinda forgot how little is considered scandalous by so many.

(And also, compared to ao3 which I usually read on my phone, it’s very difficult to read physical books while horizontal. Another plus for ebooks?)

Hi hi anon!

I'm glad you're enjoying the experience of reading 'book' books! :D I've heard many good things, and while I'm not likely to read it (I don't read cishet m/f if I'm not being forced to), I think it's awesome that it's going so viral and getting lots of folks into fantasy :D

As for the ACOTAR sex scenes, I haven't read them, but I feel like they fall into a certain kind of spicy sex scene being written right now that falls under 'explicit' for readers not used to seeing this stuff in fantasy, but absolutely kind of doesn't for people used to reading smut on AO3.

I find for myself, I can't handle these kinds of sex scenes because they're often over in like one or two pages and they feel very empty to me. They're not empty to many readers and I'm not trying to say they're empty overall, I just need a lot more emotionality, meatiness, and often character-based stakes.

Or I think about it this way: I've written sex scenes that are easily 6,000-9,000 words long. That's a tenth of a written standard-length novel. That's too long for novels. This is why you never see these kinds of sex scenes published anywhere except for erotica, and in erotica there's pressure to make the sex scenes shorter anyway. The only place where I know I can safely write sex to the length and breadth I want to is in serials, on AO3.

Authors in the mainstream book-writing world are kind of forced into a shape that fits the length of the book they're writing. If they write three very deep/lengthy sex scenes of the length that I write at, firstly they'd be thrown into the erotica dungeon (can no longer be searched for on most distribution websites), and secondly, that means they lose a lot of space for writing story, which for many of these writers does not happen during or because of sex scenes.

Authors can still sometimes write very hot sex scenes in a few hundred words, or one or two pages, don't get me wrong! But the vibe is different. I've never really liked sex scenes in anything published except for erotica, because it often feels... idk, like for example this line:

"“With each thrust I felt his love and saw the stars”"

Idk if this is canon to the book, but for me this means nothing. Why is the character feeling this way? What is it about the thrusts? What is it about the pose? Is it about eye contact? (And is this innately comfortable? How neurotypical is this character?) Undulation? Does he linger at the end? Is it because he circles his hips a certain way? Because that's not love, that's just talent.

I suppose for me, as a reader, I need explanations that let me understand why emotional shifts are happening in a sex scene. In the same way that I would need them in any other character change.

Other people I think can suspend their disbelief better and think 'wow that sounds amazing and hot.' I'm like 'I don't get it.'

And that's very much a me-problem! It's just a me-problem that I think I share with quite a lot of other readers, which is why we're all out here enjoying much longer sex scenes and then realise we can't really find them anywhere except for like... AO3, and some manhwa and manga and published erotica lmao. (I do think you're actually also more likely to find it in like f/f and m/m of any genre).

Anyway, on the flipside, some people find my sex scenes way too long and don't see the point. So all this stuff needs to exist for everyone! I just yeah, really like sex scenes where character stuff is happening. I can't write them otherwise, likely because I'm ace, and don't really find 'look at hot body = want to have sex' a thing that's relatable.

[desireandduty]

As she listened to him describe what else had happened that day, after she lost consciousness, Padmé found tears welling up in her eyes. What he was describing... she couldn't even begin to imagine how painful that had been. "Oh Ani....," she whispered. "I didn't know any of that. I didn't understand why you did all of it. When I found you on Mustafar, you were raving like you were out of your mind. And after I passed out, I didn't wake up until I was in the hospital. I never knew what... he did to you. That's- how could he have done that?" She was suddenly angry with Obi-Wan, both for lying to her for all those years and for injuring and abandoning his former Padawan so horribly.

When he described his dreams and nightmares, she suddenly felt like she needed to be closer to him. With one hand, she picked up her chair and scooted it closer. With the other, she reached out for his hand, gripping it even tighter when he described his surgery. Tears were rolling down her cheeks now as things finally started to make sense. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. How horrible, he- I'm glad you were the one to kill him." She reached up with her free hand to rub away the tears from her cheeks. "I wonder if- well I did lose an awful lot of blood during the delivery, and I did almost die. I wonder if that was when you... tried to reach out to feel me." If so, then that was an awful coincidence.

"I don't hate you, Ani. I never could, despite what I said before when I was mad. I've been angry with you for leaving me, but I never stopped loving you. I told Obi-Wan there was still good in you, begging him to go find you and help you, while I was in labor." She paused, wondering if that was part of why her friend had never told her the awful truth. Maybe this whole thing was more complex than she'd thought. The lines between good and bad had certainly blurred for her today. "I'm sorry that I wasn't stronger back then, for our babies. I wish I had kept us together. I... hope you don't hate me either. I don't want to lose you all over again."

"I'm not accepting anything, when it's your reprimanding. I don't have to put up with being reprimanded by you or anyone else. I saved our son, and brought balance to the force. I did more than any of the stupid rebels ever did." He groaned. "I snark at everyone. Did you miss the part where I am a Sith Lord, one who has been in physical pain for over twenty years? In case you can't tell by the breathing apparatus, I cannot always even breathe on my own. I spent 20 years in a mask and suit, kept alive and had 5 surgeries in the last month. Sorry if I'm not feeling overly loving."

He sighed, taking a deep breath. "Padme, did you really think I would be there? Things changed that day. You know they did. I force choked you. You knew that I turned to the dark side to protect you. You don't just not be on the dark side. There was a long duel, I jumped too high and Obi-Wan got me right at my legs and other arm. I lost them all, rolled into the lava, lost my vocal cords mostly, most of my eyesight and lungs. You rebels have been pains in our asses. I know you all have heard Darth Vader is a cyborg. If it wasn't for our stubborn ass son, I still would be. But, I'm still acclimating."

Was he happy to see her? He had dreamed about her for years. She had haunted every moment he slept. "I built my fortress somewhere, that I could try to raise you from the dead, but I couldn't find you there. I know why now. There has never been a night I did not have a dream or nightmare about you. I hate them, because I have to wake up. Am I happy to see you? Things are complicated. I am complicated. I never came and found you, because I thought you were dead."

He took a deep breath. "No one is in a better place in Tatooine. He wasn't treated right by that family, and went through a lot, like I was. He should have been with you. You need to not let others make decisions for you." Taking another deep breath, he closed his eyes. 'I was kept awake through my surgery and when I rose, in my suit, my new master said, "in my anger, I had killed you.' I was in a weak spot for a while and I couldn't just go looking and I couldn't feel you, but he said I killed you."

[sorinethemastermind]

 Sorvus Week 2024 | Prompt: Poet / Musician (No Warnings Apply)

 Soren had always believed that practice made perfect. (Hey, that was actually pretty good. Somebody should make that a saying or something.)

 It was that belief that had pushed him to become the best Crownguard he could be; spending long hours drilling and working out, practicing with his blade until the thing was like an extension of his arm.

 And it was that level of dedication that he intended to apply to his poetry.

 He had the time now, anyway. Since Clauds had left there was... a lot less to do. He'd never realized how much time they spent together. How lost he felt without her. But sitting there, on her bench in the courtyard under the three they'd climbed as children, it felt a little more like she was there. And he felt a little more found.

 So he went and sat there almost everyday after the council meetings had wrapped up, and he brought his journal and a pen, and he tried to write. Most days he didn't get very much done, his mind a whirling torrent of thoughts too vast and too loud to condense into verse. But sometimes he'd get a sentence or two down, little scraps  that he would cross out and discard the next day.

 Soren didn't mind. Skills required patience. Which, sure, he didn't have a lot of. But he was getting better. Patience was a skill too. You just had to practice.

 Soren's favorite days, and the ones that he got the most writing done, were the ones where faint music would drift down from the window above him. Sometimes it would be haunting and somber, other times lively and joyous. The window was too high for Soren to see through, so he could never catch a glimpse of who was playing, no matter how hard he tried.

 The one time he'd climbed the tree - or should he say, attempted to climb the tree - to peek inside had ended horribly. Namely, the branch he'd been holding had cracked and he'd landed hard on the cobbles below. Since then Soren had accepted that some mysteries were best left unsolved. Something told him that practice wasn't going to make him any lighter, or the tree's branches any stronger.

 He'd tried to invite Corvus out a few times to listen, tempting him out to their courtyard with vague requests for help so as not to spoil the surprise. But the musician never played on the days he brought Corvus. It was sort of like they were playing only for him. Soren knew that was silly, but he still thought it sometimes.

 It was on these days, with the mystery musician playing, that Soren wrote his best work. Even if it was only a few sentences, something about the notes floating on the breeze around him made the poet in him wake up; easing the process of putting pen to paper.

 It was on one of those days that Soren wrote his first full poem. He smiled down at the piece of paper, covered in scribblings and places where his pen had scratched through the paper. It wasn't perfect, and he was sure he'd gotten something wrong. Counting syllables was very different from counting crunches.

 But that was what made it beautiful, wasn't it? The mistakes and the flaws, the effort that had gone into it. Because this one had been different; he hadn't forced it from the tip of his pen, instead it felt like it had flown (he would have to remember that line for later).

 Carefully tearing the page from his journal, Soren folded it into a paper eagle and stepped back into the courtyard, closing one eye as he peered up at the window above. The music had stopped, and he took careful aim. The wings of the paper spread out as it soared up and inside, just barely landing on the windowsill. 

 There was a pause as Soren waited, and then a hand took it, carrying it the rest of the way inside. He hurried away before the musician could peer outside and spot him, feeling suddenly embarrassed. 

 Later, when the days had bled into weeks, which had in turn become months and years. When he had all but forgotten his message, Soren stumbled upon his poem again.

 He had written more since then, but none like that one. None that had felt so true. So sure.

 Sometimes I hear you, whispers on the wind

 Singing with your strings of times that never been

 I can't hear your voice, but I see your soul Are you alone? Are you weary, are you cold?

 Perhaps we were friends, someday, long ago And that is why I hear the echoes of your soul

 Perhaps we were lovers, lost and then found Like the roots of this tree, twining through the ground

 Perhaps, just like me, you long to be free That single seed of truth, grown into a weed

 And maybe, some day, you and I shall meet You'll see my soul, as I hear yours so sweet

 Then, my whisper on the wind, you'll hear my song As I have heard yours, all these days long

 Soren stared at it hanging on the wall above him, where it lived tacked to the wall above Corvus' bed. How had he not noticed it until now?

 He shifted in the other man's arms, leaning closer against him. He didn't say that it was his. He didn't need to. 

 Corvus knew.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

What are you fave angsty stories/writers? I love angst, but have a hard time deciding what stories to read!

I always find it difficult to recommend writers as there are so many great writer past and present in the fandom. Plus so many klaine stories have a bit of angst in them.

We do have our angst and blangst tag. So many great stories.

I'd also recommend my other admin Lynne's favorite fics: there's all sorts of fics on there but may are angsty fics.

Also 23 items bookmarked on Klaine fanfic that made you want to reach for a box of tissues, part of our bingo 2023.

Personally, I will name a few, most of these are older fics and come highly recommended in the fandom. These are just a few of mine - people can also recommend in their reblogged tabs, or on the note here. ~Jen

The Awakening by @heartsmadeofbooks

Kurt Hummel has put his perfect life together carefully, making sure all the pieces fit exactly how he wanted them to. But all it takes is one name from his past to make all his hard work go to waste - Blaine Anderson

~~~~~

100 Days by borogroves

Kurt and Blaine have been best friends (and nothing more) since the age of six. Now 22-year-old college graduates, they take a roadtrip around the USA, visiting every state in 100 days. Fifty states. Two boys. One love story.

~~~~~

Perfectly Imperfect by @catcat-85

Golden Globe winning actor, Blaine Anderson went to prison for a murder he did not commit. After 5 long years, he has escaped from prison, and in a desperate need to get to a safe house before he can leave the country; he kidnaps Kurt, and forced him to drive him to a secluded cabin nestled in between the snowy mountains in Vermont. For Blaine, it’s his last chance for freedom. Falling in love is the last thing on Blaine’s mind. It’s not part of the plan. And for Kurt, it’s a terrifying situation that disrupts the impeccably perfect life he has created for himself. He’s outraged and angry at Blaine, and yet; he can’t help but believe Blaine is innocent.

Will the truth finally come out and Blaine be exonerated? Will the FBI catch him and put him back in prison? Will he and Kurt fall in love even in the most hopeless situation? Will love truly prevail all at the end?

Based on the novel, Perfect, by Judith McNaught. This is a story about two men who are complete opposites from one another; and yet, they complete each other in a perfectly imperfect way.

~~~~~

Chrysalis ‘verse by @flowerfan2

Just after graduating from NYU, a car accident puts Blaine into a coma. No one expects him to wake up. Almost three years later, Kurt sees a man in a wheelchair who couldn’t be anyone else. A story of love and new beginnings. Canon compliant through 6x11, then AU.

~~~~~

Foundations by gentlereader

After breaking up Kurt and Blaine went their separate ways.

Blaine’s now a successful LA musician while Kurt is a high school counselor.

The creation of the Pavarotti Music Foundation was their dream… and now its a reality.

~~~~~

No Take backs by @rockitmans

Prompt: A year after this father’s death, Kurt is still reeling from the loss. In an attempt to keep holiday traditions going, despite his father’s absence, Kurt meets a guy at a local Christmas Tree Lot who helps him through.

~~~~~

About us by wildhurricane

 It’s an ordinary summer day at the diner where Kurt works, when a new guest enters. He’s hot and flirty and orders coffee and fries, and Kurt. Kurt is instantly attracted and flirts back. When the guy waits for Kurt outside the diner, Kurt decides to go with him for a moment of pleasure. But there’s a spark between them that neither anticipated. Soon Kurt finds out that the guy isn’t who he claims to be and that he’s got other secrets as well. He’s mysterious and exciting and Kurt is falling for him hard and fast, but when the secrets are revealed Kurt finds himself between love and aversion and must decide if he should stay and help Blaine out of an impossible situation or leave him and save his own heart.

~~~~

The Symphony Verse by shandyall

Blaine has spent most of his life feeling like the only thing people notice about him is that he stutters. He’s working hard to overcome his (mostly self created) roadblocks when he meets Kurt in an online class the summer after his freshman year of college.

[elsalouisa]

"Volodia was an extraordinary being, a living instrument of rare sensitiveness which could of itself produce sounds of startling melody and purity and create a world of bright images and harmonies. In years and experience he was still a child but his spirit had penetrated into regions reached only by a few. He had genius. The first child of my father's second marriage, he confirmed the theory that exceptional children are born of a great and exceptional love. When he was still a baby there was something indefinable about him that set him apart from the others. When he was a child, in fact, I considered him a nuisance, affected, and priggish. But later I understood that he was simply a being older than his years lost in the milieu to which his age assigned him. His parents saw how different he was from the others and wisely did not try to shape him according to pattern as had been done with us. They allowed him comparative freedom to develop his unusual abilities. While still a child he wrote good verse and very fine plays, to be acted by his small sisters. He played the piano j he painted j and at a very early age astounded people by his extensive reading and his extraordinary memory. Until he was sixteen, he shared my father's banishment in France. Then he was sent to Russia, with the Emperor's permission, and entered in the Corps des Pages, a military school. According to the family tradition he was to be an officer. There was nothing military in his character, but the years spent away from an adoring family, the contact with boys of his own age, and the discipline of the school did him a lot of good. He became more natural, simpler in his ways. Having formerly spoken Russian very badly, he quickly learned his mothertongue and knew it better than many of those who had lived in Russia since childhood. The many subjects studied at the Corps did not prevent him, even there, from developing his own abilities. At eighteen he brought out a first book of verse which made something of a stir. He wrote with equal facility in three languages, but preferred to publish his first works in Russian. Throughout his stay at the Corps he continued privately to school himself in painting and music. He was more than talented; one had the feeling that mysterious forces worked within him, driving him onward to inspirations inaccessible to ordinary humans and remote from all things mundane. In his later verses, which came out during the war and the revolution, contemporary events were not in the least reflected j his work, on the contrary, was permeated by a profound sense of peace and of spiritual equilibrium...

During the last summer he wrote ceaselessly. Inspiration seemed never to forsake him. He would sit down at the typewriter and write, without pausing, verses that needed almost no correction. Yet in spite of this productivity and this purely mechanical way of writing, the quality of his verse improved continually. It seemed to me then that the speed of his work was somewhat overdone; I remember saying to him once that in pouring forth such torrents of new verse he gave himself no time to polish them. He was then sitting at his desk, one hand propping his cheek while with the other he made notes upon the margins of the poems he had just finished. Having listened to my words he turned towards me his face, always pale, and smiled sadly and somewhat enigmatically. "What I am writing now comes to me in a completely finished form J changes would only spoil the freshness of the inspiration. I must write. After I am twenty-one I shall not write any more. Everything that is in me must find its expression now; it will be too late afterwards. . . ."

Marie, Grand Duchess of Russia "Education of a princess"