#I wanted to include each line so I hope it's not too difficult to read

[dunmeshistash]

Interview to celebrate the opening of the Ryoko Kui Exhibition

About Delicious in Dungeon: Story making

Q1. Your first long-running series has lasted for about 9 and a half years. Has it been different from your previous experience drawing short stories?

A1. Compared to short stories, the series has been easier because the same characters appear each time. But I was surprised to find that I got tired of drawing the same characters too many times.

Q2. You have said before that the overall structure of the story was decided before serialization began, but how much of that had you communicated to your editor? Also, what kind of communication did you have during the series production?

A2. The goal was something we discussed and had decided on from the beginning. The goal itself was simple, but the path to get there was more difficult and took longer than imagined.

Q3. Regarding the overall story concept and development, did you write out or put anything down in writing (such as the plot)?

A3. I did, but it was simple.

Q4. Did you come up with the dishes based on the monsters you wanted in the story? Or did you come up with the monsters based on the dishes?

A4. It depended on the story, but usually the story came first followed by the monsters or food. I feel like that was most often the order.

Q5. As you progressed in drawing the series, what elements of the characters, story, or world expanded or grew in the most unexpected way?

A5. Nothing particularly unexpected perhaps. When I used to draw web manga, I tended to think up inconsequential settings. So, from the beginning I tried to restrain myself as much as possible and not expand too much. I was surprised when my editor said "Let's expand it more," in the second half of the series.

Q6. "Delicious in Dungeon" starts with a relatively simple setting, but as the series and the labyrinth exploration continues, the map slowly expands little by little in the readers' minds. It becomes more three-dimensional, revealing the secrets of the world, and taking on a multilayered structure. Are there any sources that you used as a reference, or which influenced you in creating this multilayered structure?

A6. A long time ago, when I was working on my personal web manga (fantasy), I drew it however I wanted, thinking that "Only people who can read this will read it," but I regularly received feedback that it was "unreadable", so I tried to make it as easily. accessible as possible.

Q7. The series combines many elements, including "fantasy", "gourmet", "battles", and "puzzle solving", but I think it's also important that it is a "comedy" which makes people laugh. Could you let us know if you have a creative commitment towards depicting humor?

A7. My hopes are that I can make it fun for people to read.

[page 5]

About Delicious in Dungeon: Drawing manga

Q1. Please tell us about the drawing tools you currently use, both digital and analogue.

A1. In terms of analogue tools, I use a light box, a G pen, a round pen, and a brush pen. And for digital, I use CLIP STUDIO PAINT and a Wacom LCD tablet. Screentone pasting is always done on the computer, so ultimately it all ends up as a digital manuscript.

Q2. Do you have any rules or reasons for using digital and analog separately?

A2. I'm always looking for ways to draw better and save time, so the exact approach is probably different for almost every chapter. Personally, I feel that analogue methods create more appealing lines, but I feel like digital saves time, so maybe I'll do a digital rough sketch and do the inking by hand… I might have been using a G pen, and maybe I'll try out a turnip pen, or this time I'm short on time so I'll draw it entirely digitally, but with digital I can redo it over and over, so maybe analogue is still faster, and so on and so forth. I'm indecisive in this way and so haven't developed a consistent process.

Q3. I understand that you prepare 3D data for your assistants to draw the backgrounds. What kind of data did you make for "Delicious in Dungeon" ?

A3. You could call it 3D, but it's not a proper model, just something to help with the rough sketching. I line up cubes to share the perspective and sense of scale, and they use it as a reference.

Q4. At the beginning of the series, the characters and backgrounds were somewhat simply drawn, and it seems like they became richly detailed over the progression of the story. What was your intention behind using these different styles?

A4. It's simply that my technique isn't stable. I thought I'd put a lot of effort in at the start. I remember being confused when my editor asked me to add more in to the drawing, and I wondered "Where…?"

Q5. Thinking about the food, were there any menu illustrations that you were particularly satisfied with, or which you struggled with?

A5. I've never liked my own food illustrations. But the times when I read other people's manga and thought "That looks delicious," I think it's been more an influence of the movement, the staging, and the situation than the drawings.

Q6. For the world maps and the terrain of each continent, did you refer to any maps of the real world? I feel like the shape of the 'island' is similar to the shape of Fukuoka Prefecture or Kyushu.

A6. I didn't reference any specific geography, but I did try to put thought into things like whether a developed city would be near a river or the sea, and what the coastline would look like. I'm pleased if it feels similar to a real place, because it means my interpretation was pretty accurate.

About Delicious in Dungeon: Other

Q1. Which is your favorite monster?

A1. Nightmare.

Q2. I'm sure you have received a lot of feedback from readers in countries and regions outside of Japan. Please tell us if there was anything from them that made you happy, was unexpected, or which made a lasting impression on you.

A2. When you play foreign games, there are times when you think "Why did they translate it into Japanese like that?" But having been on the side of having something translated, I've realized some things are unavoidable, or endless, and there are many things that don't matter either way from the author's perspective, so it was interesting.

About Ryoko Kui's short story collections and herself

Q1. Dragons are a consistent and important motif in your work. Was there any particular work or experience which inspired this? Also, are there points about drawing dragons which you find interesting or have had to work hard on?

A1. It's less about liking dragons, and more that I'm interested in the worlds in which dragons exist. When I draw dragons, the depiction in itself has a sweet feeling to it. I have never had a pet reptile, so I don't have a very good understanding of them.

Q2. Unomiya University in your story "The dragon's school is on top of the mountain" has a Faculty of Dragons, Department of Environmental Studies, and Department of Technology Studies, and a Faculty of Veterinary Medicine. If you were to enroll in the university, which department or faculty would you like to enter?

A2. I probably wouldn't be accepted….

Q3. The collection includes a short story staged as an essay manga. Are you a fan of essay manga? Please tell us about any genres of essay manga that you like.

A3. I love all kinds of essay manga. I read them often.

Q4. If you were to make your own game, what kind of game would you like to make?

A4. I prefer being a player when it comes to games.

Q5. When did you first start drawing illustrations (doodles)?

A5. I don't exactly remember when I first drew a picture, but I think I started drawing manga around the fourth or fifth grade of elementary school. in my notebooks and had my friends read them.

Q6. What is the most fun part about drawing manga?

A6. Every part is fun and hard in its own way.

Q7. Please tell us if there is anything you "just can't stop no matter what".

A7. My procrastination habit.

Q8. Could you please tell us if there's something you want to draw now?

A8. I've been working continuously since the serialization, so I'd like to take about 2 to 3 months to just draw whatever I want.

[tkwrites]

It Doesn't Matter - Part II - Nico Hischier x ofc

Gif from offside-the-lines

Title: It Doesn’t Matter - Part II

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Playlist

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Beginning: Nico Hischier x Original female character 

Summary: When Nico agreed to pose for Lena as her nude model, he never expected how difficult it would be or where the night would take them. 

Warnings: Slow burn, talk of lots of anxiety, being naked for the sake of art, smut at the end (18+): handjob (f on m) fingering (m on f) 

Word count: 12,200

Comments: This fic has taken on a bit of a mind of its own. It’s much, much longer than I originally envisioned, but I couldn’t bear to cut any of it down. I hope you like it as much as I do and enjoy Nico and Lena finally sharing their feelings for each other. 

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

It Doesn’t Matter - Part II 

“I feel like I shouldn’t eat before,” Nico said, looking down at the spread of sushi that had just been delivered to the apartment. 

“Why not?” 

“So I’m not…” he patted his stomach affectionately. Not only would he be immortalized in her art, he didn’t want the first time she saw him naked to include being bloated from eating too much rice. 

Lena flipped her hand and shook her head, “the whole point of a nude study is to see a human figure as it is, not as someone who's prepped for three days or something.” 

He looked unconvinced. 

“Do whatever you feel comfortable with, but don’t get hangry on me,” she warned, pointing her chopsticks at him.

Holding up his hands in surrender, he laughed. 

He ate but stopped as soon as he felt the mildest hint of fullness. He could eat more when they were done. 

“So, do I just get naked?” he joked, sliding the plastic takeout containers into the fridge. 

She snorted, but the tips of her ears flared pink. 

“I…kind of hoped…” her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure if she could just come out and ask for what she wanted. If he were a hired model, she would have asked him to come in a specific outfit, but this was Nico, and he was doing this as a favor. 

“What?” he asked, unsure why she was being so hesitant. He was doing this for her. Didn't she know he would do just about anything for her? “Do you want me to wear something specific?” 

Well, if he was offering. “Can you put on some dark suit pants with a belt?” 

That wasn’t so bad. “Anything else?”

“No socks.” She knew he didn’t love to be barefoot, but for this, they would go against the picture and story she was building in her mind. 

“Does it matter what color boxers?” he asked instead of protesting. He couldn’t remember what color he’d put on that morning. 

Just thinking about seeing him in his boxers made her blush. Which was so stupid. She’d walked into the kitchen just the week before, only to find him walking around in nothing more than a tiny pair of black boxer briefs. They’d hugged his ass so tightly that she could see the muscles shift every time he moved.  

Finally managing to shake her head and desperate to change the subject, she blurted, “I’m going to go set up in the living room.”

Nico smiled at how flustered she was as he went to change. Maybe Nina was right. At the very least, she might not be totally wrong. 

“Maybe I’m just reading too much into it,” Nina had said when he had called his siblings in a panic the day before, trying to figure out how exactly he was going to get through this. “But I think you should give it a try. At least tell her how you feel. You don’t see the way she looks at you.” 

He did see the way she looked at him. The same way she always had. Friendly and open and kind. But that was it. It never went beyond that.

“And what if I tell her and she turns me down? Or what if I tell her, and she says she doesn’t feel that way? I can’t just go back to how it was before. I can’t just take it back.”

“Isn’t it killing you to not tell her?” Luca asked. He didn’t understand it as well as Nina did, and had both feet firmly in camp ‘grow a pair and tell her,’ like Jack. 

He gave a non-committal shrug. It was killing him. No, that was too dramatic. It wasn’t killing him, but it was making him a little crazy to feel so much intense emotion without having anywhere to put it. 

Nina was tired of having this same discussion with him, which had only increased in frequency when Lena moved in. If she knew for a fact Lena wouldn’t turn him down, she wouldn’t hesitate to bully her little brother into spilling his guts. But as it was, she couldn’t guarantee anything.

“I’m going to make an ass of myself,” Nico moaned. 

“You are not,” Nina admonished at the same time Luca said, “so what if you do?” 

Luca continued before either of them could jump in, “you make an ass out of yourself every day you don’t tell her the truth.” 

Nico had glared, and Nina had rolled her eyes.

In any case, knowing Lena was also nervous took some of his nerves down, too. At least he wasn’t alone in that. 

Pulling out her art supplies, Lena felt like she might throw up. She was nervous and excited, and also so worried she wouldn’t be able to capture him. The last thing she wanted was to make Nico look flat. 

Although landscapes were her specialty, the Institute insisted every artist get a full education, crossing over as many mediums and styles as possible. Even if it wasn’t the students' specialty, lots of things could be learned from going outside your own box. 

She was scraping by in the class mostly because Professor Brown took pity on her. She told Lena over and over again that she had the talent but needed to feel the art. It was a criticism she only partially understood. Lena always felt her art, but figure drawing was indeed harder for her to connect with. She wasn't even sure why it was so difficult. Perhaps because a person was always moving, unlike a mountain that stayed steady and steadfast no matter what was happening around it. Capturing a facial expression was definitely harder than it was to find the divots and crags of a landscape.

This was another reason she wanted to sketch him. She knew him so well and knew she wouldn’t be able to turn off the part of her brain that was freaking out about seeing him naked. She would have to pay attention to his humanity and try to translate it onto the page. 

Nerves ate at her stomach. Not only with the idea of not being able to capture his lovely figure, but also… Nico was her friend. Sometimes a little more than that if either of them needed a date to an event, but they’d never taken it beyond their usual, comfortable banter that often flirted with the idea of more. It was one of the things that made moving on from him so hard. He never made solid moves, but he never cut it off, either. He flashed his dimples and made her weak in the knees, but never went so far as to kiss her or really ask her on a date. 

Seeing him naked without being in a relationship felt like a step too far. At the same time, it felt like the only option. There wasn’t another man she’d be comfortable sketching, despite her bluff about Jes. 

Now she wished she hadn’t eaten. 

At the very least, she would have the barrier of her art and easel between them. Maybe this really would force her into feeling her art. It already felt like she was fighting through her anxiety, and he wasn’t even there yet.

When he came into the living room, Nico found the furniture rearranged. She’d shoved the coffee table out of the way and set two of the dining room chairs in its place. She was unpacking her supplies, leaning a large sketching pad on her easel and lining several graphite pencils up on the side table, along with a sharpener. 

“No paints?” he asked. 

She jumped, and her heart did a little skid to the side. “These pieces are all supposed to be done in one color. I feel most comfortable with graphite, so I’m doing that instead of colored pencils,” she rambled before managing to cut herself off.

Turning to look at him, she breathed, “good heavens, you look hot,” before she could stop herself. She knew he would be, but she still felt like she’d just been socked in the stomach.

It was a bit selfish of her to request this particular outfit. She always liked the way his suit pants fit, and seeing his toned chest rising above the clean, sharp line of his black belt made her fingers itch to hold a pencil. His muscles were sculpted for practical use - not too bulky, but not too lean. Chiseled enough to show ridges and valleys, but not so much that he looked like a hulked out action hero. 

He was desire personified. He was… he was an Adonis.

A cheeky smile lit his face, “good to know.” 

She made herself laugh to break the tension. 

“Where do you want me?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows. It felt too intimate, too much like something he fantasized about if he didn’t force himself to joke about it. 

A triumphant smile lit her face. This she could do. She was used to directing models into shapes where the light would highlight the most interesting part of their features. She asked him to stand in the middle of the room and turned him a few times, trying to get the lighting right. 

Nico tried not to flex or stand too stiffly when her hands were grasping his forearms to turn him this way and that. She stepped back to study him, then came forward to begin the process again.

Eventually, she shoved the couch out of the way and asked him to lean against the wall.

He stayed rigidly in the position she left him in as she brought another lamp into the room, angling the shade to get the shadows she was looking for. 

“Just lean against the wall with your hands in your pockets.” 

He did, and laughter burst out of her chest, “you can relax.” 

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, looking up without changing his posture. He felt stiff and on display. In his mind, this was going to be much sexier than the reality was turning out to be. He didn’t know what to do with his hands or his eyes. Or his mouth. Was he supposed to be doing something with his mouth? Should he be smiling? 

“Just stand like you would if you were waiting for something.” 

"What am I waiting for?" 

“Like you’re waiting for…me?”

“Where?” 

“I don’t know, Nico,” she caught the exasperation in her voice and cut it off. He wasn’t a professional model. He wasn’t used to coming up with scenarios on the fly like this. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “like you’re waiting for me to…” she trailed off. “It doesn’t really matter why.”

If it was up to him, he’d be waiting to take her to bed. She was wearing the same pink shirt she’d worn that day he walked in on her in the kitchen, and it brought up vivid memories of her wearing it without a bra. He wondered if she was wearing the matching underwear. The thought made him blush and cast his eyes down. 

His hair flopped over one of his eyes in that cartoon prince way it always did.

“Stay there,” she practically yelled, her hands itching to capture the angles of his face. 

The sound of her pencil brushing her paper took over his thoughts, and he tried not to twitch as his hair tickled his eyelid. 

“Can you relax your shoulders?” she asked. 

He rolled his shoulders back and did his best to relax, “better?” 

“Don’t move,” she chastised. 

He smiled a little before trying to settle his face back into the expression he had before. 

Just as his neck was beginning to ache, she ripped the page from her pad and asked him to sit down. 

He looked at her for direction and smiled at her intensity. He wondered if she always looked at people like this when she was drawing them. He was a little disappointed that in the six years he'd known her, this was the first time this kind of intensity was being turned on him.

“Just get comfortable.” 

Nico extended one leg and slouched into the chair, letting the other knee fall to the side so his legs were spread.

“Can you,” Lena stopped herself mid request, biting her lip. In her mind, she was forming an art story of him slowly undressing. She wondered if this was just her lust talking and if that was okay.

“Can I?” 

She decided she didn't care if it was her lust driving. It would be a good, easy to follow series.

Her cheeks were aflame, glowing bright in the lamp light. “Can you undo your pants?” 

His eyes widened momentarily, and she saw his Adams apple bob in his throat.

Forcing his fingers into action, he worked at the button and zipper, well aware of her watching his movements. 

“I want to sketch your hands,” she said, voice reverent.

Nico stilled immediately and looked at her, holding his zipper pull. That wasn’t a reaction he’d expected.

“Oh, God,” she covered her face, pencil still in her fingers so the point angled down at her wrist. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” 

He couldn’t stop the cocky grin that spread over his face. This was more like what he’d imagined posing for her would be like. “You can sketch my hands anytime you want, hase,” he said, adding on the pet name before he thought better of it.

Her blush got brighter. She hated when he called her that. Bunny. It was a term of endearment that Nina assured her was well known and used by friends and lovers alike, but it brought up all sorts of wishing on her part that they were the latter. 

“Where do you want my hands?” he asked because he knew it would make her more flustered. 

She had to clear her throat and duck behind her easel. “Wherever,” she squeaked out, trying to calm her racing heart. 

Laughing, he thought about photos of underwear models and tried to get his body into a position like that. He hooked his right thumb into his waistband, exposing more of his red boxer briefs. The other hand fell off to the side, relaxed. 

Peeking around her easel, Lena lost her breath. She had never seen him so sexy. He radiated confidence and comfort with his body — something she never quite managed to feel about herself. 

This was going to be impossible.

“Look at me.” She really didn’t want him to look at her. She felt like she might set fire to her sketch pad if he did, but it would make the most impactful portrait.

Nico’s eyes met hers, and her stomach jolted. The teasing, flirtatious energy radiating from him hit her in waves. The rumble of desire she'd been feeling in her low belly purred to a higher gear, and she had to consciously stop herself from clenching her thighs together. Flirty and intense, his eyes were focused on her with purpose. Wanting, she realized with a jolt. That’s what this expression was. The kind of wanting where you want the person you’re looking at to know you want them. 

She’d imagined getting this look of open desire from him so many times that having it turned on her now nearly knocked the breath out of her. 

Forcing her hands into action, she’d never been happier to find muscle memory taking over – drawing the basic shape of his body when her mind was still running around screaming about how outrageously, unfairly attractive he was.  

Eventually, her creative mind took over, and she relaxed into the art, strokes lengthening and easing. 

When it came time to detail, she started with his face, trying to capture his relaxed, intense stare. In any other circumstance, she was certain her panties would catch fire or dissolve right off her body if he gave her this look. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen this expression. He would never be so forward with her in real life. 

Despite her heart beating so hard she felt it in her throat and her wrists, her pencil stayed steady. 

The exercise wasn't lost on her. Even the first drawing felt different. This looked different from her usual work, too - more real in a way she couldn’t really describe. Almost as if he might just walk off the page and kiss the viewer. 

Wanting to get this expression just right, she paused to take a photo so she could reference it later. 

“Can we turn on some music?” he asked after a minute or two. 

“Sure. What do you want?” 

“Whatever, just something.” 

Flipping on the TV, she pulled up his music subscription service and selected a slow playlist. Something he wouldn’t be tempted to bop his head to before going back to her easel to finish.

Pushing aside the longing to be on the receiving end of this wanting in a situation where he wasn’t acting, she continued on. 

He stayed in this position the longest. He found it the most comfortable, and apparently, the way he was watching her, the concentration in her mouth, and the way it narrowed her eyes just slightly was fine for her. It was a relief to not have to school the wanting off of his face for once.

After getting to a place where she felt like she could pick back up in a day or two, she had him remove his pants and sit backward. 

Almost immediately, he leaned back, one hand gripping the chair for balance while the other ran into his hair. She yelped at him to still. 

He went rigid. The position forced him to engage his core, and the arm lifted to push back his hair started to cramp from halting mid-movement. 

This sketch ended up being her favorite, though she knew people would like the one before better. This one was really a study of his body — how his muscles flexed and bulged. She even somehow managed to capture the feeling of movement in his bicep. She’d only been able to do that with trees before. Plus, the whole thing was such a Nico gesture, it felt more like him, too. 

A page ripped from her sketch pad, and finally, letting his arm down and shaking it out, he watched her settle it, face down, onto the pile, 

“Okay,” she came out from behind her easel, her hands clasped in front of her, “I’m gonna go… get some water if you want to undress and sit back like this?” 

He nodded, feeling his cheeks heat to match hers. This was all fun, games and teasing until he had to be naked in front of her. And she wouldn’t even be touching him. She’d be standing three feet away, looking at him the way she looked at one of her paintings. 

He’d daydreamed about being on the receiving end of that intense gaze so many times, but getting it in this situation felt like a poor consolation prize. 

He was on his own here, with no one to share the vulnerability of being naked with. 

“Do you need anything?” she asked from the kitchen as he was stripping off his boxers.

“Water?” he asked, setting them on top of his folded pants. 

Walking back into the living room, two bottles in her hand, Lena stopped short. 

She had seen many nude models and taught herself to get over the shock quickly. Training her mind to see the person as a sculpture, not a living being, she focused on the beauty of the human body and not the person living in it. And Nico’s body was beautiful. Smooth golden skin, dotted with freckles and moles, that stretched over living, moving muscles. 

Except, he wasn’t a marble statue. He was a living, breathing, beautiful man, and she knew him. She knew how he acted and what he loved, and she knew how much she loved him. And how much it meant to her that he was willing to put himself in such an uncomfortable position for her. She loved him so much, her heart ached with it. How could she possibly translate that into a two dimensional piece of art? 

She knew from experience how awkward it was to be a model, let alone a nude model, and that was with people she barely knew. For Nico to be naked in front of her, willing to let her sketch his strong legs and expressive eyes was something totally different. Now, besides seeing his body, which really was so beautiful, it nearly made her lose her breath. She could also see the anxiety in the set of his thigh and the curve of his spine. 

Quite suddenly, gratitude and love for him swelled within her chest in a way she had never experienced. It felt hard to breathe. 

A small noise escaped her throat.

Looking over his shoulder, Nico asked, “okay?” 

She nodded. Her feet finally moved, and she handed him the water. “You’re so beautiful, Nico,” she said, that reverent tone back in her voice as her eyes wandered down his body.

He felt a blush creep down his neck. “I don’t…” he cleared his throat, “I mean, you’re…” 

His brain wasn’t working right. She was watching him with this wonderment in her face, like she’d just found the answer to the universe. He wanted to tell her she was the beautiful one, not him, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words when she was looking at him like that.

“Thanks,” he finally managed to say. "What do you want me to do?” 

Now that they were here, she had no idea. She just wanted to watch him for the rest of the night.

The embarrassment she’d expected never came. 

She adjusted her easel, so she was looking at him, just off to the side. She could see three-quarters of his face, but his thick thigh hid his penis from her view. “Just try to get comfortable,” she said. 

Her voice was so kind and gentle that it relaxed Nico a little, but mostly, he still felt coiled tight and out of sync. “I don’t know that I can,” he said truthfully. 

“That’s fine. I know I’m asking you to be comfortable in a really awkward situation. If you feel like you can’t look at me, that’s fine.” 

The truth was that he always wanted to look at her, but seeing her this way, looking at him with holiness in her face, made him ache for her in a way he’d never felt with anyone else.  It felt nothing like any of the dreams or daydreams he’d had that involved him being naked in her presence before. 

She started with his legs first, so he didn’t have to find a way to position his head right then. “Can you flex your right thigh?” she asked. 

He did, and she giggled. He glanced over to find her in the same spot, shaking her head, “sorry, the other thigh? Your left. My right.” 

Nico tried his best and heard a breath rush from her. 

“Good grief, your legs are so sexy,” Lena said before she could stop herself.

His breath lodged in his chest. “My legs?” he repeated, his voice one step off from croaking. Had she really just said that?

“Yes,” she said, her tone serious, pencil still working. “Men’s legs are severely underrated.”

When he glanced at her, he found her concentrating again, but her mouth was set in a new expression, lips soft and parted slightly, like she was waiting to be kissed. At this point, it was nothing short of torture.

Pulling his eyes from her, he folded his arms around the chair back and set his chin on his hands. He watched the album cover bouncing around the TV screen. Mens legs were underrated. How many men did she think about like that? 

“That’s really nice, Nico, if you can just stay like that.” 

Cookie wandered in then and flopped onto the carpet previously covered by the coffee table. He watched Nico with slow blinking eyes, and he tried not to feel so observed. 

After four more songs of listening to her pencil and eraser working, she said, “Okay.”

He sat up. 

“Wait! I have to take a picture.” 

He winced, feeling the muscles in his back knot up. “Those aren’t getting turned in, are they?” 

“Nope, they’re just for me,” she winked.

His eyes widened, and she laughed.

“No, they’re for reference so I can finish the drawings. I’ll delete them later.”  

Forcing a laugh, Nico couldn’t quite decide which was worse - her taking the pictures or telling him she'd delete them so casually. 

“Okay, so for the last two sketches, I was thinking one with you standing, and one with you supine.” 

“Supine?” he repeated. He’d never even heard that word before.  

“Laying on your back.”

Well fuck. Of all the times he imagined himself on his back with her, this was just another one that would crush the daydreams he clung to on long, lonely nights. Pushing that thought away, he asked, “what’s first?”

“Whatever’s easiest for you.”

“Standing full frontal?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “None of my figure drawings have included genitals. I could cut you off at the pelvis or sketch from behind. Which would you prefer?” 

He shrugged, feeling too spent to make a decision, especially one like this. Then, quite suddenly, he realized: If he was standing in front of her, he’d have to watch her looking at his dick the whole time. “Behind,” he blurted, too quick, too loud. 

After following her instruction, he found himself standing, facing the large window, where the curtains were mercifully drawn. One of his feet was up on a rung of the coffee table, forcing him to keep balance with the other. 

“I think you need to hold something,” she said, standing and walking out of the room. 

Upon coming back, she handed him the chain he wore most of the time. He’d left it on his bathroom counter, unsure if she wanted him to wear it. The fact that she seemed to know where he’d left it without asking wasn’t lost on him. He wondered if she assumed that’s where he’d left it or if she’d somehow seen him put it there. 

“You can fiddle with that,” she said.

It was cool and solid in his hands, and he allowed it to slip through his fingers, feeling the ridges and links of the metal, before his fingers slid over the cross. His breathing centered, and he felt some anxiety unknot between his shoulder blades. 

After a quick outline, she filled in some details that wouldn’t come through in a photo and asked him to lie down. She knew he was losing steam. It was a lot to ask to pose for six different portraits. Not only did it require a certain amount of stillness on his part, but it was also a night full of being watched. She could fill in the details later. 

“Let me get you a blanket to lay on,” she said. 

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t have to lay buck naked on the floor. 

She fetched the cozy blanket she kept on her bed. It was soft and comforting and smelled like her, like the  sweet, citrusy scent of her perfume. It was all at once comforting and disconcerting. He had so many memories with this scent. There was even a time his dick would twitch every time he smelled it. It was around too much, now, for that reaction, but it still called up a sharp longing in his gut.  

Wrapping it around himself,  he sat on the floor, then lay down. 

She fetched him a pillow, and once he was comfortable, began directing. “Can you bend your knee closest to me?”

He was slow to move but did it anyway. 

Sensing his fatigue, she told him, “I know, we’re nearly done.”

He sighed, relieved he didn’t have to ask. 

“I was hoping this one would be sort of satisfied.” she said, settling herself onto the floor facing him, her easel collapsed to be shorter. 

He arched one of his eyebrows.

“I don’t know,” she answered, “I mean like, content, I guess.” 

“I don’t think I can do that right now,” he said, hearing a wearied annoyance come into his voice. He was too tired to school it back. He was feeling spent up. Too much vulnerability with too little reciprocation. 

Lena bit her lip. “Can I do anything to make it better?” 

A sigh shifted his chest into a new position, “I just feel really…” he wasn’t sure what the words he needed were. 

She waited patiently for him to finish. He liked that she never rushed his thinking. 

Finally, he threw the other half of the blanket over his lap and sat up to face her. “I feel like I’m all exposed.” 

She nodded. 

“And you’re not.” 

She hmm’d and pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, thinking. It was such a Lena gesture that it made him smile. 

“Do you want me to get undressed?” she asked, then immediately regretted it. It seemed like the reciprocal thing to offer, but upon hearing the words out loud, she realized exactly how much she didn’t want to do it. Then they both would be anxious and awkward, and she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her art, and that would be a loose loose for everyone.

“No.” Yes, of course he did. But if that were to happen, he wanted to earn it. He didn’t want it to be because he couldn’t sit through modeling for some portraits. Plus, then he would be completely distracted by her. 

She scooted a little closer to him, questioning in her eyes.

“I feel,” he hesitated, searching for the right thing to say. A long pause passed where she didn’t get fidgety or impatient, just waited for him to continue. The phrasing came in SwissGerman first, or course, and then he had to figure out how to best say it in English. “I feel like I’m doing this for nothing.”

“For nothing?” she repeated, a mildly panicked look crossing her face.

“I’m doing it for you, but for what? So you do well on your project?” He was happy to help, but it felt like too much. Too much given without any reciprocation. Perhaps his fatigue was talking. 

Her mouth pursed, “I can see where you’re coming from, but it’s a little more than a grade at this point. With you, I've finally been able to sketch the body the way I've been trying to for so long. And the fact that you’re willing to do something so uncomfortable, so vulnerable for me makes me just…I don’t even know how to say it.” She wanted to tell him that it made her love him. She’d told him she loved him before. She’d told him that many times: “love you, see you later,” but this felt different, deeper and truer somehow, and she wasn’t sure she was willing to admit those feelings. 

Instead, she asked, “do you want to see the sketches so far?” feeling they may be the best explanation she had. 

He perked up. She rarely showed anyone her art until it had been worked on more. A rough sketch was something she held close to her chest, wanting to keep it private until she deemed it good enough to display. He nodded, and Lena stood to retrieve them. 

Given a moment to think, he assessed his body, finding what was lacking with a quick scan. “I think I need to eat,” he said. 

His metabolism was so high, spiked higher by so much physical exercise all the time that hunger often came on swiftly, affecting his mood more than he’d like to admit. His teammates teased him to the point that he always had a snack with him. How long had they been at this drawing thing? He hadn’t eaten enough to begin with, and now they were however many hours in, and he was hungry. 

That would also explain it. She hadn’t been joking when she told him not to get hangry on her. Setting the sketches in front of him, she went to grab the sushi from the fridge.

The drawings were farther along than he expected. She worked faster than he knew. 

It was a strange thing to see himself in her delicate, penciled outlines.

Flipping over to the second sketch, he blinked a few times. He was himself, but not. The man on this paper was confident, relaxed, and flirtatious in a way he always wanted to be, especially with Lena.

“Is this how you see me?” he asked when she came back into the room.

“That’s how you are, Nico.” 

It was like looking in a weird, funhouse mirror. Was this how she saw him all the time? 

The third sketch was all in the details: the peek of the tattoo on his bicep, the flex of his abs, and the swell in his boxers. 

He flipped to the first nude sketch. She perfectly captured how he felt. Anxious, unsure, and alone. It even looked like he was bouncing his leg. Yet, the portrait didn’t seem to feel anxious. It somehow felt like acceptance. She wasn’t fighting against his feelings to make them prettier, never asking him to feel anything different. She took him as he was and translated him onto a page in a way he’d never seen or expected to see. 

How could he possibly be these two things just an hour apart? 

“It’s weird to see your own facets turned back on you, isn’t it? I felt that way when I had to sit for class portraits.” They had all taken turns modeling for their classmates so they could understand better the perspective of the model, and it had been strange to see sixteen different versions of herself at the end of the class - each of them skewed a little based on the artist. 

In the last drawing, he looked more relaxed. He was so glad when she’d handed him his cross to hold. Not only was it something comforting and familiar, but she’d also given him something to do with his hands, which felt important. 

This was the drawing that most made him look like a hockey player, he thought. He could clearly see how his butt and thighs were thicker than the rest of him. He’d long ago gotten used to the size of his legs, but it was still strange to see the disproportion of them in comparison with the rest of his body laid bare so thoroughly. 

She dipped her head to capture his line of vision, “I meant what I said before, Nico,” she said, handing him the to-go container. “You really are beautiful.” She flipped back to him tense and unsure. “Even here. Maybe even most here.”

His eyes shot to hers. 

“This,” she tapped the drawn version of him on the back, “represents a huge sacrifice you're making for me. Putting yourself in a very uncomfortable position to help me get better at my art. To help me really understand the human form for the first time. I look at this, and I see how much you care for me.”

When he’d finished with the rest of the sushi, feeling sated and comfortable, he looked at her. She’d placed her sketch pad on the floor and put the last drawing on top of it. Hunched over, she was filling in detail.

He always appreciated this about Lena, that if he needed some time to himself, she would find a way to keep herself busy. He didn’t feel like he had to entertain her all the time, like he did with a lot of the women in his life. It was a refreshing change of pace. 

He watched her work for a while, fascinated with the way she braced her hand with just the knuckle of her pinky finger so she wouldn’t smudge the charcoal already on the page. 

Clearing his throat, he set the empty container to the side. 

Looking up, Lena could see how much better he felt. His shoulders were more relaxed, and his hands were loose in his lap. 

“Do you want to keep going?” she asked, moving the drawing back to the pile. 

He nodded. 

“We can pick up again on Sunday if you’d rather.”

He wasn’t sure he could convince himself into doing this again. “No, I feel better,” which was a partial truth, “let's finish now.” 

She scooted back to her easel. When she got settled and looked around it, she found he had changed positions. Still on his back, his other knee was slightly bent, the blanket draped around his far hip to cover himself. His hand was up, resting under his head, showing off the smooth underside of his bicep and the tattoo of his families zodiac signs. 

“Is this okay?” he asked. 

"Yeah. Could you adjust the blanket?” she asked. “So it’s not so folded?”  

He nodded and pulled himself into a half crunch to see and adjust the fabric. His abs contracted, and Lena looked at the ceiling before she could be overwhelmed with attraction. 

“Like this?” he asked. 

When she looked again, it was better, but still looked too placed, not like it’d been hastily thrown over him. 

Her lips pressed together, an he sighed, knowing what that meant. “Can you just adjust it?” 

“You’re sure you’re okay with that?”

Pulling in a fortifying breath, he nodded. 

As she crawled over to him, Nico felt his heartbeat quicken. 

Her hands softly gathered the blanket, pulling out the folds. If he were wearing something underneath, she’d just toss it up and let it fall, but she couldn’t do that.  

Her fingers brushed the inside of his thigh as she tucked more of it between his legs, and the muscle fluttered all the way up to his groin. Biting his cheek, he stifled the groan of frustration that crawled up his throat. 

“Sorry,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry.” 

He shook his head, eyes still closed. Maybe he hadn’t been as successful as he thought. If he looked at her now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop the semi he was sporting from popping into a full boner and he just couldn't take that embarrassment. “it’s okay. Just, no more.”

Nodding, she scooted back to her easel. 

Keeping his eyes closed, Nico thought about swimming in the cold, glacial lake near home until his body relaxed. 

“Nico,” Lena asked, her hand on his shoulder. 

His eyes fluttered open. 

Above him, her expression was soft and full of that same wonderment from before. “I’m done if you want to get dressed.” 

He nodded, and she left the room. 

Before going to join her in the kitchen, he pulled his boxers and trousers back on. 

“Sorry I fell asleep,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you felt comfortable.” 

He hugged her then, bringing her body closer to his. He'd been thinking about it for too long. 

“Thank you for doing this for me,” she said, voice intimate, dim and quiet. 

“You know I'd do anything for you,” he said. 

Did she know that? She figured she did. “Still, I know it wasn’t easy, so thank you.” 

Nico stilled when she tucked her face into his neck. She’d done this before when he’d comforted her after a breakup. Then, he’d wanted to show her he could be the better man for her, but he’d been unwilling to cross that line. He still was. Maybe Jack and Luca were right. Maybe he did just need to grow a pair and ask her out. But what if she didn’t want him and didn’t want to deal with the repercussions of that discussion and wanted to move out? He would feel horrible. She’d have to find a place that would let her keep Cookie or take him back to her parents.

“Are you okay?” she asked, running her hands over his back. His skin was warm and surprisingly soft. Along with the scent of his soap and the mild undertone of sweat, there was a faintly cedar-y smell clinging to his skin. She’d never been able to tell where it came from. It was too faint to be cologne. 

His muscles trembled. “Yeah,” he said into her hair, trying to calm his racing heart. 

Her phone trilled from her back pocket. Lena was the only person he knew who didn’t keep her phone on vibrate.

She pulled back so she could look at it.  

Nico reluctantly let his hands fall to his sides. “Your mom?” he asked. It seemed she was the only one who ever really called Lena. At least when he was around. 

“No, it’s Milo,” she said, silencing the ringer and setting the phone face down on the counter. “He’s probably drunk and wants to get laid.” 

Nico’s heart began to race with worry, jealousy, and fear. “Does he do that a lot?” Thank god his voice didn’t squeak over the words.

“Once a month or so, I guess.” 

He knew he shouldn’t ask this question. He knew it was none of his business, but he was tired and emotionally empty, and his filter was thinner than usual because of it. “Do you take him up on it?” 

Her eyebrows raised, a sarcastic look taking over her pretty features, “are you serious, Nico? Of course not. He’s just drunk dialing through his contacts list.” 

“I always hated that guy. He’s such a tool.” 

Hearing that phrase come out of Nico’s mouth, in his strong accent, made her laugh out loud. “What?” 

“That’s not the right word?” he asked. “Like he’s selfish and just does things to be cool?” 

“It’s the right word,” she confirmed, this teasing smile on her lips that would liquify his bones if he let it. “I know you never liked him. I just didn’t realize you felt so…strongly about it.” 

His nose scrunched as he blew out a frustrated breath. “He wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Well, he couldn’t measure up anyway.” 

“Measure up to what?” 

“To this guy I’ve liked for a really long time,” she said, not quite brave enough to spit out the truth.

“So why don’t you date him?” Nico asked instead of demanding to know who this man was. 

“I can’t ever tell if he’s into me.” 

“He’d be a fool to not be into you.”

“Would he?” she asked, looking into his face, wondering what he meant by that.

“Yeah. You’re kind and fun and smart,” he said. 

Part of her swooned when he didn’t lead off with the fact that she was pretty. The other part of her was a little disappointed he didn’t seem to notice. 

“Any man would be lucky to have you,” he added on quietly as his eyes dropped to his feet. He couldn’t possibly look at her while telling her another man would be lucky to have her. It would happen one day, he knew, but he kind of hoped he’d somehow be out of the picture when it did. 

Lena studied him as he looked at his bare feet. 

His curiosity got the better of him, “who is this guy anyway?” 

Well, shit. She’d really talked herself into a corner this time. What was she supposed to say now? 

“Do I know him?” 

She nodded. 

“Does he play?” he asked hesitantly. 

She nodded again.

“I thought…” The knowledge sliced through him: if it wasn’t about hockey, it was about him. “I thought you didn’t like hockey players,” he said, fighting against the ache in his chest. 

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What gave you that idea?” 

“I overheard you talking to Jessica at the rink once about how you wouldn’t date me because I was a hockey player.” 

“You’re sure I was talking about you?” 

“You said ‘I don’t date hockey players,’ and then Jessica asked, ‘what about Nico?’” 

Understanding sparked her memory. “Did you stick around to hear my answer?” She hadn’t even known he was listening in on that conversation. She’d been sitting on the refreshments counter while Jessica baked the soft pretzels. He must have been around the corner, heading into the locker room.

“You said ‘it doesn’t matter.’ I couldn’t listen anymore, so I walked away.” 

A small smile lit up her face. “If you had stayed, you would have heard me say, ‘it doesn’t matter, Nico’s not like the other guys. He’s sweet and respectful.’” 

“Oh,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say.  “I thought you didn’t date hockey players,” he said again, lamely. 

“I don’t. I mean, not the average ones,” she added on when his expression fell. “I told people that because they’d wonder why I was around the team all the time, but not shacking up with any of them. Those boys I grew up with were all such dogs, but you never made me feel less than for being a woman or like I needed to put out to be accepted.” 

His nose wrinkled. 

“See, that?” she asked, noting his disgust. “That’s why I like you, Nico. You’re sweet and kind and so respectful of women.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You see it in locker rooms all the time. I’m sure you see it in yours currently.” 

The conversation paused as he thought. 

“You’re different than other players,” she said. “Jessica was asking me that because she knew you’re a hockey player that I liked.”

“You liked me?” he asked, his mind running in circles trying to process all the information coming at him. 

“Yeah, Nico,” she said. Well, she was already here, she may as well spill the whole pot. “I still do.” 

Half of his mouth lifted just enough to dimple his cheek.

“Ugh, don’t flash your dimples at me! I can barely keep my hands to myself as it is,” she said, shoving his shoulder.

That was new. “What if I don’t want you to keep your hands to yourself?” 

Her breath hitched in her throat. “Don’t tease Nico. It’s rude.” 

“Who said anything about teasing?” 

“I —” she was having a hard time articulating her words, “but you —” 

He patiently waited for her to finish, attempting to school the grin off his face. 

“But you don’t even like me like that,” she finished, lamely.

He couldn’t help it, laughter burst out of his chest, “what?” 

“You’ve never made a move,” she said, feeling outrageously embarrassed. It was one thing to admit her feelings, but then to have them thrown back in her face was something she just couldn’t handle. 

“You know what Jack tells me every time he sees us together?” 

She was so taken off guard by the question that it jolted Lena out of her spiraling thoughts. “What?” 

“He tells me to make it happen.” 

Her eyebrows shot up. 

“All the guys know I’m in love with you.”

Her breathing hitched, and she gripped the counter behind her to keep from falling over.

“In fact, everyone knows I’m in love with you. Nina says I look so lovesick no one can miss it.” He took a step in so they were nearly chest to chest. “But somehow, you don’t ever see it,” he added quietly. 

He was so close, she was certain he could hear her heart hammering. Her mind was still caught on, ‘all the guys know I’m in love with you.’ It was like she couldn’t process the words. “You’re in love with me?” she asked. 

A deep, frustrated sound, like a groan, filtered up his throat. The thought of pulling that sound out of him in any other circumstance made her knees feel weak. It sent heat racing between her thighs.

“I’ve been in love with you since I left Halifax,” he said, relief he didn’t have to keep anything under wraps flooding through him. “That’s why I broke up with Viv when I left. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and it wasn’t fair to her or to me.” 

Her wide eyes snapped to his, and Nico took a steadying breath. She really hadn’t known. All this time, he thought she must have, but held to her principles enough to turn away from it. 

“I’ve been in love with you since you left Halifax, too, Nico.” 

It was his turn for his breathing to hitch. “What?”

“I thought you didn’t like me like that.”

How was this possible? Nico felt like his knees were slowly turning to jelly. “How could you think that?” he croaked. 

“You never made a move,” she repeated. 

“You said you don’t date hockey players,” he defended. 

Hands fluttering up to cover her face, Lena shook her head. “I can’t believe this,” she said, a small laugh escaping. 

Reaching up, Nico gently encircled her wrists and pulled her hands away. She let them fall by her sides.

His heart was galloping in his chest. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, surprised to find his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Lena nodded, a feeling as though she were about to jump out of a plane surging through her body. Something grand and beautiful waited for her if she could just put her faith in the parachute and step into the unknown. Well, partially unknown. She knew Nico, and she wasn’t afraid.

One of his hands drifted up to her face. Cupping her jaw, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Lena,” he said, glad to find his voice had evened out. 

For the first time, she recognized that look he was always giving her. That wide open, soft gaze. Love, she realized with a shock of understanding. It was love. It had been love this whole time. She really had been blind. 

Her eyes darted away as her cheeks flushed pink. “Thank you.” She wouldn’t lie, hearing it eased some of the anxiety in her chest.

He waited for her eyes to come back to his before leaning down. Heart hammering with six years of anticipation, their lips finally met.

When her head tipped slightly to the side and her mouth opened to him, a shock raced down his spine while a sigh filtered up his throat. The kiss was better than any fantasy his mind had concocted through the years.

His tongue tentatively slipped into her mouth, and Lena felt a flash flood of right, this is right, this is the most right thing that’s ever been right in my life, sweep through her. 

Her hands fluttered up to his shoulders, and she felt his, heavy on her waist, squeeze when her tongue slipped past his lips.

God, Nico was in paradise. This was the softest, most heavenly, love-filled kiss he’d ever experienced. How did people even find words for this? Sudden understanding sparked in the back of his mind. This was why people wrote sonnets and songs and books. He wanted to drown in this feeling.

Eager to see his face again, she eased back.

“This is okay?” he asked, eyes snapping to hers, worried she was having regrets.

Nodding, she leaned forward and slid her mouth over his. 

This kiss was slower, more passionate. When her teeth grazed his bottom lip, Nico felt electricity zing through him. 

His fingers ran into her hair to cradle the back of her head. 

There was no stopping the moan that filtered up her throat when he sucked on her tongue gently. 

Fuck, he loved that noise more than anything he’d ever heard. He wanted to hear it again, and again and again in every possible position and every possible circumstance.

All at once, the kiss was electric, the initial softness giving way to the chemistry and sexual tension that had been brewing between them for more than half a decade. Lena had never felt anything like it. It was exhilarating and somehow grounding in a way she’d never experienced, as if they were rooted together by their passion.

She wanted more of him. Her hands dove into his hair, noting the groan he let out when she pulled it lightly. 

Nico lifted her onto the counter. He wanted her closer than their standing position allowed. She wrapped her legs around his waist. It was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

He broke away and trailed his mouth to her jaw, eager to taste her skin.

“Nico,” her voice was a breathy little moan. 

He was a fool for not telling her sooner. God, he was such a fool. 

Her hand found his jaw and pulled his mouth back to hers with a simple, “more,” that nearly drove him out of his mind with the need to obey. 

Their teeth clicked, and she gigged. 

He loved this, too - getting her in all the ways, even the awkward ones. A laugh fell into her mouth, and it brought him back to himself. He wanted to savor this. There was no need to rush. She wasn’t going anywhere. 

Nico felt himself pout when she proved him wrong, and her lips broke from his. She stripped off her shirt, and before he could get his eyes on her, he felt her mouth connect to that soft spot under his jaw. How did she know?

“Lena,” he breathed. Her hands slid down his front, and the shock of her touch sent his skin to trembling. “Oh my God, Lena.”

She’d always loved the way he said her name, but this was something else. This was a song she would never get tired of, one she wanted to listen to again, and again, and again. 

Her mouth explored his throat, sucking his pulse point. His dedication to go slow dissolved a little with every brush of her tongue, every graze of her nose ring across his skin. 

His hands were suddenly everywhere. All over her back, cupping her butt to pull her to the edge of the counter so their hips could touch. 

Feeling the rigid length of him pressing between her legs turned Lena feral. She’d done this to him. She was doing this to him. Tightening her legs around him, she wanted to do so much more to him. 

Their hips ground together as his hands slipped to unhook her bra. “Okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

He fumbled with the clasps briefly before they gave way. 

Taking the garment at the center gore, she pulled it away from her body. A brief moment of chaos ensued as their arms tangled in the effort to get it away from her. Finally, she flung it over his shoulder and giggled when the metal bits clinked against the tile floor. 

Laughter split his face into the adorable, dimpled smile she loved so much before his gaze turned back to her. Even as the corners of his mouth remained turned up, his jaw slackened as his eyes blew wide. 

Dreams and reality crashed into each other, and Nico felt his breath rush from his lungs. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. 

“Hase,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was a bit of a cutesy pet name, but his brain was too busy trying to soak in every detail of her he’d been so starved for to think of a new one. 

He murmured something under his breath in German, and Lena felt heat race to her core. She slid her hands into his hair in an attempt to pull him into a kiss, but he resisted, eyes still glued to her chest. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, voice husky. 

“Thank you,” she said, feeling a blush overtake her cheeks. 

He reached out, then paused, hands stopped in mid-air. “Can I?”

When his eyes flicked up to meet hers again, she lost her own breath. She was so used to seeing Nico’s expressive eyes wide with (what she knew now was) love, sparkling with mirth or drooped with disappointment. This…lust, different even from when he was posing with his pants undone, was new. Heat mixed with love and wonder. She’d never felt so desired. 

She nodded, finding her voice wasn’t where she left it. 

Nico was already throbbing against the zipper of his trousers, and cupping her breasts in his palms only made it worse. When she arched into his touch with a moan, it became damn near unbearable. 

Unable to wait any longer, he crashed his lips to hers as their hips surged together again. 

If he wasn’t careful, he was going to blow his load in his pants before he even got to feel her touch. Forcing himself to slow down, he concentrated on the weight of her breasts in his hands and the taste of her tongue in his mouth. 

She was the one who took it further, one of her hands slipping down his stomach to cup him over his fabric prison.

Now would be a horrible time to faint, he told himself, even as he felt his eyes rolling back and his hips pushing forward into her hand. He groaned against her lips. 

His mouth slid to her neck, and she shivered, feeling her nipples tighten more as his teeth scraped over her sensitive throat. 

He was hard and so hot, even through the fabric of his trousers. It suddenly wasn’t enough. Removing her other hand from his hair, she fumbled with the belt buckle. Finally managing to get it open, she asked, “this is okay?” 

“God, yes,” he moaned, hips restlessly moving against her hands. 

As she was tearing the zipper down, one of his hands slid toward the fastening of her own jeans. “Okay?” 

“Uh-hu.”

It was only after he flicked the button open and managed to pull the zipper that she realized she didn’t want to do this here. Not where, if she leaned back, her head would hit the cabinets, and not so close to where they prepared their food.

“Can we move to the couch?” she asked, breath in his ear.

Could they move to the couch? He would move them to the moon if she asked. 

Lightning fast, his hands were suddenly cradling her bum, hauling her off the counter so he could cary her to the living room. A surprised yelp escaped her at the sudden show of strength.

He had to wrench his eyes open so he wouldn’t dump them on the floor as she licked his jaw up to the lobe of his ear, which she nibbled gently. 

When they made it there, he tried to sit down still holding her, but only half managed it before he was falling the rest of the way. He didn’t mind her crashing on top of him. Feeling her chest pressed to his was a lifelong dream coming to fruition. 

She was moving so restlessly on top of him, hips grinding, it made him whimper. Her hands snaked between them again, this time to shove his pants down. 

They both pushed and tugged, and finally, he was free. 

She broke away to look at him, and he had a sudden, terrible worry she would be disappointed. He wasn’t the biggest guy, but he wasn’t too small — at least no one had told him so. 

“Oh, Nico,” Lena murmured, finally getting her hands on him. He was perfect. Thick and hard and searingly hot against her palm. 

“Lena,” he moaned, head tipping back against the couch cushions. Finally feeling her touch was incredible. Now really would be a terrible time to faint. 

She pulled her hand away briefly to spit into her palm, and he almost lost it, feeling like he could have come from the sight alone. 

As soon as she began to stroke him, he was done for. There was no coming back from this — though he couldn’t think of a reason why they would need to. 

His mouth dropped open, and his eyelids fluttered, attempting to keep looking into her face. The pleasure she was pulling out of him won out, and his eyes closed.

“Feels so good,” he groaned, his accent thickening as he spoke. He was going to lose his English next. 

It happened, and he started babbling in German. 

His voice was lower in his native tongue - it always had been. Lena felt her core flutter in anticipation. 

He repeated the same word several times like it was a question, but she didn't know what it meant. 

Nico opened his eyes and came back to himself enough to realize she didn't understand, and therefore couldn't do what he was begging her to. 

“Kiss,” he managed in English, unable to pull out the correct grammar. “Please, kiss.” 

Oh, that's what kush meant. In hindsight, it did sound a lot like kiss. 

When she caught his lips, Nico couldn't hold back a moan as her tongue licked into his mouth. He had imagined this so many times, but those fantasies didn't prepare him for the actual feel of her hands on him, or the sweet, warm taste of her mouth, as if she'd just eaten one of those cinnamon sweets she liked so much. 

Pleasure sparked and fizzed across his skin.

Jesus, this was better than anything he’d ever felt. Was this what six years of longing and anticipation did? Deciding it didn’t matter, he pushed the thought aside and let his whole mind be consumed by her soft hand, her incredible tongue, and the knowledge that this was actually happening. This was happening for real. He wasn’t going to jolt awake in a few minutes with a boner so hard it hurt. 

“Lena,” he groaned into her mouth. 

She pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, “what do you need?” 

Everything. He needed everything. “You,” he said instead. 

“I’m here,” she said, pulling at his length with a little more fervor. 

His hips pumped up into her hand, desperate for release. 

“Lena, I’m…” he couldn’t even get the words out before he was exploding. 

She moaned along with him, drinking in the pleasure that washed over his face - his fluttering lashes and panting mouth. 

Closing his eyes, Nico tried to compose himself. The sight of his release splattered over her breasts might actually make him faint. 

She kept going with slower, gentler strokes until he winced, then gently pulled her hand away. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice deep and satisfied.  

She giggled. 

God, he couldn’t even move. Her mouth was back at his neck, and he breathed out a curse in German. 

“Is that good or bad?” she asked into his skin. 

“So good.” He needed to teach her so he wouldn’t have to explain. “Wanna make you feel good, too,” he said instead of launching into a lesson in German swearing.  

Lifting her mouth from his neck, she looked down at him. 

God, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “You’re so handsome, Nico,” she whispered, tracing a thumb over one of his bushy eyebrows. 

He flushed. 

“I’ve thought about what you look like when you’re coming so many times,” she said, tracing over his cheekbone this time. 

“You have?” he squeaked. 

She nodded. “And it was so beautiful.” 

“I have too,” he admitted, slowly sliding his hand up her thigh. “Can I see it?”

Biting her lip, she nodded. 

Even as he was working his hand into her underwear, his other was coming up to her face and gently thumbing her bottom lip out from under her teeth.

“Show me how to make you come,” he said, eyes boring into hers. 

Shit, she might just fall apart from that look alone. 

Rising onto her knees, she shoved her pants and underwear down to give them easier access. His fingers slipped between her lips, and she moaned, pressing toward them.  

“I don’t really get off from penetration,” she said, “I like it, but it won’t make me orgasm, so it’s all about the clit for me.”

Sliding his fingers back from her entrance, he searched for that little nub. “Here?” he asked when he thought he’d found it. 

Reaching down, she moved him where she needed him, so the pads of his fingers were making direct contact. “Here,” she breathed, guiding him to circle over and around her pearl.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and he devoured the pleasure that flowed over her face. 

“I like this, too,” she said, moving his fingers into a V so they traced on either side. 

He started a pattern from her instructions — circling and stroking, then splitting as he pulled back. 

“You can press harder,” she moaned softly.

He did, and her hips stuttered into his touch. 

“Can you…” she trailed off, feeling suddenly shy. She’d never asked a man for this before. Then again, this was Nico. He’d taken every other instruction to heart and was touching her exactly the way she wanted. She knew he would at least try.

“Anything,” he rasped, “tell me.”

Hips seeking, she moaned and loved that he was so willing to please her. She could see it in the way he was watching her — this eager, desperate look in his eyes, full of wonder and desire and so much need. 

“Can you suck my nipples?” she finally whispered. 

Growling something affirmative, he leaned in and drew one of the tender buds between his lips. 

Her voice keened, and her hand flew into his hair to cradle him to her chest, “use your tongue,” she instructed, then moaned, “yes, Nico,” when he laved over the sensitive peak. 

He was so turned on by her. By her confidence in knowing what she wanted and that she trusted him enough to tell him. Not to mention the way his name was panting out of her mouth.

Her back arched, pushing her hips into his hand and her breast into his mouth.

If Nico had known pleasing a woman could come with instructions like this, it would have changed his whole life.

He moved to the other breast, almost suckling at the tender bud. 

“Fuck, Nico,” she moaned, “feels so good.” 

“Show me how to take you there.” 

“Put your fingers inside me.”

He obeyed even though he didn’t know how he’d stroke her clit now. Just as he was getting ready to detach his other hand from her breast, she guided his wrist so the heel of his hand pressed into her.

“Nico,” she moaned as pleasure flooded her system. Her hips ground into his hand. He felt incredible. God, was this what she’d been missing every time a man asked what she wanted and then did what they wanted anyway?

Her next words fell apart just as she did, turning as nonsensical as her rhythm.

Even watching the pleasure roll over her face didn’t prepare him for the feeling of her coming. He'd never felt anything like it. Her muscles clenched in quick succession, fluttering around his fingers. Fuck. If she did this around his cock? He might die. 

All at once, the pleasure surging through her snapped, and she collapsed against him. 

Nico eased his fingers from her and eased them up to his mouth, eyes rolling back at the first taste of her. He couldn’t wait to get his mouth on her. 

Before he could suggest they move to the bedroom, she was curling against him and tucking her face into his neck. Her breathing slowed. It was late - well past her usual bedtime, and Nico knew how a good orgasm could relax his body right to sleep if he was already tired. 

“I love you,” she whispered into his neck. 

A thrill zinged through him. “I love you, too,” he said, stroking a hand up her spine. 

Upon waking, the first thing Lena noticed was that her breasts were bare, nipples puckered so tightly in the chilly morning air that they ached. Somehow, though, the rest of her wasn’t cold. 

Trying to roll over, she ran into a solid body behind her. 

The night before came crashing back. Nico posing for her before admitting he loved her. He loved her! Part of her still couldn’t believe it. She smiled, remembering the incredible way he looked falling apart beneath her before he teased the most incredible orgasm she’d ever had from her body. So incredible, she’d fallen asleep right in his lap. He must have moved them into this spooning position on the couch rather than moving her into her own bed. 

Her phone trilled again. That’s what had woken her. Where was it? It sounded nearby.

Nico mumbled something and tightened his arms around her when she tried to get up. 

When it rang for the third time, she realized it wasn’t ringing at all - it was her alarm. She needed to get up. As much as she wanted to just stay here and recreate the night before again and again and again, something Nico wouldn’t have minded if his hot length currently pressing into her back was any indication, she couldn’t. She had to show Professor Brown her sketches, and she had a painting to turn in in her post modernism class.

“Nico, I have to get up,” she said, lifting his arm from around her waist. Her chest was itchy from where his cum had dried on her skin. 

“Nonig,” he mumbled, pulling her back into him. 

“Yes.”

Finally managing to extract herself, she immediately fell off the couch. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep.

God, he was adorable waking up. Mussed hair and heavy lidded eyes. 

Nico didn’t want this moment to end. It couldn’t. It was too good. He watched, amused, as she tripped over her pants before tearing them down her legs and kicking them them off before she stumbled into the kitchen.

She finally found her phone — she’d left it on the counter — and cursed when she saw the time. She didn’t even have time to shower. 

He groaned a pleasant curse in his native tongue and rolled onto his back, stretching his arms over his head. Sleeping on the couch was definitely not going to help him in the game tonight. 

He sat up abruptly. “What time?” he called.

“It’s 9:05. I have to go to class.” she said, debating if she should just pull her jeans on and go. No, if she couldn’t shower, she at least needed to change. 

He cursed again,  jumping to his feet. This was not how he wanted the morning after to go. He wanted to make her breakfast in bed and ravish her again before he had to leave. Now, he had to rush. Practice started in 30 minutes, and it would take him 20 to get to the rink.

He ran to his bedroom and stopped short. There was a suitcase next to his dresser. He’d forgotten he was heading out on a road trip. 

Running his hands into his hair, he wondered how this could have happened. He would have to be at the arena before she got home from class, and then they would leave from there to catch their flight to Florida. He finally got her, and he had to leave. This was the worst morning after he could have imagined. 

Attempting to run down the hall and pull on her chucks at the same time probably wasn’t the best plan, but Lena needed to see him before he left. She wouldn’t see him again for six whole days. Stumbling, she crashed through his doorway just in time to watch him pulling on a new pair of underwear. She finally got her other shoe on before she stood up, pushing her hair out of her face. 

He turned to her, and she lost her breath. She’d seen him naked, and he still did this to her. 

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said quietly. 

He didn’t hesitate to stride to her, take her face in his hands, and kiss her deeply, like he’d wanted to for so many years. He was never giving up the opportunity again. 

Gathering her against him, he broke the kiss in favor of burying his face in her hair. “I wish this morning was different.”

“I know, I do, too. But I’ll be here when you get back,” she assured, running her hands down his back. At the tail end of her stroke, she let her fingers curve in so her nails traced over his skin. 

He pulled back to look into her eyes, cheeks dimpling. 

A smile spread over her face, and she leaned up to brush her lips over his, “I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

He nodded. 

“Good luck,” she said, kissing him again, “I love you.” 

Maybe this morning wasn’t so bad after all. “I love you, too.” 

The smile she gave him made him want to move mountains. 

“Thank you again,” she said, leaning in to kiss him one more time. 

“For what?” he called after her as she ran down the hall. 

“For everything,” she called back. “For all of it.” 

It Doesn't Matter:

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Playlist

To read all my fics, check out my Fanfiction Masterlist

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 12th

Medical Play, Papa Emeritus III x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Medical play; GN!Reader; dom!Reader?; cringey Terzo; subby!Terzo; established relationship; latex kink?; glove kink; hand job; mild praise; anal fingering; taunting; mild degradation; mild humiliation; power kink; mild edging; cum eating; cumswap; reads like an 80s porno; awful medical terminology, I'm sorry to all the doctors and nurses reading this lmao;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals

🔞 MDNI 🔞

The graveyard shift was always the worst - or rather, the slowest. As most of the Siblings were asleep in the dead of the night, you had free roam of the medical centre of the Ministry. Not that there was ever much to see given that it was hardly decorated and filled to the brim with medicine and multiple medical journals, all of which you’d perused on your off or slow hours.

Thankfully, your job was always made easier by the fact that no one in the Ministry was stupid enough to get themselves into a lot of trouble. Even during the day, the worst injury you’d seen was someone’s ritual or blood play wounds get infected, but thankfully it was easy enough to sort out. It was the most difficult thing, becoming a doctor and going through university - even getting a job within the Ministry itself was a difficult task. The job itself though - paid to read books mostly.

Though, it was different that night. Your socked feet were up on your desk and a book was in your lap. You were, of course, reading what your friends liked to call your “dirty girl books”, when there was a gentle knock at the door. “Come in!” You called. Immediately you brought your feet off the desk and put your bookmark in the book, hiding it from the view of your guest. You still didn’t want to appear unprofessional, even though there was no one around… well, almost no one.

The door opened to reveal a smaller man, black hair and wrinkles. You recognised him instantly. “Good morning, Papa.” You said, standing to your feet out of respect.

“Ah, hello, doctor. I hope I am not disturbing you while you are busy?” Terzo stood there in the doorway uncharacteristically awkward in his demeanour and make up chipping from his face. He looked tired.

You looked at the clock: four o’clock. It was so early. “I always have time for you, Papa. How can I help you?”

“Ah, it is a little embarrassing, doctor.”

“Whatever it is I’m here to help, judgment-free.”

This was the moment you’d been waiting for. The thing is - you weren’t Terzo’s personal physician. Given the nature of their job and the importance of their status, each of the Papas had their own personal physicians at their beck and call all times of the day and night. You weren’t part of that club, rather, dealing with the rest of the Ministry including the Ghouls and the Clergy. You may not have been Terzo’s physician, but you were his partner… so to speak. This whole arrangement had been set up and pre-decided weeks ago, and when he had time, he’d drop in to see you with some “medical emergency” and you would be the doctor to “treat him”. You would pretend not to know each other which was the most crucial part of the whole scene. So now you were just waiting for Terzo to say his next line, not that you knew what his next line was.

“Well you see, I am an old man. And my, how do you say? My dick is broken.”

This fucking guy.

“Okay, in what way?”

“It doesn’t stand for very long. It grows tired very quickly, like me. Or my fratello.”

Please don’t compare your penis to your brothers.

“R-right.” You blinked at him a few times, not quite expecting him to be so forthcoming with his “issue” - or even quite so chaotic. “Please come and take a seat on the bench for me.” He did as you instructed. “Would you mind unbuttoning your shirt, Papa?”

“Ah, doctor, that is the other thing. My fingers are tired today, too. I am afraid they can’t unbutton anything.”

Of course they can’t.

He looked at you and gave you the biggest shit-eating grin, clearly eating up his role. Despite knowing Terzo as intimately as you did for a number of years, he still managed to find ways to fluster you.

You moved forward, trying your best not to smile and keep it “professional”, but the excitement within him was simply radiating off of him and infecting you. He was, for lack of a better term, buzzing with it. Your fingers carefully began to unbutton his white shirt and avoiding his gaze, but you could feel it on you. His mischievous eyes studying you and your expression so intently you were sure it would leave a mark.

Once his incredibly hairy chest was completely exposed to you, you took the stethoscope from around your neck and set yourself up to use it. “This may be a little cold.” You warned before placing the bell over his heart. Of course, this wasn’t a real check up, so it didn’t matter what you heard. In fact, you were only doing this for his benefit because you knew he’d want it.

“Can you hear that, doctor?” He asked.

“There’s nothing unusual.”

“But my heart, you should hear that it beats only for you.”

This. Fucking. Guy.

It took everything in you not to blush or react to his words in any way. “Okay, I think we should do a few tests just to make sure everything’s okay. Would you mind removing your pants, Papa?”

You took a step back and allowed Terzo to stand from the bench and do as you’d asked. You looked away to feign privacy, despite the fact that you’d been up close and personal with that part of his body for a long while. But out the corner of your eye, you noticed that the little shit had decided to forgo underwear. How you were surprised was a mystery unto itself.

“You know, doctor, usually I buy ladies dinner before I let them undress me in their offices.” He teased.

“Usually ladies don’t examine you for erectile dysfunction.” You taunted back. “Are you ready, Papa?”

“Of course, doctor. I await your professional opinion.” He plonked himself back up on the bed and leant back confidently, completely exposing himself to you. He was enjoying this game a little too much for your liking. You began prepping your hands, first sanitizing them then putting latex gloves on to keep up appearances. When you moved back over to him, you noticed that his mismatched eyes were heavily trained on you, only moving when you did and fixating on your gloved hands. Time to bullshit your way through this. “To make sure you can maintain a healthy erection, we need to give you one first. Is this normally something you have a problem with?”

“Not at all. Usually my partner is able to get me up just by looking at me.”

You nodded. “So you won’t need any help from me today, then?”

“On the contrary, doctor. My partner is not here, and so I am having trouble. Please take care of me.”

He gave you the best doe eyes he could muster knowing that it would work on you because it usually did. And so, you nodded, and poured some of the office’s lubricant onto your hand. “This will be cold.” You warned him.

As soon as your lubed hand made contact he hissed and jumped, perhaps making more of a show of it than he ought to. Your hand began to work away at his flaccid length, which was filling up with blood a lot quicker than you anticipated. With each tight stroke of your hand, Terzo’s hips bucked slightly. He wasn’t quite ready or sensitive enough for it to feel mind-numbingly good, but the little breaths and whimpers he was releasing was proof enough that it was working. One of his own gloved hands came up to your arm and gripped onto it, trying to keep himself grounded. The other hand grasped onto the bench with as much force as he could.

You tightened your grip and began focusing entirely on the head of his cock, making sure he was feeling as much pleasure as possible. The feeling of the lubed latex on his head had his mind reeling. His eyes were tightly shut, his bottom lip had been taken into his mouth and trapped between his teeth. He was trying so hard to keep up the pretense but he was obviously feeling good. You decided to be a bitch. “Tell me, Papa, what do you usually do to keep the erection?”

“What?” He asked, opening his eyes and coming to his senses.

“Well, this is a new problem, isn’t it? What usually works? What usually feels good?”

Terzo, whom you had never seen so flustered before, gulped and took in a sharp inhale before continuing. “M-my partner usually uses their mouth.”

“Where?”

“What?”

“Where does their mouth go?”

“M-my cock and sometimes my a-asshole.”

You moved your other hand to his taint and then to the rim of his hole. “Here?”

“Yes! Merda! There!”

Then, all of a sudden, you removed all of your hands and took a step back. “You seem to be healthy, Papa. I think maybe you’re just stressed.”

His eyes were wide and he couldn’t quite believe you’d done that. “What?”

“Lack of sleep can also be a cause of dysfunction. Do you get enough sleep?”

“Yes. Doctor, I- I am confused.”

“What with?”

“Well, I… you… stopped.”

“Of course, Papa. You needed help maintaining an erection, we’ve since discovered that you don’t struggle with that regularly, and you’re certainly not now.”

“You can’t just leave me like this.” He gestured to his now angrily erect cock before muttering something in Italian, clearly irritated by you.

“Maybe if you were to ask nicely, I might help you out.”

Terzo hesitated for a second, clearly wanting to say something but not wanting to either be so desperate that he begs for it, but also being to embarrassed to say anything. He was perhaps the filthiest person you knew, never shy or bashful, but apparently when his partner had the upper hand he was a total mess.

“Per favore.”

“Not good enough. Try again.”

“Will you… help me out?”

“Sure, what with?”

“Porca puttana! Make me cum… please, Doctor.”

He almost forgot himself.

You stood and sauntered back over to him applying more lube to your gloved hand as you passed that shelf. “Good boy.” You told him with a teasing smile, wrapping his cock back up in your hand and continuing exactly where you left off. “Nothing wrong with you now, is there? You’re keeping it up well enough, aren’t you?”

The same hand that was gripping onto the bed had moved up onto your shoulder, a gorilla grip on it. His eyes were open but focused on the wall, glazed over a little in the sheer pleasure your hand was providing. Your other hand went straight back to the rim and began rubbing over it again. His noises got louder when you did, hips having a mind of their own. The position wasn’t great so you got him to sit back, keeping him width-ways on the bench with his cheeks on the edge and his feet propped up and legs spread. You cursed your boss for giving you the wrong chair to use for today, what you would have killed to use the gynecology chair with the stirrups. It would have humiliated him so much to be so exposed. He would have loved it. Though he looked like such a whore in this position, you thought perhaps this was more humiliating.

With more lube on your hands, one went back to his head, and the other started pushing inside his hole. His mouth dropped open in a perfect ‘O’ and his brow furrowed, the pleasure almost overwhelming him. “We do have to make sure all parts of you are working correctly, hm? Especially this nice little button in here.”

“Cazzo!”

Only your pinkie was inside him at the moment. You didn’t want to hurt him and as he hadn’t pre-stretched himself out, you thought it was best to take your time. You wiggled it around a little, trying to make his hole fit two of your better, and kept at it until he was lose enough. Eventually, your index and middle fingers were able to fit inside him, and so you went in search of that button you mentioned. “Touch your cock for me.” You instructed. Like the obedient whore he was today, he did as you asked, wrapping his own hand around the head and moving quickly. “Ah-ah.” You scolded. “Slow down.”

“But-”

“Slow!”

His hand gradually put the breaks on, dropping to an almost torturous level. You could see how much it pained him. Given the fluttering of his hole around your two fingers, you could tell he was already too close. He was too overwhelmed. He needed that sweet release that you were refusing to give him. Why? Why wouldn’t you just make him cum? Why would you drag it out as much as you did? He couldn’t fathom it. But he was so desperate to finish he couldn’t ask you to stop.

This was a completely different man in front of you. The head of the Satanic Church was riding your fingers in your office as if he didn’t hold all of the power. Because right now he didn’t. You did. In his desperate need to cum, he was obeying your orders down to the letter. He was whining and writhing for you and only you. No one else got to see him like this: his entire body on fire and chasing a release he’d practically been begging for since he entered the medical ward, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth where it had opened so wide, and loud moans were spilling out with it. His pants completely removed and his white shirt unbuttoned completely. He was positively sinful right now - a proper Babylonian whore giving himself to another for his own pleasure. And oh how he sang for you when you reached that spot. How he stopped breathing when you finally hit it. How expletives poured from his lips to cope with the devastating bliss your fingers were giving him. Choruses of “yes!” and “right there!” and “don’t stop!” providing him comfort while you had your way with him. His own hand matched yours and as you got faster, so did he. He was so close. He could almost taste the sweet release that was on its way to him.

It was when your hands came up to play with his balls he finally tipped over the edge. Cum spurted from his cock and pooled over his hairy stomach, and even reaching up his chest in the intensity of the orgasm he was experiencing. His toes curled and his body seized up. You were, the whole time, talking him through it. “That’s it,” you told him, “give it all to me, Papa. Give me everything. Such a good boy.”

When you were sure he was fine, you gently removed yourself from inside him and bent forward, your tongue running through his spend and lapping it up into your mouth, keeping it there. You looked up at him and saw his eyes were ablaze with something. More lust? Frustration that you were doing something so sexy and he was too tired to do anything about it? You weren’t entirely sure. But the moan he released when you kissed him, swapping his cum from your mouth to his was enough to tell you all was forgiven… at least for now.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

[scribbleseas]

in love & in war, drabble 2: the one where you meet him

Description: Join Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, as he embarks on one of the most difficult challenges of his professional life: getting you to fall in love with him in order to become the next chairman of TransAtlantica— your father’s vast shipping empire.

Warnings: None, save for some explicit sexual content down the line! This is just a lighthearded series for fun! Think Bridgerton :)

Author’s Note: I’m sorry for the wait! I dropped this series premiere and academia decided to just become torture from then until basically now! But now I’m a bit more free to get some writing, and hopefully I can get my content consistent again! I’ve missed you all so much. I hope you guys like this drabble! I wrote it in one sitting so I will probably make some edits/additions down the line, you know how it is lol.

Also, if you would like to be put on a taglist for my fics, please comment and I will tag you for each update! Or if you only want to follow specific fics, you can let me know in your comment and I will make individual taglists for each fic :).

Happy Reading,

Dan <3

⇐ PREVIOUS DRABBLE | NEXT DRABBLE ⇒

Y/N Y/L/N

“You filled my entire dance card?” you lamented, feeling your resolve crumble as you scanned over the small piece of cardstock paper’s lineup of 20 names, each aligned with a planned piece from the ensemble: Lord Alexis Cuthbert, Mr. Nigel Crawford, The Honorable Geoffrey Wilson… The list included a plethora of noble lords and heirs to either significant corporations or well-respected aristocratic bloodlines.

“That is in accordance with the terms of the deal, yes,” your mother insisted, simpering at you while Daphne hooked long diamond teardrops in your ears, set in gold to match the thick necklace resting on your chest. “There were many house calls made about this specific inquiry, and they were all qualified young men.” By the tone of her voice, you could tell she felt she was doing you a favor.

But truly, meeting a man during a dance was excruciating. There was no respectable escape if the conversation was painfully dry or offensive. All you could do was pray for the ending measure of the music and make a swift exit.

You sighed, turning your attention back to the list: Mr. Jack Morrison, Lord Clarence Abery, The Honorable George Ackland…

“I understand. Thank you,” you surrendered, knowing fully well that there was no changing this list without disrespecting those on it already. You were fortunate that your parents were giving you the freedom to choose your suitor in the first place. Most of your peers had been betrothed since their birth, promised to a relative or a family friend as one half of a smart match.

Mr. Neil Gayton, Lord George Cuross…

You were the Earl of Richmond and founder of TransAtlantica’s only child. That was two inheritances—even if you couldn’t assume all control. Your positions should have locked you into a smart match from the start, but your parents decided to give you a chance at a love match, too. A chance at finding real love just as they did: through a cultivated list of requirements.

As painful and awkward the prospect was, it certainly wasn’t the worst outcome for a woman in your position.

“Lord Ciel Phantomhive?” your eye caught his name before you could properly descend through the list because you couldn’t believe it was there of all places. You knew the Lord Phantomhive to be incredibly private, skipping most if not all social gatherings and public appearances. The public rumored that he guarded his appearance closely because he was one of Her Majesty’s advisors and private investigators. You were most accustomed to seeing his name in stately cursive at the bottom of correspondences with your father and his associates.

“His butler called on his behalf the other day,” Daphne answered for your mother, smiling apologetically for interjecting. “He said he will be attending the charity ball tonight and wishes to meet you.”

“He is more than qualified and interested,” your mother said, “your father has always liked him.”

“Father likes his business strategy, no one knows him,” you answered, letting the dance card fall from your wrist limply. There was no merit in analyzing the names on it— you knew there was no escaping the evening.

Your mother rolled her eyes, unwilling to engage with your technicalities. “Come now. Our guests are trickling in. We should greet them with your father,” she offered her arm to you. You accepted, allowing her to guide you out of the suite with Daphne in tow. Whenever TransAtlantica co-hosted events at the Langham Hotel, your family rented the penthouse to finish preparations without having to make a commute from the estate.

. . .

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability. Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability, Ciel Phantomhive reminded himself with every step closer to The Langham Hotel’s grand ballroom, trudging through formalities and tepid greetings in the populated hall leading to it. It was the phrase he used to justify all of this unyielding frustration at each step: listening to Sebastian as he attempted to break down the confounding science of charming a young woman into comprehensible steps, and now, burdening his already-fraught calendar with unnecessary social appearances just to put himself in Lady Y/n’s path.

Unnecessary social appearances such as The British National Society for Aid and to the Sick and Wounded in War’s annual ball in partnership with TransAtlantica—one of many charitable foundations that the shipping company partnered with. TransAtlantica covered the costs of a lavish evening and invited their extensive networks of business moguls and the aristocracy to partake in raffles throughout the formal night. All proceeds went to the medical organization, and all publicity went to the company.

Until this year, Ciel was content with having Sebastian send his regrets to TransAtlantica alongside a hefty donation to maintain goodwill. But now, maintaining goodwill with this corporation and the family behind it would no longer suffice. He needed to make a personal appearance both at the ball and in the middle of Lady Y/n’s dance card. After Y/n cooly rebuffed him after moments of light teasing Sebastian made the appropriate arrangements with one of the maids to put Ciel.

While Ciel was well aware of the stubborn reputation proceeding her, few dared take such a tone with him. And for so little. Defensive, she was! Was it such a crime to be transparent about how it was careless to step onto a street without looking both ways? If Ciel hadn’t saved her at the perfect moment— even if Sebastian orchestrated the timing — she would have been hit!

“Find Lady Y/n when it comes time for your waltz,” Sebastian reminded Ciel as they entered the ballroom, “you are only on her dance card for a single number. The point is that you make a better impression this time.” The bloody butler prodded at Ciel’s lack of romantic finesse— a talent that a sleazy demon might have in surplus. Apparently, approaching her first and taking the time to see himself onto her dance card would prove Ciel’s interest in her.

“And of course, you must remember your apology, sir,” Sebastian’s words were coated in honey, the most obvious tell of his amusement. The prospect of his master having to express his regrets. “You bruised her pride,” he explained.

In response, Ciel sent him a fleeting gaze, heavy with irritation. Exhaustion after hours of coaching and correcting, endless explanations as to why Sebastian insisted that Y/n could never connect with him properly if he failed to acknowledge her grievances.

“I will,” he answered simply, clenching his jaw at the thought of verbalizing anything along the lines of ‘I apologize.’ He never had to apologize for his actions—not ones that were truly malevolent, and certainly not ones that were decently-natured. Although it seemed the exception was for the daughters of incredibly prominent figures whom he needed to charm. So much so that Sebastian had Ciel practice the series of words in front of a mirror.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

The phrase had Ciel’s shoulders relaxing into proper posture, his tense jaw relaxing with reluctance. He took a gradual inhale in, scanning the room for Lady Y/n. He found her in moments, catching her pale green gown and its gold accents shining in the warm chandelier light. She was engaged in a jubilant exchange with the wife of Selwyn Westley, the owner of a prominent watch company.

“Very good, my Lord,” Sebastian chirped, merely watching Ciel build his resolve. He’d seen the Earl tackle a number of more threatening offenses: vengeful angels, homicidal circus clowns, and corrupt monopolists with less agonizing. “There is absolutely no time to waste,” he added in reference to the rest of TransAtlantica’s suitors (they were longshot candidates, at best) as they readied themselves among their own servants. Several men’s eyes lingered on the small dance card that hung from Lady Y/n’s wrist, looking to secure a spot in the moments before the first dance started.

It was that particular thought that had the corner of Ciel’s mouth twisting upwards, satisfied. Courtship could never be left to chance. It was a strategy— a war. How could they hope to defeat him when they couldn’t even manage to get themselves in front of her?

. . .

Y/N Y/L/N

“And that’s when I told him: I think I left them in the carriage!” Inara Johnson laughed riotously, briefly touching your arm as you laughed, mirroring the young woman’s impish grin. She had been recounting a sordid story about her courtship with her husband since it seemed your mother was quite liberal in spreading the word about your season beginning. Even still, Mrs. Johnson was quite a breath of fresh air after you suffered nine suitors trying too hard to impress you.

“I can’t imagine what you could have done without a spare change of clothing!” You managed through laughs, ignoring the pinch in your cheeks after hours of simpering and entertainment. You were only about halfway through the merriment, the orchestra completing a lively movement to start transitioning to the first waltz of the evening.

You only had a few moments to find your next suitor: Lord Ciel Phantomhive.

“I should find my husband for this waltz! I certainly hope you find yours quite soon, my Lady, I’ll be looking forward to your wedding,” she chuckled, parting with you after a playful wink.

“Enjoy the night,” you nodded, unsure of how to start your search for a faceless man as Mrs. Johnson found Mr. Johnson in seconds. He’d only been paces away, engaged with your parents about something you couldn’t quite pick up.

You took another look at your card to ensure that Ciel Phantomhive was indeed your next dance partner, but just as your gaze caught his name again, the man who pulled you from the carriage approached you. The very one that you were content with never laying eyes on again.

“Lady Y/n, just the perfect timing. Were you looking to join this waltz now?” He dared to ask, his sapphire eye just as breathtaking as it had been, his lips turning in the same mildly amused manner. Trying to appear aloof. “Or were you uninterested in sharing your time with the likes of mediocre destitution such as myself?” he asked, repeating the words you threw at him.

Was he trying to get a rise out of you?

You felt your face warm from his attempts as you fashioned your falling expression into a sparking grin. The future-Countess-of-Richmond-grin that you relied on so much. There was no losing your temper in this environment without mortifying your family name.

“Unfortunately, my dance card is full,” you answered with false kindness, feeling the young man see straight through your pleasant deception. That was one of the only lines a young noblewoman had to tell a man to leave her to her lonesome; it was well-known by all of polite society. “Perhaps another time. Though I really do need to find my next—” you started, starting to take a step to walk around him, but he side-stepped in your path.

“—After I saved your life last week, I thought you might find time for a dance,” he interjected, causing the remnants of your Countess smile to falter. “That’s why I had my butler secure this waltz with you.”

Your blood ran cold, your smile finally melting off your face. He couldn’t be…could he? It would only make sense, you supposed. A person astute enough to even impress your father.

“I was scheduled with the Earl of Phantomhive,” you forced yourself to answer placidly. You readjusted your expression, unwilling to give the man the satisfaction of visibly surprising you.

“Then you found me already,” Lord Phantomhive replied, all too satisfied. You didn’t even find him! He found you!

You failed to conceal your thoughts, judging by the condescending mirth in his grin. “Shall we?”

. . .

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

“I— yes, I suppose we shall,” Lady Y/n cleared her throat, despite herself. She laced her arm with Ciel’s as he guided her to the center of the ballroom, more than certain that they were attracting attention, even if most people couldn’t connect his appearance to his name. The very reputation that filled a room enough to substitute his physical presence, most of the time.

Technically, he didn’t have to bow to Y/n because he outranked her, but as Sebastian insinuated, apparently Ciel needed to nurse her shallow pride.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

Taking Y/n’s hand, Ciel led her into the first steps of the waltz. She seemed more interested in studying him than starting a conversation, mechanically following the dance while her mind was elsewhere. He allowed her to dissect the performance he put on for her for a few long moments before speaking.

“I wanted to take this opportunity to extend my sincerest apologies to you, Lady Y/l/n,” Ciel said, visualizing the script that he and Sebastian formulated. He had to make the words seem genuine as if he’d given them enough thought to be considerate, but not so much that he was reciting them. He guided Y/n through a turn, feeling her back tense under his hand.

“I should have helped you find the man who took your things rather than demean you with quips that failed to land,” Ciel continued, taking her continued silence as a bid to continue. His skin crawled at his words, betrayal bristling down his spine. He didn’t apologize. It was fundamentally wrong. And yet, for TransAtlantica, he would. Perhaps this company was the Earl of Phantomhive’s only real love match. “I know I seem far from deserving, but I do hope for your forgiveness. If you give me the opportunity, I hope to show you that I can be,” he continued, fashioning a similar helpless frown that Sebastian used to appeal to frustrated women.

Y/n’s face was unchanged, the same politely engaged expression with clear notes of frustration layered beneath. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy—she was a petulant heiress unused to not having her way with people. She hummed, tilting her head as she took another moment to dissect his expression. The movement caused her long earrings to sway, drawing Ciel’s attention to the length of her neck and the complicated waves she had her hair styled in.

“You should have helped me,” Y/n agreed gruffly. “A proper gentleman would have, after all,” she mused.

Was the apology not gentlemanly enough? Ciel felt it exceeded expectations.

“I would…treasure the chance to prove myself to be a gentleman, then.” He answered, using part of a line Sebastian fed him. The demon did not have any foresight into the future, but after investigating Y/n with the intensity he would look into a criminal with, he had decent intuition regarding how these planned interactions would unfold. Sebastian accurately assumed she wouldn’t accept that apology.

“The chance to prove yourself?” Y/n repeated, her interest piqued at the proposition. Finally—a new emotion on her face besides detached politeness. “That sounds like quite the endeavor, my Lord.”

“It may very well be, should you let me accompany you on a promenade next week,” Ciel answered, watching her face redden. “If you might overlook my…” his mouth was drier than cotton, “deficiencies.”

He nearly choked on the word. Bloody Hell.

“Perhaps I might find time,” Lady Y/n answered, and Ciel’s heart soared for all the right reasons. He had a chance at the corporation, after all. It seemed acting was just as suspiciously close to lying as Sebastian had insisted.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

. . .

[elspethdekarios]

This is my first time doing this so I hope it's right, for the intimacy prompt, some good ole fashion fluff

59.41.21.9.25 if those are too many whichever ones you'd like ❤️

Thank you for the ask! I'm sorry it took me so long to answer. I decided to make this 10x more difficult than it needed to be and combine all of these into one short little fic. I hope you like it! <3

Intimacy prompts:

9. Watching movies/tv shows (I wanted to keep this in the Realms so I took some liberty with this)

21. Listening to someone’s heartbeat

25. Falling asleep in their arms

41. Washing each other’s hair

59. Height difference

The Lightsinger Theatre was bustling with life, a shining beacon of bright gold in a dark winter evening. Young workers in threadbare coats shoveled heaps of snow from the main street to make way for the nobility and otherwise wealthy attendees arriving by horse and buggy. Elspeth and Gale walked hand in hand from the nearby restaurant where they had shared a bottle of bold, red wine and indulged in the finest cheeses and cuts of meat this side of the Chionthar. 

“It isn’t even our anniversary,” El had laughed as she saw the rich feast laid out on the table.

“I have something in mind for that,” Gale smirked, taking another sip of wine. “Don’t you worry.”

“I’m sure it’ll be marvelously simple,” she teased. “A bouquet of roses and some chocolates. A kiss on the cheek. An otherwise normal day.”

“You know me. I’m very practical and not at all ostentatious.”

No, this date wasn’t to mark a special occasion. Gale had bought tickets to a traveling production of The Gilded Unicorn, a renowned grand play of Amn that he had always been eager to see. The two of them spent the past month taking turns reading the play in written form aloud to each other, and finally got to the end just the previous night. All day they discussed how fantastical scenes would be translated to the stage, with Gale particularly curious about whether or not the production would include magic: You know, they could use a minor illusion spell for the stars. Or, better yet, a powerful illusion spell for the Unicorn! I once saw a production where….

Golden lights glowed from the Lightsinger’s entrance, guests mingling as they clutched their cloaks and hurried inside. It was a grand building, with marble columns and a large arched doorway gilded with golden filigree. As they entered, they joined the queue moving slowly up the atrium’s ornate staircase. Gale kept a protective hand on the small of El’s back, and urged her to the step in front of him when the line moved.

She looked at him over the shoulder of her embroidered coat, smiling. “Look who’s taller now.” But when the crowd shifted, Gale joined her on the step, the top of her head level with his nose as usual. 

“Still me,” he said, and planted a kiss on her forehead. 

“Are you, now?” she asked, stepping up again when the line moved.

“Hmm,” Gale mumbled into her shoulder, which was eye level with him now. “I’ll let you win this one. I like a dominant woman.”

“Gale!” 

The play was magnificent, and the seats Gale secured with his position at Blackstaff (and a hero of Baldur’s Gate, no less) were some of the best in the house. They watched with their hands clasped together, Elspeth holding his right hand in her lap with both of her own. He held her cold fingers and radiated a faint warmth from his palm, something he’d grown accustomed to doing since the year or so she’d been in Waterdeep with him. The Baldur’s Gate winters she was used to were much less harsh. They held onto each other even as they left the theatre and walked home, recounting their favorite parts of the play.

“That night sky was so beautifully painted, they didn’t even need magic,” Gale said as they neared the Dock Ward. The well-to-do patrons who lined the streets around the theatre had given way to worn-out sailors and merchants smoking their pipes outside of whatever inn housed them for the night. “I’m sure magic would have improved it, of course, but it was lovely on its own, don’t you think?”

When they reached the tower on the corner of the street,, they fell mindlessly into their nighttime routine, trekking up three flights of stairs to the bedroom as if the night were any other—but the conversation was still lively, their giggles frequent, and their bellies fuller than usual. 

“I suppose we don’t need to take a bath tonight,” Gale stifled a yawn as he untied the laces on the corduroy vest layered over a long-sleeved shirt. 

Elspeth waltzed in front of him, half undressed, wearing only a thin chemise over her leggings. “But think of how warm and cozy it would be,” she said, grazing his hands with her own, gently lifting his arms towards her. Snow was beginning to fall outside the window, and she craved nothing more than a hot bath in her love’s arms to ward off the chill.

Gale slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her into a hug. “If you insist,” he grinned, resting his chin on the top of her silky blonde hair.

The washroom took only a few moments to steam up the room and fog the mirror. They settled into each other in the water, familiar and warm and safe. It was one of their favorite things to do together—lying in the bath and staring out the window Gale had enchanted so they could see out but others couldn’t see in. Tonight, the view of the waterfront street below was peaceful, with only a few passersby huddling up in their coats and hurrying home, or to an inn, or to nowhere at all. It was a game they played with each other—who is that person and where are they headed? There were the familiar faces of course: the elderly grandmother nextdoor who brought flowers home with her at least once a tenday, the children who gathered along the docks playing make-believe pirates, the grumpy middle-aged man and his equally grumpy wife on their way to the market with toddler in tow. Tonight, though, the few citizens who passed were strangers.

“I reckon he’s on his way to the Empty Keg,” Gale said, pointing at a stout man staggering his way down the street, a pipe in his hand.

“He should probably be heading home, by the looks of it,” El laughed as she dipped her head into the water. Gale worked the soap into her hair, his strong fingers massaging into her scalp. He took his time, his movements deliberate. She swore her hair was always cleaner after Gale washed it. 

 They switched positions in the tub, Gale nestled now between her legs as she returned the favor. She took extra care to scratch his scalp with her nails, savoring the way he sighed and melted into her. 

“Why do I ever wash my own hair?” he mused, putty in her hands.

“I was just asking myself the same question.”

Lying in the dark, freshly clean and hair still wet, they settled into each other's arms, the bed exceptionally comfortable as it can only be after an eventful day. El brushed her feet against the soft sheets absentmindedly—a habit she’d had since childhood to help soothe her to sleep. When they first began sharing a bed (or bedroll, rather), she tried to stop, worried the movement would bother Gale like it did her previous lover. But as she became more comfortable, as they bonded so closely that she no longer felt the need to hide any part of herself, she realized how ridiculous it was to keep something so simple and mundane from him. Especially when she struggled to fall asleep, plagued by the occasional insomnia that came with her half-elf heritage.

There is something that helps me fall asleep, she told Gale one restless night in bed at the Elfsong. Repetitive movements.

Like you do with your feet?

I… how do you know about that?

You do it right before you fall asleep and right before you wake up, he said so nonchalantly that she was taken aback for a moment.

And it doesn’t bother you?

Why in the world would it bother me?

Now, more than a year later, she rested her head on her husband’s chest, feet fidgeting under the covers as the beat of his heart thrummed in her ear. Her husband, alive and healed and happy. She smiled to herself, his arm warm around her shoulder, his pulse rhythmically lulling her to sleep. 

[kingkatsuki]

Hello Jo! Sorry I’ve been MIA, had to take a Tumblr break. How have you been? What’s the weather like across that big blue sea?

I had some Bakugou thoughts to shout at you if that’s okay! (Hopefully no one’s come up with them while I’ve been gone…if so, just ignore ope)

Imagining you, the one he’s been hardcore crushing on/been in love with, being besties with a lot of the MHA gals. (You can decide how.) But y’all have this group chat where you all talk about the raunchiest shit. You’re just very relaxed with each other and comfortable with talking about just about anything. Including smexy stuff. Which is why when one of the dudes (probably Kaminari) thought he had struck gold when he somehow managed a way to sneak in.

He’s excitedly showing off the convo to all of the other guys the next time they get together, hooting and hollering over how dirty y’all can be. And poor Bakugou looks like he’s about to combust, reading through some of the things you’ve written. Squirming in his seat, his face and ears bright red as he’s reading how desperately horny you’ve been, how you’re needing cock so bad, how you wish you could just get bent over something and get your brains fucked out of your pretty lil’ head

Bonus points if it’s virgin!Bakugou we’re talking about. He has zero experience with any of this stuff, but after reading what you’re into…he’s all pent up now too. And he’s ready and willing to learn.

It’s okay my lovely! It’s good to see you back! I hope you’re doing okay?💕 I’m really good thanks and the weather is finally getting a little warmer but the evenings are still bloody freezing!😭

I love the idea of a girls groupchat where you can just dump all your stupid sex stories, pick up line conversations or just weird dating app matches. And of course the guys know about this chat and want in! Or even just a little peek at it, especially when Denki caught the sight of a selfie Mina sent one evening asking what lingerie set black or purple.

And of course the moment the guys actually get access they’re acting like kids at Christmas, all of them trying to snatch the phone off each other to search keywords in the chat (and by keywords I mean their own names😭) and Bakugou is trying to act like he doesn’t care, telling Denki he’s fucking dumb for getting so excited about violating everyone’s privacy and especially over such frivolous conversation— and that’s when Denki starts reading out your messages. The whole things ridiculous really, Denki’s now put on an awful attempt at your accent, a few pitches higher than you speak as he reads out the last message you posted about how desperate you are to wrap your thighs around someone’s head and how your vibrator just isn’t cutting it anymore. And Bakugou can’t cope, he’s now sat there bright red with a raging hard on as Denki continues to scroll, “Oh shit— she posted selfies too—”

And the moment he says that Bakugou’s on him like a cheetah on a grazing antelope. Palms sparking as he wrestles for the phone, unsure whether it’s the desire to see the pictures or the desperation to make sure Denki’s disgusting eyes don’t get a glimpse of you in such a promiscuous position.

And Bakugou can’t lie, he’s got no idea what pronebone is, or why a guy found it so difficult to find your clit (how hard could it be? Even if he doesn’t know where it is himself—), but now all he can think about is your pretty face writhing beneath him as he lines himself up with your tight, wet heat.

“Fuck,” He grunts, standing up from the sofa, Denki’s cellphone secured in one of his hands as he rubs the other over his sweaty face. His boxers sticking to his thigh uncomfortably as he came in his pants like a randy teenager at the mere thought of you naked.

The next thing he’s doing is googling what every position you mentioned is, and imagining you in every single one of them while he fists his cock.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Sunshine

Summary: Steve pays a visit to the Smithsonian’s new exhibit honoring Captain America, and a little bit of sunshine unexpectedly breaks through his cloudy day.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a candid depiction of depression and its symptoms, and brief depictions of PTSD

A/N: I wanted to start this new one-shot collection off with a look into Steve’s POV, specifically when he meets (Y/N) in the Smithsonian. It was my favorite moment to write in The Winter Soldier and I had so much fun revisiting it from a new perspective! Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope that you enjoy!

Sunshine March 2014 Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, Washington D.C. (Fanfiction Masterlist)

Although it had been over two years since he’d been discovered alive and frozen in time within the wrecked remnants of Schmidt’s plane, Steve Rogers still didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He had work, of course; completing missions on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. was familiar, reminiscent of his past and all the work he’d done alongside the SSR as the leader of the 107th tactical team throughout the war. But outside of work, he struggled to find ways to keep himself occupied. The notebook he filled with seventy years of various pop culture references kept him busy but as his understanding of the 21st century grew, so too did the disconnect he felt from the people and places that surrounded him.

So, on a beautiful spring afternoon that others were no doubt spending with their friends and family, Steve found himself sitting alone in the screening room of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum’s ‘Captain America: A Living Legend and Symbol of Courage’ exhibit. The filmed testimonials of various men and women who’d been directly or indirectly impacted by his actions included an emotionally-charged interview of Peggy Carter from the early 1950’s, several years after the creation of S.H.I.E.L.D. and her promotion to its first Director. Her hairstyle was different and her brown eyes had the hardened look of someone who’d seen far too much pain in such a short span of time, but to Steve she looked exactly the same as she had when they’d fought through Schmidt’s mountain fortress together in 1945.

“That was a difficult winter. A blizzard had trapped half our battalion behind the German line. Steve…Captain Rogers, he fought his way through a Hydra blockade that had pinned our allies down for months.”

Steve remembered the battle, just as he remembered each and every battle before and after. His elevated body temperature and high metabolism kept him from feeling the chill of the blizzard that raged on as he fought, but nothing in the super-soldier serum could keep his body from going numb when he saw the frozen and broken bodies of hundreds of soldiers scattered amongst the snow. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop himself from visualizing the explosions ripping through Panzers and hearing the roaring gunfire ricocheting off his vibranium shield, and he took a deep breath before opening his eyes and refocusing on Peggy.

“He saved over a thousand men, including the man who would…who would become my husband, as it turned out. Even after he died, Steve was still changing my life.”

He looked down at the compass in his hands and studied the black-and-white photograph he’d clipped out of a newspaper back in ‘44. He was happy that Peggy had gotten to live a long and happy life surrounded by loved ones and he made sure to tell her every time he visited her in the nursing home, but he couldn’t help but envy her a little; she’d lived the life he’d always wanted back before he took the serum and became Captain America, but after all he’d seen and done since, he wasn’t even sure what sort of life he wanted to live. He was lost in an unfamiliar world filled with people who believed he should be grateful for a chance at a new life and who didn’t care to know how he truly felt about his situation. It didn’t take him very long to learn that only one thing remained constant after seventy years: the rest of the world only saw Captain America, the Star-Spangled-Man-With-A-Plan, and not Steven Grant Rogers, the kid from Brooklyn who hated bullies and who only wanted to do the right thing.

The video continued to play as Steve stood and exited the screening room, slipping his hands into his jacket’s pockets and bowing his head while he went. The rest of the exhibit was filled with tourists eagerly examining artifacts from his life before and during his time of service, and Steve felt a familiar twinge of discomfort at the sight; it’s like they don’t understand that they belonged to real people and not characters from a story, he thought to himself as he walked past a group of young adults snidely critiquing Dum Dum Dugan’s combat gear displayed on a mannequin along with the rest of the 107th tactical team. There were far fewer people near the display dedicated to Bucky, so Steve gravitated towards it and studied the old photograph of his best friend; he was smiling and there was still a sparkle of life in his eyes, eyes that hadn’t yet seen the brutality of war, the unspeakable horrors concocted by the Nazis and the gruesome torture inflicted on him by Hydra while he was a POW.

Steve’s memories of Bucky and that fateful mission in the Alps were suddenly interrupted when the young woman standing in front of him turned and collided with his chest, dropping her notebook onto the ground and scattering its loose papers across the floor; she immediately knelt and began gathering up the sheets and Steve winced at the accident he’d inadvertently caused. “Sorry! Here, let me help you with that.” He kneeled on the ground before her and assisted her. “I wasn’t paying attention, I’m sorry-”

“I’m the one who should say sorry, I was so wrapped up in writing that I didn’t see…” The young woman’s voice faltered when she looked up from their shared work and her (Y/E/C) eyes widened in recognition. “Steve?”

Steve’s own eyes widened as he finally recalled just where he’d seen the woman before. “(Y/N), right? From yesterday morning?”

(Y/N) nodded. “That’s me.” She took the papers and tucked them inside her well-worn notebook as they stood. “What brings you to the Smithsonian?”

He shrugged and took a moment to adjust the bill of his baseball cap while he thought up a suitable answer. “I had the day off, and I guess I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. What about you?”

“Research,” She answered with a smile as she proudly brandished her notebook. “I’m writing a novel, so I was looking up information on Soviet Cold War-era missiles. Then when I finished with that, I thought I’d also see what all the fuss was about. I actually had another spark of writing inspiration before I smacked into you just now.”

Steve’s brows rose with interest. “You’re a writer? Have I heard of any of your work before?”

“Well, this novel I’m working on is actually my first.” They both stepped aside to let a group of schoolchildren read Bucky’s display. “I’m trying to become a historical fiction novelist, and I chose to write about the Cold War for my first novel.” Steve couldn’t help but admire the brightness in her smile and how the simple gesture illuminated her entire face, so much so that he nearly missed her question. “So, what do you think? Is everything here historically accurate?”

“Pretty much. What do you think of it?”

(Y/N) considered his question for a moment before answering. “I don’t know yet; on one hand, I think it’s great that an exhibit like this exists to educate people, especially children, about history, but part of me can’t stop thinking that it’s also an invasion of privacy.” Taken slightly aback by her reply, Steve frowned in confusion and watched as she gestured towards the many display cases surrounding them. “Like these, for example. These are private sketches of your family and friends that I’m sure you never meant for others to see. And over there, they have your underwear on display, for God’s sake!” A nearby middle-aged couple threw her a disapproving glare at her exclamation and Steve did his best to stifle his chuckle. “I don’t know, I think that they should show more respect when they create exhibits like this, especially if the person they’re about is still alive. You may be Captain America, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a little privacy, too.” The earnestness and underlying indignation in her words of defense took him by surprise, and it wasn’t until her head tilted to the side in curiosity that he registered the small smile playing on his own lips. “What is it?”

“Nothing…you just sound a little different from most of the people I’ve met since coming out of the ice.” Steve looked over at his best friend’s display and awkwardly cleared his throat as he struggled to keep their conversation going. “It’s lucky that I ran into you, actually, I was gonna try and stop by the VA today but I have no idea what the address is.”

“Oh, I’ve got it right here!” She reached into her pocket for her cell phone and began tapping away. “Let me see, where did I-ah, found it! It’s 50 Irving Street Northwest. All you have to do is go down North Capitol-wait, it might be 6th Street instead…and of course, no signal in here…” A small line formed between her brows as she frowned. “Urgh, if I had my car with me, I’d just give you a ride since I’m going there later anyways but Sam took it to work this morning…”

“I could always give you a ride, if you want?” Steve blurted out, praying that he wouldn’t start blushing as she considered his abrupt but sincere offer. “It’d be no trouble at all.”

(Y/N)’s smile brightened her expression and she nodded. “Okay, then. I’m pretty much done here, so just let me know when you wanna leave.”

“Let’s go.” They walked out of the exhibit and Steve snuck a clandestine look at the writer walking beside him; she was undoubtably pretty, with strikingly intelligent (Y/E/C) eyes and lips that seemed perpetually ready to curve into a teasing smile, and just as he’d done the day before when they’d first met by the National Mall, he compared her to sunshine breaking through a cloudy sky. She was vivacious and so full of life – a shining example of a modern 21st century woman – but at the same time, something about the way she talked and carried herself reminded him of a different time. He’d gone on a couple of dates since coming out of the ice but up to that point, the only woman he felt comfortable being around was Natasha, his coworker and occasional mission partner at S.H.I.E.L.D.; with (Y/N), though, he felt unusually at ease and the only discomfort came from the shyness she brought out in him. C’mon, Rogers, there’s nothing scary about just talking to her, he scolded himself before swallowing thickly and speaking up. “So, how far along are you with your novel?”

“I’m actually almost done with it, thank God. Not that I don’t enjoy writing, of course, but some days it feels like I’ve been writing this thing for a decade.” (Y/N) hitched the strap of her messenger bag higher on her shoulder and flashed him a thankful smile as he held the museum’s front door open for her. “Today was my last day of research. All I need to do is finish writing the last few chapters and then I can send them to my publisher for final approval.”

Steve smiled at the enthusiasm he detected in her voice. “Have you already chosen a title?”

“It’s called For Queen and Country, but there’s a funny story about how that came to be. I originally titled it The Détente Paradox, because the novel chronicles how a female MI5 agent discovers a plot to infiltrate and destabilize peace talks between the United States and the U.S.S.R.; my publisher argued that even if American readers knew the English translation, they wouldn’t understand the story from the title alone-”

“The Relaxation Paradox; makes perfect sense to me.” Steve felt himself flush as (Y/N)’s brows rose in surprise. “I, um, speak a little French. Sorry, you were saying?”

She looked impressed as they made their way towards the museum’s parking lot. “The criticism got under my skin and I couldn’t think of anything else until one night, my publisher called me after binge-watching some classic James Bond movies with his wife. In a couple of them, James Bond sometimes says he does the things he does as a spy ‘for Queen and country,’ and-wait, do you know about James Bond?”

“Nope, but I’ll go ahead and add him to the list,” Steve replied as he pulled out his notebook and jotted down the fictional spy’s name.

“So anyway, my publisher convinced me to change the title to For Queen and Country. I’d hate to boost his ego, but it sounds a lot better than anything I thought of.”

Tucking the notebook back into his pocket, Steve scanned the parking lot for any potential threats while he remarked, “In my day, authors usually sent a completed novel to a publisher instead of sending it in separate parts. I guess that’s changed, too?”

“No, that hasn’t changed; this publishing company’s co-owned by one of my old friends from high school who also happens to be the only person I trust to edit my writing. My situation is a little unorthodox, though; to convince his publishing partner to give a first-time novelist like me a chance, he’s been giving him some of my short stories to read. His partner likes them so far, so as long as I keep sending in things that he enjoys he might agree to publish my novel once it’s finished.”

Steve hummed to himself, even more impressed by the writer walking beside him than he already was. “Sounds stressful.”

“Well, it’s not ideal but it makes balancing research and work a little easier, and I’m not about to quit now, not while I’m so close to being published.” (Y/N) shrugged and looked over at him with a kindly smile on her face. “But what about you? What’re you doing to keep busy these days?”

Hastily deciding that (Y/N) didn’t need to know how he spent his free time alternating between visits with his ninety-three year old first love and moping alone in his apartment, Steve replied, “I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Whenever I have some free time I read the internet and go through my list to mark things off. I didn’t have much to do this morning, so I listened to some of the soundtrack from American Graffiti; it’s not what I’m used to, but I liked it. All the songs sound unique from one another.”

The writer’s eyes lit up when he mentioned her music recommendation, and he felt his heart stutter at the beautiful sight. “Right? My mom was born in the sixties so she grew up listening to that type of music. Whenever my brother and I had to help on chore day, she’d put on her old records so that we’d have something fun to listen to while we cleaned the house.” They walked through the parking lot and as they turned down an aisle, Steve subtly checked that they weren’t being followed while an unaware (Y/N) continued to talk. “Sam thinks that music from that era is too cheesy, but this is also the guy who thinks that Marvin Gaye’s better than Jimi Hendrix so what the hell does he know?” He stopped beside his motorcycle and she sucked in a quick breath. “Is this yours?”

“Yep, it’s a Harley-Davidson Street 750. The one back there in the exhibit’s a Harley, too, a modified ’42 WLA Liberator. I’ve always preferred motorcycles to cars, so it was nice to see that they haven’t changed too much over the-” The rest of his sentence died in his throat when he caught sight of the unreadable expression on (Y/N)’s face, and his heart instantly plummeted in his chest. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you that I didn’t have a car. If you’re not comfortable with-”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle!” (Y/N)’s exclamation took him by surprise, but he managed to return her excited smile with one of his own. “Do you have a spare helmet?” He pulled a helmet out of the bike’s back compartment and tossed his baseball cap into it, trying his best not to think about how cute she looked when she placed the helmet on her head. “Wait, what about yours?”

Steve flashed her a teasing grin. “Super-soldier, remember?” She rolled her eyes as he swung a leg over the bike and sat, giving the empty space behind him a pat before placing his hands back on the handlebars. “Hop on.” She followed his direction with less than perfect grace, doing her best to respect his personal space while also trying her hardest not to fall flat on her face, and Steve bit back a smile as he watched her progress in the rearview mirror. “I’ll be able to hear you over the engine noise, so feel free to give directions as we go. And make sure to hold on tight, okay?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Chuckling, Steve revved up the engine and backed out of the parking spot; the writer seated behind him predictably panicked at the sudden movement and involuntarily moved her hands from beneath her seat to rest on his waist, causing Steve to blush as he gently took hold of her hands and guided her to wrap her arms around his torso. If he weren’t a super-soldier with heightened abilities, he almost certainly would’ve crashed the motorcycle because of how distracted he found himself by (Y/N)’s presence. He could feel the warmth of her body through his jacket and smell the faint scent of her perfume as she clung onto him and on a wild impulse, he sped up and grinned when she shrieked in delight and tightened her hold on him. True to his word, he heard her give him directions amidst her laughter and much to his disappointment, they reached the VA in under fifteen minutes.

Steve parked the motorcycle in front of the building and switched off the engine before turning in his seat to look at his beaming passenger. “So, how was your first ever motorcycle ride?”

“Amazing!” She held onto his shoulders as she clambered off the bike and removed the helmet. “I might even have to trade in my baby for one!” Steve’s eyes widened at her remark, and she hastily shook her head. “No, no, that’s just my dumb nickname for my Volkswagen Bug! I don’t have an actual baby, of course, and if I did I certainly wouldn’t trade it…um, so yeah, no baby…and no guy, either, in case you were wondering. I’m single, single like a Pringle.” (Y/N) cringed at her own words and dropped her head in her hand to avoid eye-contact. “You can stop my dumb rambling anytime now, Steve…”

Steve’s grin widened. “Don’t worry, it’s not dumb. Entertaining, yeah, but definitely not dumb.”

The writer shot him a glare that would’ve intimidated him if it hadn’t looked so adorable on her. “You know, you’re a lot more of a pain in the ass than the history books make you out to be.”

Just as he was prepared to say something flirtatious, his cell phone chimed with a notification and when he looked to see what it was, his heart sank in his chest and reality came crashing back down on him.

Nurse Alia: Mrs. Carter’s been having a rough day. Might do her some good to see an old familiar face.

Steve tucked his cell phone back into his pocket and looked back up at a confused (Y/N) with an apologetic expression on his face. “I’m sorry but I’ve gotta go, something just came up. I’ll try and make it for the end of the meeting, though.”

“Okay, I’ll be sure to let Sam know!” Their fingers brushed as he took the helmet from her and stowed it away, and she gave him a half-hearted wave as he revved the engine and backed out of the parking spot. He returned her wave and sped off down the street, the image of (Y/N) standing by herself on the sidewalk with a befuddled expression on her face burned into his memory while he navigated the streets of D.C. to reach Peggy’s retirement home. But while he drove, he recalled the way his heart lurched when (Y/N) smiled at him, how lovely her laughter sounded as he gave her her first ride on a motorcycle and just how – for the briefest of moments – he hadn’t felt so alone and unseen. Like sunshine breaking through a cloudy sky, he thought to himself once again, resolving to see the writer who uncovered Steve Rogers from beneath the façade of Captain America again as soon as he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: This was my first time writing from Steve’s POV, so let me know how you liked it so I can decide if I wanna write from his POV in a future one-shot! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, and I hope that you enjoyed it!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (Part I)

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist

Stumblin’ In Book I: “The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

Tagging:  @mrs-obrien​​​ @lahoete​​​ @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk​​ @momc95​​​ @savedbystyle​​​ @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat​​​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​​ @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove​​​ @brooke0297​​​ @hufflepeople​​​ @becausewelie​​​ @outoftheregular​​​​ @junipermurdock​​​ @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley​​​ @username23345 @crist1216​​​ @capswife​​​ @lilmschild​​​ @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell​​​ @y-napotat​​​ @mary1raven​​​ @groovy-lady​​​ @ljej95​​​ @innersublimefury​​​ @prettysbliss​​​​  

[firstkanaphans]

Hello! I am a big fan of your fics, and I am always impressed with your ability to weave together a story and always make it engaging despite how diverse your plots are. I was wondering if I could request from you some writing advice for a humble beginner fanfic writer? Specifically with respect to transitions. I have all these pivotal plot point "scenes" in my outlines, but I struggle with connecting them with transitions when I actually write them. They feel so boring to write and read in comparison to the actual scenes, and often I am at a loss as to how to connect them at all. It is usually where my story gets stuck and why I am never able to finish a fic fully. Is this something you have ever struggled with? If so, do you have any advice for how to navigate it? It is completely fine if not or if you don't have the time to answer, but I thought I would ask because your chapters always go by so smoothly - before I know it my scroll bar is reaching the bottom of the page! :) Noticing I'm nearing the end of one of your chapters always makes me sad because they are so engaging and never feel superfluous or boring! Reading your fics inspires me to write - I hope to be able to actually finish a fic one day so that I can post it!

Let me tell you one of the best pieces of writing advice I’ve ever gotten: you don’t actually need to write the transition scenes. Are the characters at home and you need to get them to a restaurant? Cut the scene as they’re leaving the house and pick it back up once they’re sitting at the table. You can do this either by physically inserting a scene break or by just summarizing the trip in one line: “Traffic was light on the drive over, so Character A was in a good mood as they sat down at a booth in the corner of the restaurant.”

When I first started writing, I felt compelled to write everything the characters did, no matter how mundane. They wake-up, they get dressed, they eat breakfast. But if it’s not plot-relevant, you don’t have to include it!

However, if the transition scenes you’re talking about are plot-relevant and you’re still finding them boring, you’re likely getting bogged down in the exposition too much. Another good piece of writing advice I’ve received is: if you’re bored writing it, the reader will be bored reading it. This is not always true. You’re going to be more bored with your own writing at baseline simply because you already know that’s going to happen. But if I’m finding it difficult to write a scene or if I don’t want to write at all just because what I’m writing feels boring, that’s a sign that I need to change something up.

It depends on what you’re writing, but usually I do this by adding some flirtation to the scene. Is Character A droning on about something tediously boring that the reader needs to know for plot reasons but the writer is tired of hearing? Have Character B play with Character A’s hair as they talk, making Character A flustered.

If I’ve misunderstood your ask and what you’re actually struggling with is simply coming up with plot to fill the spaces between one big scene and the next, then just know you’re not alone. This is called fleshing out a “messy middle” in the writing world and it’s very common. One of the good things about fanfiction is that there are no rules and if you’re writing romance, my advice would be to just keep putting your characters in situations where they’re forced to be close to each other whether they want to be or not.

I can tell just from this ask that you’re a very good writer! Posting your first fic is always the scariest part, but it does get easier from there. If you’ve never written a fic before, I might just start with a short oneshot. Maybe even just a single scene, so you don’t have to worry about scene breaks or transitions.

I hope this was at least somewhat helpful! And good luck 🫶🏻

[caeli0306]

For the writers’ ask game thing (please and thank you!):

❤️🎁👻

———————

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

✨️ Out of the comments you’ve received on your fics, what are two or three of your favorites?

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

✍️ What’s your ideal writing setup?

🚀 Do you like to outline your fic first or create as you go?

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

🏷 Is there a tag you like to search for when looking for fanfics to read?

⏰️ Do you like to post fics on a schedule or at random?

👓 What helps you focus when you write?

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

🐇 Do you write for yourself, for others, or both?

🥳 Why did you start writing fanfic?

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

🍬 Do you write for multiple fandoms? If yes, what is your favorite fic of yours for each fandom?

🌻 How often do you read your own fics?

📗 Do you want to write something outside of fanfiction? If so, what about?

🎬 If a movie or show were based on your fic, which fic would you choose and who would you fancast?

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

🧪 Do you research for your fics?

😎 What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original?

💎 Do you often write about a relationship or focus on an individual?

🔥 Have you included any sexy scenes in your fics? If yes, do you find them easy or difficult to write?

💘 Is it easier to write angst or fluff?

🚦What sort of endings do you prefer to write: ambiguous, bad, happily ever after, etc.?

💡How many WIPs do you currently have?

🔎 Does anyone beta read or edit your fics?

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

🤩 What led to your interest in the fandom?

🤖 Are non-fandom friends aware that you write fanfic?

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

👑 Do you like writing short fics or long fics?

🎯 Do you have a writing milestone you’re working towards?

🔮 Any advice for writers working through burnout or writer’s block?

🤔 Would you ever want to write something canon if you got the opportunity?

💌 Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Ooh thanks for asking!

❤️ - This is so hard. A few options b/c I can't choose!

from castles crumbling chapter 2

I want to scream, but I can’t get the air into my lungs. This isn’t fair. If Malek had to take anyone, he should have taken me. Not this innocent child. Not these people celebrating their gods. Me. A murderer. Someone who so long ago lost my humanity that I barely even remember what it felt like to be human.

This line from the present, the past, and you in between:

The war was long, but my life with her has been longer. I used to say that I've lived on borrowed time, and I accepted that my life was destined to be short. Then I began to pray to Malek, begging to borrow more, all to spend with her.

Combined with this line:

I begged Malek for more time, and he gave me too much.

From Did Someone Say Shots?:

Instead, I slept with her when I knew how horrible of an idea it was, and it fucking destroyed me when, in the morning light, she called it a mistake. Look at me, dealing with the consequences of my own actions.

Last but definitely not least, from chapter 6 of castles crumbling:

I laid my old self to rest a long time ago, but he is still there at the wake, trying to make sense of her demise.

🎁 - a lil blurb from an unpublished one shot, if it pleases the court :)

Then Xaden walks into the conference room. He has the kind of presence that makes people shut up and pay attention, and I hate him for it. The chatter that permeated the air dies away instantly, replaced by the silence of worshippers waiting for words from their god on high. I guess Xaden fulfills that role here. Those golden eyes of his find me almost immediately, and I school my expression into a glare. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. That's the message I want him to receive. Instead, he only smirks, and then turns to retrieve a folder from Bodhi, who followed him in. Xaden takes a seat at the head of the long table, sitting as casually as one would in their own living room. He props his elbows on the table, the movement causing the muscles of his arms to bulge under the rolled up sleeves of his black button up shirt. I hate that he looks that good without even trying. I hate that I know what he looks like under that shirt even more. As if sensing that I was thinking about him, about That Night, he meets my eyes again, and his grin this time is downright filthy. "Shall we begin?" he asks. "Sorrengail, you're up. Tell us how you plan to save our asses, and try to make it quick." Oh, fuck him. I plaster on my most fake smile, and stand. Liam gives me a look from where he stands, that basically says Don't do something you'll regret. Luckily for me, I've about expended my regret reserves when it comes to Xaden Riorson. If he wants to be an ass, then fine. I'll be an ass in return. He needs me a whole lot more than I need him.

👻 - IDK if it's a headcanon, but I like to think Xaden sometimes needs assurances that she's not going to leave and that she loves him because he doesn't think he's worthy of her. Not in like, a toxic way, or in the "I need to know you'll be there" way that he brought up in IF, but more every day, like "Hey I'm feeling x right now, and need to hear that my brain is creating scenarios that aren't real." IDK if I'm making any sense.

[hellcheer-heaven]

star wars au when Eddie as jedi and Chrisy as sith

Hello dear anon, I absolutely love this idea! Again my apologies for take a lifetime to answer. Considering that both Star Wars and Stranger Things are big fandoms (the latter I’m sure is still growing), I would love a ST au! or a crossover involving Hawkins’ residents living in a galaxy far, far away. Now while my knowledge of SW isn’t as big as it once was, I think it would be neat to have these two in such differing roles. I’ll discuss this as an au! and crossover. I’ll also have pictures and titles included so it doesn’t become too confusing to read.

Eddie Munson

On Tatooine, Wayne raises Eddie on a the desert planet. They take care of their livestock and sell goods in Mos Eisley just to make ends meet. Eddie is the only one who is force sensitive and even shows Wayne his “cool powers” when he moves things with his mind. Wayne is well aware of the Jedi, but fears what could happen to his nephew if someone finds out. When Eddie is 8 years old, a few of the Jedi visit their booth. Yoda senses great potential in him. As difficult as it is, Wayne encourages Eddie to go with them, noting that he will have a better life out there. They must go their separate ways, and he promises to return to Wayne when the time is right (which he does, Wayne will live in this universe because I say so).

Chrissy Cunningham

Chrissy lives on the busy planet of Coruscant. She’s force sensitive as well and is also given a wonderful opportunity to train. However her mother (an important, respected, and feared politician) forbids it and does what she can to keep her daughter in line. She believes that the Jedi are barbaric and are no different from the Sith. Whenever Laura spots Chrissy using her telekinesis, she resorts to scolding and hitting her. She denies her food and water as a means of punishment too. After Chrissy turns 6, it becomes difficult for her to control her powers. Further adding onto the stress of having to be the “perfect” daughter for her mother’s reputation. One night Chrissy ends up using the Force as a means to protect herself from another beating. Violently shoving Laura until her back hits the wall. In that moment, Laura knows that cannot control her daughter, so she sends her away to the Jedi Temple, believing that they will straighten her out.

Jedi Temple and the Tale of Henry Creel

Eddie and Chrissy become friends and as they age, something more blossoms between them. But as the code states, Jedi are never to form relationships with anyone. This becomes a bit more challenging when they are sent off on missions together with a Jedi Master during their time as apprentices. When the two of them are allowed to go on their own, they share tender kisses and hold hands. They get to learn more about each other and they talk about their dreams. Even though it seems impossible, they hope that perhaps one day they can be together, even if it means that they’ll be kicked out of the temple for good.

Their education requires them to study the history of the Jedi and understand the Force as well. In the process, they also learn of a past pupil who had turned to the Dark Side. He was like them once, young, ambitious, and ready to face the enemy. Henry Creel was highly intelligent and very intuitive as well, he studied the archives and the ways of the Jedi. Yet his thirst for knowledge was as boundless as the galaxy. He wanted to learn about the Sith, get a better sense of their ways. When his interest was discovered, he was banned and kicked out of the temple. His anger fueled his powers, resorting to using the Force for his own means. Going as far as to kill anyone that stood in his way when he enacted his revenge.

The masters and knights managed to stop him from committing a horrible massacre and he was arrested. He was able to escape and he soon became an enemy to the Republic and to the Jedi. Henry sought out the likes of Count Dooku and Martin Brenner. They taught him the ways of the Dark Side, utilizing violent methods to train him. Brenner was the lesser of two evils, treating the young man like a son. Dooku highly disagreed with Brenner’s antics, believing that he was being “too soft on the boy.” And so he made sure to really push him to his limit and then some. Henry was always the target of his lightening strikes. Each strike became much more unbearable, disfiguring Creel over time until he became the monster that he was meant to be. When his training was complete, he commanded his own loyal following and committed such unspeakable crimes. He was willing to teach anyone that pledged their allegiance to him and to the Dark Side. However, there was one person in mind that he felt a connection to.

Sith Lord Vecna

Chrissy couldn’t help but find the tale of Henry to be fascinating, so she wanted to know more about him. Obi-Wan sensed that something was amiss with her, pulling her aside to let her know that she needed to be careful. She reassured him that she was fine, but he could not let this feeling go. This bad feeling felt a little too familiar, he feared of what could happen to her like he feared for his current apprentice Anakin.

One evening when she was meditating alone, she sensed an unfamiliar voice speaking to her, it referred to itself as Vecna. He managed to get into her mind, bringing back awful memories of her past. Planting the seed of doubt and fear within her, letting it fester until she started to let the darkness in. Chrissy felt that she was pushed to her limits during her training and used her hatred to her benefit during her missions. Eddie had to stop her from killing a corrupt politician, having to remind her that the Jedi do not kill. He brings up his worries to the council, all they can do is speak with her and let her off with a warning.

Chrissy despises what Eddie had done, believing that he betrayed her. He tries to reconcile, telling her that he only did it for her. He cares about her, he doesn’t want anything awful to happen. She disregards his feelings and continues to focus on what matters to her. Vecna continues to plague her thoughts, telling her that Eddie will destroy her one day. The two of them are no longer on speaking terms from now on.

A Never-ending Battle

Some years later during an important mission, Chrissy fully embraces her darker side. The sight of blood and cut up bodies no longer frightens her. She even goes as far as to hurt Eddie, leaving permanent scars across his body during an intense battle. She has the opportunity to end him, but she leaves him for dead thinking he’ll simply die of starvation. The connection between her and Vecna grows when she seeks him out. He takes her as his apprentice, he teaches her everything and more. She becomes the warrior that she was born to be.

Jedi Master Munson and Sith Lord Cunningham cross paths many, many times. Their battles are long, epic, and difficult. Yet they both manage to show equal parts strength, agility, and endurance regardless of whatever planet they’re on. She tells him each time to join her, they can create the world however they choose, and he refuses each and every time. He tells her to leave Vecna, to come back to the light. He promises to do whatever it takes to help her, but in the end she refuses and so their battle continues until they meet again.

A tragic tale of two friends, turned lovers, turned into enemies for life. It begs the question if they could have any sort of romantic connection anymore.

[louisisalarrie]

hi, i mostly don't use twt only once in a while on a happy occasion but for the past few days i have been doom scrolling wanting to know something about it, if the boys are okay, if his family is okay, are they drinking enough water, are they together? i know i don't want media attention to it but i still feel knowing the little details that his family and friends are together and taking care of each other will help me sooth this pain. it's so difficult to get up and go to work and get things done when it feels like the world has stopped for so many of us and liam is forever gone and it's like a piece of all our hearts have been broken, forever. at the same time, i see many ppl on twt focusing on the second sentence of the one direction ig post which says that when the time will be right and everyone is able to there will be more to say (or something along this line) when I first read that line i thought it meant their individual posts and condolences but a few of my mutuals on twt think there's more intent to that sentence, not like a major revelation but a little something. a part of me wants it to be something like that, like a closure for liam, and calling out everyone who did this to his mental health, but another part of me thinks it's just refering to their individual posts and emotions. what do you think??

yeah idk anon. I saw someone on twt say “it feels like we’re all sitting here waiting for something… but I don’t know what” and it definitely feels that way. im hoping this absolute tragedy brings at least some accountability to those involved in 1d’s management throughout those years, and there is recognition on how we treat artists both as fans and in the industry. im hoping for 1d to out a bunch of shit about these powerful folks and really fight for liam. im hoping maybe they out everything, including the stunts and the lies and closeting and absolutely everything. I’m hoping that they take SC down.

but yeah, I think we’re all doom scrolling on there a bit too at the moment. Just waiting for something. and I guess we mainly just wanna know that the boys are okay, and with each other, and with their families. But they also deserve privacy, but also none of this feels real. Idk.

that line could definitely be interpreted either way, and im not sure tbh. I hope they take those morherfuckers down though.

[accessibleaesthetics]

hello! I've been reading through the resources you've compiled and I really appreciate them! You seem pretty experienced with image descriptions, so I was hoping I could possibly ask you for some advice on how to make my poll tournament more accessible. If you don't have the capacity to help out right now, that's totally fine—let me know if there's someone who you think could better answer my questions!

Anyways, currently I'm running a tournament for poems that are popular on Tumblr (@poetrysmackdown). For Round 1 I just included the images of the poems, which I'd still like to include in future rounds just because it makes it easier to compare side by side, and a few of the poems' precise line structures would be pretty difficult to faithfully replicate on Tumblr. That said, I want to also include text transcriptions in the future rounds for obvious accessibility reasons (and I'm now really wishing I did for Round 1! I didn't realize the tournament would be voted on by anyone besides like ten of my mutuals haha). Do you have any advice on how to format text transcriptions for poems? I'm not sure how best to convey a line break for text-to-speech, for example—should I write it as a "/" between lines, or is it preferable to just write out the poem as I would otherwise? Is it okay if I put the transcription below a read more (some of the poems are quite long), or is that considered rude? I may be overthinking this haha, I just wanna make sure I get it right so everyone can enjoy the poems. I'm attaching two sample poems just so you can get an idea of what I'm working with—thanks in advance!

Not overthinking at all! Before anything else, let me describe the two examples you gave and then I'll put some more detailed thoughts under a read more.

[Image Description: Two screenshots of poems.

The first poem is titled "Scheheraade." It reads: Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake / and dress them in warm clothes again. / How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running / until they forget that they are horses. / It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, / it's more like a song on a policeman's radio, / how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days / were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple / to slice into pieces. / Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means / we're inconsolable. / Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. / These, our bodies, possessed by light. / Tell me we'll never get used to it.

The second poem is titled "Having a Coke with You." It reads: is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne / or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona / partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian / partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt / partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches / partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary / it is hard to believe when I'm with you that there can be anything as still / as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it / in the warm New York 4 o'clock light we are drifting back and forth / between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles // and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint / you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them // I look / at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world / except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it's in the Frick / which thank heavens you haven't gone to yet so we can go together the first time / and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism / just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or / at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me / and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them / when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank / or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn't pick the rider as carefully / as the horse // it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience / which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I'm telling you about it.

End Image Description.]

Now, obviously I went with the traditional academic rules for quoting poems in the above ID, and I did that because the location of line breaks can be very important in poetry, and that's not always going to translate with a screen reader if you just format it that way. Additionally, if you have someone who sight reads but needs to make the text large, this will often change the location of the line breaks.

I don't know of a good or natural way to convey the right-aligned text in some places via a text description, but if any of my followers do, please feel free to comment!

Capitalization, punctuation, and even font choice are all things that can potentially convey significant meaning in poetry. I opted not to attempt to transcribe those in the above two, but if you're more familiar with the poem and thing those aspects are important in context, you could always make a note about the capitalization. And for things like italics, you could do something like "except possibly for the [italics] Polish Rider [end italics] occasionally and anyway it's in the Frick."

Punctuation is also a tricky one...I tried to keep the description as true to the text as possible, because the lack of punctuation in the second poem defintely seemed very intentional and internal to the flow, but I did add a period at the end of the last poem to give a proper stop between the end of the poem and the "end image description." Your call on how you deal with that, just be aware that not all screen readers are going to pause between lines or paragraphs.

I would generally discourage putting descriptions under a read more, though I do very much understand the concern about length. The formal poem quoting rules above can help condense things space-wise, if that helps.

I also want to encourage alt text! Don't put the entire poem in the alt text of course, but if you put a little blurb in the alt text of each picture, that can signal to screen reader users that it's worth their time to continue down the post. Some screen reader users will simply skip the post entirely when they start hearing "photo, photo, photo," and never even get to the image ID, since it's often not there. Such a blurb could be something like "Screenshot of the poem Scheheraade. See body of post for full description" for the first photo, and "Screenshot of the poem Having a Coke with You. See body of post for full description" for the second.

And finally, just to throw it out there, you don't necessarily have to do a traditional image description the way I did, especially if you provide the supplementary alt text. You could simply transcript the poems too...it's all up to you!

Please feel free to reach out to me if you have any more questions, I'm defintely going to follow, this is such a neat idea.

Oh, and one more thing: don't be afraid to let AI help you with this! And I'm not talking about the neural network kind, I'm talking about good old-fashioned optical character recognition. For example, I plugged that first poem into onlineocr.net and got this:

Scheheraade Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again. How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget that they are horses. It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, it's more like a song on a policeman's radio, how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces. Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means we're inconsolable. Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we'll never get used to it.

Sure, it required proofreading, a bit of clean up, and of course the line/stanza breaks, but made the process of creating the image description much less effort than it would have taken to type it all out manually. Of course, if you have access to a text version of the poem, that could work even better, but this is a great way to do it if you only have access to the image for whatever reason!

[nicohverse]

Entropic Float in 2023: An Update!

 Happy New Year, everybody!

It's 2023 and I have a lot of plans! I'll start out by offering reminders that there's a survey to influence the contents of the Entropic Float DLC (Letters To A Beloved Ghost) and make sure that you get to see your favorite characters again, as well as a few pieces of official Entropic Float Merch available on my etsy store. There are stickers of the full cast, keychains of the protagonists and antagonist, and pin buttons of each standard ending- But if there's a particular piece of merchandise you'd want to see, feel free to contact me and let me know.

Entropic Float: Letters To A Beloved Ghost

As mentioned above, there's a survey to influence this DLC's content, but that doesn't mean I don't have plans for it! In fact, I already have a few of the side stories drafted. The DLC will be 5 USD or included in any pledge to the Entropic Float 2 Kickstarter. It will feature all new original art and music, and over 100k words of new content. By reading letters to you exploring unseen moments, past and present, you'll accumulate points toward meeting with somebody who's been hoping to meet you since long before you were invited to the clocktower. Not all letters will be required to finish the DLC's story, but all will be available.

Some side stories haven't yet been planned, as the survey is still open- But those that have been drafted include the pasts of Shinjiro Nozomi's friends, an oddly magical discovery at a small concert attended by Jasper Jasmine Jekyll, and a classic 'battle so we can become friends' between witches. Some will provide closure to doors left ajar in Entropic Float- Others will open up brand new doors for the sequels to shut- And others still will simply give you more time with the dear friends you made over the course of the game.

I plan to close the survey on 03/31/2023, and hope to have the DLC ready for release by the end of summer 2023.

Entropic Float 2: Land Of The Witch

I'm going to begin work in earnest on EF2 now that the new year has begun. I didn't 100% keep to my plan of not starting till the new year, but I managed to at least sort of take a break! I'm not going to be jumping right back into biweekly development updates, because this game has a lot more ground-up building to be done and I have a lot of other things to square away- I'd rather not post the same 'I got some of the point-and-click working the way I imagined' update too many times. I'll update once a month until development is progressing strongly enough to share more.

But you'll be getting introduced to the cast of the game quite soon- In next month's update, most likely! Though character trailers will come a bit later down the line.

Entropic Float 2: Land Of The Witch is... A point and click adventure game focusing on the 'Pine Creek Anomaly'. One year after the resolution of the anomalous clocktower in the Black Rock Desert, Kanatsune Ame is assigned a similarly difficult case. A rural town in the Appalachian Mountains disappeared five years ago- And the Anomaly in its place has only recently signaled its presence by opening an invitation. What will the World Anomaly which stole the town of Pine Creek reveal?

I can't give a timeline on EF2's development quite yet, but I'm tentatively hoping to run a Kickstarter in summer 2023, so that pledges to the Kickstarter can be swiftly translated into the reward of the Letters To A Beloved Ghost DLC. Before running the Kickstarter, I hope to have a demo ready to play, so that I can put my best foot forward. After all, EF2 is going to be a point-and-click adventure, not just a visual novel- Though I do plan, for accessibility, to also offer a 'kinetic novel version' in which the events of the game are arranged into a semi-canon order of experience.

The demo will of course be free, and will cover from the beginning of the game through to the first open exploration area.

The full game will be priced at 15 USD. While Kickstarter reward tiers will be determined closer to its launch, pledges of 5 USD will include the Beloved Ghost DLC only, while pledges of 15 USD or more will include both the DLC and Entropic Float 2, essentially giving you the DLC for free if you pledge at 15 USD exactly. I wish I could offer EF2 for the same zero-dollar price point as the first game, but I hope that the increased production value will make up the difference!

Any Other Projects?

Well, I wouldn't put this category here if I didn't have some other stuff going on. I'm considering participating in a few gamejams with short and sweet VNs. I'm also doing the art for an RPG that a friend of mine is writing. And of course, I'm selling on etsy, taking commissions, and working a day job. Wouldn't it be nice if I could just devote all my time to gamedev... Alas. Well, that's all I've got for now. Thanks for tuning in! More to come!

[sunnytastic]

Hi Isa! I was wondering how you got into watching Mythic Quest? Who's your favourite character so far? Fav episode? Have you seen Dark Quiet Death yet?

About your Ian/Poppy question: NOT a spoiler dw! The MQ showrunners Rob, Megan and David have stated in multiple interviews and podcasts since S1 that Ian and Poppy will never be romantic. They wanted to write an intimate platonic m/f mentor/mentee working relationship/friendship(?) b/w two people with different skills who need each other to achieve their goals. Rob's also said that he thinks the age difference and power dynamic would make it very inappropriate and not what they wanted to explore at all.

Since they've been saying this openly since the beginning, it's not spoiling anything to lyk rn not to expect that type of development in future seasons (ofc non-canon shipping is totally valid, not judging!)

Btw, there's definitely aspects of Rob in Ian and Megan in Poppy, but it's not straight-up self-inserting. Megan gets frustrated when people insinuate that in podcasts/interviews. Poppy's experience working under a difficult arrogant male boss (who still helps her career and whose opinions she respects even as he disrespects her) has influence from Meg's time working for Dan Harmon, but I'm sure lots of other writers in the MQ room have had those experiences too, esp women, and the characters are developed by all the MQ writers, so we shouldn't discredit them just because we only know Rob, Megan and David.

Sorry this is so long, idk if you'll even read this haha, but anyway the first two seasons of MQ are surprisingly good and I hope you like it!

hi thank you for the ask!

im about 2/3 of the way done with season 1 and I really like it so far! it's a lot different than what I was expecting but that's definitely a good thing

my favorite character is easily brad. he is just so goddamn funny and i think i have a thing for the asshole™ character. and danny pudi is just a fantastic actor

so far, my favorite episode is in fact, dark quiet death. it is so fucking good and I was not expecting it at all. i mean that episode itself should have been nominated for an emmy. im sure there is a reason they included it in the season and I am excited to see how it ties in.

as for ian and poppy, i took back my shipping statement after watching a few more episodes. they are very cute, but in a big brother/little sister kind of way.

i can see how poppy might be influenced by Megan but I agree, it's definitely not a self-insert. I saw a video on here a few days ago where david said that a lot of brad's lines were inspired by megan which I TOTALLY see. megan is so funny in a cutthroat way.

overall, i pretty excited to keep watching. hopefully I can finish it today or tomorrow.

[flandevainilla]

CLS Spark

I'm not sure if I have anyone viewing my account that is in the US and in college but I still want to share my experience in case anyone else is interested!

Today was the final day of the program, we had our closing/graduation ceremony.

When I originally signed up I didn't see much online so I hope this helps inform other folks!

For starters, CLS Spark is a subdivision(?) of the Critical Language Scholarship. It is a free eight week long summer program of intensive language courses in Arabic, Russian, or Chinese for US college students.

For my specific program, we were parted with 大连理工大学. We had class Monday through Friday for two hours a day. Monday through Wednesday was a new lesson each day, Thursday was review, and Friday we would use the first hour for our weekly written and oral tests. Although it is for beginners, some of us did have a bit more knowledge of Chinese going into the program so we were placed into a slightly more difficult class so depending on how the placement test goes, there is a slightly slower option and faster paced one. For my class, we had homework Monday through Thursday. These consisted of a worksheet of our lesson from that day as well as an audio recording. The teachers were all very supportive and sweet too.

Compared to my other language course experiences, I did actually enjoy the structure of it a lot. I will mention all the activities in order and my experience with them!

听写/Writing Dictation - At the start of class the teacher would say 5-10 sentences depending on the script which we would have to listen to and write down. If the script was memorized, usually most of them were direct, if not paraphrased, passages while sometimes they were slight deviations but overall the same thing. After a while I personally struggled with this, I've been a lot better with reading than listening and like to have my handwriting a neat. Because of this I could process the beginning of some sentences but not necessarily the ending. She would repeat each sentence two to three times depending on the length.

读课文 - This one is pretty straight forward. We would take turns reading paragraphs or certain characters' lines. Although we were expected to go over them before class, this was also an extra way to really review the information while listening to other people as well. Questions - Finally, the teacher would ask us to put away the text and then ask us questions on the context. If you're like me, I have AuDHD so my memory isn't the best, it can be difficult. You could give good responses, but some of them do require a specific grammar that was used in the text so there are times where you would definitely need to really get down the grammar or memorize the text properly. If we finished asking questions for the entire lesson and had enough time, we would be asked questions somewhat related to the topics and themes in it.

Grammar! - This is basically a separate class. The first hour includes everything I mentioned above with the first teacher and then for the next hour we would review grammar. It was a lot more relaxed since we wouldn't necessarily have to memorize exact phrases. Our teacher would hold up a piece of cardstock with a grammar pattern then ask one of us to read it aloud. Afterwards she would ask us a question where we could give a free response using the grammar.

In both sections, we would also at times be asked what someone else said sometimes so that we could get extra practice in but also test our listening skills.

The written test consisted of about three pages of varying exercises. At the beginning there was always a portion for hanzi. This was about eight or so spots where you would write the hanzi corresponding with the pinyin written above it. After that there were some half filled short dialogues where you would fill in a response using a grammar or vocab word if it was next to it.

The oral test was a little silly but very open, I don't believe this was actually graded either based on everything I've seen grade wise. Essentially they would share three topics, usually all pertaining to a theme in our lessons for that week. Our teacher would then have a pick a random piece of paper with a number on it that corresponded to each prompt. These were pretty relaxed and if there were certain words you weren't aware of they would give some help if you did ask them for it. They would also ask some follow up questions here and there but usually all were related to what you were speaking about.

Next I would like to talk about culture classes! During my time in the program we had two options, tai chi and cooking. As someone who is a bit more body conscious I chose cooking. It was really relaxed and the teachers were really sweet. We would get our ingredients lists on Wednesday and have class during the second hour on Friday. The teachers were not professional steps so they made it very clear that we were all learning together and that mistakes are okay. With the ingredients, we reused a lot of the same ingredients so after the initial trip to the store you really wouldn't have to get much again aside from like 2-3 items. In my case, my ginger went bad eventually so I had to get more but aside from that I pretty much had all the same condiments throughout the program.

After the midterm, everyone was connected to a language exchange partner. The other classes had two students per partner and in mine we had one each. My partner was studying to be a Chinese teacher so I believe other language partners probably were as well. We met with our partners for half an hour every week.

Outside of the actual classes and stuff, CLS did offer a few things as well. In the weeks leading up to the start of the program, there were affinity groups held by program alumni. There were a couple of different groups ranging from stem majors to lgbtq to poc students. These basically just gave new students a chance to connect with other students and also get any worrying or curious questions answered. We also had a mid-program survey and afterwards and OPI test. Taking even another step back, students received a $750 stipend from the program. We also get access to an alumni network as well as competitive free eligibility for government jobs. I also opted in to receive academic credit but it is optional. We are also considered semi-finalists if we would like to apply for the following year. With all of that out of the way, I will just share my final thoughts on the program. I personally really enjoyed it. Although I definitely wasn't the best student I did improve tremendously in that time than I think I would have while self studying. I also got to really reflect on what learning methods work for me and what don't as well as what my strengths and weaknesses are with languages. Although it was a bit of a bummer, it did really show me how I can make more improvements with learning languages moving forward and that I am really grateful for.

Previously I wasn't really aware of much of the culture either. With how sporadic and random my language studies have been in the past, I didn't really sit down and have consistent and thorough exposure to the cultures of the languages I was learning. This really helped me see the importance of really taking the time to sit down and learn about them in addition to the languages. You get to interact with it both through the culture classes but also the actual language content. From my experience, a lot of dialogues are based off of workplace or social situations so you get more talking rather than background information. With this course, it was different so I really appreciate that I kind of received a double combo with it.

That is all I really have to say about it, if you have any questions please feel free to message me!

[kogarashi-art]

Posting Fic - How to prep your writing to display correctly on AO3 (via LibreOffice)

So I've seen guides online about how to convert your fanfic for AO3 after writing it in Google Docs, because a lot of people use GDocs to do their writing (which is a decent option, since it saves it in the cloud and all that). I'm not planning on repeating that here.

But I don't do my writing in GDocs, I do my writing in LibreOffice Writer, because it emulates an older version of Word (which is what I grew up on and am most used to), and because I can have more robust spellchecking than on GDocs. And when I was first considering finally posting my work to AO3, I'd heard lots of commentary about how often pasting into the rich text editor sometimes loses formatting, or what hoops people had to jump through to make sure everything looked good.

So I'm here with the actually-pretty-darn-simple method I use to post to AO3 for anyone who needs this, because I want to be helpful.

Please note: this is largely for the basic formatting one might use on AO3. I haven't tested it with fancier things (not even smallcaps yet, though I'm hoping that won't prove too difficult when I finally get around to a chapter that needs that functionality). Also, these instructions are for Windows, which is what I use.

The first step is, obviously, to write up your story in LibreOffice Writer. I have some formatting standards I prefer because it makes my works look like they're publication-ready, which helps me stay in the "I'm actually writing fiction here" groove.

Once you're done writing, you need to make sure the file is ready to save for AO3. With how I write, the only thing I change is that I remove that first-line indent across the whole document. This is easy enough. Select everything, and then go to Format > Paragraph.

Once in that dialog, change the first line indent to 0. If you don't see a number there at all, just enter the number in there.

Then press "OK." This will realign all the paragraphs, including their first lines, to the left margin.

Note that I haven't changed the spacing between paragraphs at all. It's still single-spaced, and that's fine, because the next step can handle that.

DON'T SAVE OVER THE ORIGINAL.

What you want to do at this point is select "Save As" and make sure to save it as an html file, not whatever file format you normally use. LibreOffice will probably ask if you want to do that or use its native format, and you can just tell it "use html format."

You should now have an html file wherever you saved it. If you double-click it, it will open in your default browser, and you can check that the formatting carried over properly if you want. It should look ready for posting, complete with the internet-standard single empty line between paragraphs. LibreOffice knows to wrap each paragraph in html paragraph tags, which is what AO3 likes, and AO3 (and generally the rest of the internet) reads that as the extra empty space between paragraphs, just like you should see here on Tumblr.

Now you need to navigate to where you have the file on your computer via your file manager of choice (I'm on Windows, so I use File Explorer, which I can reach just by right-clicking on the Start button, but I also have a shortcut to it on my taskbar). Right-click on the file, and "open with" Notepad. You can also just open Notepad and open the file from within the program.

You should see the html code for the file.

This is all set and ready to go. Copy everything between the "body" tags in the file (I also skip the lines that are for the chapter title, because I can enter that in a different spot on AO3).

Copy the selected code and paste it into the HTML editor on AO3. If you want AO3 to do a bit of cleanup for you, you can click over to the Rich Text editor, then back to HTML, and it will clean up extra carriage returns and such, but this isn't necessary. Double-check that everything looks good by clicking "Preview," and if you're happy, click "Post."

This even preserves smart quotes, which I don't bother to change to straight quotes, though I suppose you could do so if you wanted.

But honestly, that's how easy it is. Save the file as html, copy the html over to AO3, and done. No scripts, no file converters, no worrying if your formatting is going to survive being pasted into the Rich Text editor. Just LibreOffice and Notepad.