#I feel really self conceited for tagging it as that though

[talentpiper11]

Work in Progress Wednesday!

Hi all! And many thanks to @monbons and @rimeswithpurple for the tags. Much appreciated.

I've been making progress on the Snowbaz Soulmate AU but it's mad slow, so I'm not ready to post more quotes from it at the moment.

However!

I've also started a new fic, one that's slightly more "out there" (or at least one that I think is a bit more original). This new fic comes from the perspective of Philippa Stainton in the aftermath of the voice recorder incident. I don't want to give the main conceit of the story away just yet, but here's a segment from her reaction that I feel satisfied with:

It wasn’t like when I lost my voice to a cold as a kid. Every mage dreads the sort of creeping cough that demands a few days of vocal rest— and the scratchy-voiced recovery period afterward is every elocutionist’s nightmare. But sick people can still make sounds. They cough, and sigh, and if they have to, they can eke out a bit of whispered sound. I couldn’t do any of it.

Well, sure, I could cough. I could breathe in deep, fill my lungs, and force it out fast and hard. I could feel the action in my chest, in my throat, the rush of air past my tongue and lips. But it didn’t break the silence. I stared at myself in the mirror as I tried, once— it was like watching a muted tv. Not even a whisper of air. Not even when I screamed. Every sound that I’d ever been able to make, and every sound that I’d ever be able to make, had been siphoned out of me in that single moment by the gates.

It took a lot of self control— all that I had, really— to keep from breaking the mirror after that.

It's coming along nicely, I think! We shall see, though.

No-pressure tags and hellos under the cut!

@larkral @raenestee @youarenevertooold @simonsnowsfreckles @prettygoododds @roomwithanopenfire @ebbpettier @thewholelemon and anyone else who would like to post something but is waiting on a tag!

[next-autopsy]

A/N: Well, hi there! Okay so Joe needs to apologise asap! This is his attempt I guess… idk what’s happening anymore man

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: I don’t think there are any��

Tags: @malarkgirlypop, @panzershrike-pretz

Made of Glass

Chapter nineteen: An Itchy, Army Issued Blanket 

Their barracks were dark and quiet when the ladies returned. Charlotte was all but dragged to her bed by Connie and Betty, who then immediately started getting ready to pass out on their own cots.

Lucy and Blythe were inseparable, snuggling together on a bed too small for the two of them, by now all the women had noticed the lovey dovey behaviour between them. No one said anything, no one minded. 

Bernadette had spent the entire cab ride sniffling and wiping at her face where stray tears fell. No one had mentioned what had happened with Liebgott, though all of them witnessed it, except Charlotte who was in a world of her own and wouldn’t remember anything from this night. 

She changed her clothes and brushed out her hair, too tired to walk to the bathroom and finish her nighttime ritual. Before Birdie could climb under the covers of her awaiting bed, Frankie made eye contact with her. She shook her half empty pack of smokes at the mousy haired girl and flicked her head toward the door, a silent invitation. 

Bernadette sighed and joined the Italian woman outside. She might feel better if she spoke about what happened. She hadn’t quite figured out why his words got to her so badly, perhaps talking to Francesca could help. They sat on the wooden steps as they usually did. Rossi lit a cigarette and passed it to her friend, then lit her own. 

Francesca wouldn’t push, of course she wanted to know exactly what was said and what tone was used, but she wanted to avoid more tears if possible. Seeing Birdie quietly crying and then trying to pretend everything was okay, upset her more than she cared to admit. 

“I don’t know why I cried.” Her words were void of emotion. Frankie only hummed in response, waiting for her to share what was on her mind. 

“He’s always been kind of mean. I thought he actually hated me…. But then something changed.” Frankie was more than curious, she thought back to the uncomfortable night she watched from the shadows. Rossi liked people watching, she picked up on hidden feelings or underlying vibes easily. Whatever had or hadn't happened between Birdie and Liebgott perplexed her. And apparently, she wasn’t the only one.

“Joe was really… I-I thought maybe, just maybe we could've been friends.” 

“But?” Francesca prompted, eager to hear more of this odd dynamic. 

“But, he thinks I'm the worst.” The words cracked as the downcast woman spoke them, her eyes focused on the floor, her shoulders sagged in defeat, even her bottom lip protruded in a pout. 

“I’m sure that's not true…” The older woman consoled. Bernadette was sweet and witty and an oddly likeable person. Francesca had specifically tried not to make friends with anyone but Birdie managed to wiggle her way into her heart and now she couldn’t imagine not being friends with the little firecracker. 

“No, it is. The words he used were: Arrogant, conceited bitch.” She didn’t even have one second to feel sorry for herself as Frankie instantly counter argued. 

“Ha. You are the least arrogant, conceited person I've ever met. And you're definitely not a bitch.” 

“Not according to him.” Now she was sulking, pouting and feeling sorry for herself. The attitude change was phenomenal. From Francesca’s perspective, Birdie had always been confident. Not overly but enough to tough it out with her self righteous Captain. 

“Why do you care what he thinks of you?” Maybe Rossi would have to give the poor girl some hints, she obviously hasn't picked up on her own feelings for the man who bullied her. It would explain her need for his approval and why his comments affected her the way they did. 

“I-” She couldn’t answer, she didn’t know how. Why did she care so much about what Joseph Liebgott thought of her?  “Because, I- I don’t know.”

“I think I do.” She would have to tell the southern girl, it was her duty as best friend. She couldn’t let her go on like this, it was down right embarrassing. 

“Enlighten me.” 

“You like him.” The George company woman spoke plainly, no point sugarcoating it. 

“What? No, you're way off, he’s so- But he’s- He is a pigheaded jerk. I-I don't like him.” Birdie spluttered, stumbling over her words and giving Frankie an incredulous look. 

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself? Either way, I don't think it's working.” She paused to let the words sink in, “Come on, you need some sleep.” 

————————

Letting go of Birdie’s arm and watching her walk out the door, surrounded by her girlfriends, caused a pang in Joe’s chest. 

He was at fault and he knew it. Joe didn’t mean the harsh words and he shouldn’t have said those things about her, whether she was listening or not. And now, he sat at the bar, gulping down whatever alcohol came his way. 

“Liebgott?” No answer, he preferred to mope in peace. But Tipper wouldn’t sit by and watch his friend beat himself up over a girl, especially because he had money on the two getting together before they were deployed.

“She’ll come round.” Ed wasn’t really sure what else he could say to soothe the situation. But he had noticed the girl in question harboured feelings for his brooding friend, and he definitely knew Joe felt some type of way about Birdie. 

The issue was getting them to recognise their own fondness of each other and stop messing up. It was like the pair were stuck in blatant denial, not even considering the reason why they were always so drawn to one another, constantly needing to make comments to gain the others attention. To Ed it was transparent, which is why he was so confident about the running bet in Easy company, Joe and Birdie; Will they? Won’t they? 

“I think she hates me now.” 

“What? She didn’t before?” Tip was trying to lighten the mood, but Joe wasn’t having it. He continued to feel sorry for himself, drinking yet another pale yellow beer.

“No… I don't know- she was, we were... It doesn’t matter now.” The alcohol was affecting him, he couldn’t think straight and his words came out as incoherent mumble.

“You should apologise.” 

“You think I don't know that?” Joe’s snark was intact regardless of how much he drank. 

“Hey, I’m just saying.” Ed paused, “If you made a meaningful gesture… something only known between you two…” He trailed off, letting Joe put the rest of the thought together in his mind. 

“Yeah? Like what? In case you didn’t notice, we don't exactly have the best track record.” Liebgott was mad, not at his friend, just in general or at himself. His patience with Tipper’s chit chat was running thin. 

“Well, what do you have?” 

—------------------

While weekend passes were more common now than back in Toccoa, they were still highly sought after. Joe had a plan to smooth over the mishap with Bernadette and it meant spending a precious pass at the library reading, instead of getting shitfaced at a bar. 

He prayed it would work, that Bernadette would forgive him and let his unkind words fade away. Joe had already decided on a place and time and now he needed to convince one of her friends to bring her to the spot. She probably wouldn’t meet him there if he asked, so he’d have to be sneaky. 

Approaching Francesca Rossi was intimidating. She had a reputation of not taking shit from anyone and Joe had hurt seemingly her only friend. Plus, Birdie most likely told the Italian woman about his colossal fuck up, so he doubted she would be on his side. 

“What do you want?” Her eyes narrowed at the man walking toward her.

“I was hoping you would help me with something.” Joe knew he had to be straightforward with the George company woman, put his cards on the table and hope for the best.

“Why?” She hadn’t stopped glaring.

“Look, I’ll be honest. I fucked up, with Birdie. I said some things I’d rather not repeat… And I’m just trying to apologise.” 

“What do you need?” He hadn’t expected it to be that easy, so he stood still for a moment processing, before he explained his plan to her. It felt dumb to say it out loud, but when Rossi gave him a nod and a half smile, promising to do her part, he thought: maybe he was doing the right thing.

“One thing before you go…” Francesca called out to him as he turned to leave, he stopped and looked at the woman over her shoulder.

“Yeah?” 

“You hurt her again…. I will kill you.” There was no hint of a joke in her tone, no curve of her lips. She meant it and she wanted him to know she would follow through. Birdie meant alot to her, she didn’t have many women friends so she would hold onto the southerner for the rest of her life, kill for her, die for her if necessary. 

“I know you will.” 

“Good.”

—----------------

The night came. Joe was nervous. He told himself it was due to all the facts he had to memorise and his anxiety was about messing up in front of an expert. 

Something in the back of his head said her name and the idea of his nerves coming from his need to impress this specific woman ran through his brain. Maybe it was a little bit about Bernadette, but he couldn’t dwell on it too much. He had places to be and apologies to set up. 

—--------------------

Francesca was good at keeping secrets and hiding things. So when the time came, Birdie suspected nothing. Frankie told her friend she needed her help with something and led her outside and into the dark with no explanation. Birdie didn’t question it, Francesca wouldn’t steer her wrong, she trusted the woman with everything she had.

After a few minutes of walking, the two women came upon a clearing with an olive green, Army issued blanket laid down upon the grass. A gas lantern lit up the immediate area.

Just as Bernadette began to wonder what was going on, Liebgott came into view, stepping into the light that shone from the source on the floor. Birdie’s jaw hung, she looked between the man and her friend who had brought her here, feeling somewhat betrayed. 

“Frankie? What the hell?” Were the words she finally managed to get out. 

“You got two options, Birdie. Stay here and hear him out… or we walk away. I’ll punch him in the throat too, if you want.” All three of them considered the words carefully. 

“Fair.” Joe shrugged, knowing he deserved it. 

Francesca eyed the younger woman as she pondered her options. She knew the outcome, it was plain to see which one Birdie would go for, the look on her face said it all.

She was curious, Joe intrigued her beyond words and even though he had said some things that hurt Birdie, she still craved his attention, to be around him, to listen to whatever he was about to say. 

Bernadette didn’t have to say it, she just gave Frankie a look and the black hair woman was on her way, not before shooting Liebgott a stern glare. 

“I didn’t mean it.” Joe broke the silence that was growing between the two. 

“But you still said it.” She couldn’t let him get away that easy. 

“I know… I shouldn’t’ve. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” 

“Well, don’t let me stop you.” Birdie had already decided she’d forgive him but she wanted to drag it out, see him sweat. She knew first hand how scary Frankie could be, the fact that he had talked her into this project of his was apology enough in her books. 

“I am so sorry, Birdie.” His words were genuine, he truly was sorry. He would have said it a hundred more times if she wanted him too. His pride aside, he wanted her to know it. Talking about her like that was not something that would be repeated. Hurting her had hurt him, maybe Tipper was right, maybe his feelings for her ran deeper than he thought. 

He wanted to be her friend of course, she was always so smiley and happy, it was easy to get along with her. Joe enjoyed his time around her, even before, when all the words they said to each other were dipped in sarcasm. He actually enjoyed the witty comebacks she came up with, he liked that she wouldn’t let anyone walk over her. She always had something to say and he found himself wanting to listen more and more as time went on. 

“What’s that for?” Birdie nodded her head to the blanket, trying to steer away from acknowledging the apology. 

“Huh? Oh..” Lieb looked behind him, “Come here, sit. I want to show you something.” He sat and patted the empty space next to him. Birdie followed instruction and lowered herself onto the itchy blanket. 

Joe leaned back, propping himself up with one arm and pointing skyward with the other. Birdie copied his stance, turning her chin up and watching where he pointed to. 

“See that? That’s the Little Dipper-“ Birdie’s attention was pulled from the stars above them and to the guy casually dropping constellation names. 

“Wait… it actually is… how did you know that?” She imagined Joe, head in a book, studying star clusters so he would have something to talk to her about and it made her stomach flip. Had he really done something like that for her? She was vaguely aware that he didn’t care for studying or reading novels, so if he had done that it was solely for her benefit. 

Lieb let his arm drop, turning his head to face her. The eye contact made Birdie want to twirl a strand of hair with her fingers and giggle like a schoolgirl- Damn, maybe Francesca had been right about her liking Joseph Liebgott. 

“Magic.” His face was stoic and serious as he whispered the word to her, like it was a secret. Then, his infamous smirk broke onto his face and Bernadette couldn’t help but grin back at him, the butterflies in her tummy were going crazy, but she tried to play it cool. 

“Ah okay. I see: This is your apology? Impressing me with your new found knowledge of the stars?” Said with feigned disinterest. Joe hadn’t stopped watching her, her mannerisms were endearing. Yes, he definitely wanted to be friends with this girl. 

“It depends.” He broke eye contact, attempting to give his heart a moment to catch up. 

“On what?” The country woman had completely forgotten about the twinkly lights above them, something else was far more interesting at this moment. 

“Is it impressing you?” 

It most definitely was. Joe pointed out several well known constellations and even gave a couple backstories. Birdie already knew everything he was telling her but she humoured him and listened with interest at the tales he told her. 

At one point the two lay down for a better view of the starry black sky. Their arms brushed up against one another and neither attempted to move away. They ignored the shared touch, pretending it wasn’t happening but the pair could feel exactly where their bodies met and they revealed in the warmth. 

A/N: does his apology suffice? I think stargazing is going to be a Birdie/Lieb thing from now on.

I love hearing from you guys, so please feel free to comment or dm me!

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter twenty

[is-it-cute-gf-au-edition]

(ooc um hey I think the asks about the "personal" kind of stuff with pet blog guy is interesting and all, but it feels really uncomfortable to read in comparison to the usual asks. I know this is your blog and all, but maybe there needs to be some more warnings??)

Ah, shit. I was trying to keep those responses silly and manifestly unrealistic; Everything I posted is decidedly less edgy than the source material, but it seems to have squicked out more people than I expected. In hindsight, this makes sense - the audience was expecting horror and fake politics, not squicky sexual suggestiveness. This was probably even weirder for the people from Domesticated!Ford, since he and his Bill are asexual.

To answer this and other asks:

I can't do anything about people taken by surprise besides advising you to block the "Raccoon Guy's Scene Life" tag, but I'm warning anyone who's reading reverse-chronologically: some people asked Pet Guy about his sex life and BDSM habits, and he talks about how he's not really into his raccoon body. There were two sexual asks, one of which was a hentai joke; the answer to both was "I'm not into it," and the posts are marked explicit. The others involve kink situations, but mostly those are about the fact that he's not really comfortable in his new body. One post talks about gags. Nothing talks about anatomy.

In no post on this blog or the @totallynotstalkingmothguy side blog do I intend to get sexually graphic. That includes responses to @chiphersconsort. You've seen the most sexual it will get.

If the topic comes up again, I'll make a sideblog.

To be clear, I would have been WAY more careful with content warnings if this wasn't specifically a blog that was made to play with two dark AUs. @alexthebordercollie's Hand of God au is specifically about abusive relationships and trauma. @jellyskink's au is about dehumanization, loss of agency, and profound loss of sense of self. We thought it would be fun to look at a setting where somebody was in a really WEIRD situation - aka, bodily turning into something inherently unsexy - but who still had a strong sense of agency. The fact he's really really into ethics makes him a good medium to discuss it. I also just really like the SciFi conceit: turning into a small furry creature is no weirder than developing a physical disability, to the point where Pet Guy finds these questions totally uninteresting. It's so absurd and ridiculous and dumb, and I find absurdity fun.

It does occur to me, though: Pet Guy is the straightman for two graphic horror AUs. This is not going to be the only time something weird and upsetting comes up. I am going to make a blanket tag "Warning! High warning area!" for stuff that is way heavier, darker, or freakier than the standard fare, or that takes things in an unusual direction. (Mind you, the standard fare includes rating a human being as a "pet," so that won't be tagged.)

[remidyal]

Pure Self-Indulgence - My D20 Stuff Ranked

Last night, I published my 20th work of D20 fanfic. I had mentioned here that I was going to do something that was maybe the most purely self-indulgent thing I've ever done when this happened, and so I bring you:

Remi's D20 works, ranked from Nat 1 to Nat 20 by how much she likes them:

Nat 1 - Phases: The only one of these that isn't a story in and of itself, this is miscellanea (such as cut scenes and mechanics) from Lunacy. I LIKE all of it, but it's not actually something that can be read and enjoyed on its own, so by default it's the worst on this list.

2 - Runaway: The first piece of D20 writing I did, I like the core conceit here, but I've used pieces of it in other places since (Adaine being stuck in a palimpsest, Aelwyn as a runaway) and the writing feels really weak to me here now.

3 - Sisters: The lone Crown of Candy piece I've done, the plot just feels a little weak to me and my grasp of the tone for this setting isn't quite right. It's worth mentioning here that I by and large LIKE even the low entries on this list, at least currently. I think the summary of "Ruby Rocks was just short of her twenty-first nameday when she had the horrifying realization that she might be turning into her mother." is freaking great though and someone with more panache with these characters could do a really strong fic with that premise.

4 - Flames of Passion: This piece of almost pure crack, and the sole romance-focused fic on this list as well as (so far as I can tell) the only Kalvaxus/Gilear fanfic ever written, was done for a prompt. I don't regret it, but shockingly enough having an aroace writer write romance makes it just come across as bad romantic comedy lines, at least to herself. That might just add to the crack here. On a pure kudos front, this one gets a low number of kudos from signed in users versus guests, and I suspect that is purely people not wanting their names on this thing, which I thoroughly respect.

5 - Two Wolves: This oneshot was the prototype for Lunacy. I wound up liking this concept better than Runaway, and I think the writing is still somewhat better, but the story naturally feels incomplete now since it skims through the first nine or so chapters of what is going to end up as an 80+ chapter story. I think it can be read fine on its own, though.

6 - Waiting: I think this is where I go from 'eh it's okay but' to looking for reasons I like things less than others. This is a pretty silly little fic, and I like it fine, but it's not memorable to me in the way some of the other things I've written I feel are. It's a similar tone to something like Pact, but I don't think it's quite as successful at that tone.

7 - Minutes from the July Mordred Manor Wizards' Council Meeting: This, which EASILY wins the 'longest title' contest, is one where I think readers might have it a lot higher than I do. I like it fine? But it's pretty similar to Waiting in my mind; a nice little treat, but not really super substantial.

8 - Unending Summer: This post-Unsleeping City 2 fic focuses on Iga's kids as Nick is getting ready to start college. I think this is the breakpoint where things start getting really hard for me to rank these fics in the middle of this list; I genuinely love this one, but it's also just kind of a slice of life piece without an extensive plot or punchiness. That can be really nice, of course, depending on your mood. This (or the Poison sequels) is my least read piece, probably just because it's not fantasy high and it's focused on INCREDIBLY minor characters.

9 - Malignancy: The last entry in the Poison series, I'm not totally sure how the choose between two endings thing works and kind of wish I'd just forced the bad one on everyone, though both of them are kind of bad endings for Aelwyn. I think people may see the tags and think these are sincerely Penelope/Aelwyn romance pieces and be scared off, to be honest. They aren't. I fucking love this trilogy, though I think this is the weakest of the three.

10 - Twelve Hours: The most recent bit of writing on this list, this is honestly a placeholder to some degree. While I sometimes know while I'm publishing something that I love or don't fully like it, I don't have a solid read on how I'll feel about this one later. I definitely like the premise of Aelwyn + The Bad Kids just stuck with each other while the rest of the world is frozen around them though.

11 - Bane: We're picking nits a little bit here, but I think the weird double perspective where we're PoV of Aelwyn watching a video for most of the fic is a little bit awkward. I completely love the premise of what's going on here with Penelope, Adaine, and Aelwyn, though, and the purely downer ending leading into Malignancy.

12 - Dig Out: This might be the one where I've grown to like it more the most since publishing; it would have been near the very bottom of a similar list at the time I put it out. There's a comedic horror to the entire situation I really like, while still having a touch of sweetness to it. This is probably the fic on the list other than Pact/Familiar I'm most likely to follow up on sometime, to see how Jawbone and the other Bad Kids react to her return from the grave.

13 - Familiar: This one's new enough that it still might move or down the list. I think my main issue with this one that would stop it from moving up is a little bit of awkwardness in the pacing, which tends to be the weakness in these longer one-shots. Aelwyn's backstory in this is also depressing enough that it takes away a little bit from the overall tone that Pact and most of these story have, as well, for me.

14 - Gallivant's End: The highest entry on this list that isn't Fantasy High, this post-canon Starstruck fic following Riva is one I've grown to really love, in part because fic focused on Riva is pretty uncommon and I genuinely love them. I also think it was a REALLY bold choice by Siobhan to get to the end of a character arc and have the character look back and have regrets about losing some of their naivety, and that's the main thing this fic focuses on.

15 - Pact: I think this might be lower than people would expect for this fic, which might have gotten the best reception of anything I've written in the fandom. I do really really like it, but there are a few flaws and things I wish I'd done differently - mostly some additional scene on Adaine growing up in Hell - and so I'm not quite as fond as I am of the ones higher on this list.

16 - Poison: The first of the Penelope/Aelwyn trilogy, and my favorite of them. This one was done for a prompt wanting the relationship covered, and I thought that this relationship could be purely toxic; I've always written Aelwyn as hating and other than Kalina not respecting any of the other members of the conspiracy, though she hides that, and this comes out of that. (She also hates and doesn't really respect herself, but would NEVER acknowledge that at this point)

17 - Missing: This one's still a WiP, of course, and I don't have it NEARLY as planned out as I did and do Lunacy. Still, I love the premise, the multiclasses I've gone with, and also some of the near-term plans that I won't spoil here. Aelwyn actually trying to be just a little better and braver is fascinating partly because it's such a dangerous move for her in the short term, but the prize may be worth the risk…

18 - Dreams: This Riz-centered piece is maybe the one I love the most more than the response it seemed to generate, which was mostly pretty lukewarm. I suspect that may partly just be because it has some of the same pacing issues as most of the longer one-shots on this list, but I don't care. I loved writing this world's class swapped versions of characters, Adaine and Fig particularly, and I could have gone on like three times as long but this was written under the deadline of an exchange and I made myself hold to 10k or less words. I don't think I could return to this world, alas, because I love the ambiguity of the ending. (My personal interpretation is that both Kalina and the Sleeping God in this world are neutral, not evil, but the Bad Kids are VERY MUCH a cult of them at this point.)

19 - The Ghost of Me: This snappy little oneshot is my favorite short writing I've done in the fandom and it's not particularly close. I LOVE this version of Adaine, of her friends, and of her sheer raw pettiness in the wake of being executed by the Court of Stars.

Natural 20 - Lunacy: Probably no surprise, given that it's twice as long as the rest of the list combined, but this is my personal favorite work I've done. It's still a WiP and I've let off the gas because it's a bit of a rougher stretch, but I know the ending sequence of events and I'm deeply looking forward to sharing this one with all of you. Werewolf Adaine is maybe the most natural AU in all of Dimension 20, and I LOVE exploring it; Werewolf Aelwyn is a bit more of a stretch from there, but I'm delighted to have done it and love the versions of both of those characters that inhabit this fic.

[barricadebops]

I've seen a lot of people say that the killing of the artillery seargent was another one of Enjolras' "unexpected outbursts of soul," something he does while hotheaded and not completely thinking things through, and while I don't want to outright shut down anyone's interpretations (because that's the beauty of literature—we all take away something different from it), I've always seen the situation as the opposite, actually. The decision to shoot the artilleryman was very deliberate, very carefully calculated. Enjolras assesses the situation the rebels are in—he can see that "[i]f this [referring to coming under fire of grapeshot] were continued, the barricade [would] no longer [be] tenable," (5.1.8) because an immediate second round of grapeshot would mean the grapeshot would make it's way through, destroying the barricade, and with it, the rebels gathered inside, so he figures that the best way to stop such a thing from happening would be to "prevent the second discharge" from occuring right at that second. (5.1.8.) How? By getting rid of the man commanding the gun that would lead to the doom of those at the barricade. It's completely calculated: kill the captain, the National Guardsmen will have to take the time to retrieve the body and find someone new to man the gun, and thus will buy the rebels more time to figure out a way to fortify their defenses better so they hold when the next round of grapeshot does inevitably come. And it works too—

"He had to be carried away and replaced by another. Several minutes were thus gained, in fact." (5.1.8.)

Many people judge the moment and say Combeferre is in the better for trying to pursuade Enjolras out of committing the act, and morally in a perfect world he may be so—but logically in this situation, does it make sense?

"Well let us not kill him." (5.1.8.)

Combeferre's logic here is illogical—there's no way that the rebels cannot kill this man and also live on for the few more hours they do, and to a certain degree, I think Combeferre realizes this, too. The life of this man means they suffer all the more—this seems to be the only answer, and that's the entire tragedy of this narrative. It's the fact that Enjolras very well recognizes that the captain could have been friends with him, could have been his brother in his ideal world, but the circumstances he's been forced into means that can never be, because it's either this future at the cost of the artillery seargent's life, or the artillery seargent being spared at the cost of the future and his own life.

"Let me alone. It must be done" (5.1.8)

The tragedy of the narrative here is that it isn't a choice. It isn't something that can be excused by a "heat-of-the-moment" adrenaline rush. The tragedy is that this had to be coldly calculated and swiftly executed, that this action was taken with a cool mind, and that there can be no room for regret if the rebels ever want to reach their goal. The tragedy is that Enjolras knew what he was doing, but he recognized that he would have to do it anyways, even if it tears his soul in two for doing so.

[iidylllic]

Keyhole | Pt 1 💠🖤

Dottore & Pantalone x reader | 3k words | 18+

Part 1 📍 | Part 2

Description: Pantalone has always considered himself an opportunist.

Reader specifications: woman AFAB she/her | switch reader with both elements of domming and subbing written into the fic

Character specifications: Dottore [switch!dottore, dottore likes being pegged :), socially inept Dottore, probs OOC tried my best, total disregard for his clones] Pantalone [dom!pantalone, he’s a sadist through and through to me, he’s also an asshole here] Both [they’re past fuckbuddies]

Tags: sft [dottore is bad at feelings as per usual, blackmail] nsft [dark themes, pegging, riding, vibrators, sex toys, non-consensual voyeurism, mentions of other kinks] future tags to be added in part 2

Note: Look, I just had to publish this tonight to motivate me to finish it tomorrow. I’ll be back, trust me, if you’re seeing this when it’s first released… please be patient :)

I am 18+, have read the tags, and consent to seeing the content of this fic [yes ⬇️] [no ↩️]

Dottore was a fickle man, and nobody knew this better than Pantalone.

Which was why The Regrator was so surprised when he had walked by the door of Dottore’s office late at night to hear the man’s poorly muffled moans. Pantalone had looked up the corridor, then down the corridor, and finally, ever so slowly, bent down and peeped through the keyhole, careful not to accidentally knock against the door.

What he saw had his eyes widening.

It was Dottore, bent over the desk in his office, hands scraping for purchase against the mahogany desk. And you, his assistant, positioned behind him, fucking into him at a steady pace. His mask was discarded, leaving Pantalone with an unobstructed view of Dottore’s teary eyes and the drool pooling onto the desk.

“Good boy,” You cooed. “Taking it so well. Why don’t I help you out a little, though?”

Pantalone kept his gaze focused on your hand, reaching down to Dottore’s cock. The fingers he could barely make out from his viewpoint indicated that you were only using your thumb and forefinger. Dottore had gritted his teeth and exhaled through his nose, eyes squeezed shut.

Pantalone resisted the urge to drag his hand away from the doorframe in order to palm himself. He didn’t want to lose balance. He wished he had walked by sooner, with the two of you appearing to already be deep in the act. 

When Dottore’s cum started splattering against the wood with a long, drawn-out moan, Pantalone decided it was time to get up before he was noticed.

Interesting. Very interesting. And something he just had to stake a claim on.

———

Pantalone had been rather disappointed when Dottore decided that they would no longer be having their usual meetings.

There was no talking. In typical Il Dottore fashion, there was nothing except a cold and impersonal parting, an icy refusal, a clinical denial that anything had ever taken place. Pantalone had tried not to let it bother him. Here he was, rich and influential, and choosing to fuck his colleague instead of anyone else he could have had. His unpleasant, ill-mannered, frigid colleague.

It was the appeal of seeing him come undone. There was nothing more amusing to Pantalone than seeing Dottore abandon some of his pride as he writhed underneath the ninth harbinger.

Some. Always some, never all. Dottore had usually cussed him out during sex, hissed out insults like he was trying to negate the fact that he liked having a dick up his ass.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Pantalone had once told him, chuckling softly. He had put his hands on Dottore’s hips and decided to switch his pace, thrusting in faster. “There, doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Fuck you.” Was the response. And then, lower and more resounding, “Fuck you.”

It really wouldn’t hurt him to show just a little appreciation, but the ninth had never wanted to push it. After all, Dottore was a prideful, conceited man, placing his self worth delicately upon the myriad of scientific accomplishments he’d managed across his life. He pretends to be utterly shameless in matters of ethics and morals and yet clings to his dignity.

Pantalone had never gotten Dottore as quiet as you had managed, all whines and moans and gasps. There had to be some sort of secret to it.

All sorts of thoughts had ran through Pantalone’s head on that night. Did you thoroughly wreck his pride beforehand, make him suck your strap or eat you out? Or maybe you tried a bait and switch, let him put his cock into you before telling him the only way he’d be cumming was with a dick inside him. Maybe Dottore had been desperate and you made him beg for it. Wouldn’t that be an amusing sight?

And oh, as if the thought of Dottore being tamed by his subordinate wasn’t erotic enough. Celestia above, how did that happen?

Come to think of it… Dottore was rather clingy around you. He’s been clingy ever since around a week after the “break-up” (though Pantalone only uses that term in a satirical sense), and there was rumours that the two of you had started dating. But you’re not dating each other, and Pantalone knows this because he visits, and once outwardly asked. Though the sex has stopped, Pantalone still considers Dottore his closest acquaintance out of all the harbingers. Dottore is his first choice for a chat, and he has the added bonus of you, his assistant, being practically joined at the hip with him.

You’re both rather cool inside the lab, he’d observed, but you seemed to relax more outside of it. Pantalone had considered attempting to seduce you just to piss Dottore off. You always responded well to his light flirting, with soft giggles and a well-received tease in return. Best of all, it appeared to invoke Dottore’s wrath like nothing else. Clenched fists, clenched jaw, and no doubt a clenched asshole as he sharply redirects the conversation to his funding. Pantalone had thought it was just because he was being a nuisance on purpose. But perhaps, now… he can entertain the thought that it was because Dottore was possessive of you.

A wicked idea began to hatch in Pantalone’s mind.

Oh, yes.

———

A week passes before Pantalone starts pursuing his desires. He’s been busy lately, with work, and also with testing the waters with you. He’s been in the lab with tales of a never-ending funding issue, and after the excuse lost its merit, he’s just there to visit as per usual, but more frequently. You’re far more approachable than Dottore, but it isn’t like Pantalone can spend too long talking to you alone before Dottore involves himself.

Dottore would learn to be careful what he wished for.

“Dottore, are you interested in accompanying me somewhere?”

“No.” comes the reply.

“Oh, don’t be like that.”

“We’re eating, Pantalone. Care to save this for later?”

A polite demand in a very irate tone of voice. And of course, you’re sat next to him, eyeing Pantalone apologetically.

The room off to the side of Dottore’s lab is supposed to be an office or storage space, but doesn’t have enough room for all of Dottore’s filing cabinets. So the space is more like a break room, with a sofa, a coffee table, and a portable stove. Boxes line the edges, and there’s one single tattered wooden chair off to the side. Pantalone pulls it up beside the sofa with grace, somehow managing to not knock anything over in the process.

“Didn’t you hear me, Regrator? Get out.”

“No need to be so antsy, Doctor, I’m merely visiting.”

“You’ve been doing that an awful lot recently,” Dottore hisses. “Frankly, I don’t see why you should be in my lab instead of doing your work.”

Pantalone knows Dottore is the kind of animal to bite when cornered. He would have to back off slightly before closing in again, an elegant dance in tune to the music of Dottore’s threats.

And you’re an observer in all of this. Pantalone can tell how he’s also putting you on edge.

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Pantalone says, clasping his hands in front of him.

“What a strong choice of words.”

“Ah, how cold, Dotorre. I’m here because I want to invite you to dinner. We must discuss… a private matter. My apologies, (Y/N), but I’m afraid you can’t attend this one. That’s not to say I won’t take you out for dinner some other time.”

You exhale through your nose, smiling. “As nice as that might be, there’s really no need, sir.”

Dottore eyes you, and then Pantalone with a furious gaze.

“When is it?” He snaps.

“Are you free next Friday at seven? I’ve yet to book a reservation. The usual place.”

Something in Dottore darkens. Immediately, both you and Pantalone pick up on the heightened intensity of Dottore’s wrath. The only difference is, Pantalone appears to react with glee.

“I’m free. Don’t expect me to stay for long.”

Pantalone smiles wider. “I’ll see you then. It’s only a discussion. No ulterior motives.”

You start to look more confused, managing to pick up on the fact that there’s implications in those words, though not what they actually are.

When Pantalone leaves, you’re the only one wishing him goodbye.

Dottore isn’t himself for the rest of the day, falling into a deep silence. You choose not to ask him about it.

———

In the space between Pantalone’s last visit and the coming Friday, Dottore has been engaging in a one-man smear campaign against him. And it’s all directed towards you.

You try your best to let him vent his frustrations about the man- Dottore has never appeared particularly well-versed in handling his own feelings- and in doing so, you hope you eventually spare Pantalone from some of this anger.

Notably, Dottore has started leaning against you, touching you, laying a hand over yours. It’s like the irritation has brought with it a wave of assertiveness. He’s always been adamant in his denial that your relationship is nothing romantic. To him, you’re colleagues, and you also help each other release some sexual frustration, and there’s absolutely nothing in between those two things. He likes brushing against you and pretending it was an accident. He likes being held after sex only to skulk off later like it never happened. You’re happy to indulge him, but you don’t want to end up hurt. You’ve thought that since the beginning.

The first time was merely a result of accumulated sexual tension that came with working with him. You’d gotten dressed up with him to attend a function- strictly speaking, you weren’t his date or his plus-one, rather you had to be there for any business matters. However, this didn’t stop people from thinking you were an item, an idea that Dottore himself ended up fascinated with by the end of the night. You’d flirted with what could have been your death, but ended with him sinking into you, biting at your neck as your nails scratched up his back.

The second time came after a success in the lab, long awaited results of a study that you had been perfecting for months. He told you to ride him, and you did so diligently, noting how his dignified demeanour evaporated throughout the act, eventually leading him to plead with words you’d never imagine coming out of his mouth, not even in your wildest dreams.

After some more occasional sex, Dottore was the first to suggest a taking precautions to make sure it didn’t get… “boring”. He had clearly wanted you to chalk it up to his ever-expanding scientific mind, that it only made sense for a man like Dottore to be deemed experimental in the bedroom. You had disregarded that completely. You knew there was something he definitely wanted to try with you. And though he was a restrained character, when you pulled out the strap-on you could see barely contained excitement. He had denied it at first, feigning reluctance that went away as soon as you said, “We don’t have to try it if you’re not comfortable.”

It’d been amusing to watch such a confident man start to backtrack.

He’s not the only analytical one between the two of you. You’ve enjoyed figuring out what makes him tick as well, what really riles him up. And what have you learnt so far? Well, he likes being praised if he’s taking your strap. He’s sadistic at times, and likes the idea of sensory deprivation, though not for himself- he loves seeing a good reaction to his touch. He goes pretty much silent after any sex, lays his head somewhere near you or on you, and thinks. And there’s a pattern that, whenever Pantalone visits, he tries to prove himself and give as much as possible to you.

Now you’re starting to wonder if even the thought of Pantalone riles him up.

He’s ranting and raving on Thursday evening, and you think that some dick will finally shut up what you’ve already had to listen to in the lab all day, but he takes the initiative to do everything himself. You end up propped against the headboard of your bed as he straddles you, still talking. He holds the control to the two vibrators at your pussy in his hand as he rides the strap with more fervour than you’ve ever seen. He barely even quiets down when you try to kiss him.

“No, listen,” He hisses, turning the vibrators on full. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you can barely pay attention to what he’s saying, but you try to look him in the eyes and focus. “That imbecile has made it his life’s mission to irritate me to no end. Next time he comes in, you’re going to-“

“Not speak to him, yeah, Dottore, I get it.”

He doesn’t stop. You reach across for the small vial on the bedside table and spill some into the palm of your hand.

“- because I swear to Celestia if you do, I’ll dissect y-y-“

He finally stops once your closed fist starts pumping steadily up and down his cock, precum starting to drip down the shaft. Eventually, Dottore slows altogether, cum starting to shoot from the tip, landing on your chest and onto the bed. You let go of his dick and choose to hold onto his hips with both hands, angling him slightly to adjust the vibrators as you finally reach your own release. You feel him wince, but he doesn’t turn down the vibrators, thankfully. He could if he wanted to. He’s mean like that.

And finally, at last, the only sounds in the room are breathing and a faint buzz.

Dottore turns them off, drowsily lifts himself off your faux-cock, and starts moving towards the bathroom with an undeniable stagger in his walk. The bath starts to run, and you take a couple of deep breaths before you lift yourself off the bed and get to work clearing things up and changing the bedsheet, using a tissue to wipe what’s left on your chest.

The resounding silence once you’re in the bath with him is neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

———

“You’re just going in your work clothes?”

You can practically see the way Dottore’s eyes narrow from beneath his mask.

“Yes. There’s no need to get dressed up, is there?”

You look down at your plate again, pushing the carrots around with your fork.

“Oh, no, not if you don’t want to. I guess I’d just see it as an excuse to wear something different. Do whatever works for you.”

Dottore says nothing else, and chooses to grab his coat and leave, practically dragging himself to the door. You think you should call out a, “have fun”, but decide against the risk of patronising him.

You wonder what’s so important to discuss that it demands a dinner date.

———

“I see you’ve already ordered wine for the table.”

Pantalone laughs, yet his hand keeps the bottle steady as he pours out two glasses. Dottore’s face stays motionless. He’s really not in the mood.

And the fact that this level of privacy has been demanded, private room, a curtain to separate them from the other other patrons… well, it worries Dottore, though he wouldn’t admit it.

“Starter?” Pantalone inquires, flicking through the menu.

“No. Just a main. I would rather not be here any longer than is necessary.”

Pantalone hums, finger tracing over the paper. The waitress comes, and both order.

There’s a few minutes of silence, Pantalone flicking through the wine menu again, Dottore scribbling down things into a notebook, no doubt work notes. It takes a while for Pantalone to actually speak.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re still not deviating from the usual?”

“Tell me why I’m here, Regrator.”

Something sinks in Dottore at how the smile across from him becomes more sinister. With nothing said whatsoever, Pantalone already looks like the cat that got the cream.

“Were you planning on eating with your assistant tonight?”

“What in Teyvat does that have to do with anything?”

And Pantalone raises his index finger towards Dottore. “Ah-ah. Please, for both our sakes, just answer honestly.”

The Doctor’s chest rises and falls with one heavy breath of frustration. “I might’ve, had she been in the right place at the right time. I implore you to get to the point.”

“I see. And I presume you may have had sex after?”

He says it so casually, and Dottore’s entire body goes rigid. “That’s none of your business. Take your perversion somewhere else or I’ll rip out your filthy tongue.”

“Perversion? Last time I checked, I was merely a curious man who wanted to know more… not someone actually participating in, say, some of the acts you and (Y/N) perform.”

“Is this a joke?” Dottore scoffs. “You’re sexually frustrated because I stopped our arrangement, and now you suddenly feel you need to involve yourself in my sex life again.”

“I’m surprised you convinced her.” Pantalone says, swirling the wine in his glass.

“What the fuck is that supposed-“

“Surely you understand my confusion when the decrepit, asocial maniac manages to secure himself a young and enthusiastic woman. A woman willing to engage in all sorts of sex acts with him, no less. Are you paying her extra for that?”

“What do you know?” Dottore says, practically trembling with rage. The innocent expression across from him blinks in feigned confusion. He swallows dryly. “And just what are you hoping to accomplish with this?”

When the curtain is pulled back for a moment and two waitresses walk in, the tension runs high. Pantalone thanks them whilst Dottore keeps staring, and staring, and staring. Pantalone waits until he can no longer hear their footsteps before continuing.

“If it were to get out that you enjoy getting railed by your assistant, and being called a “good boy” during the act-“

Dottore has to stop himself from reaching over the table and strangling him right there and then.

“- I wonder what people would think. What people would say.”

“That reads like nonsensical slander. Nobody would believe it.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“They don’t have to,” Pantalone replies, taking another sip of his wine. Dottore hasn’t touched his. “All I would have to do is say… drunkenly confess at a party what I heard and what I saw. And just let the rumour trickle slowly down the masses.”

Dottore sits for a while, thinking, trying in equal parts to calm himself down and come up with a response and a reaction that doesn’t involve attempting to slit Pantalone’s throat with his knife. Killing another harbinger would surely be frowned upon more than his sex life being revealed to the public.

“And so you want to have sex with me again so I can prevent this from happening?”

“You?” Pantalone laughs. “No. Her.”

Dottore’s blood runs cold.

———

Part 2

[absolutebl]

So I was thinking about how I like that in The Eclipse, the seme is shorter than the uke for once, and wrote in the tags that I do enjoy a good size difference in which the seme is bigger than the uke, though, like with Deanpharm and Seanwhite.

But then I remembered you explaining that Doms are necessarily the semes nor subs the uke. And with Deanpharm and Seanwhite, the interest is entirely mutual and equally pursued(though Pharm is a total Blushing Maiden), but there IS a strong D/s vibe in both couples.

So my question is, is there a seme/uke dynamic in those relationships?

So right now I'd argue that there is none with the leads in The Eclipse. I mean Aye is the active aggressor but is that just flirtatious character or does he have intent to pursue a real relationship or is there an ulterior motive? What happens if Akk decides to flip the dynamic? Which he certainly could at any moment. 

Eclipse is a lot more like Bad Buddy in this regard. Which I don't think really had seme/uke. I love it that Thailand is finally moving away from this model.

Vice Versa Jimmy is shorter but his character is clearly the aggressor but also is in doubt with a possible ulterior motive, and being an ACTOR character his interest can always be considered performative. Also I am pretty sure they are going to play with us, and roles, because of that title. Or they will if they’re clever, and it feels like them might try to be clever with this one. 

In Sky in my Heart Fah also shorter, but definitely the seme, mostly because I doubt Mek could play an uke to save his life. 

Incidentally actors who have successfully played both roles number essentially 2: Gong Jun (Advance Bravely and Word of Honor) and Tay Tawan (Kiss series and 3 Will Be Free). 

SeanWhite I don’t think really had much seme/uke. I would call it a weak dynamic and a lot of the seme/uke feel came from OffGun’s style and pre-existing dynamic. But also I’d argue Not Me isn’t really that much of a BL so it doesn’t bother to bow to the conceits of the genre. 

DeanPharm on the other hand, I would call classic seme/uke. Practically poster children. Their alter selves were not, and that’s part of the disconnect and discomfort with the reincarnation. Pharm lost much of Inn’s autonomy to fear and timidity because of how his past life ended. Just because Dean is soft and a great communicator never discount his semeness. He is entirely in charge of pursuing their relationship, it’s just he’s also willing to back off because his past self was the one that fucked up and he must atone for that. Part of that atonement is limiting his own needs and desires in a very un-seme way. But in the end he gets what he wants. 

More like this?

BL couples where there is no seme/uke 

Demi Seme 

Strong Seme/Uke But Still Gentle? 

Any BLs where the seme has more feminine traits? 

Aggressive & Autonomous Ukes in BL - when the Uke Forced to Undertake the Seme Role

Instances of seme/uke role reversal? 

[tsunderedoctor]

Hello sweet Purple! How are you doing today? I saw that soulmate AU list and wanted to send in an ask, ✨ So.. I would like to request letter G with female reader and Vinsmoke Ichiji. You can write whatever form you want.

I hope I did it right? Thanks a lot and feel free to delete if it's not inspiring you 💖

I JUST WANT SAY I WROTE A PERFECTLY GOOD SCENARIO AND WENT TO MOVE A PIECE OF CAT HAIR OFF MY SCREEN AND MY TOUCHSCREEN ACTIVATED AND CLOSED THE TAB-!

Ahem- anyway enjoy!!  💖💖💖

G- Guardian

They say that heroes come in all shapes and sizes, but no one said anything about conceited personalities. Why did he have to be your soulmate?!

You opened your eyes, to feel a hand on the small of your back and was greeted with a pair of sunglasses and red hair the same shade as a burning fire. He apologized quietly for his brothers’ brazen actions on pushing you out of the way to the stairwell.

“You...” 

You had seen him in magazines and in the newspaper. A Vinsmoke child, of the Germa 66, the leader actually. Though people who had met him in person have only described him to be self-centered, obnoxious and rude. So far he hasn’t shown that side of him, yet.  

A smirk was his reply as he watched your brain put to pieces on who he was, letting you stand on your own two feet again he spoke up. 

“I see my reputation does me well, enough to make you speechless at least.” 

Ah- there it was. Becoming annoyed with the man, you quietly thanked him and went on your way. You had no intention to continue the conversation with him if he was going to be so conceited. 

Seeing the annoyed look on your face and your quick rush to leave, his smirk only grew as he watched you leave.

“It’s nice to meet you by the way, soulmate.”

Turning back around to face the man, your glare only grew. He really did have a lot of nerve! Sure he helped you from falling, but did he truly believe he saved your life?! Walking back over him to give him a piece of your mind, you had accidentally slipped on a wet spot of water that had splashed down on the tile from a person walking by. 

Catching you once more in his arms, he chuckled darkly at your blushing cheeks. 

“Keep falling for me babe, and I might have to strap you down to me at all times.” 

Tag List: @chloe-abbacchio @musical-apple and whoever wants to join!

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 6

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“I still think you should wear the blue one,” Missy says from her spot lying on Dana’s bed, having long ago tired of the lengthy debate over what she should wear for her date with Mulder.

It’s now 5:30 and while her hair and makeup have been meticulously complete for over an hour, she’s found herself unable to decide on a dress.

“I was wearing that when Ethan proposed to me, Missy. It’s tainted,” she replies with a glare, alternately holding up a red dress that hits just above the knee and has spaghetti straps, and a black one that is ankle length and has a halter top.

Missy rolls onto her side with an exasperated sigh. “It’s just a dress, Dana. And the man is already in love with you, I doubt he cares that much about what you’re wearing. You’re overthinking it, Sis. Though I think I do have some sage in my bag if you want me to smudge it,” she adds helpfully.

Dana gives her sister a pleading look.

“Fine. Wear the red one,” she acquiesces, moving to sit up. “I better get out of here before he shows up,” she says, and the second the words leave her mouth they hear a soft rapping on the door. They look at each other, Dana still in her bra panties, and then Missy stands. “I’ll let him in, you get dressed.”

Missy pulls the bedroom door closed behind her and answers just as Mulder knocks for a second time. He gives her a quizzical look and turns to check the number on the apartment.

“You’ve got the right one, I’m Dana’s sister, Melissa. We met once,” Missy says as she extends her hand.

Mulder takes it, nodding with recognition. “Right, I remember. Uh, is Scully, I mean Dana, here?”

Missy gives him a sympathetic frown. “No, I’m sorry. She changed her mind.”

Mulder’s expression falls until he hears Scully call out from behind her “Missy, don’t be a jerk!”

She crosses the living room, pausing by the couch to pull a shoe the rest of the way over her heel, and then arrives in the doorway. Mulder is dressed in a black suit and crisp white shirt, his dark grey tie patterned with little triangles. His hair looks freshly cut, barely long enough to run your fingers through, and he’s holding a small bouquet of flowers. He looks delicious.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Missy says with a mischievous smile, grabbing her satchel from the dining room table and slipping past Mulder out the open door. “You two kids have fun,” she calls over her shoulder.

Dana rolls her eyes at her sister's remark, then turns to see Mulder staring at her with an oddly intense expression, his lips slightly parted.

“What?” she asks with genuine concern, looking down at her dress to make sure nothing is out of place.

He shakes his head gently as if pulling himself from a reverie. “You look...you look incredible. I mean you always look incredible but now that I’m allowed to tell you that you look incredible…” he drags his eyes down to her shoes and back up to her face where he finds a soft smile on her lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he completes.

She looks away sheepishly, pressing her lips together to hide the grin that it would feel too conceited to let show. “Thank you,” she says quietly, then meets his eye. “You look very handsome yourself.”

They look at each other for a beat, and she can tell he wants to kiss her. She wonders if he will, and if she should let him. They’ve already done much more than kiss, but everything still feels so new. Starting over indeed.

“Oh, these are for you,” he blurts out, breaking the tension as he offers her the flowers.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful,” she replies, taking them and going to the kitchen for a vase. She can sense his eyes on her back as she fills it with water then sets it on the table. She feels a little tingle in response, one she hasn’t felt in a very, very long time. “Shall we?” she asks as she grabs a sweater from the closet, avoiding his eye lest she throw him down on her sofa and never make it to dinner at all.

He steps just outside the door into the hall, so close as she locks it behind them that she can smell his aftershave. When they turn to leave, his hand drifts to rest on her lower back and it sends a little shockwave through her, and a flush of warmth between her thighs. Knowing that they can actually do all the things she’s imagined is exciting and scary, and she wonders how long she can wait. Wonders how long she wants to.

———

He steals glances at every stoplight or stretch of straight road, basically any chance he gets to look away without causing an accident, to take in the stunning beauty in the passenger seat beside him. That little red dress hugs her curves in all the right places, the pale swell of her breasts peeking out and rising gently with each breath. He shifts in his seat, willing his dick to behave and not make him look like a sex crazed lunatic. Though he is pretty sex starved, so it wouldn’t be an entirely untrue assessment. Every bit of self control he’d mustered when they spent time together last year has worn thin, and though he knows that she is no longer off-limits, that doesn’t mean she’s ready to get physical. He would have waited forever for her, so what’s a few more days, or weeks. Months? He really hopes it’s not months.

They pull up in front of the restaurant and he jogs around to the passenger side to open the door for her before the valet can get there. She gives him a shy little smile when he offers his hand to help her out of the car, pulling her to stand in the small space between himself and the doorframe so that the front of their bodies are nearly flush. She tilts her face up towards him, her tall shoes still only bringing her to his shoulder. He lets his eyes fall to her mouth, which is bare of any lipstick but naturally pink and pouty. He could kiss her now and not smudge anything at all.

“Sir?” the valet interrupts, holding out his hand in request of the keys.

The spell broken, he gives over the keys and takes Scully’s hand, her slim fingers threading between his own as her thumb brushes against his palm, a secret acknowledgement of the moment they shared. He smiles to himself as he leads her to the front doors of Marcel’s, looking over to see her curious appraisal of the venue. She clearly hasn’t been here before, which makes him happy. They are led by the host to a small table near the window draped in white linens and she gives him a skeptical glance as he pulls out her chair.

“Are you always this chivalrous? Don’t set expectations you can’t live up to, Mulder.”

He chuffs a laugh. “I actually am, it’s not an act. I was raised in a very upscale, old money environment. I can also tell you which fork to use for each course, if you’re interested.”

She lifts her eyebrows in surprise, watching him curiously as he takes the seat beside her, not across. He doesn’t want an entire table between them.

“Really? Where was that?”

“Martha’s Vineyard,” he answers plainly, not ever wanting that to sound like something he’s bragging about. “What about you, where are you from?” He changes the subject as quickly as possible.

She makes a face. “Nowhere in particular. I was born in Annapolis but my father was in the Navy so we moved a lot. The place he was stationed the longest was San Diego so that area feels just a little bit like home, but we’ve also spent quite a bit of time on the East Coast. We lived in Japan for a bit when I was a baby, but I don’t remember it.”

The waiter comes by to take their drink orders and Mulder orders a bottle of red he assumes they’ll have without looking at the menu. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Scully opens her menu and her eyes expand in shock. She closes it quietly and waits for the waiter to leave before leaning towards him.

“Mulder,” she says very seriously, as though she’s about to deliver devastating news, “that bottle of wine is three hundred dollars.”

He leans further towards her so their foreheads nearly touch. “Scully,” he says in an equally serious tone, “I warned you I was going to go overboard.”

He watches her try to suppress a surprised smile as she leans back, eyeing him appraisingly. “You’re quite the enigma, Mulder. With your fancy country club upbringing and expensive taste in wine in contrast to aliens and worn down bachelor pads.”

“Worn down?” he says in mock offense, “Priscilla will be horrified to hear that you said that.” The full-toothed smile he gets in response makes his heart swell, even if he suspects it has more to do with the mention of Priscilla than his winning sense of humor.

Wine and water are delivered, and Scully tries to order the cheapest thing on the menu before he insists that she wants the surf and turf and she acquiesces with a pained look.

“I think you’ve mischaracterized who among us is the enigma, Scully,” he picks up after their menus are collected. “I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered another Navy brat brainiac babe who cuts up dead people for a living.”

“Really?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed as though this is surprising to hear. “I’ll have to invite you to our next chapter meeting.”

“You’re also funny, add that to your list of enigmatic qualities,” he retorts, and she shrugs demurely. “Speaking of enigmas, there was a case I did a little poking around on, about some suspicious deaths in a community of carnies. There was a sideshow act where a man who was tattooed head to toe in jigsaw puzzle pieces ate live animals. He was sometimes called The Conundrum, and other times he went by The Enigma.”

Her eyes light up at the mention of his old work. “Was this an x file?” she asks excitedly.

“Not technically, no. This was just a couple years ago so the files were closed, but every now and then I get a lead and take some time off work to run it down.”

Scully looks a little disappointed. “Have you ever tried to have the X files reopened?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine and making a little expression that he takes as her being impressed.

“Sure, especially at first. The people at the heart of these government-run conspiracies don’t want the files open again, but the main reason bureau leadership gives for now is that I don’t have a partner, and they won’t let me work on them alone.”

“Couldn't they just assign you a partner? I’m not a field agent, but I was under the impression they somewhat randomly pair people off.”

He smiles sheepishly. “In theory, yes. But I haven’t had much success with the partners I’ve been assigned in the past. One might say that I don’t play well with others.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she says with a skeptical look, “you strike me as fairly easy to get along with.”

“Maybe so, Scully, but there’s a significant difference you’re omitting,” he leans forward and lets the tips of his fingers brush her bare knee. “I like you.”

There’s that million dollar grin again. This night is going so much better than he possibly could have hoped.

———

She could not have possibly imagined how good it would feel to be with him and truly be with him. No boundaries, no barriers, no lines to walk between what’s acceptable for ‘just friends.’ They openly flirt and smile at each other all through dinner, casually touching an arm or a leg, holding hands briefly a few times. She feels like a giddy schoolgirl and can’t recall the last time she felt this happy. So when the waiter collects their dessert plates and drops off the bill, she feels a little wave of sadness that the night is coming to an end.

She knows that if she invites him to come up to her apartment, he will say yes. And she knows that if she does that, they will end up having sex. She would very, very much like to have sex with him. But she’s also worried that she’s rushing things and potentially ignoring possible red flags or other signs that they might not be compatible because she wants this to work so badly. She decides she’s not going to invite him up.

They stand on the curb outside Marcel’s, waiting for the valet to bring the car around, and she crosses her arms and shivers against the cool evening air. Mulder notices and slides his arm around her shoulders, rubbing his palm briskly over her upper arm. Not satisfied that he’s done enough, he then moves to stand behind her and opens his suit jacket, pressing his chest to her back as he wraps the jacket around her, folding them both up inside it. He’s warm and firm and she lets her weight rest against him, the back of her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She sighs contentedly, feeling safe and cared for. It’s a feeling she’s really missed, being single.

On the short drive back to her apartment, he slips his hand over the console to rest on the seat next to her, an invitation, and she presses her palm against his, feeling the ache of missing him before he’s even gone. He pulls up to the curb in front of her building and they don’t let go, looking at each other in the dim glow of the street lights.

“Can I walk you to your door?” he asks, and she feels a mischievous smile creep over her lips. She nods.

They walk slowly, hand in hand, through the front doors and up the elevator. When they arrive at her door, she unlocks but doesn’t open it, leaning her back against the frame instead.

“I had a really nice time, Mulder. Thank you,” she says, her gaze lingering on his hooded green eyes and that full bottom lip.

“Me too,” he replies with a shy smile, stepping forward and placing his fingertips cautiously on her hips.

Her pelvis tips toward him unconsciously, seeking out the contact she has every intention of denying herself for now.

“Can I...would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asks, his eyes on her mouth. She opens it reflexively, tilting her chin up further.

He seems to take that as his answer, dipping his head to meet her at her level, and the pillowy press of his mouth against hers feels like such a relief she sighs audibly. His fingers on her hips press more firmly in response, pulling her gently towards him, closer still. She puts her hands on his forearms and slides them up until her fingers are gently scraping through the hair at the nape of his neck, and she feels his tongue slip out to taste hers. One of his hands leaves her hip and she feels it flutter over the side of her neck, cupping her jaw gently as they kiss slowly, languidly, like they have all the time in the world. His thumb brushes over the front of her throat and it somehow feels more intimate than if he were touching her in a more private place. To touch her in a vulnerable spot, one that can hurt and even kill someone, but to do it so tenderly feels erotic and exciting, and she takes his lip between her teeth and bites down gently to encourage him. He emits a little groan and arches his pelvis towards her, the stiff ridge of his erection grazing her belly.

“Mulder,” she says between kisses.

“Mmmmm,” he says in response, brushing his lips over the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t...I think….we should probably say goodnight.”

He makes a little sound somewhere between a whine and a sigh, but pulls away from her.

“I just...I don’t want to rush this,” she says earnestly, holding both his hands in hers. “I want to do things right this time.”

He nods, pulling her into an embrace. She has that feeling again, like she could crawl inside his chest cavity and make a home there, though this time it’s accessorized with an erection pressed against her.

“Sorry about that,” he says without embarrassment, and she laughs.

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she replies, pulling away and reaching for the doorknob.

“You really, really, should,” he retorts, and she opens the door, backing in slowly. Once she is fully inside and looking at him through the slim crack she’s wedged herself into as though she were trying to keep him out, he leans forward so his face is inches from hers. “One for the road?” he asks hopefully, and she nods.

He presses his mouth against hers, chastely, no tongue, and holds it there for a very long time. Long enough that she starts to feel her resolve cracking. She pulls away.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she says in a sing-song voice, and he backs away from the door with a dopey smile.

“Night, Scully,” he replies, not leaving until after she closes the door. She knows because she watches him through the peephole as he stands there smiling like a fool before looking up and possibly thanking the gods. Finally, he leaves.

Goodnight indeed. It was such a good night.

[105ttt]

Yet another interesting choice in script changes on Viz’s part: this time, with some statements from Green!

(Do not tag this post as Lin//ked Uni//verse, any tags related to Lin//ked Uni//verse, or any implied or outright ship tags.)

The translations shown, from top to bottom, are: original Japanese, English fan translation, official French translation, and official English translation (referred to as Viz to distinguish it from the fan translaton). Pages and dialogue bubbles are in Japanese reading order (right to left).

Note here that the English fan translation and French translation are very accurate to the original Japanese, so whatever I say about the Japanese can be assumed to be true most of the time for those two as well. The way that Viz changes Green’s dialogue in the two pages I’ve collected above causes a dramatic shift in Green’s feelings about the “Vio is a traitor” situation.

In the fan translation, Green is mad at Vio for obeying Shadow without question. The French translation changes this slightly to have Green say that Vio has become conceited just because “these monsters” have stroked his ego. From what limited Japanese I know, I actually think the French version is closer to the meaning of the Japanese version. Regardless, in both versions, Green is not mad that Vio has joined the dark side per se, but rather because he is either following orders without question or because he has become incredibly vain. In fact, this means Green is mad at what Vio has become as a result of being brought to the dark side and not the fact that he joined the dark side.

VIz’s translation, on the other hand, changes this line a lot. It now is incredibly snarky and implies that Green thinks Vio would naturally be inclined to join the darkness, or at least that he cannot believe Vio would so easily do so without being kept in line. He clearly sees Vio as a nuisance that has to be checked on constantly, because he wouldn’t have gotten in this mess if he hadn’t been left alone, right?

The original Japanese, fan translation, and French version all then have Green say either “you’re not my friend, Vio!” or “I don’t recognize you anymore!” Again, the French version, which uses “I don’t recognize you anymore!” is closer to the original Japanese in terms of sentiment, as he implies that the Vio he’s fighting is not “his friend, Vio”. Regardless, this text bubble establishes that Green does not - and cannot - believe that this is the Vio he was friends with.

Viz’s version instead has Green, again in a snarky manner, throw one of Vio’s insults back at him, saying he’s the soft one (though this makes no sense if you ask me). Viz also appears to want to push the “Green is the same as Link” agenda, having him say he’s ashamed that Vio is part of him. Of course, Green could mean this in the sense that they are all Link and therefore all part of each other, but other lines in the Viz version try to imply Green = Link. Therefore, the disbelief on Green’s part - that this really is Vio, his Vio, and yet it’s not - is gone. Green is now just angry and snarky all around.

On the next page, in Viz, the fan translation, and the original Japanese, Green then remarks how his friend, Vio, has vanished. In the original Japanese, Viz, and French, Green also mentions that Vio has become merciless and unfriendly. In the fan translation, Green says he has become reckless. All versions therefore establish that Vio is fighting as if he really does intend to kill Green and kill him without mercy. Viz’s version is the only one where Green doesn’t remark that Vio has become very strong, though this doesn’t change too much. The important part is the next panel.

In the next panel in all versions but Viz, Green begs Vio to “wake up” (literally “open [his] eyes” in Japanese) or “snap out of it”. This line is very important, as it shows that Green ultimately does not believe that this is natural or characteristic of Vio! He believes that Vio has been tricked, or maybe even controlled, by Shadow and Vaati, and that Vio has the potential to go back to his old self if he would just wake up. He still believes Vio truly is a good person and is still his Vio. He thinks that if he can just get that across to Vio, maybe this terrible situation would resolve itself. Of course, the only way to wake him may be to hurt him or kill him, which adds drama to the scene. He even calls Vio by his name as he asks him to awaken in the original Japanese and fan translation, and in French, he says “I beg of you!” as if he is desperate.

But what about Viz? The line was changed a lot here as well. Instead of saying “Wake up!”, he states his intent to kill Vio: “I have to end this now!” This emphasizes the fact that Green, in Viz, is extremely angry at Vio and does not see him as redeemable. He does not believe that Vio is a truly good person anymore. In fact, he thinks Vio has the most capacity to be evil (for some reason, which again makes no sense) and that his Vio is gone. He doesn’t even want to acknowledge Vio as his Vio because he’s ashamed that a part of Link, and therefore himself, could stoop to this low of a level. He thinks, then, that he better kill off this disgusting part of Link and himself before it can cause any more harm.

So, how is Green feeling in these pages? Not great, that’s for sure. But beyond that, it depends on what translation you read. If you’re reading Viz, Green is angry, hates Vio to the core, believes his old friend is gone, and wants to kill Vio before things can escalate. If you’re reading the other three versions, including the original version (which is the definitive version), then Green is angry, yes, but he is also confused, concerned and worried. He’s worried his old friend is trapped somewhere inside the current Vio, who has been misguided by the dark side, and that there is potential for the Vio he knows - a good person that he loves - to come back, if only Vio would wake up. He knows Vio has changed, but this change can be undone; it was caused by the dark side, not by Vio’s own innate disposition to work for good or evil. As far as Viz!Green is concerned, Vio was always prone to being evil, and now that he has committed to it, he must be eliminated to prevent the darkness from gaining a powerful asset.

Very interesting stuff. It says a lot about Green’s character regardless of which version of him you encounter, though I’d argue the Japanese version is more in-character for him, as it contains elements of Viz’s version but still has an element to it that is so Green.

[scabopolis]

Oh, hey. So. What about a continuation of Come Rain or Shine? “You’re Carrie’s Logan?” “Lilly’s Veronica?” Ummmm ya we need more of that world.

Title: Happy Together, Unhappy Together (a continuation from this fic I wrote five years ago, holy moly what is time??!!) Rating: PG-13 for some swears and kinda some smut glitter Pairing: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars (mentions of Lilly Kane/Carrie Bishop) Additional Tags: Logan and Veronica probably being schmoopier than acceptable, pillow talk and nonsense Word Count: 910   *** This one is dedicated both to @ayy-ohh​ and @jjmazzy because in a total brain meld they each requested it approximately 10-minutes apart from one another. It was very difficult to reacquaint myself w/ this little universe so I worry L/V are totally different people from the first fic, but *shrugs*. 

Also, there is a lot I left on the cutting room floor (approximately 2,000 words worth) because most of it was trash. I’ll post little snippets of the cuttings in my author room on the VM Fic Club discord if you’re interested.

Have I stalled enough?  *** Carrie and Lilly’s wedding ceremony begins at 5:00 PM. By 5:33 PM, vows are exchanged. The first platters of champagne make their rounds in the largest ballroom at the Neptune Grande at 6:30 PM. Right around 6:55 PM, Veronica Mars makes a terrible first impression (or, depending on who you ask, second impression) on Logan Echolls. And by 10:41 PM, her bra is off, her dress is hitched up around her waist, and Logan has her pressed up against the wall of his hotel suite. 

(Okay, so that leaves almost four hours unaccounted for. She realizes that. It’s just that Logan’s mouth is doing something pretty great at the juncture between her neck and shoulder and—holy shit did she just moan?—so she can’t really be expected to give an accurate accounting of every minute of the wedding reception. Can she?) 

She wakes up the following morning to the sight of Logan’s naked back, his limbs akimbo and cheek pressed into his pillow. It is painfully cute and Veronica has every intention of doing something about it but first, bathroom. She brushes her teeth, pulls her hair back into a messy top-knot, and helps herself to one of the bathrobes hanging on the door. Back in the suite, Logan hasn’t moved. She stands by her impulse from when she first woke up. The impulse that was something along the lines of again, now! 

It’s just—

She also wants breakfast. 

She’s perusing the room service breakfast menu when there’s a knock on the suite door. She ensures her robe is tied and by the time she makes it to the door, looks through the little peephole, there’s a breakfast cart waiting for her to collect. 

Well, she’s not going to say no to that. 

Logan wakes up as she pours herself coffee. 

“Morning,” he says. His voice is deliciously gruff and reminds her of the aforementioned again, now! thought. Then there’s the hair which sticks up ten different ways. He runs a hand through it, making it even more of a mess. 

(There was a moment last night, where he was propped up against the headboard, she was in his lap, fistfuls of his hair in her grip as he—)

She focuses on her coffee, stirring the cream and sugar until it’s the perfect color of brown. “When did you manage this?” she asks. 

“When you were in the shower last night.” 

“God, you’re good.” 

“I know.” 

“Conceited.” 

“Self-assured.” Logan gets out of bed and settles behind her. He rests one hand on her hip and uncovers the breakfast plates. “Sweet or savory?” 

“Sweet.” 

The hand on her hip bunches up her robe, and she feels Logan press his smile into the crook of her neck. God. This is going to be a problem. He is going to be a problem for her. 

Breakfast is a peculiar affair. Peculiar in that Veronica would never think to describe morning afters as easy. But this one is. 

She eats blueberry pancakes and bacon, all while she and Logan joke and jibe about the wedding the night before. They can’t joke about how happy both Lilly and Carrie looked, though. 

“They’re going to make it. Right?” 

Logan nods as he takes a sip of his coffee. “They’re going to make it.” 

“Speaking of couples—”

“—Oh, you already think of us as a couple?”

“Logan.” 

“Do I get a pin or a letterman’s jacket?” 

She pinches his nipple. 

“Ouch,” he says, batting her hand away. “You’re a pest.” 

She shrugs, not denying it. “Speaking of couples,” she tries again, “word is going to get back to Lilly and Carrie about what we told Duncan.” 

“Oh no, Sandy! Whatever will we do?” She goes to pinch him again and he smacks her hand away. “Be nice.” 

“You don’t think that is a problem? That our best-friends are going to hear we told my ex we were dating?” 

“We’ll explain it to them.” 

“Oh.” She runs a finger through the syrup on her plate. “Yeah, that’s logical.” 

“And you find logic to be disappointing?” 

She sighs. “I think I like you.” 

Logan moves the plate away from where it sits separating them and scoots closer. Their knees touch and he runs his hands over her bare thighs, up under her robe. “I would hope so.” He tucks a strand of hair that’s fallen from her top knot behind her ear. “Because if what you did to me last night is what you do to people you don’t like?” 

She pushes at his shoulder and he reaches up to keep her hand there. “Veronica.” She curls her fingers like a fist. Presses that fist into Logan’s skin. 

Her name on his lips is sotto voce. Like a secret. She leans forward and rests her forehead on his chest. “What?”

“Maybe let’s try?” 

“I live in San Francisco,” she tells his sternum.

“I know that.” 

“You live in San Diego.” 

“I also know that.” She looks up at him. “I also know that I am very rich.” 

“Why do I know so many rich people?” 

“It’s a 90 minute flight.” 

“Think of the greenhouse gas emissions.” 

“Veronica.” The way he says her name is part rebuke, part plea. It’s tempting to ignore it. Insist it’s a dumb idea to start a relationship with 500 miles between them. Only, she doesn’t want to. 

“Okay.” She kisses the space above his heart. “Maybe let’s try.”

[sweetsubharry]

do have any fics where louis is harry's sugar daddy?

I do! :) 

Please remember to stay safe and read the tags everyone!  💖

Pretty Please (With Sugar On Top) by angelichl

Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

London Calls Me a Stranger by Thatscoolbutwhataboutlarry

"Hello, my beautiful, conceited coquette."

"Hi, daddy."

Or the one where Harry is a tease, and Louis is his new neighbour.

it's like i breathe you by orphan_account

Louis shrugs, grabbing the smoothie and taking a sip of it. He’s not really bragging. But. “I’ve kind of always had everything I wanted.”

“Everything?” Harry asks, genuinely interested, his green eyes wide.

Louis looks at Harry, smiling at him across the table and twirling a curl around his finger. Not everything.

or the one where louis volunteers to teach high school students about the ropes of business and running a company of your own, but he certainly does not plan on running into harry styles.

If Only In My Dreams by iwillpaintasongforlou

Louis calls and says he doesn't think he'll be home for Christmas, which is disappointing since Harry's wrapped himself up in a red silk bow for Louis to come home to. Luckily the world according to Louis orbits around his beautiful boy and he's making it home one way or another.

Cold Without You Here by trulymadlylarry

“Keep warm, Lou. There’s supposed to be a snow storm soon,” Harry tells him, remembering what he saw on the news earlier.

“I will. I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll be home before you know it.”

Harry nervously fiddles with the engagement ring on his finger. “You’ll be back Friday the 13th, right?”

“Yup,” Louis says without hesitation. “Just in time for Valentine’s day.”

Or, the one where Louis is Harry's sugar daddy and goes on a business trip

It's A Wonderful Life by orphan_account

Louis is an actor whose fame is slowly rising and Harry is a college student on the verge of graduating. There's plenty they get up to in the years they're together.

I'm Tired Of Using Technology, I Need You Right In Front Of Me by Phillipa19

Louis goes away on yet another business trip, but when he stops calling Harry to check in, Harry decides to take matters into his own hands.

OR- Louis is Harry's sugardaddy who has gone away on business and Harry feels neglected. Louis is possessive and gets a camera installed in their bedroom so he can check up on Harry, so Harry decides to use the camera to his advantage.

Got A Lot You Wanna Show Off Baby by Phillipa19

Louis had been in meetings all day, he should have known that Harry wouldn't be ignored for much longer.

-OR-

Louis is Harry's sugardaddy and his younger boyfriend is definitely not happy being ignored whilst Louis holds meetings in his home office. There may also be Harry in lacy knickers involved.

you can take it off by blankiehxrry

Now, Harry walks back over to Louis and helps him up, planting a pink stained kiss to his left cheek. “You’d find me incredibly boring outside of this place,” he says dryly.

“I find that hard to believe,” Louis scoffs. Since the first day he met him, Louis has always been enthralled with Harry, both for his looks and personality. “You’re the most fascinating creature I’ve ever met within miles.”

Harry smiles bashfully and leads Louis back out towards the front doors with a hand placed lightly on his lower back. His emerald nails scratch comfortingly at his jumper as they walk. “I’m not nearly as glamorous without all the glitter and mood lighting. Life at home is a lot less skirts and gloss and a lot more trackies and takeout.”

“I could give you more than that. Just let me. Give me a chance, baby.”

Sweet on You by dontlietomehoney 

Harry is a student going to Uni for a degree in business and one day Louis Tomlinson, a multibillionaire and owner of his own record company, comes to guest lecture. Once Harry sees how gorgeous the man is, he can't help but ask him out for coffee. And things go from there.

Or, the one where Louis becomes Harry's sugar daddy.

anywhere i would've followed you by tippytoetomlinstyles

basically it's just smut based off the prompt I got for the L/H Holidays Sign Up I joined.

prompt: 'I just want some sugardaddy!Louis dominating harry. If there could be a plot it would be great!'

Flames Ignite by xXAyeLouXx

Basically Harry is Louis' princess.

it ain't trickin' if ya got it by sarcasticfluentry

Louis raises an eyebrow and smirks. “You have to ask nicely, Harry.”

They’ve never really played like this before, and Louis is a little out of his element but he finds that they’re both falling effortlessly into their roles (and not just because Louis is good at acting).

Harry’s too overwhelmed, though, to say anything without first gasping, “I c-can’t - god, I can’t believe you - please, Daddy, please put it inside?”

... or, 28-year-old blockbuster actor Louis Tomlinson rushes home to give his 20-year-old model boyfriend Harry a good seeing-to after a particularly provocative Instagram post and, in his excitement, alerts the entire world. Featuring daddy kink, anal beads, and feelings.

whatever you like by itiswhatitisbutterfly

His mother told him his charm was going to be the death of him and she worried. Harry didn’t quite agree, he definitely thought it would be his making.

(Harry works at a country club, Louis is a millionaire member of said country club. Harry wants in his boat and his apartment but also in his pants.)

Millions and More by iwillpaintasongforlou

Louis is a 22 year-old millionaire who enjoys spoiling his baby. Harry is a 20 year-old hipster who loves pleasing Daddy but hates when he tries to spend too much money on him. When Louis gets back from two weeks in Germany for business, Harry is out of his mind with the need to be touched and Louis may or may not use that to his advantage

[dirty-holy-things]

The Space Between (your heart & mine)

Chapter 16 has been posted to Ao3, and below to Tumblr.  Catch up on chapters 1-15 on Ao3. 

Notes: 18+, explicit!!!! This chapter is the ‘burn’ of the slow burn we’ve been developing for 15 chapters. We’re finally there, for those of you who have been long-time readers. Please note, I’ve never written this much smut before. It’s A LOT, and I mean a lot of this chapter. M & F, oral receiving and penetration. Unprotected sex for the sake of storytelling, but please wrap it before you tap it IRL. Praise kink, because Din and Reader need validation. Some fun and adventurous positioning and activities. Also, very romantic ending. 

Words: 9.1k update, 75.7k total. 

If you would like to be added to my taglist, please fill out this form!

Having stepped into the dimly-lit club, your eyes took a moment to adjust and take in the scene around you. Low-slung leather chairs and booths were scattered throughout the dark room, their occupants being some of the more fearful individuals in the galaxy. These cruel and cunning men, however, were in varying states of disarray due to the large amounts of alcohol and spice that were brazenly displayed on the tables they were seated at. In addition to the smoke-stained booths, there were several raised platforms that held women who were twisting themselves around metallic poles, their bodies scantily clad as they danced sensually for the crowd of drunken onlookers.

And that was where you would find yourself shortly after being allowed into the club.

They had assumed you were one of the dancers.

A large, burly man grabbed you by the arm and you instinctively threw your elbow back into his gut at the sudden intrusion of your personal space, your arm connecting with a solid expanse of hard muscle. “C’mon, babydoll, don’t be so sensitive,” the man grumbled, hauling you towards the unoccupied pedestal. “Do your fucking job and don’t bitch about it.” He tossed you forward into the velvet-covered platform, and as you caught yourself on your hands, you understood that you had about three seconds to decide what you were going to do next.

Do you confront the man about the mistaken identity, and risk causing a scene? Risk losing the bounty, or possibly getting yourself hurt once they realize you’re not meant to be here?

Or do you get up there and find a way to make this unexpected plot change work for you?

Credit due to @knivesareout​ for the perfect moldboard and for her undying love for me and my fic. 

Also tagging @soyelfuegoquearde​ for beta’ing my project and giving me all of the constructive criticism and positive feedback that has helped me grow as an author. 

And my love @emmikmil​ / @bdavishiddlesbatch​ for her never-ending love and enthusiasm for Din and Reader.

I love you all so very much. 

Chapter 16 - Read More

The things that you had heard in passing about Corellia were too kind in their assessment, and they had been harsh to start. There was a filmy scum that lingered in the air and clung to clothing, surfaces, even to the air in your lungs. The industrial planet was bleak and grim, and you were almost beginning to regret your offer to assist Din with this bounty; would it have really been so bad to hunker down here in the ship, sleep for a while, maybe even pick up a book in town to keep you entertained? However, you also knew that if you had to spend an undetermined amount of time cooped up in the ship, without Din, trying to manage the kid on your own, no view except that of a dirty industrial cityscape, being constantly terrified that Din could get hurt again — you would probably lose your mind. So you decided to step out into the grisly world of Corellia, Din at your side.  

The towers of steel and metal that warped up towards the sky were certainly a departure from the organic beauty of Bardotta that you had grown accustomed to during the last job. You tried to find something appealing in the architecture, your eyes scanning the horizon, and came to the conclusion that there was certainly... dedication and precision in the construction, and that was something that you could appreciate. You needed to find something agreeable within it all. 

The kid was sleeping in his cradle, the wampa having been tucked under his short green arm, left to rest in the ship during the course of what was predicted to be a short job. Din navigated the two of you through the dirty, narrow streets of the city and away from the shipyard. He didn’t seem to notice or mind the filth too much, as he stomped onwards through puddles, mud, trash, splashing it onto his clothing and armor — and being a bit more hygienically minded, you took the extra effort to keep yourself clean as you sidestepped what could reasonably be avoided. It was unnecessary self-preservation as the cleanliness of your boots probably didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things, but it was just in your nature. 

Din was leading you both to a well-concealed speakeasy, known for hosting an intriguing assortment of characters that preferred to avoid the prying eyes of the galaxy, and partake in... questionable activities. Din had made contact with an acquaintance who was able to provide you with instructions for how to enter into the underground club, including the password that was changed frequently specifically to avoid situations like yours. It was mean to be a safe haven for the rich and powerful; there would be drinking, music, smoking, gambling, bloodshed, prostitution, drugs, fighting, and that was on a quiet night. Gods only knew what else the oncoming evening could hold. You weren’t particularly worried, however, knowing that the towering bounty hunter that stalked along in front of you would keep you safe if worst came to worst. And you didn’t have any significant worries about this job, the nature of it being simple and familiar. 

The setup of this job was similar to the one you had helped with back on Canto Bight; you’d flirt with the target, have a drink, bat your eyelashes, and draw him away from the crowd with a thinly veiled proposition. It wasn’t rocket science, luring a man; there were quite a lot of things in life that were harder, like navigating a ship or even firing a blaster. And yet Din seemed incredibly nervous and stressed on your behalf, holding enough worry for the two of you. While you had grown used to periods of silence from him, this one felt different. This one had an undercurrent of tension that rolled off of him in waves, so thick you could almost see it — or maybe that was just Corellia, and you were reading too much into this. 

The sun was beginning to set along the horizon, reflecting beams of orange and crimson and gold throughout the city’s structure; you remembered how Din had shared with you that his favorite color was orange, and you wondered if he was finding some sort of beauty in this moment as well, or if he had even noticed. He hadn’t said anything to you for quite some time now, having navigated you from the outskirts of the city and its shipyard, to the bustling urban center that housed a variety of species and droids that were frankly quite rude. You had been bumped into on more than one occasion without so much as an ‘excuse me.’ You figured you had just grown used to the niceties that were afforded on a planet like Chandrila, and reminded yourself that you had chosen to leave that place in favor of travel — which would include a change in attitudes and social customs. You still made a point to apologize to those you collided with though. 

Having seen the industriousness of the capitol city here on Corellia, you were increasingly intrigued by what this speakeasy experience would be like. Din had informed you that it was a popular spot for those working with Crimson Dawn, the Hutts, the Pyke Syndicate — violent, ruthless individuals. The target for this evening was a Twi’lek who had been working for the Hutts, who had ‘mysteriously’ disappeared with a large shipment of spice; it was suspected that he had run off with it for himself, feeling brave enough to try and hide. It was a stupid choice, even you knew that — while Orron had never tell you much about the spice dealings, you still knew that double crossing the Hutts was borderline suicidal. The sheer confidence and conceit of such a bold move was intriguing, that couldn’t be denied; but hiding from the Hutts was nearly impossible, and his bold stupidity would be catching up with him today. 

You had worked to prepare yourself adequately for the evening, having brought along a pack of supplies that would transform you into an appealing bait prior to your arrival. You had correctly assumed that dressing for a party before trekking through the city would be a poor decision, and you applauded yourself for your foresight, seeing the grim state that your clothing was now in. The sun was descending lower into the skyline and you knew that you were getting close to the destination, based on the projected timeline for the job. 

Picking up the pace so you were now walking in stride with Din, you tilted your head in the direction of a small shop that would likely afford you some space in a fresher to change and finish preparing. He nodded silently in agreement and you disappeared inside, finding a young boy with mousy blonde hair sleeping behind the counter. He was startled awake by your unexpected entrance, and you tossed him some credits to accompany your question about where you would locate a fresher. He pointed to the back of the store wordlessly and you thanked him before disappearing. 

You closed the door behind you and locked it securely, before stripping out of the clothes that had accumulated a fair amount of muck in the past hour’s journey. You wriggled your way into a sparkling silver dress that just barely skimmed your thighs, admiring the shimmer of the sheer fabric as it clung to your body. The dress choice had been intentional, the versatility of it appealing; you knew it would sparkle like diamonds when caught by bright lights, and would set off a soft, illuminating glow in low light. Either way, eyes would be drawn to you. You slid on a pair of white boots that propelled yourself a good four inches higher into the air, and added a few pieces of jewelry to round out the look. You pulled your hair out of the buns you had tied it up in, as it now fell around your shoulders in casual waves, and you put on just enough makeup to highlight your features. Assessing that you looked enticing enough, you slid back into your dark grey coat that would hide your glamorous appearance from the city-dwellers until your arrival at the club. 

As you stepped out of the shop to rejoin your companion, you readied yourself to say goodbye for the evening, trying to shift your perspective to the job at hand rather than the part of you that was incredibly sad to be parted from Din. Even knowing that the separation was only temporary, you would still be eagerly looking forward to being reunited. Staring up into the visor of the helmet, you stepped closer to him and placed your arms on his hips, wanting to pull him in closely but also understanding that it may not be an appropriate choice as you were out in public. He placed a gloved hand on your shoulder and another on the small of your back, the helmet coming to rest against your forehead. 

“Do you have the blaster? And the knife?” He asked, his voice sounding constricted even with the modulator. You were getting better at deciphering that which the modulator tried to hide. 

“I’ve got the knife, but the blaster doesn’t really go with this outfit,” you joked, reassuring him that you were protected. “This’ll be easy, I promise.” You whispered, trying to build up his confidence and sense of security. “Just like last time. We can get the job over with quickly, and then go home.” 

You heard a soft sigh come through the modulator as he nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”

 “I’ll see you soon, Din.” 

***

Getting into the club had been ridiculously easy, especially once the guard at the door saw the way that you were dressed. For being so secretive of a club, you were shocked at the ease with which you were able to sneak in; you assumed that they just didn’t worry too much when a beautiful young woman turned up at their door. Din was going to take more of a… back-door route into the club, dispatching the guard who protected the service entrance, and he would find a discreet place to hide and watch out for you and the target. You had kept the knife, and the comm that was connected to his, and you would alert him when you had lured the Twi’lek away from the party and the crowd. Din would then join the two of you, disarm and cuff the target, and then you would go home to the Razor Crest. It was a simple plan, with a hefty payout for an evening of easy work. 

... Or so you had thought. 

Having stepped into the dimly-lit club, your eyes took a moment to adjust and take in the scene around you. Low-slung leather chairs and booths were scattered throughout the dark room, their occupants being some of the more fearful individuals in the galaxy. These cruel and cunning men, however, were in varying states of disarray due to the large amounts of alcohol and spice that were brazenly displayed on the tables they were seated at. In addition to the smoke-stained booths, there were several raised platforms that held women who were twisting themselves around metallic poles, their bodies scantily clad as they danced sensually for the crowd of drunken onlookers. 

And that was where you would find yourself shortly after being allowed into the club. 

They had assumed you were one of the dancers. 

A large, burly man grabbed you by the arm and you instinctively threw your elbow back into his gut at the sudden intrusion of your personal space, your arm connecting with a solid expanse of hard muscle. “C’mon, babydoll, don’t be so sensitive,” the man grumbled, hauling you towards the unoccupied pedestal. “Do your fucking job and don’t bitch about it.” He tossed you forward into the velvet-covered platform, and as you caught yourself on your hands, you understood that you had about three seconds to decide what you were going to do next. 

Do you confront the man about the mistaken identity, and risk causing a scene? Risk losing the bounty, or possibly getting yourself hurt once they realize you’re not meant to be here? 

Or do you get up there and find a way to make this unexpected plot change work for you? 

You bit the inside of your lip to the point of bleeding as you quickly came to your decision. You brought yourself up onto the well-worn, blood red platform and into the blisteringly hot stage lights that were turned on you and the other dancers; taking a moment to pretend to bask in the cheers and lewd hollers that followed your entrance, you tried to get a feel for the rhythm of the music that you would now have to dance to. 

Fuck, let’s hope they’re high enough to believe this. 

Closing your eyes, you sank into the rhythm and melody of the music that the band was playing, and you began to move your body in time with it, trying to put on a show despite never having danced before a day in your life. This would be an awfully convenient time for some Force abilities to show up. 

You had no such luck, but the drugged and drunk patrons didn’t seem to mind much; you were there for their amusement and pleasure, to fuel their egos and sense of power. You were also just one of several dancers; subtly turning, you observed the others so you could try and copy their fluid and sensual movements, the muscles in your thighs and core being worked in ways that you had not experienced before. You kept an eye out in the room for the target, and eventually you spotted him sitting about three booths away, a group of nasty looking mercenaries at his side. 

Alright, let’s get this over with before my legs give out. 

Batting your painted eyelashes at him, you winked at the Twi’lek and blew him a kiss before turning your focus back to the dance that you were trying to pull off. 

The band changed songs, and the other dancers kept going, adjusting to the new tempo and you assumed that’s what was expected of you as well. You wondered when this would end, when you would have an opportunity to get this night over with — your legs were burning as you stretched, bent, spun, flexed in different and new ways, all while trying to maintain some semblance of decency — you didn’t want anyone but Din to look at you how these men were. 

Keeping your focus on the target, you saw the Twi’lek man gesture to the burly man who had brought you up here; a quiet conversation took place during which he pointed directly at you, and then you witnessed the Twi’lek hand the man a stack of Imperial credits. 

He was buying you. 

It was a departure from the original plan, but then again everything about this night had been. The original plan had been left in the dust, and you just hoped that Din would be able to keep pace with the changes. Following the men’s transaction, you watched as the Twi’lek disappeared through a hallway into a private room, and the large man made his way to the platform you had been brought to. Coming to a halt in front of you, he grunted something entirely unintelligible over the sounds of the music and the crowd, but the meaning was not lost on you. Your services had been bought. 

You climbed down from the platform, the glow of the hot stage light leaving you, and you sighed in relief; the man pointed in the general direction of where the Twi’lek had gone and you wordlessly took your cue to join him. Slinking your way through the tables, you ran your hand along the knife that had been carefully concealed, hidden underneath your dress and pressed against your ribs; you were suddenly very grateful for Din’s insistence that you carry it. You then retrieved the small comm from the bosom of your dress, having cleverly hidden it there; you pressed the button on the side once, twice, three times, alerting him that you were moving and the final phase of the plan was in action. 

You arrived at the end of the hallway to find the door to the private room; it was one of many discreet doors, but this was the only one that was cracked just slightly to indicate to you where to go. Feeling your heart start to race, you hoped that Din would be close behind you, as the thought of being alone with this man for an extended period of time was admittedly quite terrifying; the thought that he had bought your... services, and would be expecting you to engage accordingly, made your skin crawl. The nervousness that you hadn’t felt previously was starting to catch up with you, and you had a bit more understanding of why Din had been as concerned as he was. 

You could feel an acidic, stabbing pain of nervousness in your gut as your feet carried you closer and closer to the dark walnut door. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, pushing that nervousness and fear away, you knocked softly on the door to indicate your arrival. You stepped into what was a surprisingly clean and relatively quiet room; it was free from the colorful and flashing lights of the rest of the club, instead being dimly lit with candles that illuminated comfortable-looking furniture, and a table with a bottle of sparkling wine. 

You turned your gaze to the Twi’lek in front of you; he wasn’t unattractive, but the fact that he had the audacity to try and purchase sex from a woman — no, he wasn’t even purchasing sex from a woman, it was from a fucking pimp — was nauseating, and the smugness that rolled off of him threatened to make your nose turn up in disgust. Forcing aside your personal assessments, you smiled at him and took a seat next to him before pouring you each a glass of wine. You knew you needed to focus on playing your role and getting the job over with. 

Taking a sip of the wine you had poured, the carbonation tickled your nose and you giggled instinctively, not accustomed to the sensation. The man took it as an indication of interest, however, and his hand moved to your upper thigh, pushing the hem of your dress to the side. He downed the rest of his drink quickly before turning to place his other hand on your shoulder — and then his body was moving closer and closer towards yours, and your heart pounded, your head screamed at you to get the fuck out of here, where is Din, fuck, should I kill this guy? 

Right at the moment that you had moved to make a grab for your knife, the heavy wooden door you had walked through opened quietly and you breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the beskar that glowed in the lamplight. The Twi’lek kept his hands where they were on your body, but turned from you to speak to the intruder, growling, “Hey buddy, get the fuck outta here, can’t you see we’re busy?”

You winced and concealed a laugh, knowing that while this man may not die tonight, he would not be feeling too great once Din was done with him. The door closed and the three of you were concealed from the party, contained in the privacy of the room together. Before the man had time to touch you any further, Din reached out to grab the Twi’lek and roughly hauled him off of you, only slightly throwing his body into the glass table that shattered on impact. 

You didn’t need to see Din’s face to know that he was absolutely livid. Having been removed from the unwanted grasp of the Twi’lek, knowing that you and Din were both safe, there was a part of you that got a sort of thrill from the protectiveness that Din displayed for you. It was also shockingly and undeniably attractive watching him rough the guy up, and your biological, hormonal  response to the sight caught you a bit off guard.

The Twi’lek was unconscious, but thankfully not dead; after having been thrown through a glass table by your protector, he was... quite easy to disarm and handcuff. After Din had thoroughly secured the situation at hand, he stomped over to you angrily, the force of his steps echoing around you, and you could feel the rage and possessiveness that was positively boiling underneath the armor. “Are you alright?” He asked brusquely, pulling your scantily clad body into his heavily covered one.

“Yes, Din, I’m fine — things didn’t go exactly to plan, but I’m—“ 

He cut you off as he brought his hand down to cover your eyes— surprised, you started to recoil on instinct, until you heard the click of his helmet being removed; and then his lips were on yours, kissing you greedily and intensely in a way that you had never experienced before. Instinctively, your hands reached out to pull him closer into you and you were hit by an absolute tidal wave of need for him. You bit down on his lip, an animalistic drive taking over your body, and he growled underneath you. “Fuck,” he grunted, pulling away from you but keeping his hand securely over your eyes. “Fuck, fuck, not here — get you home —“ 

You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or not, but you whined as your body screamed out for more contact, more attention than what you were receiving. You heard the helmet click back into place and your chest deflated, knowing that you would not be getting what you needed; at least not yet. His hand moved away from your eyes and you saw Din standing in front of you, breathing heavily and roughly. You clearly weren’t alone in your own desires, but Din at least had the foresight to know that this was not the time or place. 

He wordlessly turned to grab the unconscious man and haul him out, being rougher than you had expected as the man’s head knocked into the door frame with a thud. You followed along behind him, trusting him to know what he was doing despite the adrenaline and the hormones that were rushing over you both like Naboo’s waterfalls. He navigated you carefully out of the speakeasy, until the two —no, three— of you were back into the cool, muggy evening air of Corellia. You saw a guard had been dispatched by Din at the back door, and a M-68 Landspeeder that was presumably stolen was waiting for you. Din lifted the unconscious body into the back seat and allowed it to slump over before he was then reaching out to grab you, his hands planted tightly on your waist as he lifted you up, as though your weight was nothing for him, and set you down into the passenger seat of the speeder before climbing in next to you. 

The journey back to the ship was blessedly short compared to the initial journey into the city, thanks to Din’s questionable acquisition of a vehicle, but it was just as silent as the day’s earlier journey had been. You weren’t sure of what was going on in Din’s head, but you knew that you were aching to get back to the security of the ship and to be able to be alone with him. You felt excitement blooming within you as the Razor Crest came into your line of sight, but Din remained maddeningly silent. 

He got the limp body securely sealed into carbonite with impressive speed, before picking your tense and wanting body up and out of the vehicle. Much to your surprise, he didn’t set you down on the ground, but rather carried you up the ramp and into the ship you both knew as home. 

You could feel the adrenaline and desire pumping through your body as you felt Din’s strong arms wrapped around you, carrying you gently but with a force and determination that was a bit nerve-wracking. You were fairly certain that you could hear his heart hammering against the beskar chest plate that you were pressed against, and his gloved hands just barely dug into your skin, making your heart race in anticipation for what was undoubtedly about to come next. 

The lights in the cabin of the ship had already been turned off, and your sense of anticipation heightened with the deprivation. Din takes his helmet off in the dark. He placed you down unexpectedly, your feet fighting to keep you upright, and that coupled with the darkness was momentarily disorienting. He stepped closer into you, his frame eclipsing yours as you were backed into the wall of the cabin and you could feel the steel paneling against the skin that your silver dress had left exposed. The cold steel coupled with the desire that was burning through you, radiating from your core, gave you an intense sensory overload that left your chest rising and falling rapidly as your breaths became more shallow, a soft whine arising from you. 

Your hands reached out, grasping for any bit of Din that they could reach, and you somewhat forcefully dragged him into you, using his body to pin yourself against the wall of the ship. You heard a grunt come through the modulator and the fire inside you crawled up your chest as you told him in no uncertain terms to “Take that off, right fucking now.” 

You heard the helmet drop to the floor not a second later, with no regard for its integrity — but honestly, it was beskar, you’d be more worried about the integrity of the floor than the helmet — and the impulsiveness of the gesture only fueled the scorching fire that was running through your veins, setting every nerve ending alight. Finally having been freed from the restrictiveness of the helmet, Din growled your name under his breath as he leaned in to kiss you, echoing the fierce desperation with which he had kissed you in the speakeasy. His arms wrapped around you in a vice as his hands grabbed your ass, and he licked into your mouth, the heat and the taste of his tongue making you moan underneath him reflexively. You kissed him deeper, needing to be as close to him as possible — the cool beskar pressing into you made him feel even more domineering, powerful, but you resented its presence and the way it barricaded you from Din’s body. 

“Never doing that again — not going on another job with me —“ Din grunted, his words partially lost in the heavy, bruising kisses he was trailing up your neck. “Saw you— saw you dancing, saw that motherfucker pay — should’ve killed him —“ 

God, the possessiveness and the protectiveness was fucking hot. There was something within you that reveled in his intense desire to protect you and keep you to himself. Memories of the fresher came back to you, how he had called you his good girl, and the prospect of hearing those words spoken into your soft skin again made you achingly wet for him. You sighed into him, your body melting underneath his touch as he kissed and harshly bit at the soft skin of your neck, loving the way his teeth felt scraping and sinking into you. It felt as though there was a storming, angry ocean of desire and desperation crashing into you ceaselessly, so overwhelming that you worried you might drown in it before Din would be able to give you what you needed. 

You tangled your hands into the hair that you noticed was growing even longer, the curls feeling so real and so human, despite the forced disconnect of armor and anonymity. “Din,” you sighed, tugging his curling hair gently, trying to pull him out of the smoldering anger he was experiencing, and back into this moment with you. You didn’t want to hear any more about the job, the club, any of it — you wanted to hear Din tell you that you look so pretty taking his cock, you’re his good girl, your pussy feels better than anything in this galaxy. 

“My girl,” he whispered roughly, digging his fingers into your exposed skin, the warm baritone of his unfiltered voice setting off butterflies — and for a moment you wondered if he could actually read your mind.  

You nodded in agreement —you’re his girl, always — whimpering as one of his hands moved from your backside to roughly cup your breast; you felt the aged leather of the glove against your skin and realized he was all too clothed in comparison to your exposed form. Your dress had shifted to bunch around your waist as Din had pressed you into the wall, progressively revealing more and more of you to him. You reached out to grab his gloved hand, bringing it up from your chest and to your flushed face. He paused for a moment, waiting to see what you were doing; and then you brought his hand up to your soft mouth, gently biting down on his thumb and pulling the glove off with your teeth. The taste of gunpowder and leather lingered on your tongue, and there was some small piece of you that got a thrill from it. 

It had been an experimental move, one that you weren’t sure how he would respond to, but the groan that echoed through him shot your adrenaline and confidence sky high, knowing that you made that happen, knowing that you were giving him what he wanted. And although he had you pinned against the wall, you still tried valiantly to remove some of the layers that separated you — you needed to feel his skin against yours, needed to be able to kiss him all over, wanted to taste him, wanted to feel him in new ways. 

He took your cue and backed up slightly, allowing your chest the room to expand with much-needed deep breaths as he rushed to pry the armor and equipment off of himself, each thud and clang of beskar on the floor sending stronger and stronger waves of heat through your body; you wondered if this is what it was like to catch fire under the unforgiving suns of Tattooine. 

You heard something soft and distinctly not-beskar land next to the two of you, and assumed that he was finally beginning to work his way out of his underclothes. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants and yanked him back towards you forcefully, needing to feel the heat of his body pressed against yours. You could feel the defined muscles of his abdomen, the assorted scars that scattered his frame, the broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms; you kissed down his neck and to his chest, biting down harshly and then soothing the area with your tongue, loving the way that he writhed and moaned against you as he held you against himself.  

Your hand moved down from the wide expanse of his shoulders to palm at the rock hard erection that was unfortunately still barricaded by Din’s pants; and as you curled your fingers around his cock, Din growled and gathered the sheer fabric of your dress in his hands, pulling it down rapidly and aggressively, leaving you to try and extricate your arms from the delicate straps before he ripped it entirely off of your body. Eventually shimmying yourself free of the dress that had blessedly remained intact, you felt the pile of tulle and sequins fall to your feet. You kicked the garment away from you, a subtle hint to make Din distinctly aware of how exposed you now were. You pulled at the rough utility fabric that concealed the lower half of his body, that concealed his throbbing erection that you so desperately needed to feel within you — and Din stepped out of the clothing, the two of you breathing heavily at the amount of skin to skin contact you now shared; you wondered if he had ever been this bare, this exposed, with anyone before. 

Although it was dark within the cabin of the ship, you knew each other’s bodies well, having spent several nights sleeping together, and your previous interactions during the shower having brought you closer than ever before. Your breath hitched in your throat as you had a sudden feeling of nervousness; you couldn’t understand why you were suddenly anxious, as this was something you had wanted for so long — but apparently you weren’t the only one with some nerves. Din’s breath shook as he pulled your body into his, whispering your name. “I don’t know that the bunk will be, ah... comfortable, or, you know, enough... space.” 

That was a fair consideration, remembering how close you slept next to him; it wouldn’t offer enough space for anything other than sleeping. 

An idea occurred to you; you leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, before you pulled away from his grasp, the chill of the cabin catching up with you as you crossed to retrieve the well-loved blankets from the bunk as you placed them onto the floor, creating a makeshift bed for the two of you. “Problem solved,” you whispered, grabbing his hand and guiding him onto the softened surface with suddenly confident steps. 

He laughed gently, and you could feel a smile working its way to his face as you kissed him. He swung you up into his arms with ease, and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carefully brought both of your exposed and nude bodies down to the floor. You were acutely aware of how his muscles flexed and contracted as he held you closely, his sculpted and scarred body feeling incredible as it laid on the floor next to yours. Now, being able to effectively move and maneuver yourself around him, you were emboldened to try something you had never done before, feeling confident as your adventurous ideas had been well-received so far. 

Your soft and gentle hands pressed Din’s wide shoulders down into the unyielding floor and he complied, willing to let you have the control right now. You positioned yourself over his body so that your head was pointing in the direction of his feet, while you propped yourself up above his impressive, large frame on your palms, the arch of your back offering him a perfect view of how wet you were for him, damn near dripping onto his chest. He groaned explicitly as you bent forward to take his cock into your mouth, and you could feel the tension moving through his body as you took him deeper into your throat, your tongue swirling around him and tasting every exquisite, velvety inch of him. 

You were relieved when Din’s broad and calloused hands came up to rest firmly on your ass, understanding what you were needing from him, and he pulled your aching center down to his stubbled jawline, to allow his tongue to trace gently over your clit, finally offering you the pleasure and stimulation that you had been needing since Din had kissed you feverishly in the club. You felt your eyes roll back with a wash of pleasure and relief as he sucked gently on the bundle of nerves, flicking his tongue across it in rhythmic circles, occasionally allowing his tongue to explore further into your body and enjoy all of the wetness you offered him — and you hummed in satisfaction against his thick cock, as you moved your mouth up and down his length, enjoying the wet sounds sounds it produced as you continually swallowed around him, loving the deep grunts and animalistic groans you received in response. The humming must’ve added some enjoyable stimulation for him, as you tasted his precum on your tongue; and then he slid two fingers into your tight cunt, working to open you up to be able to take the considerable length of his cock. You loved the deliciously wet and sloppy sounds that came from the two of you; your mouth, as you continuously drug your tongue along the underside of the cock that was hitting the back of your throat, and your pussy as Din finger-fucked you on the floor of the ship. 

He added a third finger to your tight entrance and you instinctively cried out at the stretching sensation, your body writhing as his thumb moved to tweak continuously over your clit with varying levels of pressure. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Din sighed with a laugh. “If you think three fingers is a lot, you’re in for a surprise.” His voice sounded like gravel, rough and breathy and cracking beneath you, sending you higher and higher with his cocky assessment. Well, you were never one to shy away from a challenge. 

You could feel the weight of your orgasm building within you, the heady and hot tension that had coiled at your center spreading its way out to your stomach, your thighs, threatening to break at any moment. Your muscles constricting, you chased that peak, that high, and your mouth slid off of Din’s cock as you gasped for air — “Din, fuck, Din, I’m gonna cu—“ 

And then he quickly pulled himself away from you, right as you were right there, and you cried out in exasperation and frustration at having been denied your orgasm; your entire body was screaming with anger and deprivation, and you felt as though you might shatter with all of the tension. 

His body moved away from underneath you as you came to rest against the makeshift bed of blankets, and in the dark, you had absolutely no idea what was going on or why he had done this to you. “Din, what the fuck?” You hissed angrily, your hands reaching out to try and grab him and bring him back to you. But then you suddenly felt two strong, familiar hands grasp your waist from behind, and you were abruptly yanked upwards by your waist and onto your knees, the blankets ruched up underneath you; the disorientation of the darkness was intimidating but also incredibly exciting — although you were still somewhat pissed at Din for his asshole move. 

You were on all fours, desperately waiting for Din to do something, anything. 

“Look at my pretty girl, waiting so nicely for me.” 

You felt Din’s muscled thighs and his thick cock press up against your exposed backside; you were able to determine that he was on his knees behind you. You whined in anticipation, not minding the hint of desperation that crept in with it. 

“Gods, look at you. Fucking dripping wet, making a mess for me. Is that all for me, sweet girl?” He hmmed confidently, dipping his finger inside of you and bringing your wetness up to his mouth for a taste. “Bet you’re just dying to take this cock, to cum on it for me, aren’t you?”

You whined once more, a small, needy sound that would’ve been embarrassing had you not been so desperately wanting to cum after your earlier denial; your muscles still quaked and tensed as you hovered right on that edge. You pressed your ass further back into him, trying to get some sort of stimulation against your aching cunt, but Din just cupped your ass and pressed your shoulders down into the floor; you felt the wool blanket against your cheek as you writhed against him in frustration. 

“Please,” you whispered. 

“Please... what?” There was a somewhat maniacal edge to his voice and you felt a thrill of anticipation shudder through you. 

“Din, please!”

“Please what?” His voice cut through you like steel. 

You could feel the blunt and swollen head of his cock pressed against your throbbing entrance, and fuck, while you didn’t want to beg you couldn’t help it any longer, the unyielding desperation coursing hotly through you as you just gave in to what Din wanted. “Fuck, Din — please, please fuck me, please let me cum for you —“ 

A satisfied chuckle coming from deep within his chest, Din finally pressed forward into you with a ragged, shaking moan — and the resulting moan that came from your body echoed his own, as he buried himself impossibly deep into your tight and soaking cunt, while effectively pinning your shoulders to the floor and rendering you immobile. You had thought you would be prepared for the sheer size of him, the girth, the length that you had taken in your mouth and throat, but it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before — he really had been right in saying that three fingers wouldn’t compare. 

For a brief moment you wondered if you would even be able to take all of him inside you — and your question was quickly answered as he pulled back from you, dragging his cock along your inner walls, before his hips snapped forward to slam into you with a shocking and devastatingly incredible force. Feeling his cock sink deeper and deeper into you, your body offered little resistance to this pleasure as you cried out at the stretching and filling sensation, hurting but in a good way that just made you crave him even more. 

Din’s hands found their place along the bend of your hips as he pushed and pulled your willing body into his; and with each thrust forward penetrating you even deeper, you felt the edges of your mind starting to go white-hot with pleasure once more. You reveled in the sounds he made, needy and wanting, loving that he wasn’t one to shy away from letting you know just how fucking incredible this felt for him, too. 

This was unlike anything you had ever experienced with a man before, Din was unlike anything else in this galaxy, and you knew that even if you spent a hundred years with him you would never get enough of this feeling — the feeling of his throbbing, veined cock dragging against your sensitive walls, hitting spots inside of you that you never even knew existed. You could feel the ever-increasing slickness of your cunt that allowed for him to slide in and out of you repeatedly, while the lower half of your body started to constrict with that same heat of pleasure that he had ripped away from you just moments ago — but that didn’t matter anymore, you had no room for grudges as he completely filled both your body and mind. 

He said your name over and over, the sound spilling from his lips like a prayer, like a curse, like a promise — and you reveled in the sheer adoration of each utterance that tumbled from him. You wished that you could give him the same verbal adoration and praise that he offered you, but you were completely incapable of doing anything except making lewd, high-pitched, unintelligible sounds that echoed and radiated through the walls of the ship, becoming more desperate with each powerful thrust into your clenching and tight cunt. 

“Gods, I knew you’d take my cock so f-fucking good, look at that — such a pretty girl, such a g-good girl — fucking knew you’d feel incredible from the m-moment I saw you, wanted to fucking split you in half on my cock —“ 

The praise and dirty words Din offered you tickled a previously-repressed, unexplored part of yourself and after this awakening you wanted more of it. Seeking out that praise and reinforcement, you decided to take back some control in this situation and initiate something more — Din had you fairly well pinned against the floor, his hips ramming his cock into you relentlessly, but you were able to shift your arms in a way that allowed for you to reach around the back of your thighs and spread yourself open even further for him. Your movement caught him off guard as his hips snapped into yours forcefully, his cock penetrating so far into you that you thought you may never recover from it — and the force of his thrust collapsed both of your bodies into the floor as a guttural fuck escaped from him. 

You felt his broad chest and the heaviness of his frame crushing you into the floor, but you didn’t mind, loving the pressure of his full body weight against you while his cock was buried inside you so deeply that you could feel him twitching inside of you, could feel each beat of his heart pulsating through his body. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he gasped, pushing himself up off of your body and off of the floor. “I don’t know what the fuck you just did, but I’m going to need you to do that again for me.” 

You grinned, somewhat delirious from all of the stimulation and physical sensations you had experienced here on this makeshift bed. And yet for all of the wonderful, amazing, beautiful things you had felt — you still hadn’t cum, and your very skin felt as though it was crawling with a fire that left you aching with every second that passed by. You wanted to cum, wanted Din to make you cum; and you wanted to make him cum in return, giving each other the release and bliss you had been wanting since your first meeting on Chandrila. If you were to tell the truth, you’d tell Din that you had wanted him from the very first day, even though you had fought so hard to quell those feelings. 

You couldn’t see well in the darkness that shrouded the cabin — couldn’t see anything, to be honest — but you could feel your hands connect with Din’s shoulders and you shoved him back down onto the floor, appreciating his willingness to follow your lead. Your hands traced gently down his body, feeling every hard line and ridge of him, feeling every scar, and loving every inch of him that he had allowed you to see, at least in this way. You swung your legs over his waist and positioned yourself above him, guiding his thick and still-wet cock back inside of your tight and enveloping cunt; the two of you gasped at the sudden, clenching contact and rush of adrenaline, and you began to ride him in earnest, loving the sound of your skin slapping against his as you crashed into him over and over and over again. 

“Gods, you just love it when I ride your thick cock like this, don’t you, Din?” You said with a malicious grin, hoping to draw out the same kind of dirty words he had given you earlier. “Just falling apart for me so easy—“

“Fuck, yes, I do love it my sweet —“ He choked out, his hands finding their way up your body and coming to rest at your breasts, tweaking your hardened nipples with his rough touch. “Love watching that tight pussy take my cock, love how you feel on me, love how you taste — you’re just so fucking incredible—”

“Show me how much you love it,” you challenged, an edge creeping into your voice. “Cum for me.” 

His groans turned into irregular grunts of pleasure as he moved to hold your body in place, restricting your movements as he fucked up into you, sounds spilling forth from him. “Believe me, I will cum for you — I’ll cum inside that sweet, perfect pussy. But you’re gonna cum for me first, sweet girl.” 

Din’s threat— or promise, depending on your perspective — echoed through you and a crashing tidal wave of need threatened to collapse your chest and inhibit your very breathing. Your body was positively aching with tension and strain now, your muscles screaming out in exhaustion — you needed to cum, you needed the release, you needed to fall over that peak and then rest next to Din. “Yes, please, please, please,” you cried, each word becoming more and more deranged and desperate than the last. 

“Tell me what you need, sweet girl,” Din panted roughly, continuing to hold your shaking body in place as he fucked into you relentlessly. 

You weren’t sure what you needed except more of Din, and you didn’t even know how to ask for that as he was clearly giving you everything he had, thrusting up into you and offering up each and every groan of pleasure that your pussy wrung from him. More. You just needed more. 

“Kiss me, Din Djarin.” 

He laughed softly and you could hear the smile in it; for all of the dirty words and debased, debauched actions, this sweetness was what you wanted and what you needed. He pulled your body in close to his, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before rolling the two of you over so you were now laying against the blankets. His cock never left your center, even in the transition; and then his hands brought your legs up to rest on his shoulders and he began drilling into you with an unholy force, crumpling your body in half with each thrust as he bent downwards to kiss you. He was panting and you could feel a bead of sweat drip from his forehead as he worked to get you there, fighting off his own orgasm, needing to get you there first. 

As his lips pressed repeatedly into your soft and hot flesh, you could feel it coming on; that tense and aching heat coiled within you, your back arched up from the floor, and your hands rose up to pull Din in closer to you, gripping his hair forcefully. You couldn’t see anything in the blackness of the ship but your vision was changing regardless, as your body readied itself to jump from that cliff, giving you the release you needed. “Din—“ you gasped out, your muscles constricting. 

“Yes, yes, cum for me sweet girl — wanna feel you cum on my cock,” Din grunted, thrusting into you with each word. He leaned in to kiss you once more and it was everything you needed. 

It felt as though a seismic charge went off inside the small ship, your muscles contracting and quaking as your body was taken over by wave after wave of undulating pleasure. Your skin felt like it was vibrating at a new frequency, each nerve ending heightened and feeling overstimulated as you cried out in unintelligible but unmistakeable pleasure. Your cunt clenched around Din’s cock, spasming with each new wave of pleasure that overtook your body. 

Din snarled at the feeling of you clenching and coming undone around him and you knew that he was close; you drug your nails against his scalp, his hair tangling between your fingers, and you leaned up to gently capture his earlobe between your teeth, tugging slightly. “Want you to cum for me, Din. Want you to cum inside me.” 

The rapid movements of his hips became increasingly irregular until you felt the heat of his release within you, his body collapsing on top of yours as he inhaled deep and ragged breaths, you could feel him shaking on top of you, could feel his muscles and his cock twitching as he was lost to the overwhelming pleasure of his orgasm. Hot ropes of Din’s cum coursed through your pulsing and throbbing cunt, coating you and filling you in a way that made you writhe in pleasure and self-satisfaction; you couldn’t help but think of the way you’d be left dripping from him, a mix of both of your orgasms coating you in a messy, magnificent bliss. When he finally pulled away from your feverish and trembling body, you felt the mix of fluids cascading down your thighs in a way that almost made you want to climb on top of him again. 

You were both left entirely breathless, every ounce of energy spent in giving the other what they needed and had been denied for so long. Din’s body rolled off of yours, allowing you to breathe deeply and you inhaled lungfuls of cool air, quieting the fire that coursed through your body. His chest taking deep and ragged breaths, he pulled you in close to his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely as he sighed and kissed every inch of exposed skin that he could reach. You were utterly wrecked, entirely devastated, and more blissfully happy than you ever could have imagined you could be. 

This life was turning into everything that you had ever wanted, and feared you would never get. You felt tears of happiness pricking at the corner of your eyes, and you smiled into Din’s chest, never wanting to leave this moment. 

He must’ve felt the tears that had slipped out and onto him; bringing your face up to his, his hand cradling your cheek gently, he kissed your forehead. “Sweet girl, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you whispered, a brilliant grin spreading across your face. “Everything is perfect. You’re perfect. This life here, with you, is perfect.” 

You would later blame it on the rush of dopamine and oxytocin, but truth be told, you could no longer deny the truth to either yourself or to Din. Feeling emboldened and safe in this space with him, the truth tumbled forward from your lips, unable to be concealed any longer. 

“I love you, Din Djarin.” 

It felt beautiful and exhilarating to speak it out loud, to acknowledge the truth of your feelings. You didn’t even necessarily need for Din to say it back; that’s how secure you felt in this moment, in this feeling of love. You would love him endlessly, would love him through hell or high waters, would love him whether you were right next to him or lightyears away. You couldn’t hold back the truth, and nor did you want to. You loved Din Djarin, more than you had ever loved anything in existence, and while it was exhilaratingly terrifying, it also felt like the safest, most comforting thing in this galaxy. 

And  it was a whole new kind of bliss that was revealed to you when he spoke to you in response.

“And I love you.” 

[bedlamsbard]

Writing tag game -- tagged by @lessattitudemorealtitude

how many works do you have on Ao3?

Discounting podfic on which I’m listed as a co-author, 24.  My concept writing doesn’t go to AO3 and the vast majority of my Narnia fic was never cross-posted there.  (Or reposted there, actually, I think most of it pre-dates the AO3.)

what’s your total Ao3 word count?

1,050,810.  oh, huh, I didn’t actually realize I’d passed the one million word mark (probably with Crown).

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

all of these ended up being Star Wars, which is not a huge surprise.  Morning will probably reach Dirt in the next couple of updates, I’d guess.

Immutable, or, Five Times Obi-Wan Kenobi Compromised His Jedi Ethics for Anakin Skywalker -- this is not the oldest Star Wars fic on there, but I think it’s the second oldest. people just really like 5 times fic.

Wake the Storm - did you know that when I started Wake I assumed it was a very niche trope in what was, at the time, a pretty dead fandom? the kudos count on Wake actually outnumbers Gambit by more than 1600 kudos, so the number of people who go from Wake to Gambit is a lot lower than you might think.

Queen's Gambit - a significantly lower kudos count than Wake or Immutable.  Gambit’s such a weirdo of a story, tbh, I can’t be surprised by anything about Gambit anymore.

On the Edge of the Devil's Backbone - about 600 kudos less than Gambit, so less difference between Gambit and Backbone than between Wake and Gambit.

Dirt in the Machine - another older fic.  I’d rewrite this one if I cared enough to do so, because it’s not at my current standards (Immutable isn’t either, for that matter) and I kind of wince every time I get comments on it.  this is the first one of the top five to have below 1K kudos.

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I’ll usually respond to direct questions, but I very, very seldom respond to comments in general.  This is an old standing policy of mine that’s now more than a decade old -- it used to be I’d wait twenty-four hours before responding, then I’d respond right before the next chapter went up, and for a while I’d only respond to comments on the first few chapters of a story.  Now I just mostly do not.  The reasons for this are: (1) many, many years ago, I lost my temper pretty badly at a comment on a fic of mine (this was pre-AO3, this was back in my LJ days), and after that I moved to the “wait twenty-four hours” response so I didn’t say anything without thinking about it, (2) I do go back and reread comments but I hate rereading my own responses, (3) I prefer to know the comments numbers on my fic are all from actual comments and not from me saying “thanks for reading!”, (4) I can’t take that kind of responsibility for answering every single comment, man.

what’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Of stuff I’ve written in the past ten years? (I can’t really remember before that.)  Maybe Backbone, because it ends on that pretty upbeat “yay team we’re going to be rebels now!” note.  or Devil’s in the Details (other side part 1), though I don’t really want to consider it a finished fic even though it’s technically finished; it has another “yay team we’re back together (minus Ezra)” ending.  I tend to end on complicated and reasonably open endings, not like...happy endings.

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

probably Gambit for the “everything is super fucked up” factor and also the fact that I never wrote the sequel. plus it ended with the entire Wake trio split up in a whole new universe, plus back in the Gambitverse Amidala not able to go back to Naboo, Ahsoka shunned, Palpatine’s new empire, Rex trapped in the Gambitverse, etc.

do you write crossovers?

I did in my Narnia days. I don’t anymore. Working in widespread fandoms like Star Wars or the MCU is basically like writing crossover fic within the same universe, anyway.

have you ever received hate on a fic?

*hysterical laughter*

...yes. yes I have. it’s the reason every time I get a comment notification on Gambit or Wake I freeze in absolute terror. people HATE Wake and Gambit.  I hate to say never, but I will probably never write those characters or in that series again.

do you write smut? if so, what kind?

not really?  I’ve done relatively non-explicit sex but it’s not something I’m super comfortable writing, especially in recent years. I’m much more likely to do a fade to black.

have you ever had a fic stolen?

I think Gambit got scraped once when it was still in progress and my response was something along the lines of “good luck, bro,” given the whole “still in progress” thing.

have you ever had a fic translated?

I’ve gotten a couple of translation requests but I can’t recall if anything’s ever been translated.  (Or if I responded to them...I know a few I forgot to respond.)

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, back in my Narnia days.  Some SW concept writing and that ended so badly that I’ll never co-write again.

what’s your all-time favourite ship?

Kanan/Hera, of course!

what’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

gods, Dust in the Air, my Narnia Last Battle AU.  Back when I started it in 2008 or so I didn’t have the self-control or discipline I do now, even if I had a lot of the worldbuilding ability and the ability to conceive of if not execute long plot arcs, and I broke off more than I could chew.  If I ever went back to it I’d probably have to do a complete rewrite and it has the unique problem among my WIPs of being the last major fic I wrote in present tense -- I now write exclusively in past tense.  The bones of the story are good, I’d just have to go back to the bones and not just pick up where I left off.

what are your writing strengths?

Plot, worldbuilding/environment, action.  I also do genuinely think I’m very good at characterization too, but I think they’re all inter-related.  (Except the action, that’s me alone.  I love writing action and I generally get a lot of compliments on my action scenes.)  look, I know it’s conceited, but I’m good and I know I’m good, and I’m good in a pretty well-rounded way for the genre I write.

what are your writing weaknesses?

brevity. can’t do it.

honestly, there are others, but I don’t write stories where they’d come up.  I think I have a tendency to get to bogged down in dialogue in a way that I’ve never quite solved.  I also let my emotions take over too much and not in the good fannish way, in the “I’m having a fucked up relationship with canon or fandom and it’s affecting my ability to work” way.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

please stop having your Asgardians speak Latin for magic, man, that’s my feeling on it.

okay, my feelings on it for me -- I’ve sprinkled bits and pieces of Huttese, Twi’leki, and tee-tiny bits of other stuff here and there in fic.  I’d not be comfortable doing more than that because the only other language that I really feel comfortable doing anything significant in is Latin, and even then I’d hesitate. also, like, Latin! not a language that comes up in the fandoms I write in.  even then, like -- any extended dialogue should be intelligible to the audience, and I don’t expect my audience to be able read anything other than English; I’d rather just say “they switched to Twi’leki to say” or something similar.

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

like, online? Harry Potter. for things that I didn’t post online because I didn’t know what fic was yet? probably either The 10th Kingdom or The Mummy.

what’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

On the Edge of the Devil’s Backbone.  I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever written, I think it’s the most tightly plotted, I think it’s got the best worldbuilding, I think it’s remarkably consistent thematically, and it was, at the time, a fic that I was very devoted to finishing or dying trying, because I was going through it at the time and some of it was connected to the fic.

I don’t tag people, but please go for if you want!

[aspenflower17]

Finding You (Part Nine of ??)

Happy Thanksgiving everyone (even if you don’t live in the US)! Here is the update for this week :) This chapter was a little self indulgent. I do talk a tiny bit about music theory and Jane Austen in this chapter. If you have questions about either, just ask and I can try to explain/direct you to some good sources on what I’m talking about 😅 

Edit: Totally forgot to mention! The whole Pride and Prejudice HC about Lucifer is not originally mine. I believe I read it on one of the Beel blogs. I think it was @taco-beel :)

For anyone new, here is the link for Part One. I hope you enjoy 😁 

Tags for the Lovelies:  @simpingforsatan @naimena @hachimochi @wrathandgreed @magi-minminxiii @rensphilia @a-dream-at-night @chloelikesobeyme @getbehindme-satan (If you’d like to be added to the tags list, just message me or comment below!)

Satan/ F!Mc

Trigger Warnings: possibly for depression?

Word Count: 2,322

After Mc shut the door, she slid down the door to the floor, head in her hands. Well, that couldn’t have gone worse. I would’ve rather had him ignore me or not remember me at all. I could’ve figured out how to interact with him in those situations. But what was with him being sweet in the beginning, and then just seizing up? Then he grabbed my wrist and seemed super worried about me leaving and then didn’t even say anything the whole walk?! That goodbye too! What was that?! 

The more Mc thought about the whole thing, the more upset she got. She leaned her head back against the door, her brain replaying the beginning of the conversation trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Remembering the look in his eyes as he had fervently declared he remembered her. The warmth of his voice.

Then the progressive unease as she had continued talking until the abrupt emotional cutoff. He had obviously been uninterested in talking with her any longer, though she really couldn’t figure out why. He had been so dismissive. But when I tried to leave… She looked down to the wrist he had grabbed. He sounded so… desperate. Like he truly didn’t want to let me leave. So, why didn’t he talk to me?

“Mc? Are you alright?” Michael asked, stepping into the entrance hall with Diavolo.

“I’m… I’m fine. Diavolo, do you have a music room?” Mc asked, standing up as nonchalantly as she could.

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you have a piano, or similar instrument?”

“Yes…”

“May I use it for the rest of the day? I need to compose.”

“I… Sure. I’ll have Lil’ D No. 2 show you the way,” and as he said that, a small demon appeared and beckoned her forward, and she promptly followed.

“Oh dear,” Michael sighed, eyes following Mc.

“What’s wrong,” Diavolo asked, thoroughly confused by the whole encounter.

“She is definitely not alright. She can only compose when she’s really emotional about something.”

“I… Wait, is she going to let us hear it when she’s done?” Diavolo asked, eyes lighting up.

Mc sat down at the piano. It was an almost pure black grand, and the key colors were reversed, which was messing with her brain visually. The piano bench lid was made from a beautiful dark red wood, the rest the same black as the rest of the piano. The piano did not look worn, but it was obviously old. 

Mc started playing her normal warm up scales, but quickly stopped when she realized they didn’t sound right. She tried again with the same result. It’s in minor…

Trying out all the keys, she realized the whole piano was in minor. You could play major chords, but it was like making minor chords on a normal piano. Interesting.

Mc continued playing and getting warmed up, wanting to explore the amazing opportunity that had presented itself. She started playing some of her own creations, marveling at how different her songs sounded. As she was playing, she remembered a song she had abandoned a long time ago. Though it should have sounded correct, she had never been able to make it sound correct. I wonder…

She started playing the song, and was amazed to find just how perfect it sounded. It was the same song, but it now sounded perfect. Encouraged, Mc tried to continue composing, but she couldn’t get past where she had already composed, no matter how much she worked on it. Discouraged and a little frustrated, Mc look at her DDD and was surprised to see it was almost time for dinner.

Standing up, she promised herself she’d come back later, and work on it more.

“I’ve decided to throw a ball in Mc’s honor!”

Michael and Mc looked up from their dinner at the proclamation from Diavolo. Luke seemed unphased by the announcement.

“A ball? In my honor?”

“Yes! You’re my honored guest after all.”

“He also loves throwing balls,” Luke added.

“Also that,” Diavolo admitted.

“Well, I’d be honored. Thank you.”

“Perfect! It’ll be held a week from today. Barbados! Make sure invitations are sent and food is ready.”

“Yes sir,” Mc jumped, not realizing Barbados was in the room, turning around to see him exit. She was starting to notice the butler seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“Is a week too fast?” Mc asked worriedly.

“Nonsense! This is a lot more notice than I usually give if I’m going to be honest,” Diavolo laughed.

“For a whole ball to be planned?”

“Yes! Barbados is one hell of a butler,” Diavolo grinned over his teacup, before taking a sip.

Mc sat in her room and mused over the events of the day. Now that she had calmed down enough to think rationally, she started analyzing Satan’s behavior, and found she really couldn’t make sense of it. Unless he thought I was someone else… Wait. That makes a lot of sense actually. Like not a ton of sense, because he should have realized I wasn’t them before I started talking about meeting him before, but more than anything else I can think of. He may have also been a little… unhinged. He did look like he hadn’t slept in three days…

Satisfied enough that her brain could rest, she snuggled down into her blankets. Every time she closed her eyes however, all she saw was Satan’s face as he had grabbed her wrist. She brought her other hand up to her wrist and grabbed it. Now smiling, she drifted off to sleep.

Mc snorted, shifting a bit as she read. The bed was comfortable, the scent of its owner making her feel safe and comforted. Classes had been long and when the demon that sat behind her had gotten up, they had accidentally hit her in the head with their bag pretty hard, which had made Mammon nearly kill them. She had narrowly saved their life by assuring him it had been an accident and somehow calming her guardian demon down. This then had resulted in her being called into talk with Lucifer about what had happened, and so she had missed her Devildom History course.

She had come to Satan’s room to grab the notes he had thoughtfully taken for her, but when he saw how worn out she was, he had offered a quiet evening of reading and tea. She hadn’t been able to refuse, seeing as how she relished anytime she could get with him. The scent of old books and their caretaker was a surefire way to help her unwind from the day, the stacks of books throughout the room making her feel like they were in their own little world. The outside world glittered in the perpetual darkness through Satan’s large windows.

“What’s so amusing?” Satan asked from the armchair he had moved over by his bed once their reading sessions became a normal occurrence.

“‘We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him’” Mc quoted.

“Ah! ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’” Satan said, a cheeky grin on his face.

Mc’s brain stopped functioning for a second, “Wai… Wha…?”

“Pride and Prejudice right?”

“Oh, hehe, right,” Mc laughed, trying to hide behind her book as best she could as all the blood rushed to her face, “It’s a good quote.”

“You know, when it came out, there was a rumor going around that Mr. Darcy was based off of Lucifer.”

“Wait… You’re joking.”

“No. He had been spending a lot of time in the human realm. Sometimes we wouldn’t see him for weeks at a time. Then, he just stopped going up as much. About a year later, Pride and Prejudice was released. After the rumor started, Lucifer would not allow it in the house for the longest time. He even went so far as to ask Diavolo not to allow it in the Devildom at all.”

Satan had Mc’s full attention at this point, “What was his excuse?”

“Something about a stupid romance novel ruining his reputation, and how we needed to be the voice of reason for the lower demons if they were going to allow themselves to be so easily swayed to believe the nonsense.”

“You had a copy though, right?”

“Oh, of course I did. I still do actually. First edition. I even went up to the human realm to get it.”

“Wow… That explains so much though. Lucifer is like the epitome of Mr. Darcy.”

Satan shifted in his chair, and looked down at his book, “You think so?”

“Yeah. Tall, dark, handsome,” Mc watched as Satan sunk a bit lower in his chair at each word, seeming to get fairly upset, “Standoffish. Rude. Conceitful. Overbearing.”

“Ah, so you’re not a fan of Mr. Darcy?”

“Hmmm… I wouldn’t say that. He is her most popular leading man for a reason. But…”

“But?” Satan was looking at her now, his eyes probably larger and more insistent than he meant them to be. 

“He’s far too prideful in the beginning for me. We probably wouldn’t have gotten anywhere,” Mc watched Satan relax visibly before continuing, “While I enjoy Pride and Prejudice, I’d rather read Sense and Sensibility or Northanger Abbey. I would rather have a Mr. Tilney or possibly even a Colonel Brandon. Someone who I could sit and make jokes with. Someone who would read to me. Someone I could go on adventures with and who could tell me all about this or that because they’re so well read,” Mc was looking down at the cover of the book now, and she could tell her face was heating up, “I’d much rather have someone like that.”

There was silence after Mc stopped talking, and she dared not look up. She’d basically just confessed to Satan, and she hadn’t even meant to. She kinda hoped her words went over his head, but also hoped they didn’t. The silence stretched longer than Mc would’ve liked before the bed shifted.

There was another few moments of silence before Satan spoke, a bit haltingly, “Mc, will you look at me? Please?”

Mc lifted her eyes shyly looking a little sheepish. She only had a moment of Satan’s shocked look before there was a flash of gold and his lips were on hers. She was so shocked she couldn’t respond for a second, but then she returned the kiss, melting as her body was on fire. Completely focused on the moment while soaring through the clouds. Perfect. It was perfect.

Mc came back to consciousness, her alarm playing soft piano music. She reached out her arms grasping. Searching. Coming up empty, she cracked an eye open, disappointment flooding her body when all she saw was her own arms. Her vision blurred as a strong wave of loneliness washed over her. She blinked a couple times to clear away her tears, feeling them slide down her face. She had had mornings like this in the Celestial Realm, though this was the first time she had remembered the dream that preceded it. She hadn’t really felt lonely since coming to the Devildom, and hadn’t registered it. Now though, it felt debilitating. She sent a text to Luke explaining she probably wouldn’t be down for breakfast and asking him to apologize to everyone for her. She then turned on some soft music, and dropped her DDD on the bed.

She lay quietly, the tears falling openly. This is what she had to do those terrible mornings in the Celestial Realm when she felt like she couldn’t face the day. Eventually her tears gave out, and she was left with an apathetic empty feeling. She continued laying in bed, not remembering a bout this bad in any recent history. After a while, she drifted off to sleep again.

“Hey. You awake?”

Mc groaned, sore from not moving in awhile, “Is that you Luke?”

“Yeah. I got a bit worried when you also missed lunch. You okay?”

“I think I’m okay now. I just got a bit too upset this morning.”

“Are you sure? I can tell Michael you’re caught up in an artistic frenzy or something.”

“Nah. Thanks though,” Mc smiled, still sleepy.

“Okay. As long as you're okay,” Luke was looking at her worriedly, but leaning down and kissing her forehead anyways, “I’ll make sure some lunch gets saved for you.”

“Thanks Luke,” Mc sighed, sitting up.

“Anything for my little sister.”

Over the next week, Mc continued trying to work on her song, though she didn’t get any further, along with her other art. She also read all about the Devildom’s history and visited some historically significant locations to put a name to a place. The whole time, her mind worked on the enigma that was her dream. She supposed it was a product of her brain trying to work through the disappointment of how her first meeting with Satan went, along with how active she had been since coming down to the Devildom. She tried to convince herself of this anyways. The truth was, it felt exactly like she was reliving a memory. It felt real, and nothing about it had been weird, all details clear, nothing out of place. It even felt familiar, she’d even go so far as to say worn, like some of her favorite memories did.

She blushed even thinking about the dream, clearly recalling the warmth and softness of his lips. The feeling of his hand on the back of her neck....

“Mc, are you almost ready,” Luke called from the other side of the door.

“Give me a couple more minutes. I’ll be down soon.”

“Okay. The guests are starting to arrive.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for letting me know,” Mc took one last look at herself in the mirror before nodding and getting up, “Let’s do this.”

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

Thanks for reading! Like, comments and reblogs are appreciated! I love discussing Obey Me so feel free to chat with me 😁

Part Ten

[minejiro]

hi, tee <3 this is a moot who's a little to shy to ask you this off anon, but how did you come up with the courage to archive your blog after 8 months? i've been planning to move for a couple of weeks now, and i have a new account set up and everything, but i feel conflicted about leaving my 10 month old account.

i'm about to reach 2k, which is something that holds me back; i'm not planning to delete anything or change aliases, but i just feel like it's really difficult to let go, even though i'm not making an intense move. thank you for listening to me ramble <3

hi bby omg im about to spill my whole tumblr experience to you LMAO jvhufdbv but maybe itll put things into perspective for you and youll be able to tell if its something that you still want to do or not !!

so im just gonna be transparent here, i had 14k ppl on mine when i left and that was kind of hard to leave no matter what anyone says. ofc its always about the writing first and foremost, but i built so many anons and inside jokes and interactions and i had a name for myself and stuff, and thats definitely hard to let go of bc i built that up you know ?? but then i looked at it in a more narrowed view than a "bigger picture" view and it was a matter of am i happy on here anymore ??

no

now thats partly bc i was just drained of writing hq in general, but even when i was happy to write for hq, the blog just got tiring. that blog made me happy and i was proud of it, so i was attached, but at the end of the day being that big was also draining me more than i realized bc i was dealing with ppl being pushy or expectant, or rly rude comments to rly hateful ones, and i felt like the interactions themselves werent as genuine anymore as they used to be. ppl brought up things about the blog itself, its stats, how my writing wasnt what it used to be, how i was just doing things that were "popular" to get notes, etc instead of what it was about — haikyuu

so i took a leap and kind of started a new fandom (tokrev) and that was my excuse to start a new blog from the ground up and it seemed less scary bc it didnt seem like i was starting over per say, i was just adding something new, but it still needed to built up again

and then thats what changed my worries tbh bc once i started my tokrev blog and i posted and built interactions, i realized it wasnt as awful as id been telling myself it would be you know ?? the interactions slowly built, my work was being read and slowly gaining more interaction, and overall my blog was just being built up and i realized that building a blog back up not only wasnt as awful as i thought it would be. it also gave me a chance to redo things better and take what ive learned from the last one to set better boundaries for my followers and myself. and also, it helped running a blog be fun again bc as ive said before, my blog in its smaller days was a lot more fun bc ppl talked to me bc i was just me, not tee whos in the top tags all the time (im sry hfbehfb that might sound kinda bad and maybe a little conceited but i mean that in the least self absorbed way bc in all honesty the size of my blog was rly what a lot of my asks and even some moot interactions were centered around anymore)

in the end, the followers you built up will come again bby they will, trust me i was sad about seeing all my hard work be "left behind" too but the restart is so refreshing and it gives u a chance to organize and set up everything to make this an even safer space for you. if you stick it out for a bit, youll start to get rly excited about the growth and progress you made, and the last blog wont be on your mind as much because youll want to start pouring more into building the new one, and i think thats the part that made me take the full leap and just drop hq blog all together

i was actually gonna deactivate that blog if im being honest, but there some extremely touching asks that made me rethink bc i didnt think my writing meant that much to ppl, so ive left it as an archive, and i think thats honestly the best thing i can do at this point, just leave it to be appreciated for what it is instead of trying to make it fun again and drain myself more

oferfirhgb this was so long im so sorry LMAO but idk i hope that maybe helped a little bit sobsobsob

feel free to dm me if you wanna talk about this !! dont be shy omg i love all my moots <3 even if we dont get a chance to interact as much