#I’ve got three more sitting in my inbox

[safination]

Little Things

|Masterlist|

Pairings: Alastor x Reader Warnings: None! TLDR: There are days when Alastor just doesn't want to be touched, and you totally understand that. You're one your best behavior to not touch Alastor. Surely, with such an attentive partner, no misunderstanding will occur.

My inbox is currently accepting requests. Feel free to ask for some stuff. I'm in a mood to write and create, so lend me your ideas and I'll bring them to words. This is a drabble. It's weird not to make full one-shots tbh, but meh, wasn't in the mood to make this a whole one-shot.

It’s the little things, really.

Alastor sits towards the edge of the bar, his stool nudged just a fraction farther than usual.  Charlie leans forward, eyebrows furrowed as she rants about this and that and this and that.

Tentacles slither out the shadows, wrapping themselves around the legs of Alastor’s stool. No one really notices when the tentacles pull him another fraction farther away.

Or, how just this morning, Alastor took time out of his day to grab a bowl, and carefully place the three eggs Niffty asked for.  The bowl slides across the table instead of being placed into her tiny hands.

See? The little things.

Heh . . .

You deserve a pat on the shoulder, honestly. Because what a considerate partner you are! Alastor didn’t even have to mention the slightest discomfort, yet still, you know he’s in ‘no touch!’ mode.

That’s why, for the entire day, you’ve been supporting Alastor’s ‘No-Touch’ day.

The rest of Hell’s day goes something like this:

Alastor asks you to hand him his coat.

And like the considerate partner that you are, you hand it to him. Although, you do have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from helping him wear the thing.

If it were any other day you would wrap it around his shoulders, and hold the back as he slips it around his arm. Then you would trail your fingers across his lapels to adjust its fit. Maybe, even give his bowtie a slight tug.

But you are a very, very, good partner.

So, your hands are kept to yourself, and the coat is placed on the table with a smile.

The devil seems keen on tempting you, but no, you are not giving in. (If you were in the garden, not even the devil himself could make you eat that apple.)

It’s been quite the productive day, and you definitely deserve an award! Not once have you touched Alastor, not have you stepped a foot into his personal space. It’s been difficult if you were being honest, but oh, well.

Maybe you’ll buy yourself a sweet, little treat for being such a considerate partner to Alastor. He’s quite lucky. Very few are as kind as you are, and even less are as attentive to his needs.

Just like right now.

There’s a gaping space between your bodies. It’s an easy thing to place yourself on the edge of the bed, careful not to roll and wrap your arms around Alastor.

Really, an award is in —

Alastor shoots up the bed, his note turned into the air with a scowl. “I refuse to keep playing this childish game,” he says, huffing at you. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to sort it out, but I’ve had enough.”

“Dearest . . .” You blink at him, pushing yourself up to sit as well. “I . . . What?”

His lips twist, and once more he huffs. It reminds you of a buck. “I would rather that you tell me that you’re upset with me instead of doing these ridiculous little things.”

“Ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous and childish!” Alastor points a finger at you, and there’s this petty voice urging you to chomp it off for such an audacity. “Do not confuse me for a fool, dearest. You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“Well, of course, I have!” you say. “You’ve been in a mood since the moment you woke up. The cat almost got its tail bitten for rubbing between your legs.”

Alastor stares at you, an incredulous look on his face. “Ridiculous,” he tells you. “You are, absolutely, ridiculous.”

“I think you mean ‘considerate’.”

He flops back down to the bed, then rolls to you like some fucking child. Alastor keeps rolling until you don’t know whose limbs belong to who. His fingers curl around your shirt as he buries his weight deeper into you.

It’s the little things, remember? Like how you reach out to play with the strands of his hair until you’re finally combing through.

“I thought you were in a mood.”

“I am,” Alastor tells you, and deeper and deeper and deeper he goes. “All day I’ve been wanting nothing but this, yet you were so quick to deny me.”

“Don’t your moods usually require personal space?”

Alastor pulls you even closer, until your personal space becomes his as well. “This belongs to me,” he says. “And I don’t appreciate it being taken away from me.”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Ten.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Eleven. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - The two of you have some time to yourselves for what feels like the first time in forever.

Pairing - Dadsbestfriend!Bucky Barnes x female reader - soulmate au

Warnings - smut. cursing. mention of a panic attack. initial hospital setting. one alcohol mention.

Word Count - 4k

Authors Note - 10!! 10 whole chapters!! can you believe it!! pancake recipe taken from mr carlos sainz - thanks carlito <3. double date next chapter (with protective/jealous bucky, as requested ;)). and the much awaited conversation… coming very soon. thanks for the love and support and kindness. it means the world, always <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

“Before I came down to find you, your Mom raised a question with me.”

“… which was?”

He takes a deep breath. Exhales it shakily.

“She asked me how long you and I have been soulmates.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“We can’t sit out here forever, honey.”

You stretch out your legs from where they’ve been tucked up against your chest, chin resting on your knees. Bucky places a hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles.

“We can.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss into the top of your head.

“I know it’s scary, but we can’t run from this any longer. We’re just going to have to face it head on.”

“I know,” you sigh, taking his hand in yours. “I’m just…”

You trail off, leaving words unspoken in the air like particles of dust in the sunlight.

“What are you so afraid of? Is it that they won’t support us? Honey girl, they aren’t gonna have much of a choice. We are literally soulmates.”

You’re trying to find a way to explain, but none of your thoughts are coherent enough to articulate into something comprehensible.

“I don’t know, Buck. At first, I think it was that. But now? Maybe I just feel guilty that we’ve kept something so huge a secret for so long. I used to tell my parents everything - by choice. That’s how we’ve always been. And suddenly, the biggest event of my life happens, and I… didn’t tell them?”

“You’re letting this guilt eat you alive, baby. Listen, I feel it too. You’re not alone in this. Do you know how many times your parents have asked me about dating in these last eighteen months? How many times we’ve talked about soulmates? And I guess I never lied… but I haven’t exactly told the truth. I’m just as guilty as you think you are.”

“I’m sorry,” you confess, resting your head against his broad shoulder. “I’ve had such tunnel vision with this whole situation. I’ve been selfish. I should have thought about you more.”

“You haven’t had to.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for, honey baby. You’ve never had to ‘think about me more’, because you’ve known how I felt this whole time. In here.”

He places a hand over your heart. You close your eyes, letting the warmth from his palm bleed into your chest. The weight of it grounds you back down to Earth, tethered to your soulmate in more ways than one.

“That’s the beauty of it,” he continues. “You don’t have to guess how I’m feeling, or when I’m feeling it - because I’m always telling you. And you’re always listening.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper, squeezing his hand where it’s still linked with yours.

“The Universe disagrees,” he whispers back, leaning in to kiss the spot underneath your ear. “I disagree.”

It’s all so tender, so gentle, so real, that a lump in your throat forms instantly. You blink rapidly, fighting back tears as you press your side into his. If you could sew yourself into his ribcage and live there forever, resting your head on his beating heart, you would.

“Come on,” he coaxes carefully, pulling you to your feet and watching to see if you’re steady enough. “Let’s do this thing.”

You stare up at him, lost in those ocean blue irises. For a moment, you swear you see the waves moving in them, crashing against the shore in a motion so comforting, it reminds you of home.

“I love you.”

Bucky smiles at you, pupils dilating and heart beating that little bit faster. He’ll never get sick of hearing those words.

“I love you more than all the stars in the sky, honey girl. More than anything.”

Tangling your fingers with his, you inhale deeply before taking the first step forwards, towards the front doors of the hospital.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When you reach your Dad’s room, you drop Bucky’s hand as if by instinct. When he links your fingers once more, you panic momentarily, before realising it’s futile.

They already know. There’s no point in hiding it anymore.

You walk through the door hand in hand, pressed into each others sides as if it’ll keep you standing upright. Maybe it will.

Your Mom instantly bolts out of her chair, coming over to assess you. She looks you up and down, cradling your face in her hands as she checks you over.

“You were gone a long time, sweetheart. You okay? Have you been crying?”

Bucky lets go of you to give you some space, but doesn’t go too far. You can still feel his warmth from behind you as you watch your Mom’s eyebrows furrow with worry.

“I had… I think it was, um… like a - a panic attack, or something. I don’t know. I just got overwhelmed.”

Your voice sounds so small again, so fragile. You mentally chastise yourself for not being stronger for her.

“Oh, honey.”

She pulls you into her chest, stroking your hair just like she did when you were a child and had a nightmare. You’d run across the hall and into your parents room - your Mom would always bolt upright when she heard little feet on the wooden floors, waiting for you with open arms.

“Your Dad is gonna be fine. I promise you, the Doctors have said he’ll make a full recovery.”

“It’s true.”

The voice is croaky and rusted from misuse, but it unmistakably belongs to the man lying in the hospital bed.

You make your way over and sit down carefully, cautious and calculated. Your Dad takes your hand, stroking his thumb across your skin.

“I’m gonna be just fine, kid. I know I scared you, and I’m really sorry. But I’m okay. Promise.”

You smile at him, genuinely this time, before leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You guys should go home.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Go home, get some rest. The two of you look almost as exhausted as Lori does.”

Your Mom laughs, shaking her head. You chuckle, watching them. There’s no one funnier than your soulmate.

“I think we should stay a little longer, Jack.”

Bucky’s voice has all three of your heads whipping around to face him.

“Buck, please be on my side here. You’re tired. Go home, sleep it off. All I’m gonna do for the next twenty four hours is sleep anyway. There’s no point in you sitting here watching me like a bunch of creeps.”

You chew your bottom lip, watching your Dad’s face carefully.

“Mom, Dad - we need to talk about-”

“I know, babygirl,” your Dad interrupts. “And we will. But not here, and not now. We’ll do it when I’m home. We can all sit on the couch and drink your Mom’s cherry lemonade and talk about how you and Bucky have been soulmates this entire time.”

“Not this entire time,” you grumble at his attempt at a joke.

“Seriously, you two. I won’t ask again. Go. Home.”

You look at your Dad for a moment, before averting your gaze to your Mom. They’re both wearing the exact same facial expression - the one they used to give you when you’d refuse your bedtime as a six year old on a school night.

“Come on, honey. You heard them. We’re practically dead on our feet.”

You rise from the bed reluctantly, pressing another kiss to your Dad’s cheek before doing the same to your Mom.

“Call me if anything changes, or if you need anything. I mean anything, you guys.”

They both nod as your Dad does a mock salute, laughing at himself.

Bucky extends his hand out for you. This time, you don’t hesitate to take it. You hold it tightly all the way back to his truck, and then all the way back home.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You and Bucky get ready for bed in silence, both of you flitting around your apartment as quickly as possible. You can’t wait to finally get under your duvet and lose the stress of the last twenty four hours.

The minute your head hits the pillow, you’re wide awake.

The exhaustion has seeped into your bones, making you weary but restless. You can’t settle, physically or mentally.

Bucky, on the other hand, is out like a light.

He looks so peaceful like this. The moonlight soaks through a gap in the curtains, illuminating his face like some sort of angel. His hair is a little longer than usual, stubble growing out across his sharp jawline. He looks rugged, a little rough around the edges. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

As if he can feel your gaze on him, he cracks an eye open, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room. He has a pillow crease across his skin, cheek flushed pink with a dusty blush.

“You okay, baby?”

His voice is hoarse and all sleep heavy, rumbling through you like gentle summer thunder.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, trying to fight back tears. “I’m so tired, Buck. So fucking tired.”

“But you can’t sleep?”

He pulls you into his chest, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and stroking your hair soothingly.

“It’s like my body is exhausted, but my brain is wide awake,” you mumble into his bare skin. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing makes sense,” he chuckles lowly. “Nothing in this goddamn world makes sense. Except for me and you.”

Bucky spins you in his arms so your back is to his chest, bodies pressed together without an inch of space between you. Pressing a kiss into your neck, he starts mumbling.

“You just need to turn your brain off, baby. I know it’s easier said than done… so I’m gonna help you. All you need to do is focus on my voice, on my touch. Focus your attention on my hands on you, my lips on your skin. The heat of my body against yours.”

He skims his fingers down your side, gripping at your hips to ground you. He’s still kissing your neck, nipping occasionally to vary the sensation. He slips a hand down your front, cupping you over your underwear as you close your eyes, breathing him in. He smells like salt water and sea air and gasoline and home.

You cant your hips into his touch, trying to get him where you want him. Bucky takes the hint, slipping his hand into your panties and running a finger through your wetness. You groan, throwing your head back into his solid shoulder.

“Just switch off, honey baby. Give in to me.”

Bucky glides a finger into you, crooking it towards him. His palm hits your clit and you keen, whining all high pitched and breathy. His hips buck into your backside at the sound, and he chuckles.

“Fuck, you sound so sweet. Sweetest girl in the world.”

He adds another finger, using his thumb to circle your clit in precise, firm motions. You’re writhing against the mattress like a serpent, unable to stay still as Bucky takes you apart.

“Come for me, baby. Can feel you squeezin’ my fingers. That’s it, atta girl… ride my hand, take what you need. Wanna hear how pretty you sound when you come.”

Your entire body tightens up as you reach your climax, back arching away from Bucky as he continues to curl his fingers. He pulls you close, anchors you to him as you moan and shudder.

Your head is empty, besides the thought of your soulmate. All you can think about is Bucky.

Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky.

You take a stuttered inhale as you try to catch your breath, beads of sweat dripping down your back.

“You okay?”

He’s muttering into your shoulder, mouth never leaving your skin. You nod, linking your fingers with his where they rest on your waist.

“You didn’t come,” you whisper, leaning your head back into Bucky.

He kisses your cheek, chuckling lowly.

“This wasn’t about me,” he reassures. “It’s all about you, baby. Always is.”

The two of you breathe together for a little while, allowing you to come down from your high. Eventually, Bucky taps your thigh, nudging you up.

“Come on, honey. Get up and use the bathroom, and then we’ll sleep for the next week.”

You do as he says, crawling back into bed with limbs that feel like jelly.

“How you feelin’?” he asks as he pulls you into his side, resting your head on his chest.

“Fucking fantastic.”

He laughs and you can’t help but laugh too, as if by reflex.

“Yeah? No more racing thoughts in that pretty head of yours?”

“None. All I can think about is how much I want to sleep right now.”

Pressing a kiss onto the top of your head, Bucky tightens his arms around you.

“Then sleep, baby.”

You snuggle into your soulmates side, relaxing into the mattress.

“I love you,” you mumble into his skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs back. “Sweet dreams, honey girl.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When you wake, you can’t tell if you’ve slept for five minutes or five days.

The sheets are crumpled, linen strewn across the bed as the pillows sit completely unmoved at the headboard. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, warming your skin that’s exposed to the sea soaked breeze.

You reach over to the other side of the mattress, seeking Bucky’s warmth. You’re met with empty space, and the sound of a throat clearing on the other side of the room.

The man in question is leaning against the doorframe, shirtless and sun kissed. His boxers are hugging his thighs just right, and you repress the urge to crawl over and sink your teeth into the muscle. Later.

“Morning or afternoon?” You croak out, watching as he softly smiles at your sleep addled voice.

“Morning. Eleven twenty four.”

You stretch your arms above your head, unaware of the way Bucky’s eyes are glued to your bare stomach.

“You want breakfast, or have you eaten?”

“Haven’t eaten yet. Was waiting for you.”

You slide down to the end of the bed where Bucky meets you, leaning down to press a minty kiss to your lips.

“Have you been awake long?”

He shakes his head, stealing another kiss.

“Ten minutes or so.”

“How’d you sleep?”

He moves some hair away from your face gently, the morning affection making you light up inside.

“Like a baby. Don’t think I moved once.”

You laugh, running your fingers over his bare shoulders.

“I can’t remember the last time I slept like that.”

“Me neither. I think we need to start prioritising sleep a little more.”

“It’s just… so hard,” you murmur, rising onto your knees on the bed so you’re face to face. “I don’t ever want to sleep when I have the most handsome man alive in my bed. I can think of many other things I’d rather be doing.”

He groans, chuckling lowly.

“Watch it,” he warns. “Or I’ll keep you in this bed all day. Won’t let you leave.”

“Is that a threat or a promise, Barnes?”

He football tackles you suddenly, both of you falling backwards into the plush sheets. You squeal, caught off guard as his hands squeeze your sides firmly.

“Keep running your mouth and see what happens, angel.”

You card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly to get a reaction. When his eyes flutter closed, you breathe out a laugh.

“I’m so scared,” you tease, peppering his face with gentle kisses. “Like, quaking in my boots.”

He goes to retort, but is interrupted by the deafening sound of your stomach rumbling.

“If we weren’t about to get noise complaints from the neighbours about that hunger of yours, I would absolutely continue this. But…”

“We need to eat.”

“Yes, we do.”

You peck his cheek before jumping off the bed, stretching as you make your way to the kitchen. Bucky follows you eagerly. Of course he does.

You click the coffee maker on as you spin to face him where he’s leaning against the counter.

“I’m about to make you the best pancakes you’ll eat in your entire life, James.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Watch and learn, baby.”

When he doesn’t move, you walk him backwards, pulling out the bar stool from underneath the island.

“You just sit there and look pretty.”

He shakes his head with a smirk as you wink, turning on the stove and grabbing your bowls and utensils. He didn’t ask for a cooking lesson, but you’re about to give him one.

“The trick is to separate the egg whites from the yolks, and whip them. When they’re fluffy, you fold them into your mixture, and it makes the pancakes light and airy and gorgeous. Then you add honey, for extra sweetness.”

He watches you flit around the kitchen as if you’re the sun, bright and warm and radiant. He can’t take his eyes off you for a second. He couldn’t if he wanted to.

Bucky’s blinking back tears, suddenly, as you sway your hips while flipping the pancakes at the stove. He wants to drop to his knees, yell out to a higher power and ask what the hell he did to deserve someone like you. He’ll beg, if he has to, for someone, something, to make sure that he finds you in every universe, in every version of this crazy life.

“I love you,” you beam at him, as if you’ve read his mind. “I love you more than anything.”

Your grin is so blinding, so utterly brilliant that the entire room lights up with it. Your own form of electricity.

“I… I-”

“I know, Buck.”

It gets like this, sometimes. Too overwhelming to put into words. To love someone more than anything, anyone - a love that knows no bounds - is completely indescribable.

So he doesn’t even try. He just nods at you, watching as your eyes light up at the sight of him.

“Will you pour us some coffee while I put these on a plate?”

“Anything you need,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair as he squeezes past you to grab the mugs. “Always.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You settle down to eat on the balcony, letting the midday sun warm you both up.

“I brought syrup, but, I also brought this.”

You hold out a plastic tub that contains a dark pink mixture, popping the lid off.

“Try it.”

Bucky sticks his little finger in, putting it in his mouth and sighing in contentment at the taste that coats his tongue.

“Good?”

“So good. What is it?”

“My homemade raspberry and lemon coulis. I make it to go on top of pancakes and waffles - it beats maple syrup any day.”

“You’re a genius.”

“So it’s been said,” you laugh, pouring it over your plate. “Now eat before they go cold.”

“Yes ma’am.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You weren’t lying,” he says when he’s finished. “They were the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten.”

You laugh, sliding across to press your side into his.

“There’s a lot more where that came from. I have so many recipes I want you to try.”

“God, I’m so lucky. I have the most perfect soulmate in the world, and she’s a baker. What did I do to deserve you, hmm?”

You lean in to kiss him gently, licking across his lips. He tastes like raspberries and sugar and eight hours of sleep.

You’re sat in comfortable silence when your phone rings, startling you both.

“Hello?”

“Babe?”

“Lacie?”

“Hey!”

“Hi!”

You smile instantly, and Bucky does too, by default.

“Your Mom called me and told me about your Dad. She’s been keeping me updated over text. How are you guys holding up?”

“We’re good, honestly. It was a little touch and go at first, but now… we’re okay. All of us.”

“Good. I love you guys.”

“Love you too. So much.”

She sighs all deep and wistful, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“What’s up, Lace?”

“Well… I’m calling with a proposition. And I feel like you’re gonna say no, but your Mom already told me that I had to force you to do it, so.”

“Oh, God.”

“Come on a double date with me and Cameron tonight. Come for dinner and drinks with us.”

You take a deep breath, looking over at Bucky. He nods in agreement, encouraging you.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

Her surprise is undeniable, the octave of her voice rising ever higher.

“Yeah. I haven’t seen you in too long, and it’ll be good for me to meet Cameron, finally. Plus, we’re visiting my Dad this afternoon, so we have a free evening.”

“Oh my God, I am so excited! Okay, I’ll text you the address of where we’re eating. Cam knows so much about you already, he can’t wait to meet you. And I can’t wait to meet Bucky… again? I mean I’ve met him before, but not as your soulmate.”

“Yeah,” you giggle. “It’ll be good for everyone to get… reacquainted.”

“Exactly!”

“Alright, Lace. We’ve gotta get ready to visit my Dad, but I’ll see you later?”

“See you later, babe. I am so excited. See you then!”

She puts the phone down, and you can almost picture the cloud of perfume and pressed powder that’s about to rain down on her bedroom. You wish you were there to watch it happen, like old times.

“Our first double date, huh?”

“It’ll be our last if you don’t behave,” you tease, leaning in to peck Bucky’s lips.

“Don’t tempt me.”

You laugh into his mouth, running your fingers through the ends of his hair at the back of his neck. It’s the longest you’ve seen it, and it’s starting to curl all cute and soft and wispy.

“Come on. Let’s go see my Dad, and then spend hours mentally preparing ourselves for Storm Lacie.”

“I always liked her. Seemed good for you.”

“She is. She’s the best.”

Bucky wraps a strong arm around your shoulder as you swing your legs over his lap, burying yourself in his bare chest.

“You nervous?” he asks into your temple.

“A little, weirdly. Meeting each others soulmate is the kind of thing we’d talk about when we were kids. And now we’re doing it.”

“We can handle it,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing patterns into your arm. “We can handle anything, you and I.”

“Anything?”

“Anything, honey girl. Anything.”

tag list part one

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Heyy! Could I request Jason x Child of Nyx! Reader, i'd figure it'd be a cool thing since you know Zeus and Nyx don't really like each other that and then their children fall in love.

You don't have to do it, if you don't want to and ps. I love all of your works! <3

okay so these have been sitting in my inbox since eons ago, so I decided I was gonna set myself a minimum of 0.4k words because I figured people would rather read a lil bit of their request rather then non of it, but I just churned out 1.2k words of this and I know more then the gods do about nocturnal animals.

enjoy <3

he was raised by wolves - Jason G x child of Nyx reader/animal lover

»»————-　★　————-««

Jason dumped his teddy bear jacket on the back of the spinning chair, after he checked there were no hedgehogs eating plum offcuts on it. He’d made that mistake one too many times. There were a lot of miniscule holes in the sleeves of his jacket. 

The medical kit he was looking for was most likely in one of the crates stacked beneath the snake table. The table with the snake tanks on it, obviously. 

Your cabin was dark a lot of the time, when you weren’t there, courtesy of the kingdom of nocturnal animals lurking between books and in pillowcases, so Jason had to turn on a few of the antique lamps you’d found [on the side of the road, of course] so that other people could see.

He got to his knees, wincing at the crack he heard. 

He could also hear a faint hissing. He looked into one of the tanks, and waved at Benjamin. Benjamin was a northern desert night snake. Meaning he looked like if a leopard wearing a choker was turned into a slithery little serpent. Jason was glad you’d passed that pet leopard you used to have onto Pollux and Castor. It got fur all over his clothes.

Benjamin just stuck his tongue out at him, and Jason crawled underneath the desk, looking for the first aid kit every cabin was supposed to have.

There was a pretty high chance you had chucked it out to make room for that little collection of shrinking green frogs you had found in a river by the Hecate cabin, deep in the woods so that when they accidentally cursed bloodlines and the like, no one was in imminent danger. Lou Ellen owed her first born to three different beings, but that was irrelevant. 

He dug past a few boxes of sugar glider pellets, and found the first aid kit. 

“JASON GRACE, SON OF A BITCH, CHILD OF ROME, CONSUL OF DEMIGODS, PRAETOR OF THE FIRST LEGION!”

Jason sat straight up. A thud echoed through the low lit little cabin, and his head began to pound. He’d hit it on the bottom of the snake table. He sniffed, “I said that once.” 

He heard you trot over as he tried to extract himself, the back of his head throbbing painfully. 

“Babe, we talked about this,” you fussed, and yanked him out into the open with the force of someone who took chocolate out of coyotes mouths on the daily. “You gotta stop banging your head! You’re getting that chronic pain from it that Will told you about!”

Jason grumbled about nothing, and squinted as he looked around. Your face was just a blob. 

“You dropped your glasses babe, hear, lemme… wait, hold this,” you said, dumping your wrapped up hoodie into his arms, the one with the moon cycle phases on the back, and then crawling back underneath the snake table. “I’ve got em!”

He watched you slide them back onto his eyes, your hands actually very gentle compared to the yanking from before. He tried not to grin stupidly. The hoodie in his arms wriggled. Jason looked down, and a small spiky red face looked up at him with big shiny eyes.

“Uh…” he said.

You stood up with a huff, “I knew it, you’ve got a concussion. Now you’re slurring your speech!”

“...No, I just wasn’t expecting a fox,” Jason managed to squeak out, staring at the little animal. It was pretty cute. It reminded him of a wolf, but not the wolves he knew, more of a spindly wolf dipped in ketchup. 

You paused, the first aid kit in your hands. “You weren’t? What did you think I was doing in the forest?” 

“I don’t know,” Jason said, standing back up and moving to the squishy blanketed bed behind the humongous crystal ball and stack of telescopes. There were also a few cat playgrounds to weave around, but he managed to sink into your pile of bat shaped teddies and pillows. “Fighting monsters, near death experiences, something regular?”

You rolled your eyes, and sat cross legged on the bed, reaching for his head with those gentle hands that made him understand how you could pick up the deadliest of spiders and feralist of wolverines without even a scratch. 

Jason wasn’t even nocturnal, but he did sink into your hold. 

Then you let go to crack the unfrozen ice pack and let the chemicals take over until it would make the tips of your fingers freezing. Jason knew to expect your cold hands under his shirt, trying to freeze him out. 

He was sort of used to it, though.  

He looked around your cabin while you savagely whacked the poor icepack against one of the many thick framed mirrors lining your walls. A few bats flapped out of their hiding places in the rafters and settled back down. A baby puma hissed from its place by the umbrella stand that was actually just full of swords. 

From the outside, your cabin looked like a tiny portion of a haunted mansion plonked between the Asteria cabin and the Hestia cabin, which was really just a cozy little room for anyone. Jason pet the soft head of the fox napping in his arms. On the inside, though, it was just old lamps and chew toys and even older mirrors. And a lot of poo bags. And record players. And Jason’s hoodies.

You were already wearing his teddy bear jacket, but he didn’t argue when you pressed the ice pack to his head.

“So, what were you really lookin for in there, babe?” you asked, taking back the fox. You held your hand out, and it disappeared into a shadow. 

“Bandages.”

On the other side of the room, out of a shadow, you grabbed a ziploc bag of raspberries. You pulled it back and began feeding the little fox, red staining your cold fingertips. 

“You know you can’t beat Beth, right?” you teased, looking up for a moment with those gorgeous eyes that made Jason’s head feel a little floaty. Or maybe it was just the injury. 

You smirked, “I mean, not that it’s totally not hot when you beat the shit out of people or anything.”

Yep. Definitely just the head injury. Totally.

Jason ate a slightly squashed raspberry. “I know, but I wanted to practise. I was gonna find Will. Can’t remember how to wrap my wrists.”

You passed over the fox, who wiggled out of the hoodie and curled around a fruit bat Squishmellow with a yawn, fangs stained with red that may or may not be berries or blood. 

Jason shuffled forwards on the bed, ice pack falling from his white blonde hair. “My turn?”

“I thought you were going to get the shit beaten out of you by Annabeth?” You said with a smirk. You had that shark tooth necklace on. Jason gave you a half hearted evil eye, and you opened your arms.

He flopped into the hug, pushing you both back onto the bed. A Tasmanian devil [how? You were in America!] and a grumpy looking white tailed deer and about seven different types of bush mice stared at you. 

Jason didn’t care. He snuggled into your hug, chin on your chest. Your fingers ran through his hair.  

He was your favorite feral animal. 

»»————-　★　————-««

[top-rhaenyra]

the contrast of rhaenyra's and alicent's experiences with motherhood is so fascinating

I’ve always argued the storyline of being wary of motherhood and childbirth would’ve worked better with Alicent than Rhaenyra.

Alicent doesn’t get to choose who the father of her children is, she doesn’t have access to contraceptives nor can she refuse Viserys when he calls for her.

The themes of forced motherhood and the consequences of this would work so much better with women like Alicent: struggling to love children forced on you, not understanding why you’re not overcome with maternal affection, suffering from undiagnosed postpartum depression etc.

With Rhaenyra it just doesn’t work because unlike Alicent she can choose her children’s father and she can decide when she wants to be pregnant. In the books she has three back to back pregnancies and then stops for 4 years, whilst in the show she has Joffrey eight years after Luke which means she intentionally had a third child. Either way it all comes down to Rhaenyra having bodily autonomy; if she didn’t want to be pregnant she wouldn’t be pregnant.

Also having Rhaenyra be the one who expresses her wish to not have children honestly feels more sexist because the writers are implying not wanting to be a mother isn’t normal, so once Rhaenyra gives birth to Jace she realises the error of her ways and happily has five more. This implication doesn’t sit well with me.

so i wasn’t fair to you anon, and i’ve let this sit in my inbox since may. the reason for this is because i wanted to see how alicent and rhaenyra’s relationships to their children were developed, explained, and expanded on in season two.

regarding alicent and her children:

i think we officially got your wish anon (mine too). while some people may be unhappy with her arc in season 2, alicent has always had a deep-seated love-hate relationship with her children. i’d argue that in season one we also got glimpses into the just…visceral revulsion that she cannot shake when she looks at her children, aegon in particular. but in season two i think she’s truly confronted, in a noticeable tangible way, with the facts of her sons.

obviously, i wish we’d been able to see more of this kind of dynamic back in season one, especially with a younger alicent. however, there are season constraints and we can only see so much in ten episodes (side note: 8-10 episode seasons with a two year wait in between is a rant for another time, but know i’m not being like “yay season constraints!”).

the problem with alicent’s arc and struggle is that so fucking much of it is internal. it is so incredibly hard to show on screen and i find the way its been done so far admirable. up until luke’s death, alicent is lying to herself over and over every day about her relationship to her children, aemond and aegon particularly. once the war starts i believe the tower of lies she’s told herself (this is morally correct, i’m just doing my duty, i was treated well, i’m protecting my children like any mother should) start to crumble. i hate so much that we never got her reaction to aemond killing luke for this reason.

also, to a certain extent she may not ever truly come to grips with her trauma. there are no words for what she went through—marital rape was not a concept then. it still manifests, obviously, but i think we can tell with her repeated insistence that viserys was a decent husband and man [loud incorrect buzzer] that she still thinks she’s the one who’s done something wrong. i’ll be interested to see if the writers ever actually have alicent come to grips with the fact that viserys was, in fact, not a good person or king. personally, i don’t believe they will, but we can always hope.

anyways, all this is to say that: i do believe the themes of forced motherhood and its lifelong consequences are well done and explored with alicent (thus far). people will disagree, perhaps even you, but her eventual rejection of aegon and aemond; her desperate, almost chaotic protection of helaena; her ideas about daeron; all of it really speaks to the struggle she’s had and is going through as their mother.

regarding rhaenyra and her children:

this is more difficult that alicent lol

before i get into my gripes with her story, i do want to push back just a little bit on the idea that rhaenyra truly has bodily autonomy. regardless of when or with whom she gets pregnant, she’s still expected to get pregnant and have children. while its unfortunately not explored, she does need to produce heirs.

now. i agree with you for the most part. rhaenyra’s relationships to her children really make no sense. the only one that’s fleshed out is jace, and while that is interesting in the “she’s doing to him exactly what viserys did to her,” it is not complex internally (in the same way alicent’s is). i also personally see joffery as an oops baby, but who really knows. i don’t even know how to explain her children with daemon. they were plot necessary i guess lmfao

the problem with rhaenyra and her children is that almost all of the critical moments in their relationships happen off screen during the time jump. its a structural tv show problem and it brings up these kinds of issues when looking deeper into the relationships she would actually have. i think the writers did a good job this season of making the internal conflict and intrapersonal strife within team black better, but this is just one of those things thats never going to be explored. in this sense we’ll never really know her true feelings or the development that could’ve happened—which is a massive shame.

my personal headcanon (so take with a grain of salt and don’t come for me), is that rhaenyra isn’t against the idea of children as a teenager, she’s against the childbirth. i believe this both because of the horrors of watching her mother’s repeated miscarriages and eventual death while in childbirth, and her consistent refrain of the desire to be a man. i think she wants, to her core, freedom and, as a woman, having a child requires much more sacrifice than having a child as a man.

i don’t personally see the change from not wanting children to totally wanting children as misogynistic, but i don’t blame you for seeing it that way because of the utter lack of canon explanation for it. again, i wasn’t really fair to you keeping this until season two was finished, but i think both alicent and rhaenyra’s relationships to motherhood were developed well.

[sailor-aviator]

Will You Be My Boo?

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend invites you over for a little pumpkin carving competition.

Warnings: Fluff, Kissing, Competition, Bradley Bradshaw.

Word Count: 1,381

A/N: Alright! My first one-shot! I know it's a bit on the short side, but I hope you all enjoy it regardless! I'd love to start doing more of these (and hopefully make them longer as we move forward), but for now, I have a couple more planned and then we'll see what happens! My inbox and requests are always open, so feel free to shoot me a message! As always, comments, reblogs, and likes are greatly appreciated! If you like my writing, consider buying me a ko-fi!

Masterlist || Rooster One-Shot Masterlist || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Tag List

You giggled as your boyfriend pulled you into his apartment. You took note of the large, plastic tarp that was draped across his living room floor. The furniture was pushed off to the side to make room, and two, large pumpkins sat on opposite ends of the tarp surrounded by various carving tools.

“What’s all this, bubba?” You asked him, turning to look up at him. Bradley smirked down at you, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips.

“Thought we could have some fun carving pumpkins,” he mumbled against your lips. You hummed, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. Bradley slid his hands down your sides, resting them on your rear, squeezing gently. You gasped into the kiss, allowing Bradley to slip his tongue into your mouth, licking at you eagerly. Your fingers ran through his chestnut locks, pulling lightly, and Bradley groaned, breaking the kiss to look at you. His cheeks were red, lips swollen from the kiss. After three years of dating, you still got butterflies from seeing him like this.

“I asked you to come over for a reason,” he scowled at you.

“You’re the one who kissed me,” you teased. Bradley placed a small slap to your ass, earning a squeak as he pulled away. He chuckled, pulling you further into his apartment and onto the tarp.

“What’s the plan, Stan?” You asked him, earning a look which made you let out another giggle. He rolled his eyes, but smiled softly as he looked at you.

“Jake told me about this trend going around,” he started. Your brow shot up.

“Since when do you listen to Jake?” You laughed. He scowled at you, gesturing for you to sit down on the ground. You did so, crossing your legs.

“So, he told me about this trend,” Bradley continued, “where people compete to see who can carve the best pumpkin.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “How does it work?”

“We’re going to sit here, facing away from each other, and we can’t look at what the other is carving until we’re both finished.”

“I don’t know, babe,” you smirked. “I’ve carved a lot of pumpkins. How many have you carved?”

“I’ve carved plenty of pumpkins,” he scoffed at you, and you raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you carve one.”

“Is this you saying you’re too scared that I’ll win?” He teased, a grin on his lips. It was your turn to scoff.

“You wish, Bradshaw,” you chuckled, moving to turn around to face your pumpkin. “I’m so winning this competition.”

“Yeah, we’ll just see about that,” Bradley smirked, turning to face his own pumpkin. “Remember, no peaking! I don’t need you cheating off of me.”

“I think that’s my line, Bubs.”

About forty-five minutes later, you were staring proudly at your simple, but classic, design. The pumpkin stared back at you with its toothy grin, and you were all but assured in your victory. Bradley could barely draw a stick figure, so you weren’t sure what possessed him to think that he would win a pumpkin carving contest against you. You cast a sly glance over your shoulder, eyeing the expanse of your boyfriend’s broad back. You smiled gently, hoping with everything in you that you would get to see it for the rest of your life.

It was no secret that you and Bradley were madly in love, and you had known early on into the relationship that he was it for you. Bradley made no secrets about feeling the same, but whenever someone asked when he would pop that most important question, he would shrug, a lazy smile on his face as he said, “we don’t want to rush things. We’re happy with how things are, right, babe?”

And you were, for the most part. But you couldn’t help but wish for the day you would get to wear a beautiful, white dress as you walked down the aisle to pledge the rest of your life to the man at your side.

Bradley peeked over his shoulder at you, and you quickly turned around, trying to hide your smirk at having been caught.

“I thought I said no peeking?” He rasped, his breath fanning over your cheek. You opened your mouth to respond, but let out a squawk as you felt the slimy entrails from his pumpkin hit your cheek. You turned to give an incredulous look to your boyfriend who was already watching you with a shit eating grin.

“Bradley Bradshaw, you did not-”

He raised his hand to smear another glob of pumpkin guts onto your other cheek, laughing as you fought between the need to laugh and the need to strangle him. Bradley let out a giggle at the sight of you, one that melted into a gasp as you took your own handful of pumpkin and smeared it across his face.

“Oh, now you’re in for it!” He laughed, scooping up even more entrails as he moved to stand. You shrieked as you attempted to dodge him, scrambling to your feet in the process.

“Bradley, no!” You hollered through fits of laughter. Bradley wrestled you to the ground, smearing the entrails on your face and hair. When you thought you would pass out from lack of oxygen due to all of your laughter, Bradley pulled back, inspecting his work. You were sure you looked a mess, feeling all of the pumpkin guts sticking to your skin and matting your hair. He gazed down at you softly as you fought to breathe through your giggles.

Bradley leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead before moving to your cheeks and finally placing one on your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured. You felt heat rise to your face, and you placed a hand to his cheeks.

“I love you too, Bradley,” you whispered. The two of you stared at one another for a moment before you moved to stand. Bradley pulled away to allow you space, offering you his hand as you both stood. You took it with a grateful smile, looking over to where his pumpkin sat.

“Alright,” you smirked, wiggling your eyebrows. “Let’s see who won this thing.”

Bradley chuckled, gesturing for you to go and take a look. You took the few steps around him, peering down at the gourd. Etched clumsily into the outside were the words “will you be my boo?” You giggled at the pun, and wondered where your boyfriend even came up with it. Bradley wasn’t the most creative, but what he lacked in imagination, he certainly made up for in effort. It was one of the many things you admired about him.

“I dunno, babe,” you smiled, turning around to face him. “I think I won the-”

You sucked in a breath of air at the sight before you. Bradley was kneeling down on one knee, a ring in his hands. The ring was simple, but beautiful, and you felt the tears in your eyes before you could stop them.

“Y/n,” Bradley rasped, his own tears gathering on his lash line. “You are without a doubt, the most beautiful, smart, amazing woman I have ever met. I don’t know how I managed to get you to agree to become my girlfriend all those years ago, but now I’m hoping I can somehow convince you to become my wife instead. I love you so, so much it hurts. Will you marry me?”

A sob tore its way from your throat as you nodded vigorously, reaching out for him. Bradley stood up, pulling you into his arms, hugging you tightly. This is where you belonged. You knew because you fit perfectly in his arms, and you never wanted to leave.

“Yes, Bradley,” you sniffled, looking up at him. “A thousand times yes.”

Bradley grinned down at you so widely you were sure his cheeks hurt. He slipped the ring onto your finger and leaned down to place a passionate kiss to your lips, one you returned with vigor.

“It’s not much,” he said, pulling away to look down at where the ring rested on your finger, stroking over it gently. “But, I hope it’s enough.”

“Oh, Bradley,” you sighed, leaning your head against his chest. “It’s perfect in every way.”

Tag List: @haley-hotchner @fanficfandomlove @goldenseresinretriever @hopip99 @lemmons1998 @yuckosworld @moon42flight @kmc1989 @rhettsluvr @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @deliriousfangirl61

[oonajaeadira]

i was rereading a GTTT chapter and Patricio has just been in my mind rent free, creeping in from daydreams in places i should not be daydreaming. So I’ve got a PATS question for you. How would Patricio and Reader navigate the issue of him being too drained sexually when Reader is needy?

Hello, lovely.

First of all, I want to apologize for the long hiatus I've taken on Pats and Pres. This ask--and many more--have been sitting in my inbox for far too long and I'd like to think that answering late is better than never. Thank you for your patience with me!!!

This is a very interesting question and it sparked some over-arching thoughts. I have half an answer for you here--from his point of view, and therefore the "drained" part of it. Pres may not seem too needy here, but look to the next installment for more on that.

Also, a non-apology here to everyone.

For so long I've made you believe that Patricio is confident, in control...or at least in denial about it when he's not. But he's growing. Changing. There may be more vulnerability here than you want and much less sexy times. Not everyone has a good day every day.

Kiss and Tell: Everyone's Allowed a Bad Day (GTTT PATS)

FANDOM: Calls - Apple TV (PATS is a character from ep. 3. “Pedro Across the Street.” This is not RPF.)

As with all of my PATS installments, warnings abound for explicit content. (This one's much tamer than most.)

(gif by cavill-henry)

It’s nights like these that he sometimes wished he smoked. He’ll pour himself a drink once the client wakes up and leaves, but he doesn’t want her to catch it on his breath.

Bourbon. Bath. Bed. Maybe something short and calm on streaming. There’s a new cowboy film just dropped by that Spanish director looks good. 

Leaning on the kitchen counter and staring out across the silent living room, he contemplates the novel you left on the coffee table. Wonders if you’re missing it.

It occurs to him that he could call you. He can do that now. He doesn’t need a reason anymore, but even if the reason is a rough day…actually, maybe that’s even more reason to call you. In fact, he really should ask you–

His phone vibrates on the countertop and he frowns. It’s your pattern and his heart races a little, not only because it’s you, but thinking he’s been lost in thought too long, that he’s missed the three-hour mark. But a flip of the phone shows him he’s got 20 minutes to go. 

Odd. It’s not like you to interrupt a session.

“Hey, muñeca, everything okay?” he mumbles, stepping barefoot out onto the front porch in nothing but his sweatpants.

Your voice sounds far away, “Oh shit,” before a riffling sound and then a clearer, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit dial. I didn’t know I did. I was going to call and then I saw the time…I know you’re in the middle of a session, oh loverboy I’m so sorry–”

Just the sound of your voice is an instant balm. “It’s okay, it’s okay, she’s sleeping. I was actually just thinking about calling you.”

“Oh, really?” There’s something there behind your fluster, hiding among the smile in your voice, something that he might not have noticed if you hadn’t said you meant to call.

“Something you wanted to call me about?”

There’s a sound in the background. An announcement. You’re in public. “Um, no, not really. I just had a lonely moment, that’s all.”

“Well that’s an ego boost. You wanna come spend the night?”

There’s a pause. Shocked, judging by your voice. “Really? On an appointment night?”

He scratches his head and focuses on his feet as he aimlessly paces the porch. “Sure. I mean, if like a quarter after ten isn’t too late for you to drive just to go to bed.”

“With the weather shifting and how warm you run? It’s never too late to say yes to a heated bed.”

He smiles. “Glad I can be of service.” There's silence from you and he cringes. “Shit. Not you– not– Was that a bad choice of word?”

“No. It’s just–”

“Hey. I want you here tonight. I wanna talk to you.” Another silence. He supposes that sounds ominous. It shouldn’t. “You know, here. Not…on a phone.” He’s still not good at this. 

“That sounds nice…. You, uh, need anything? I’m at the grocery store.”

“No. Just you.” It feels good to say. Right. It’s what’s needed to break what feels like an odd tension into a few comfortable, mutually smiling moments. “So. The grocery store. And you’re feeling lonely. At a grocery store.”

Your laughter--hushed but musical--is kept close to the phone. “Well I am standing in produce and they just got in some preeeeeetty nice looking eggplants.”

“Wow.”

Another laugh, less hushed, throatier. “Okay, I’m sorry! I’ll let you get back to your work. I assume you’ve got a sleeping beauty to wake up.”

Pulling the phone away from his face for a timecheck, he winces. “Yeah. I’ll see you in 20?”

“I’d say I can’t wait, but you know that I will.”

Wow. “I know and I…”Something sweet twists inside. “I know.”

After you hang up he stands a minute more on the porch in the dark. The leaves are almost all off the trees now, the crickets are gone. His feet are freezing and the skin on his torso is goosebumping; doing its best–and failing–to lift his fine hairs to shield him from the autumn chill. But it’s far from unpleasant and he finds that he’s awake for the sensation in a way he hasn’t been in a while.

He’s alive again in a way he hasn’t been in a while.

The last couple of months have been…nothing short of amazing.

He should tell you that. He should say it.

But he’s got to get to that point where…he accepts it. 

Not the relationship…the fact that there’s always a possibility it’s too good to be true, that he could lose it. He could lose you.

You’re handling everything so well, but for how long? How long until you make him choose?

Oh fuck, please don’t make me choose, preciosa, please.

The phone buzzes in his hand. Timer; no need to look, just thumbs the button to silence. On another night, he’d allow himself more time, let the client sleep while he mused. But he’s got a job to do. 

And someone special arriving soon.

So he packs these thoughts away and goes quietly inside to prepare.

________

He’s just poured the detergent in the washing machine when he hears the door open. “Hey, I’m just cleaning up, gimme a second.”

Out in the entry, your shoes clatter on the floor and then your keys jingle on the kitchen counter and before he knows it you’re on him, topless and crowding him against the washing machine, kissing him like he’s just come back from war. It’s jarring but pleasant and full of hungry sighs…until there’s a ping in his calf muscle.

“Ooh, hey, Pres, hey hey, hang on.” Taking your face in his hands he calms, he whispers, he soothes you in order to soothe himself, but you catch on instantly, concern splashing over you.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

A kiss to the tip of your nose, to your smart little nose. “No, no, I’m a little sore; just had a difficult session–a difficult day, actually. And I haven’t showered yet. So don’t get yourself too worked up here. You don’t want me like this.”

He expects you to recoil from this, to find the sex with someone else still lingering on his skin. You don’t.

You simply run your hands over his sides, lean in to kiss his chin. “Of course I do. I want you like whatever you are.”

You’re backlit from the kitchen and there’s something like a soft halo around you, bringing a glow to the roll of your cheeks, the swipe of your lip. Tracing these with a finger and finding himself reflected in your eyes, he trusts you, accepts this, tries to see himself like you do. How are you so effortless?

There’s nothing but surrender when you rake your fingers through his beard and push yourself up onto tiptoe to press a warm kiss to his forehead. “But if you really feel that way, beautiful, let me run you a bath.” 

Everytime he opens his eyes and you’re there, it's like a small miracle.

“Come on,” you smile, taking his hand and guiding him to the stairs, “let me take care of you and you can tell me about your day.”

You’re perfect. He’s so grateful he picked up the phone tonight when he did.

________

“Mmmmm, that’s good.” The sigh comes up from his bottom wells, like a contented creature crawling out of hidden caverns within. The back of his head rests in your palm, warm water spilling over his scalp. Your hands whisper and calm and soothe. He spends so much time using his touch to bring relaxation to others that he’d all but forgotten that it could go the other way. And your touch–

“So there was some heavy lifting tonight, huh?” Your finger lightly wipes away an errant rivulet from the corner of his eye. “Ness, right?”

The ghost of irritation looms. “Mmm. She has a pretty severe tailbone injury. Didn’t tell me about it before she showed up. Lot of full-body lifting on the table just to get her in the right positions for stretch.”

“I see. You’ll feel it tomorrow. And sore tailbone means no actual sex tonight.”

“Oh no, we had some fun. She’s got weeks of recovery ahead of her and she needed some practice re-routing some natural orgasm responses to different muscle groups when she ejaculates.”

“Ejaculates? She…? Ohhh.” A loving hand begins to wander lightly over his chest. “I assumed. My bad.”

“Sorry. Should have been more clear. But yeah.”

“No need to apologize. I don’t know why I hadn’t just assumed that you…took all forms of payment.”

He peeks an eye open to catch your reaction as you reach over the side of the tub toward him and finds your warm, curious smile. “Not to disparage the vaginal anatomy, but sometimes it’s nice to have my dick handled by someone who has a lifetime experience with their own.”

“Noted. Fair.”

Closing his eyes and sinking into the warm bath of your care a lifetime goes by with your hands running over his skin.

“You’re very accommodating.”

A kiss lands on his temple. “Wait until you realize I’m terribly selfish and am in it for the rewards points.” When his smile fades, your hands slow. “That was a joke.”

“I know.” Sensing a shift in tone coming when he turns to you, you instinctively pull back, but he catches your hand in his, pulling it in to place a wet kiss to your knuckles. “Would you mind if I don’t want to have sex tonight?”

“Of course. That’s okay.” A half-smile. Are you covering disappointment?

“I’m more than happy to go down on you if you–”

But a shake of your head stops him. “No, it's fine. I can tell you’re tired. You said you had a hard day. Wanna tell me about it while we get you dried off and into bed?”

He feels like a child as he simply nods, allows you to help him up, succumbs to you as you care for him. It’s easy to do, to melt under your attention, to crack open and spill. He does his best not to control the spread as he generalizes a failed report at work, a difficult project he’s fallen behind on. By the time you’re sliding into the sheets and curling up next to him, he’s breaching the topic he’s been deciding and undeciding and deciding again to tell you about–that his mother called without warning.

“She wants to meet you.”

Your breathing stills in the darkness. “You told your mom about me.”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I..” you stutter, “I guess I didn’t… I’m flattered that you talk about me?”

There’s a pang of guilt that he’s let you believe you’re not important enough for him to tell the world that you’re in his life. But he sighs as you squeeze your arm around his middle. “You might feel differently if you met her.”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to meet your…is it just your mom?”

“And my father. I have an older brother but he lives in Australia. Doesn’t go home much.”

“Home issssSantiago?”

“Just outside of it. Rancagua.”

Another squeeze. Perhaps that was a lie; your arm around him and the brush of your lips on his shoulder feels like his true home now. 

“So this call was stressful because she wants to meet me. And you’re nervous?”

“The call was stressful because…I don’t…want her to meet you.” Your squeeze lightens a bit and he slides his grip over your arm in case you decide he’s awful and want to pull away. He knows he should let you go if you want to but– “I wanted to ask you, Pres…I’m sorry I don’t know if I can ask this much from you but–”

It almost breaks his heart when your arm slides through his hand, when your warmth leaves his side, when you abandon him…

But it’s only for the time it takes to hear the click of the bedside lamp, register the bright sting and spill of light, and you’re back beside him, leaning over him, turning his face to yours with one patient hand on his cheek. “What’s going on. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Shit. Get it together.

“You’re going to think I’m a fucking jerk–”

“Don’t tell me what you think I’m going to think, sir. Tell me what you need from me. Just say it.”

This leaves him with depleted gambling chips, raises the stakes. But you’re right. He has to be honest.

“The relationship I have with my family is…strained. That’s why I live here and not there. I see them somewhat regularly, but the holidays are when the whole family gets together–all the cousins–and it’s just a lot. There’s a lot that’s expected, a lot of judgements…it’s overwhelming. I can barely make it through myself, but having you there? Watching you be scrutinized on top of it when we’re just figuring this out? I just…no.”

“You know I won’t tell them–”

“It’s not that, fuck, it’s not that.” He surges in for a kiss, taking you in deep, willing you to understand him by osmosis; if only… “Every time I’ve gone down for the holidays it’s stressful enough…it’s…it’s bad enough that I’m away from my clients, but–”

“But under stress the itch gets worse. And you don’t have your outlet. And you’re not in control.”

Oh god, you see him. You see him and he’s so…fucking pathetic.

The last thing he expects is for you to pepper kisses along his mouth and chin, to dot a lingering one on his cheek before pulling him into your chest, to cradle him, breathe into his hair.

But it’s exactly what you do.

“What do you need, beautiful boy? Anything you want.”

He breathes. Sighs. Curses himself for doubting you, for assuming you wouldn’t surprise him. Allows you to hold the weight of his heart on your own without a spotter.

“I need to…not do the ‘meet the family’ thing this year. I just want you to myself for a while.”

A hum of sympathy, of bittersweetness, one that stakes his heart into the ground at your feet. “Oh Patricio. Is that all?” Your breast moves under his cheek as you lean over to turn off the light, your soft curves and soft scent and soft hum whispering to him, calming him, soothing him into you. “I’ll admit that I’m a little sad that I don’t get to show you off to my family, but I definitely see the appeal of a quiet holiday season, just us hiding away from the world together. You want me to yourself? Did you really think I would find that anything but absolutely wonderful?”

All at once, the strains of the day overtake him, the need to say more is gone and took his energy to do so right along with it. A whole lifetime of relief in just an hour. That’s your secret power. Always has been. He cannot think of words more meaningful than, “Thank you.”

Your fingertips begin their pattern of affection along his jaw, tattooing a spell of sleep through him. “This really means a lot to you, huh.” He’s too gone to get his voice to work and it seems you assume he’s fallen asleep. “Well you mean the world to me. You don’t even know, mister.”

It’s not worth the effort to drag himself from the downward pull of dreams to ask you to say more about that. Not when he knows you’ll be right here in the morning and he can ask you then.

Or say the same thing right back to you.

Maybe this time he’ll find a way to do that.

______

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[e-dubbc11]

also also...

“Oh I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you worse than this, my love. Remember your last birthday before you got pregnant with the little miss? At one point, I had to make sure you were still alive.”

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 i forgot to comment about this but do tell, i love me a good tea

Hello my lovely friend! I loved coming up with the backstory for Billy’s comment! Thank you so so much for sending this to my inbox. I hope you like what I did here! 💚

Anything for You

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Some swear words, alluding to smexy time but PG-13, pure fun, fluffy bunnies and unicorns, drinking

Word Count: 4.4K-ish

Summary: It’s your birthday and you told Billy you wanted to have a little fun doing something very nostalgic plus tacos and tequila

A/N: Part of The Sweetest Pain Series. Based on the above ask. Excerpt was from Son of the Sea. This one was a lot of fun to write, I hope you like it!

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Green soap.

It was probably one of your favorite scents and there was always a hint of it on your husband’s clothes when he came home from his studio. But now, sitting in his tattoo chair, that strong aroma surrounded you while Billy, as gently as he could, slowly dragged the single needle across the skin on your arm.

He was outlining one of the snakes on your Medusa tattoo. You winced a little when the needle scratched the sensitive skin on the inside of your arm toward the pit, just below your shoulder. A devilish smile stretched across Billy’s face. You knew he not-so-secretly enjoyed it, making you clench your fist or when you bite down on your lower lip to deal with the pain from the long drags of the liner needle across your skin.

“That one tickled a little bit, huh baby.” He said with a sly smirk on his face.

Biting back a smile of your own, you replied, “I know you’re enjoying this Billy Russo.” Narrowing your eyes at him, you continued, “I know you just loooooove tattooing those sensitive spots to watch people’s faces, especially mine. And your smile gets even wider when it’s time for the white ink.”

Billy knew what you said was true. His eyes lit up with pure joy when it was time to put the white ink in. It always seemed to hurt more than any other color and since most of your tattoos were black and gray, there was a LOT of white ink in them.

The buzzing of Billy’s tattoo pen stopped and he paused to look up at you. He flashed that million-dollar smile which he knew full well what it did to you.

He gently brushed his gloved finger along your arm and softly said, “I know you can take it, sweet girl.”

He winked at you.

Heat rose to your cheeks and you started to blush. Billy always knew just what to say to make you turn every shade of red there was but you knew how to make him blush too.

“Are we still talking about the white ink, baby?” You asked, with a slight smirk.

Billy turned away from you briefly. You knew he was blushing which made you chuckle.

Ed #1 interrupted the two of you. “Uh, you guys know there are other people in the room too, right?”

“You say somethin’, Ed?” Billy asked sarcastically.

A loud laugh escaped your lips before you leaned into Billy and whispered in his ear, “Can we stop for a minute, handsome? I gotta pee.”

With a slight smile, he nodded, set his tattoo pen down, and took his gloves off. With the fan on in the bathroom, it was difficult to hear what they were all talking about out there but they were all smiles when you walked out.

“What are y’all smiling at?” You asked with narrowed eyes.

Billy replied, “We were just talking about your birthday.”

“My birthday? It’s not for three more weeks.” You said.

With a warm smile, Billy said, “The Ed’s just wanted to know what we were doin’ for your birthday. I told them you hadn’t decided what you wanted to do yet.”

A wide smile stretched across your lips as you walked back over to Billy’s tattoo chair.

“Ahhhhhh ok, well when I do figure out what I wanna do, you guys will be the first ones to know.” You said.

Billy had been asking you what you wanted to do for your birthday for the past month or so. He was a planner and he said he just wanted to make sure that he had enough time to take care of everything.

You did have one idea in mind, you just hadn’t mentioned it to him yet.

**********

Later on that night, you rolled over in bed hoping to be warmed up by Billy’s body heat but his side of the bed was empty. You didn’t need to look very far to find him though. Over in the next room was where Billy went when he couldn’t sleep. He painted or worked on his drawings until the early morning hours, sometimes even until the sun began to warm the sky.

You threw on his sweatshirt and tiptoed toward the next room.

“You know you can’t sneak up on me, sweet girl.” Said Billy.

Even though you could only see the back of his head, you could tell he was smiling. The commissioned painting he was working on had been keeping him awake for the past few weeks. The perfectionist in him always wanted to make sure that everything was just so; clients paid a lot of money for commissioned paintings so Billy made sure to give them exactly what they wanted.

“Oh I know, my love. I just love to watch you work, that’s all.” You replied, leaning against the doorframe and biting down on your lower lip.

His long skilled fingers held the brush firmly as it moved smoothly against the canvas. Billy had endless talent that begged to be seen and a talent that, hopefully one day, would be passed down to your children and that thought brought a smile to your face.

Billy put his paintbrush down and turned to face you, he gazed at you with his endless brown eyes and flashed his perfect smile at you which still gave you butterflies. He looked tired and there were faint purple shadows underneath his eyes. Billy didn’t sleep much and you desperately wanted to protect him from his nightmares but you couldn’t.

Those nightmares were one of the reasons he didn’t sleep very well and why he got up in the middle of the night to paint. The only thing you could do was to be there for him if he wanted to talk about it which wasn’t very often but he was getting better about it; you were his wife and there wasn’t anyone he trusted with his feelings more than you.

“You look sexy while you paint.” You said, shyly.

Billy snaked his long arms around your waist and gently touched his forehead to yours.

“Well I think you look sexy when you do anything, baby.” He said, glancing at you from head to toe.

“You’re delirious, Billy. You need some sleep.” You replied.

You had grabbed his hoodie on your way out of the bedroom to cover yourself. All you had on was a pair of very short shorts and a tank top, his hoodie covered your legs to about mid-thigh so it looked like you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

The sweatshirt hem slipped in between Billy’s fingers as he slowly lifted the sweatshirt away from your legs.

“Are you wearin’ anything underneath this, beautiful?” He asked as a devilish smile played across his lips.

Playfully slapping him on the shoulder, you replied, “Yes, I have shorts on, Billy. You know that.”

“That’s too bad. You always look perfect wearin’ my hoodie and nothin’ else.” He said with a wink.

Billy leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, gently at first but as you melted into his kiss, he parted your lips with his tongue so it could tangle and knot with yours. After unzipping the sweatshirt, his long agile fingers brushed the soft skin of your stomach.

Goosebumps peppered across your body when you felt his hand dip below your waistband and touch the wet spot on your panties. Warmth quickly spread across your cheeks and between your thighs as a soft moan escaped your lips while his strong hands caressed your body.

You could taste the peppermint on his lips and faintly smell the green soap left on his black t-shirt as your fingers glided through his ink like hair. Billy had pulled you flush to him, squeezing your body tightly against his like he was scared to let you go and you embraced him firmly in return, silently telling him that you were real and you weren’t going anywhere.

You were his.

The hoodie fell to the floor after he had pushed it off of your shoulders. Looking up at him through your long dark lashes, you smiled warmly at first but then narrowed your eyes and said, “I thought you were painting tonight, lieutenant.”

With a devilish smirk, Billy replied, “I think I’d rather paint you, baby…with my tongue.”

Covering your eyes in embarrassment, you let out a chuckle and replied, “Well I might be agreeable to that, my love.”

Suddenly his hands were under your ass and he picked you up with ease. With your legs wrapped around his waist, he started to carry you off to bed when you mentioned, “Don’t you have to clean up first, Billy?!”

He only had one word to say in response.

“Later…”

**********

The Next Morning

You could feel the peaceful murmur of his heart steadily beating inside his chest as he slept. Billy doesn’t usually sleep in. Most of the time he’s awake before you are and you normally find him drinking his coffee at the breakfast bar but not today. On this rare morning, you just watched him sleep and tried not to move so you wouldn’t disturb him.

Billy shifted slightly underneath the arm you had resting on his chest. He inhaled sharply then let out a deep yawn before snaking his arm around you.

“Good mornin’, beautiful. I guess I slept in. That’s your fault though…you wore me out.” Said Billy, kissing the top of your head and rubbing his eyes with his other hand.

With a shocked look on your face, you lifted your head slightly so you were resting your chin on top of the hand that was placed against his chest.

“Oh I wore YOU out?!! I slept in too, soldier!” You exclaimed with a wide smile.

His sly grin stretched from ear to ear and he winked at you as he replied, “There’s my little firecracker. I’ll go make some coffee.”

As he rolled over you, his lips collided with yours and you gently brushed his beard with your thumb. Propping up your head with your hand, you carefully watched Billy as he slipped on his black sweats. Your handsome husband had a lean, toned body and his tattoo sleeve was just as impressive today as the first time you saw it.

He’d catch you staring at it all the time. You couldn’t help it.

“I think I know what I wanna do for my birthday, Billy.” You said, still staring at him and biting down on your lower lip.

“Oh yeah?” Said Billy. His dark eyes shone in the early morning sunshine spilling in through the window. “Well come tell me over coffee, sweet girl.”

Billy sat at the breakfast bar while you stood in front of the stove cooking some eggs, a smile stretched across your face as you looked over your shoulder at his face when he asked in a confused tone, “an arcade?”

You continued to push the eggs around in the pan.

“Yeah! This place has old arcade games and pinball machines!” You said excitedly. “Plus, it’s a bar too. Oh and I’d also like tacos and a little tequila, please.”

He raised a finger to point at you.

“So aside from the tequila, you want an 8-year old’s birthday party.” He joked.

You started to hand him his plate of eggs but pulled them back toward you when he made his smart ass comment.

“Are you making fun of me, Mr. Russo? Cuz if you are, I can throw these eggs right in the trash and no breakfast for you.” You said.

“All right, all right my little firecracker, you’re feisty this morning. I’m teasin’ ya. Don’t go throwin’ away perfectly good scrambled eggs. I don’t know what you do to them to make them taste that good but they are pretty amazing. So yes, I will take care of your birthday party arrangements, just lemme know who you’re inviting.” Said Billy.

You handed Billy his plate of eggs through the breakfast bar window and walked around to the other side, kissed him on the cheek, and asked, “Really? You’d do that for me, Billy?”

“I’d do anything for you, sweet girl. I love you.” He said after swallowing a mouthful of eggs. “God, these are good!” He exclaimed as he took another bite.

You smiled and kissed his cheek again.

“Cream cheese and chives, my love. Those are my secret ingredients.” You said with a warm smile. “And I love you too. Don’t forget to tell the Ed’s first.”

Three Weeks Later

Billy spoiled you on your actual birthday. On his way home from the studio, he stopped to buy you flowers, a calzone from your favorite pizza place, and cupcakes from your favorite bakery. The men from your past relationships never were as considerate or as sweet as Billy. You never expected fancy dates or gifts; you just wanted them to try but they never did.

“I know it’s not much but…” Said Billy.

You interrupted him.

“Not much? It’s perfect, my love. I couldn’t ask for anything more. Thank you!” You said, as you snaked your arms around his neck and pulled him in closer for a kiss.

“Happy Birthday, my little firecracker. You ready for your party this weekend?” He asked.

A wide smile stretched across your lips as you replied, “YES!! I’m very excited! Where are we going for tacos?”

“I made a reservation for all of us at that place on Hope Street. De Mole, I think it’s called. I think, I THINK they have the requirements you asked for.” Billy said sarcastically.

You narrowed your eyes at him and folded your arms protectively across your chest. “I’m not sure I like your tone, lieutenant.” You joked. “Careful, or I’ll eat both cupcakes that are in that box.”

“How do you know there are two in there?” He asked, flashing you a sly side smile.

You started to laugh.

“You think I don’t know you, Billy Russo? Like you would come home with just ONE cupcake.” You said, still laughing.

“Well, you got me. There ARE two in there.” He said, sounding slightly defeated.

Pointing a finger at him, you said “AHA! I knew it! Hey, if you ever sleeve your other arm you can just have all of your favorite sweets tattooed on you.”

Billy lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper and purred into your ear, “My all-time favorite is you, sweet girl. You really are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He always knew exactly what to say to have you fall apart with just the sound of his voice. At times you still couldn’t believe he was all yours, a friend that had turned into everything you had ever wanted in a relationship and so much more…and you were the same for him.

Billy was someone you could laugh with and tell all of your worries to. You were the one person besides Frank that he felt like he could talk to about his mother; he never had the comfortability with anyone to be able to do that with before you. And more than anything, you loved to see him smile.

He wasn’t perfect but he was perfect for you.

“You can taste me later, handsome. I want my calzone and cupcake.” You whispered back, the bristles of his beard tickled your lips as you kissed him on the cheek.

Billy smiled his million-dollar smile at you and said, “Whatever you want, my love. It’s your birthday.”

**********

The food and drinks at de Mole were delicious. There was crispy calamari with jalapeno aioli, roasted tomato sauce and corn relish. The spicy margaritas and your favorite, Baja fish tacos, were the perfect combination of heat and flavor. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves so far.

“You gotta do a shot. It’s your birthday, kid!” Said Frank as he dropped a shot of tequila down in front of you.

Staring at the shot glass nervously, you replied, “I dunno Frank, I’m not 21 anymore. I don’t recover as fast as I used to.”

“One shot ain’t gonna kill ya, sweetheart. Besides, Bill’s drivin’.” Frank stated.

After sprinkling some salt on the back of your hand, you downed the shot of tequila and took a bite of a lemon wedge.

“Woo! Oh it burns! It’s been a minute since I’ve done this, Frank!” You exclaimed, squinting your eyes and pursing your lips.

A wide sly smile stretched across Frank’s lips and he replied, “Atta girl! Let’s go play some video games, yeah?”

Billy had booked a private party for you and everyone at Barcade. Everyone that worked at the tattoo studio came, Ed #1, Ed #2, Andy, and Shortcake, along with Frank, Maria, and two of your really good friends, Danielle and Jessie.

It really was like being a kid again, hearing all the noises from the different machines and games throughout the bar. The unmistakable sounds of pinball flippers, the rolling of the metal ball, flashing lights and the ringing of the bells each time the ball was struck.

Familiar phrases like “FINISH HIM!” and “Flawless Victory” could be heard coming from the Mortal Kombat II machine where the Eds were talking shit to each other. You overheard the revving of engines and screeching tires coming from the Daytona USA game.

Frank and Maria were racing each other while Billy practiced his target shooting on Quick & Crash. It was a fast draw shooting gallery game and it wasn’t a surprise to you that Billy got the highest score. They put his name up on the chalkboard with all the other high scorers. He was a little proud of himself like “I still got it.”

“You havin’ a good time, sweet girl?” Billy asked, snaking his long arms around your waist.

Excitedly, you replied, “Oh I am, baby! I’m having SO much fun! Thank you for doing this for me.”

“I told you, I’d do anything for you my love.” He said, leaning in and capturing your lips in a soft kiss.

Licking his bottom lip, you could tell he tasted the tequila on yours.

“Frankie gave you another shot of tequila, didn’t he.” He said with a slight smile.

You were feeling a little tipsy and started to giggle.

“Maybe.” You replied. “Come on! Let’s go race!”

Billy laughed. “Hey, you’ve been drinking. You can’t drive.” He joked, chasing after you to the racecar game.

“We’ve all been drinkin’! Come onnnnnnn!” You yelled.

He won by a nose.

You made sure to hang out with everyone and thank them for coming out for your birthday. It felt really nice to be surrounded by people who really cared about you but no one enjoyed watching you have fun more than Billy did. Every time you turned around, his eyes were on you with a wide smile stretched across his lips so you’d blow him a kiss every time you caught him staring.

You were everything to him.

“How are you so good at this game?!!” Ed #2 shouted.

You replied, “Please, Street Fighter II was my favorite game growing up. You’re not gonna beat me!”

Frank interjected, “Alright, I’m playin’ winner. You ready to lose for the first time tonight, sweetheart?”

“I’m tellin’ ya Frankie, you’re not gonna beat her. She’s won against everyone tonight.” Said Billy, gently brushing the bristles of his beard.

“She hasn’t played me yet, Bill.” Said Frank.

He talked a big game but luck was not on his side. Frank lost and he lost miserably so his punishment was he had to do a shot of tequila but he also bought another one for you. Barcade had about 25 craft beers on tap to choose from so between the beer and the shots, you were feeling pretty good, maybe a little too good. You had tried to pace yourself but that last shot was probably one too many and you began to feel a little unsteady on your feet.

“Alright, my little firecracker, I think it’s time to call it a night. What do ya say?” Asked Billy.

Leaning into him, you replied, “I-I thhhhhhink y-you’re right, b-baby. L-let’s go h-home!”

Billy glared at Frank and said, “Thanks a lot, Frankie.”

“Ah, it’s her birthday. She’ll be alright.” Frank replied.

You said goodbye to everyone, thanked them all again for coming before Billy put you in the car. As he drove away from the curb, you waved and immediately leaned back to rest your head and closed your eyes.

“Stay awake, sweet girl. We don’t have that far of a drive. You have fun tonight?” He asked.

Billy figured if he kept you talking, that you wouldn’t fall asleep on the way home. A warm smile stretched across your lips as you reached to touch him on the shoulder before replying, “I d-did h-handsome, thank youuuuuu.”

Billy rested his hand on your thigh as he always did when he was driving.

“I love you, Billy. Thank you again for my party.” You said softly.

“I love you too, beautiful.” He whispered. “We’re almost home, you gonna make it?”

“I’ll make it.” You said.

Getting out of the car and the elevator ride up to your apartment were uneventful. But as soon as Billy unlocked the door, you ran for the bathroom. At least you made it home first before getting sick. After taking off his jacket and putting his keys away, Billy came into the bathroom to make sure you were alright.

He helped hold your hair back and checked to see if your sleeves were rolled up. The sides of the bowl felt cool against your wrists while everything you had that night came up and out.

Never again with the tequila. Just say “no” to Frank.

The bathroom floor felt nice and cool against your skin, the room wasn’t spinning when your cheek was resting against the tiled floor so that’s where you wanted to stay but Billy didn’t want you sleeping there.

“Sweet girl, you can’t stay on the floor all night.” He said.

Joking around, you replied, “Sure I can, it’s nice and cool down here. Just forward all my mail here, I’ll be fine.”

“Even tequila drunk, you make me laugh, baby.” Billy chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, you’re goin’ to bed.”

He did his best to make you comfortable by helping you put on one of his old marines t-shirts that you loved to sleep in so much. He also left some Gatorade and pain reliever on your bedside table.

You must not have moved much for the rest of the night because you woke up in the same position you fell asleep in as the sunlight danced across your face. Billy was sitting straight up in bed, his arm draped over you, his chin to his chest until he felt you move which startled him awake.

“It’s ok, Billy…it’s ok. It’s just me. Ow…” You said softly, pinching the bridge of your nose trying to ease your headache pain. “You slept like that all night?”

He blinked his eyes a few times, looked down at you and smiled.

“Well I cleaned up the bathroom so not ALL night. Wasn’t too bad. It smells like green soap in there now, your favorite.” He winked. “And of course, I had to make sure you were ok while you were sleeping.” Said Billy.

You returned a smile and replied, “That’s so sweet of you, baby. It’s not my first drunken night but I love you for watching over me.” You paused for a brief moment. “Ya know, I realized something last night.”

“What’s that, my love?” Asked Billy.

“I realized that you probably never played video games like that when you were young, huh?” You said.

“Nah, we didn’t have regular field trips to the arcade, if that’s what ya mean and we certainly didn’t have any video games or pinball machines at the group home. So, you’re right, baby. I didn’t do stuff like that when I was a kid. It’s ok though.” He said in a low voice, shaking his head.

Tears stung the back of your eyes. “I’m sorry, Billy. I’m so sorry you never really got to do normal kid things. Even though my childhood was exactly the greatest, there were some highlights and good times. I’d give anything for you to have happy memories like that.” You said as a tear streaked down your cheek.

“Y/n, sweet girl, it’s ok because I have happy memories NOW.” Billy said.

His words made you cry even harder but they were happy tears. Being married to Billy wasn’t always easy but it never was just one-sided either. You were the one that was always giving in your past relationships, but this was the first one where he gave just as much as you did.

“I love you.” You whispered as you gazed up at him through your lashes that were wet with tears.

“I love you too, baby…Come here and let me see those beautiful eyes a little better.” He said.

Slowly sitting up in bed and being careful not to move too quickly because of your headache, you straddled him and softly brushed the bristles of his beard with your thumbs.

“Oh I imagine they’re really red at the moment, my love.” You replied, a little embarrassed.

Billy didn’t care. He still looked at you like you were the only woman in the world. The slight lines around his eyes made him look even more handsome, if that was even possible. He was happy and seeing him smile always made him more attractive.

He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to yours.

“Nah, they’re not too bad. That just means you had a really good time.” Joked Billy.

That made you laugh.

“Oh is that what that means?” You said, biting back a smile.

Billy laughed along with you and replied with a wink, “Yes, sweet girl. That’s exactly what it means.”

His wild dark brown hair had tumbled into his eyes so you pushed stray pieces away from his face as his warm hand grazed your cheek and he kissed you again.

“Thank you again, handsome. I had a great birthday.” You said with a kind smile.

Billy closed the gap between your bodies once again. He stopped short just before touching your lips with his, smiled, and whispered, “Anything for you.”

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialend @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @aoi-targaryen

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @russosafehaven @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[queerofcups]

a July rec list

I read a truly absurd amount of fanfic in July, and since I’m tracking my fic reading anyway these days, I figured, why not pull up some faves. I’ll do my best to tag authors when and where I can! I’ll throw some commentary in there to talk about why I like some of them, but rest assure this is a rec list and I think every one of them has something to love. 

Hockey RPF

In the scrawl of the ringside choir E, 37k, Hockey RPF | @goodnightpuckbunny Sid/Geno

“Geno, this is Sid Crosby,” Kris says, sitting back down. The kid towers over both of them, but seems small in the office. “You need a coach, so he’s gonna help you out.” He looks Sid over, eyes scanning like he’s looking for weaknesses, faults in his form. Sid has plenty, but he’s not fighting anymore. He doesn’t bother mirroring the gesture. He can guess without looking. “He old,” Geno eventually decrees. 

Interview with the Vampire

The Vampire Eric

E | 4k | falsescience (@theburialofstrawberries) Eric Bogosian/Jam Reiderson, Jam Reiderson

Oh ho, Eric thinks to himself, and then, aloud, because it’s just too delicious, and wouldn’t Rolin be ashamed, and a little pissed: “Oh ho!” He feels zapped alive: young, powerful, god-like. Jacob starts giggling immediately. “Did you just say ‘oh ho’?” “Or maybe aspen. What do you think, Eric?” “Not a damn clue,” says Eric, with a broad grin. “You look very satisfied. He looks very satisfied, doesn’t he?” Jacob smiles at Sam over his hitched shoulder. “Hm,” says Sam. “I think we play it safe, and go with red maple.” Yeah, Eric is certain: Jacob and Sam aren’t fucking. But they’d like to be.

First of all, I am RPF’ing these people real hard in some private chats. But largely, I like the characterization happening here, and the little turn of understanding that happens in the last third of the fic. 

reformation

E | 44k | verseau (@downstairsbar) Lestat/Louis

we're gonna heal. we're gonna start again. you've brought the orchestra, synchronized swimmers. // It makes him speechless sometimes, how much he loves Lestat. He thought for years, a decade, that it was sickness. It’s not. It’s not. Even when Louis hated Lestat, nothing was more certain than that he loved him.

There’s some great, great plotting and characterization here but/also I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve read a fic and known immediately that the author is Black. That’s obviously not a requirement of the fic I write but it's nice to have Southern Black characters really sound like people I’ve known/grown up around etc. 

let’s keep this off the record

E | 1.4k | anonymous

Louis/Santiago (sort of)

There would be no second chances for the Englishman, no opportunity for him to crawl out of some dump and seek revenge. Louis would make sure of that.

Honestly, I think it's great that fandom has a long and storied history of skullfucking. I think it's fun that weird shit like that still happens around here.

Maman

T | 2k | anonymous Claudia/Madeline, Louis/Lestat

Madeleine meets in the in-laws. Particularly one of them.

transpires

M-E | 5.8k total | familiar (@bigvampo or @camilliar? sekrit you've got so many blogs) Louis/Lestat

I mean, sekrit is just a fucking stellar writer. sekrit’s got a way of telling so much —  about a character, their mental state, the world their in —  in just a few razor sharp details. also these fics are so funny and the characterizations of Louis and Lestat feel like natural progressions from what we’ve seen in canon both in how much they love each other and how terrible they are (to each other and in general)

Harry Potter

Right. I think I’ve always been pretty upfront about my continued reading of Harry Potter fanfiction, but in case it's somehow necessary to say, please do not come to my inbox talking about JK Rowling. I don’t think about that woman and I’m very clear about what she thinks about me. 

Those Three Curses

E | 6k total | @dodgerkedavra Draco/Harry

Obviously I had a bit of a fucking dodgerkedavra moment here, but these blew me away. So much story telling in such little space. 

Former Things Come to Mind

E | 64k | dodgerkedavra

Harry Potter has had a headache for seven and a half years.

In the Presence of My Enemy E | 41k | dodgerkedavra Draco/Harry

All Harry knows is that Sectumsempra is for enemies. He doesn’t know that it will bind him to Draco Malfoy, for better or worse, ‘til death do them part.

Tiny Home

E | 30k | @wolfpants Draco/Harry/Ron

Harry and Ron left the Aurors years ago to travel the world and make up for lost time. When they finally decide to settle roots back in England, together, building a tiny home in the Lake District by hand seems like the perfect plan. What they don't realise is that Draco Malfoy already lives on the plot of land that they choose to build on. A story about years of feelings, about weaving lives in and around each other, and about finding a place safe enough to call home.

I really feel like there’s been an explosion of excellent Draco/Harry/Ron all of a sudden. One of my qualms with a lot of polyship fics is that it's very uhhh “we must do everything together” and I really love that this fic breaks that down and allows everyone to have histories and experiences together as dyads and all together. 

In Our Blood

E | 37k | secretsalex Draco/Harry

Draco is an accomplished pure-blood curse breaker, and Harry is tasked with accompanying him on his latest job—cleaning up the Van Boer mansion, which has been under a devastating fertility curse for seven generations.

I’m not even going to bullshit y’all. This fic reminded me why I love mpreg. Excellent use of body horror, body dread, suspense, all these things. Also, an mpreg fic that remembers abortion is a thing. Amazing!

Probationary Action

E | 63k | @toomuchplor Draco/Harry

As part of the terms of the probationary contract, DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY shall submit for inspection his WAND on the last day of every month, such inspection to be carried out by a duly registered and fully qualified AUROR in the employ of the MINISTRY OF MAGIC, and such inspection to include a PRIORI INCANTATEM spell to ensure that no PROHIBITED MAGICS as heretofore described have been practised by the aforementioned probationer.

I’ve been obsessed with toomuchplor since Inception and this fic reminded me why. I don’t love Auror!Harry fic (truly, just so much unchecked, delighted writing about police brutality) but I do like any fic where Harry starts to wake up to the fact that maybe just because they’re “the good guys”, not every choice made by the Aurors/Wizarding Gov’t in general is right. Also, I appreciate the expansion on the idea of sex charms!

Embers

E | 41k | @shiftylinguini Draco/Harry

Werewolf Alphas aren't meant to be alone, or to suppress their ruts indefinitely like Draco has been since he was bitten eight years ago. He needs company, companionship, to knot ― he needs an Omega Heat Companion. At least, that’s what the Healers say, and even Draco can admit contacting the person they’ve referred him to might be nice. Of course it turns out to be bloody Potter.

idk man, I like a fic that treats sex work like it's just a job. Worthy of respect, full of technical expertise, etc. 

--

Both of these next fics came from @hd-wireless which has been, pound for pound, one of the best fests I've ever witness and is a testament to how important having multiple fic fests in a fandom can be! so much good shit to read!

The most he’s ever said

E | 16k | anonymous Draco/Harry

It takes them twenty years.

Two Houses

E | 11k | anonymous Draco/Harry

Two households, both alike in... meddling Floo connections, apparently? Draco Malfoy is a highly professional and well-respected Ministry official, with a demanding schedule, a loving son, and—through no fault of his own—a faulty Floo connection that keeps regurgitating the Minister for Magic through his fireplace.

I really enjoy that there's been more of a trend of writing about these two as older people and fleshing out the characterization of their kids.

[player1064]

gary goes into business instead of broadcasting post-retirement. carra still goes into puditry. they don't know each other/end up as friends.

they both end up on the same season of I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here and fall in love. this is highly apparent to the entire audience.

I've not done a request fic in like two months bc I've been so zoomed in on the beville fic but I wanted to write something quick and silly and yes this request has been sitting in my inbox for more than THREE months but dont worry i did not forget about it I haven't forgotten about ANY of u.

and this really is quick and silly it is Mostly dialogue bc idk how else to convey the Vibes of im a celebrity but I had soooooo much fun with this dkjfgdfjsgkk...

---

 “I’m Gary Neville, I’m a businessman but I’m probably best known for my football career, playing 602 games for Manchester United and earning 85 caps for England.”

“What am I doing in the jungle? Mid-life crisis, I suppose.”

“I’m no stranger to public humiliation – just look at my coachin’ career! My only worry is the food – I do love a dairy milk, to be fair.”

*

“I’m Jamie Carragher, and I’m best known as a football pundit with Sky – am I allowed to say other broadcaster’s names on here? – and for winning the Champions’ league with Liverpool.”

“I’ve always said the jungle is the only reality show I’d consider doin’, so I guess it’s time to put me money where me mouth is.”

“Scared? Eh, no, I don’t think there’s many challenges I wouldn’t do. You don’t get to where I’ve got without that drive to win.”

*

Jamie walks into camp, takes one look at the group of people stood in front of him, and almost considers walking straight back out. Would that work, saying the catch-phrase outside of one of the challenges? ‘I’m a celebrity, get me away from Gary fucking Neville?’

“Jesus Christ,” Gary mutters. “Don’t you ‘ave some children to spit at or somethin’?”

“Don’t you ‘ave a football team to coach – oh no, sorry, they both fired you.”

“How the fuck are they lettin’ you take three weeks off in the middle of season? What’re people gonna do when they want to listen to two hours of Scouse gibberish?”

The rest of the campers watch on, no longer even attempting to come and introduce themselves to Jamie.

“And how’s your club gonna manage without yous, eh? What if they need someone to fire another manager?”

*

“Yeah, I uh… is it mean to say I hope one of them gets voted off soon? Don’t get me wrong, they’re both perfectly nice guys, but…”

[yelling heard from outside the hut]

“…Yeah.”

*

The first pairs challenge, shockingly, goes off without a hitch.

This is not a surprise because the challenge was particularly difficult – it’s early days, they’re still easing everyone in – but because of who the public had voted to complete it. Because the public is the public, and they’re nothing if not predictable.

“All twelve stars! I’m pretty pleased w’that, you know.”

“Typical fucking Neville, taking the credit for his partner’s hard work.”

 “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t seem to recall you crawling about in the mud to get the –”

“—I was the one doin’ all the heavy lifting!”

“Of course you were doin’ the heavy lifting, look at the fuckin’ size of you!”

“Ugh.”

Jamie storms off camera and back into camp, leaving behind a bewildered looking Gary.

“He’s a bit of a diva, in’t he?”

*

“The first few days? Erm, it’s been goin’ alright, I think. I’ve been told I’m not always the easiest person to get on with, so it’s a pleasant relief that the others seem to – I mean, obviously not all of the others, but – but he’s –”

*

“Oh, I’m loving camp. Missing the gym a bit –” for emphasis, Jamie slaps his bicep – “but the food’s not as bad as I were expectin’, and the banter is sound – we’re all great friends already –”

“—well, no, but you can’t count him. He’s so weird, ‘ave you seen him? Like a little robot, doin’ everything exactly the same every day.”

*

“Another pairs challenge…”

“I don’t get why people keep voting for us to do these trials. You’re useless at ‘em anyway, do they want to see us starve?”

“Maybe I’d be able to get more done if you didn’t always insist on bossing me around, James. Can barely hear myself think over that Scouse screech of yours, it’s a wonder me eardrums haven’t burst yet.”

“It’s a wonder nobody’s killed themselves in the boredom of having to listen to you drone on and on all day. Did I actually hear you talkin’ about the stock market the other day?”

“The stock exchange, oh my god. It’s my hotel, which you’d know if you took part in any conversation that’s not about you.”

*

“I can’t believe they let you have that.”

Jamie looks with pride down at the football he’d chosen as his luxury item, then drops it and kicks it towards Gary’s head. It’s wide by about a metre.

“Oi! If you were a half decent footballer that could’ve actually hurt me, you twat.”

“’least mine can benefit everyone in camp, what even is yours?”

“Fidget toy, innit. My niece got me into them, gives me something to do with my hands.”

“You’re a strange little man, you know that right?”

Gary, who’s still positioned closest to the football, picks it up and lobs it into the trees surrounding camp.

*

“Come have a kickabout with me?”

Gary looks around but there’s nobody else sat nearby. “Me?”

“No, Cristiano Ronaldo. Of course you, who else would I be askin’?”

“Literally anyone else here?”

“It’s not as fun when you’re better than everyone else –”

“—ah, so you admit I’m a better footballer than you!”

“That’s not what I said!”

*

“What are you actually doin’ in here? ‘cause no offence, Gary, but you don’t really seem the reality show type.”

“Dunno. Was having a rough week when the email came through, thought it might be nice to get away from everythin’ for a bit.”

“’and you, Jameh?’” Jamie says in a squeaky parody of a Manc accent. “Oh, thanks fer askin’, Gaz. I was worried I was goin’ soft, now that I’ve been retired for so long. Wanted to prove to myself I can still be a winner.”

“Still? When were you ever a winner before?”

“I’ve won a Champions’ League, I’ll have you know!”

“I’ve won two!”

“Have you fuck.”

*

“Who’s your letter from, then? Missus?”

“No, my brother,” Gary says absently, then he looks up from his letter with a frown. “I don’t have a missus, what’re you on about?”

“Don’t you? I could’ve sworn, in Baden Baden with the WAGs –”

“You’re basing your knowledge of my relationship status on a tournament we played in more than fifteen years ago?”

“You realise you’re literally wearing a wedding ring.”

“And you’re not. Any other observations you’d like to make? Sky is blue, maybe?”

“Normally people wear wedding rings to show they’re married.”

“Maybe some people wear them to avoid annoying questions. Anyway, Philip says that I’m coming across very well so far and that ITV has received hundreds of complaints from people who can’t understand your accent.”

“He did not fucking write that, give it here –”

*

“Am I getting along better with Jamie? I dunno, I never had a problem with him to be fair, it’s him that’s always –”

*

“Friends? With Gary? Behave. Have we managed to go a single day so far without him shoutin’ at me for somethin’ I did, or somethin’ I didn’t do right, or for – for breathing in the wrong direction. Christ, I’ve never met anyone this fussy. He’s too easy to wind up.”

*

“He must be doin’ it on purpose, surely nobody is that thick – I mean, is it so hard to stack a couple of dishes when you’ve finished washing them?”

“Well, no, yeah, he did stack them, but did you see – they were all out of order, there’s no stability – they’re certain to all fall and break in the night thanks to him.”

*

All the effort that goes into the Dingo Dollars task and all the camp has to show for it is a single square of chocolate each. Gary nibbles carefully at his, trying to preserve it for as long as possible.

Jamie gets up and goes to sit beside him.

“Here.”

“Wha?”

“Here, I don’t like sweets.”

“You don’t – what kind of a psychopath don’t like sweets?”

“Will you just take the bloody chocolate before I change my mind.”

*

“You’re limping. Why are you limping?”

“Done my ankle in the last trial.”

“Trust you to get injured doin’ a trial. What’d you do, you slip or somethin’?”

“Why don’t you ask your mate, he’s the expert on slipping.”

“Ha ha. But really, Gary – you alright?”

“I’m fine, Carra, ‘s not even strained. Just a bit achy. Twenty years as a professional athlete will do that to you.”

“Give it here.”

“You what?”

“Give it here, I do an okay massage. Maybe that’ll stop yer whining.”

“I literally didn’t say a word until you brought it up.”

*

“I don’t know, he’s – ugh, he’s…”

“He’s not what I expected. I dunno. He’s just not what I expected.”

*

“D’you know how many times me and Gary played a full ninety together with England? One. We only ever played one full match on the same side, and it was shite.”

“It always felt like there was only room for one of us, so I just – I fucking hated him. ‘cause it wasn’t me the managers were picking, was it?”

*

“Carra?” Gary whispers

“What.”

“Carra, I can’t sleep.”

“Don’t give a fuck.”

“Jamie.”

Jamie reluctantly sits up in his camp bed, squints at Gary in the dark. “What.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You already said that.”

“I want to go for a walk, clear my head.”

“Good for you.” Jamie lies back down and pulls his sleeping bag over his face.

“Jamie.”

“I swear to God, Gaz…”

“Yer not gonna make me go out there alone, are ya? It’s the middle of the night.”

“What are you, twelve? Fine, just give me a minute to find my shoes.”

*

“It’s very dark, isn’t it?”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

They hadn’t ended up walking very far, just to the log benches in the next clearing over before agreeing the risk of tripping over tree roots was too high and sitting down to just talk instead.

“My internal clock’s all thrown off, we’ve been here nearly two weeks and I still can’t get the hang of it. At home to be fair I’m normally in bed by ten, half ten.”

“I remember, from England. You and Phil were such geeks, weren’t you?”

“Most capped brothers in England, thank you very much.”

“D’you miss him?”

“Nah. Don’t get to see ‘im much anyway, to be fair. He’s off in America, Trace is out here, they’re both just – getting on with it, aren’t they? I prob’ly miss my house more’n anything else.”

“Your house… not your friends? Not football?”

“I like my house! It’s got everythin’ just the way I like it.”

“Alright, alright. Fine, you can miss your house.”

“Wha’d’you miss? Your kids? The missus?”

“I dunno really… kids are both all grown up now, missus went back to being a ms a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

“Is what it is. Anyway, I miss football even if you don’t, honest to God, what kind of a footballer are ya? I wish someone would slip me this week’s standings, feel like I’m going insane tryin’ to imagine all the results.”

“Should’ve said something sooner, twat. I can tell you how the league’s going.”

“You can?”

“Yes. Manchester United are on a – how many games’ve we missed now? – they’re on a three game winning streak and have shot to the top of the league.”

“Oh yeah? What about Liverpool?”

Gary tuts and shakes his head. “Relegation zone, I’m afraid.”

“We were top of the table when I came in ‘ere!”

“Well, you know what they say – anything can happen in football, can’t it?”

“You’re right, what’s that… I’m getting reports from Old Trafford that Salah’s just scored a hat-trick, Stretford end as well –”

“You twat! As if your Liverpool could win away against United, you’re dreaming!”

*

“Erm, yeah… it’s good to be going home, ‘course it is. Glad I wasn’t the first voted out, hah, I actually think I’ve done alright in ‘ere.”

“Yeah, no, it’s been a brilliant experience to be fair. I never thought I’d make such good friends – yeah, even him. I know, I’m as surprised as you are! Anyway, I’m wishin’ them all the very best of luck in the semi-finals.”

 *

“I mean, I know fourth place isn’t bad, but I do think I deserved to get to the finals. I’ve worked harder than anyone else here, so –”

“Well yeah, ‘course, it’s up to the public, so – if it’s my time then it’s my time.”

“What’ll I be doin’ when I get to the hotel? Dunno. Check my messages first, probably!”

“What, Gary? I saw ‘im yesterday, it’s not like I’m missin’ him already! Might get ‘im to buy me a pint, though, least he could do after I had to put up with him for three weeks.”

[writingquestionsanswered]

I've got all the writing structure/craft books, watched tons of advice videos and have been checking out novels to learn by example. But just because I can write doesn't mean I can write a book. This is hard. At what point should any writer consider taking writing courses or hiring a book coach?

When to Consider a Course or Book Coach

Reading books, reading craft books, and watching advice videos isn't enough to teach you how to write a book. You also have to practice...

Imagine if you'd never sewn anything before, had never pieced together and hand sewn or machine sewn anything in your life. You could spend years reading books about sewing and garment construction and could watch hours upon hours of sewing videos on the internet, but that doesn't mean the first time you sit down to actually sew a garment, you're going to end up with a garment worthy of a ritzy department store...

Writing books IS hard, even if you've written a lot of them. I've written a dozen books (though they're not all published), and I still don't find writing a book to be a piece of cake. Part of that is just because different books present different challenges--and where you are in life can also play a big role--but the point is, no amount of learning or practice is going to make it easy.

There's an unfortunate myth among aspiring authors that being an author looks like this: spending some time learning to write, writing your book, and voila! You have a book to publish! The truth is very few authors publish the first book they ever wrote, and if they did, they probably have mountains of short stories and/or fan-fiction or other writing behind them. Most writers write two or three books before their skills are honed enough to write a publishable book. Which doesn't mean you can't write a publishable book on your first try, it just doesn't happen a lot.

So... writing courses... there's not a lot you're going to learn in a writing course that you haven't probably learned from reading, reading a lot of craft books, and watching a lot of advice videos. Certainly, anything you would learn in a writing course you can learn online for free. The main benefit of a writing course is the interaction with others, but even that is really dependent upon the teacher and your classmates. You really have to go into it with a thick skin, knowing that the opinions of your teacher and classmates are not the end all be all.

Writing coaches can be great but they're expensive, and you get more out of the experience if you go into it with a complete or near complete WIP that you want to query or publish, but can't quite get where you want it to be.

So, having said all of that, before pursuing either a writing course or coach, I would recommend trying to finish one or two WIPs to at least first draft stage, but preferably second draft stage, and see how you feel. They don't have to be good. In fact, if you haven't completed a WIP before, they're not going to be your best work (because that comes much later), but remember that part of the writing process is taking the "rough draft" and improving it, and revision is where you really start learning things.

Ultimately, though, follow your gut and follow the path that feels right to you. ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[lfghughes]

Mess In The Kitchen

a/n: i got this cute request that has been sitting in my inbox and i think the timing is perfect now to post it after my jamie and trevor fic

Flipping through the different recipes online, you finally found one for some pasta you figured Trevor and Jamie would like. For the past month at least once a week you would cook for Trevor. It was really the first time you cooked for anyone and Trevor seemed to really like the nights you cooked so you made it a thing. After a few times of you going over to cook though Jamie pointed out that you had yet to make him food too so the three of you picked today to have dinner all together.

You picked baked ziti because you figured it would be the easiest dish that everyone would like and you had gone over extra early to cook for the boys. You were excited to have Jamie finally try your food. “Alright, dinner is served.” You told the boys as you set the hot dish on the table for the three of you. Immediately Trevor dug into the food and Jamie followed behind.

When it was your turn you put a few scoop fulls on your own plate. You gave the boys a few minutes to really dig and you couldn’t help but beam up at them, waiting to see what they would say. “So what do you think?” You asked and Trevor gave you a thumbs, a smile on his lips. “This is amazing.” You immediately caught the look of confusion on Jamies face as he turned his attention to Trevor. 

“Jamie?” You asked and he pushed his food around the plate a little. “Uh, you know I love you, right?” He asked and a nervous laugh left his lips. “Yes…” You started slowly as you waited for him to continue on. “What Jamie is trying to say is, he fell more in love with you because this food is amazing.” Again a look of confusion crossed Jamies face as he looked at Trevor again. “Well no…I mean, it’s not horrible it’s just..The pasta isn’t really cooked all the way through and it’s kind of…bland.” He winced a little at the last word and you could tell he was trying to not hurt your feelings.

Your cheeks flashed red at his words “I am so sorry.” You immediately started and Jamie shook his head “It’s fine really, I mean you said you’re still learning.” He tried to cover up his criticism and you appreciated that but a bigger question came to mind as you turned to Trevor. “Wait have you been telling me it’s good this whole time to not hurt my feelings?” You asked and his jaw dropped slightly. “I mean…yes?” He said quietly and your own jaw fell open. “Trevor why would you do that?”

“I can think of a few reasons why he does that.” Jamie teased with a small laugh and Trevor pushed him in warning. “Uh…Do you think maybe we could talk for a minute.” He paused looking over at Jamie “Privately.” At the last word Jamie held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll be in my room.” And with those words he retreated into the house. Your attention turned back towards Trevor. “I’m not really sure how to say this but uh..you see. I’ve kind of have had this big crush on you.”

His words had caught you by surprise but there was still confusion there. “Wait so because of your feelings for me…You didn’t tell me my food sucks?” You asked and he shrugged sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings but I can see why it’s important that I wasn’t honest.” He admitted to you and you nodded your head. “Well yeah because if you’re wanting to be my boyfriend you’re going to have to be honest even if my food is the worst ever.”

[alexanderlightweight]

Hey, hoping you and your loved ones are doing well and that you are regaining your strength and health. Just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. This is me sending virtual hugs :)

Thank you!!!!

Anon this made me feel so much better about things recently I really appreciate you!

Also just; you and everyone on tumblr hs been so amazing and nice and understanding. I appreciate all of you, my ao3 has been getting a lot of commands about updates and I’m just… I want to update too! I write every day in my head. Im just typically wiped out after but I’ve stabilized enough in PT that we don’t have to do it as often. So i won’t be a turtle rolled on its back when I got home from it as much.

I got a lot sick due to being around a group of traveling, germ collecting niblings a few months ago. Since i hadn’t recovered from Covid (kept getting small illnesses). What followed was me finally getting into a few appointments I’d been waitlisted for months on. So I’ve been doing some hard core physical therapy and some other stuff to try and get my health back up.

@queensaryn aka Saeth’s fibro got fucked up with Covid and they’ve barely managed to leave the house twice a month (even just to sit in the car while I get groceries) but they’re also improving albeit slowly. We have to be careful with their goals and limits. Basically they have to be treated like an overripe peach or a plum blossom, or baby strawberries.

Very delicate.

The rest of the house recovered faster but they still have some long Covid symptoms like us and it’s been hard for everyone. Months past and sometimes one of us will still get taken by surprise when the lingering affects hit us.

But we’re getting better! Sorry if that seemed pessimistic, it’s been exhausting, but I’m definitely finally getting stronger. It does seem like every time I make two steps forward we find something else wrong and I go 1-3 steps back but after three years of fighting I’m getting help for some old injuries and damage.

Just last night I was plotting out a scene in ‘a craft of adoration’ that I can’t wait to actually type out. So thank you again for the encouragement, it makes me want to push through because I really love writing. And it’s a lot more encouraging then some very backhanded compliments and demands for updates on ao3.

Which tbf, they probs don’t know I’m sick and have been struggling but I’m already fighting so hard to get better that it gets discouraging. So thank you for lifting my spirits!

And thank you to everyone else who has sent me and the House well wishes if they happen to see this. My inbox is a little bursting rn with prompts so I tend to get distracted very easily when I try to look through it.

Sending virtual hugs back and lots of Nightshade cuddles!

I will say that the Abyss and Nightshade have both been incredibly cuddly since I got sick. Nightshade throws a tantrum if anyone in the House so much as sneezes. He is horrified by the thought of any one getting sick again

💜 lumine

[notyouraryang0dd3ss]

Ok, I’ll guess I’ll just be the Hiddles anon. Lol since my hatred for her really geared up bc of her involvement with him.

Anyway. So wait. She cheated on Joe??? That’s like the third time she’s cheated, if I’m not mistaken.

She cheated on Calvin — or at least there was an overlap — with Tom Hiddleston. Then she insinuated in her shit music, that she used Tom as a rebound or cover bc she actually wanted Joe (she met them both around the same time at the Met Gala in 2016). And she used Joe to “prove” how private she really was bc she blamed Tom for their “romance” being so out there.

The man would travel between London and various places in America without a peep, but, sure, Jan.

Their breakup always cracks me up bc he was supposed to fly from LA to the east coast somewhere to meet back up with her. On her plane. They had paps on the tarmac in LA to show him getting on the plane. Then they had paps waiting with her on the east coast to catch them reuniting. Except when the plane landed no one got out. So she went and climbed onboard. A few minutes passed and she came stomping out of the plane mad as a hornet and shooed the paps away. Word got out that he decided after his awkward and uncomfortable appearance at ComicCon some time before that (when he literally said the words “Taylor Swift and I are in love” 🙄) that he didn’t want to be a part of this PR nightmare anymore. So he didn’t get on the plane. And to add insult to injury, it was said he left a small gift bag on one of the seats. Inside it? A self-help book for getting over narcissism. 🤣🤣🤣 He popped up like a week later in London near where he lived. Proving he can get around without anyone noticing him.

During this PRship is when I really got an idea of how she operates and controls her image. She has a three month plan: the “outing,” so to speak (pix on the rocks kissing with Hiddles), being seen out and about (them kissing and touring in time and other places), pix with his family (they walked on the beach near his mother’s home with his mother, sister, and young niece), and then her supporting her friends (they attended a Selena Gomez concert fighter….he looked like a dad accompanying his daughter and her friends 🤦🏽‍♀️). She also has scripts for what her partner is supposed to say. I’ve heard he kept them and he and his friends would sit around (after they broke up) and read them out loud and laugh their asses off at the terrible writing. It’s probably why he sounded so wooden and uncomfortable when he spoke about her during the, what I call, Snakebite of Summer 2016. The rumors were she was trying to get him to take her to the Emmys that September but he didn’t want to.

Anyway…yeah I have a lot of intel from those days 😂 (sorry for the long ass ask!)

hiddleswift lore? in MY inbox? in 2024? it’s more likely than you think! I love this rundown thank you for explaining it!

She’s cheated 3 times and she’s still the victim in all her music? HOW? And how the hell did she convince her fans too?

So she cheated on Calvin with Tom to get with…Joe? This is so manipulative. I hate feeling bad for men but she genuinely makes me feel bad for her exes. She’s awful. If he actually left the self help book, he’s so funny for that. It’s been 8 years and she still hasn’t changed.

Your analysis of her PR relationships is on point! I see the same thing happening with Kelce. With the release of this album it feels like she’s intentionally fizzling out their romance. The scripts make sense because all of her partners sound the same when talking about her. How miserable she must be knowing all the love her partners have for her is fabricated.

[ugh-yoongi]

the dogs of war | ksj

pairing: seokjin x reader

genre: politician au, lite enemies to lovers; crack, fluff

warnings: use of US political positions & terms, swearing, bickering, alcohol, a lot of bad jokes, unedited because i think i've kept these requests waiting long enough. if there's anything glaringly bad, though, lmk.

wordcount: 2.3k

had a few seokjin requests in my inbox from the valentine's day drabbles, so i decided to combine them into one fic:

bare — as they get undressed, the sender gently places a soft, tender kiss against the receiver’s bare shoulder.

"i really don't know if this is a yes."

"you need to stop doing that." / "do what?" / "that little eye thing you do when i walk into the room."

You’re not even sure what this gala is for.

The hospital? No, the last one (two?) had been for the hospital. Needed pretty, important people to dress up in pretty, expensive clothes to raise money for their new wing (board members’ salaries). You know it’s not for the police union, because you wouldn’t be caught dead at one of those, and you’re almost certain the gala for the animal shelter was the one you’d shown up late to last week.

So, yeah—you’re stumped.

Not that it really matters. You’ve fulfilled the requirements and paid the ticket price. Poured yourself into a dress that is, admittedly, a size too small; a dress you will probably have to cut yourself out of later on. Got your hair and makeup and nails done real nice. Rented jewelry three times your annual salary. There isn’t a person in this place that has taken dress pretty, look prettier more seriously than you.

Well, until.

“You need to stop doing that.”

You roll your eyes. Pluck a flute of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and down it in one go. “Stop doing what?”

“That little eye thing you do when I walk into the room,” Seokjin answers, crooked fingers moving to work at his stupid bowtie. “You can’t possibly expect to be the best-looking person in every room, especially when we’re forced to attend the same events.”

You huff. Privately, because you’d be better off dying than letting Seokjin know he’s successful at getting under your skin. “I can and I do.”

“Well, we all have a tragic flaw.”

“What’s yours, then?”

“Let me rephrase: most of us have a tragic flaw. Not me, though.”

There’s still forty minutes until dinner. Forty minutes until you will once again be forced to sit next to Seokjin and watch as he effortlessly charms the entire table. Watch as people foolishly trip over themselves to get on his good side, laughing at his stupid jokes, complimenting his perfectly-styled hair and his flawless skin and his suits that cost far too much money for a person who claims to be a socialist.

“I’m voting no on your most recent proposal, by the way. Figured I’d get that out of the way early.”

Seokjin sputters, chokes on a hors d'oeuvre someone had probably bent over backwards to hand-deliver to him on a little plate. “What? Why? I specifically wrote in all those stupid provisions you requested.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Fuck you,” he whispers, “I spent months—”

“That’s politics, baby.”

“You’re gonna be the only one,” he accuses, borderline seething, as if you don’t already know this. “Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok are finally on board, so you’re gonna be the lone dissenter. Might be really embarrassing for you.”

“It won’t be,” you assure him. You might be petty and spiteful (you are in politics, after all) but you’re not an idiot (you are in politics, after all, so maybe that’s not true). “Section nine, subsection twelve. That’s my get out of jail free card.”

“That’s the proposed redistricting map. The one you wanted.”

You offer up a smile, pinch at Seokjin’s cheek. “Exactly, and you spelled one of my town’s names wrong. Therefore, I cannot, in good conscience, vote for it. What would my constituents say?”

“You’re tanking this entire thing over a typo? I’ll call Namjoon right now and have him fix it.”

“The Namjoon that’s currently at the open bar going shot-for-shot with Jimin? Looks a little green? Good luck. At least I hired a Chief of Staff who can hold their liquor.”

Steam practically pours out of his ears. He certainly looks to be on the verge of a mental break, what with the angry flush that’s taken over his entire upper body. “Have you forgotten we’re on the same side here? What happened to party loyalty?”

“Oh, Seokjinnie,” you intone, “there’s no loyalty in gerrymandering.”

He scoffs. Grabs so forcefully at his own flute of champagne that he knocks the poor waiter completely off-center. Now he has no flutes of champagne and the floor has ten.

If looks could kill, this would be your funeral instead of whatever this gala is for.

As luck would have it, you do get seated next to Seokjin.

He’s usually the life of the party. Is usually cracking jokes left and right, wrapping every laterally-important person around his finger. He’s always the first person everyone looks to for a reaction—if he laughs, it’s all good; if his jaw clenches, everyone treads lightly. Either his phone or his checkbook is always out, but tonight there’s nothing more than the proverbial storm cloud over his head.

“I worked on that for months,” he tells you for the fifth time in the span of an hour. “I cannot believe you.”

You take a delicate bite of your dinner. Smile for the camera that leaves stars behind your eyes when the flash goes off. “Uh-huh.”

“This is just so typical,” he continues, seemingly uncaring who can hear him. “I bend over backwards to give you whatever you want, and you stab me in the back the first chance you get. You’re no better than the Roman senate.”

“You want me to start calling you Seok-julius? I’ll be honest, it sounds pretty bad, but if that’s what you’re into...”

“Fuck you,” he says again. “You’re a traitor of the highest degree.”

Jimin shoots you a concerned look. You respond with a roll of your eyes and mime throwing back a drink. Jimin responds with an eye-roll of his own, jerking his head in Namjoon’s direction, then he nods. Him, too, he mouths, then promptly turns his attention back to the older woman beside him whose husband is the head of some important committee. Thank god Jimin’s here to do all your schmoozing for you (and that he can hold his liquor).

“You’re the worst.”

“Okay, Seokjin.”

“I’m getting another drink. Do you want anything?” You stare at him in disbelief, blinking slowly. “I don’t know if that’s a yes.”

“It definitely isn’t. Haven’t you drank enough?”

“No,” comes his immediate response. “My current level of inebriation is disproportionate to the amount of suffering you have bestowed upon me this evening.”

“I don’t know if that’s true. Your eyes are all glassy and your face is really red. I’ve certainly retaken the lead in the best-looking contest—”

“You are insufferable.” Then, because the alcohol has loosened his lips and he can’t seem to help himself, he says, “You are always the best-looking person in any room. Fuck, I need another drink. Namjoonie, get me another drink, please. I regret to inform you I am, in fact, too drunk to leave this table.”

Inexplicably, Namjoon looks at you. Looks like a deer in headlights, but turns to you nonetheless, and you feel your jaw drop. “No,” you tell him, “I’m not dealing with him. He’s your chief.”

“But it’s your fault he’s this drunk,” Namjoon argues, because he’s a shithead who majored in pre-law in undergrad. “He won’t make it to the big speech, at this rate.”

“What are you, five? Then take him home,” you hiss. This is rapidly spiraling out of control. Seokjin, at Level Zero Inebriation, would never compliment you, so he must be very far gone to concede the best-looking title to you.

It makes your stomach hurt.

Jimin’s still busy charming the pants off the committee wife. Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok are deep in conversation and only loyal to one another, so they’ll be no help. You could probably wrestle Seokjin’s phone out of his hands to call one of his lesser staff members, perhaps his driver, but he’d almost certainly cause a scene. Start squawking at you in that tone of his that’s liable to break sound barriers, and that’s the last thing you need.

So, with all the decorum you can muster, you shove the last forkful of risotto in your mouth and fire off a text to your own driver.

Ten minutes, comes the response.

You show the text to Jimin, who merely nods and tells you good luck. You hate that you’re going to need it.

You don’t know how much Seokjin weighs, but you’re certain eighty-percent of it is in his shoulders.

Thankfully Jungkook, your driver, is much more buff and far less considerate than you are, because he’d just thrown Seokjin over his shoulder and deposited him on your couch, uncaring of his protests and warnings of impending vomit.

“Not my house, not my problem,” was his response.

“Wow, rude,” was yours.

Before anything else, you fetch a bucket and a sleeve of crackers. “Eat up,” you tell Seokjin, who unsurprisingly gives you the finger in turn. “Very mature. Don’t forget you’re only here as the result of your own actions.”

Seokjin mimics you under his breath, and you have half a mind to dump a glass of water on him. But he looks so… helpless. Simultaneously green in the face and pale, looking far from the man with the million-dollar skincare routine; suit rumpled, jacket thrown carelessly over the arm of the couch, shoes untied but still on his feet. You don’t have any pets because you’re never home and are woefully inept of taking care of anything, but something about Seokjin in this moment kicks some long-forgotten nurturing gene into high gear.

So you fetch some water and a blanket. Busy yourself making coffee, because it’s not even nine p.m. and you’re usually never home before midnight, let alone tucked into bed. And those stupid gala entrees are small, so you rummage through your kitchen for something to snack on.

“Did you make enough coffee for two?” you hear from the living room.

“Yeah,” you call back. “How do you take it?”

“Preferably not from my sworn enemy’s kitchen, but I suppose I’ll have to make an exception.”

“I’m gonna spit in it,” you tell him. An overexaggerated gag comes from his direction.

“Never mind. Can I take a shower?”

If you thought getting him out of the car and in the front door had been difficult, it’s nothing compared to helping him into the shower.

Which you shouldn’t even be doing, considering he’s insistent on not showering in his briefs but also isn’t capable of undressing himself, so it all feels clandestine. Now the two of you are crammed in the bathroom attached to the guest room—the one with the bog standard shampoo and conditioner and body wash, because you don’t trust Seokjin not to pour all your expensive stuff down the drain out of spite.

“Help me help you,” you beg, righting him for the nth time. It’s those goddamn shoulders of his. He’s too top-heavy; makes him susceptible to tipping over sideways into the wall.

“Can’t,” he responds. Barely manages to pop the button on his suit pants before he tips into the wall again.

A frustrated groan escapes you. You’ll never get him into the shower at this rate, and you really want to eat that snack. Not to mention the coffee’s going to get all bitter and gross if you leave it in the carafe too long. “You’re really inconveniencing me, you know that?”

“Sorry.”

You huff, turn him forcefully so he’s facing you. Start working at the buttons of his dress shirt. Tom Ford. Black silk. Probably cost a fortune, because it’s also been perfectly tailored to accentuate his waist, which is… not great for your mental well-being. Doesn’t help that his heady cologne is still stubbornly clinging onto the fabric.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he answers. “I say a lot of things. Don’t usually mean most of them, no.”

“Definitely a politician, then.”

He sighs. Tips his head back, puts that horrible neck on full display. You cover your whimper with a cough. “I thought it best not to fight the inevitable,” he says. “I’m charming. People want to give me things. Might as well use my powers for good.”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply distractedly. Only three buttons left. Thank god he’s wearing an undershirt. “Makes sense.”

“Well, I try to. Hard to do that when someone votes against the proposals I’ve spent months drafting.”

“Uh-huh. Hey, turn around, I think your shirt’s caught on something in the back.”

Seokjin obliges. Blocks your view of your bathroom with his giant shoulders. You’re so glad he can’t see the look on your face, because it’s already pretty pathetic, but then he says, “I did mean what I said, though. About you.” He clears his throat, the flush creeping up his neck again. “Being pretty.”

Your hands tremble as you get his shirt unstuck. As you untuck it from his pants and push it off his shoulders. As you fold it carefully and place it on the counter. As you see a scar on his shoulder and trace your fingers over it. “What’s this from?”

“Assassination attempt,” Seokjin deadpans.

“Can’t imagine why anyone would want to murder you.”

“Me neither.” Then, quieter: “Got it when I fell out of a tree.”

“How old were you?”

“Nineteen.”

You snort your laughter, feeling a little brave with Seokjin’s back to you. “You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, and when he nods again, you throw caution to the wind entirely.

Press onto the tips of your toes. Press a soft kiss to the scar on Seokjin’s shoulder. Smile again at the soft gasp that escapes him, the way he tips over again and expects to bang into the wall, except you’ve turned him all around so there’s nothing to catch him. He tries grabbing onto the shower curtain but it’s hopeless, so he goes toppling into the tub.

“You’re really falling for me, huh?” you ask, extending your hand to help him up. He’s groaning in pain, but he takes it anyway, pulling you in with him. Can’t say you didn’t expect it. Seokjin’s a shithead before he’s anything else.

His arms snake around your waist immediately. “If I say yes, will you change your vote on my proposal?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

[something-tofightfor]

Competing For Christmas 10: Last Christmas

Pairing: Modern Din Djarin x Female Reader

Word Count: 11,170

Rating: E - but not all the way through. 

Summary: 

Making plans for the future means telling the people you care about what’s going on ... how will they take it? Mandalorian traditions are new to you, but that doesn’t mean that there’s no place for them alongside your own holiday celebrations.

Author’s notes:

I’ll keep it simple here - this is it. This story has come to an end, and I’m so happy with what I’ve written and the story I’ve told for these two. Thank you for giving this version of Din a chance, and for sticking around throughout the whole thing.  More gratitude at the end if you want to read it - I’ll let you get to reading now. 

** Mando’a translation at the end of the chapter. **

Questions, concerns, comments? My inbox is open!

To get alerted when I post new chapters/stories, follow @somethingtofightfor-shares and turn on post notifications - you can also ask to be added to my tag list (link in bio or at the top of my taglist reblog)

Masterlist  / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5.1 / Part 5.2 / Din’s POV Interlude / Part 6.1 / Part 6.2 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 

You were more nervous than you wanted to admit as the two of you stepped toward your parents’ front door the following morning. 

It wasn’t because you were unsure of Din. It was because you knew that no matter how much trust your family had in you to do what was best for yourself, what you were about to tell them you had planned was not going to be what they wanted to hear. And I get it, but … 

“You alright?” Din’s fingers were laced with yours, the man squeezing your hand tightly as he spoke. “You just got really stiff, and -”

“I’ll be ok. It’s just going to be a lot for them to take in, and …” You sighed. “And it’ll probably be a lot of questions for you.” 

“I can handle it.” He leaned over, kissing the side of your head. “Believe it or not, I’m a pro at diffusing difficult situations when I’ve got the proper motivation.” You believed him, and even though you were still worried, you were thankful that you wouldn’t have to face the truth alone. 

Raising your free hand, you settled it on the doorknob, taking a deep breath. “Here goes nothing, Din.” 

— 

The first half of the day went well, and your family seemed to love the man. 

After explaining that his presence was a last minute decision thanks to a change of his original plans, he’d joined in on the festivities.

Din participated in the white elephant game with one of the extra gifts your mother always bought and wrapped, and himself into conversations as often as he could, charming your father with endless pictures of Grogu. He sat back and watched as the three of you exchanged gifts, and the smile didn’t leave his face the entire time, even though you could see that the situation made him a little uneasy. Is it because he isn’t participating, or because he sees … that this is so important to us? 

You didn’t know - and planned on asking as soon as you could. But it would need to wait, because as the day want on, things shifted - and your parents increased their focus on getting to know the man sitting beside you.

They asked him a few questions but nothing too personal, even though you knew that they wanted to. And to his credit, Din answered each one candidly, explaining that he’d grown up not knowing his parents and under the care of Mandalore’s foster system, that he’d been in school until his mid 20’s, participated in military training, and had only decided to experience what life was like in Mistletoe much later on, once he’d taken care of most of his immediate responsibilities. 

He told the truth but not the entire truth each time he spoke, since you’d decided that you weren’t going to say anything about leaving until after dinner.  That way … if they get upset, I won’t have ruined the whole holiday. 

The doorbell rang later that afternoon while the four of you were sitting around and watching a movie, and Din’s eyes immediately went to it. You calmed him with one hand on his arm, leaning over to let him know what was going on. “Just my aunt and uncle. They always stop over on their way home from his sister’s.” He nodded, taking a breath and relaxing his shoulders. 

When Din turned his head to speak quietly into your ear, you felt goosebumps rise on your arms, the warmth of his breath on your skin making you shiver. “So will they be here when … we tell them?” Yeah. You nodded, lips pressed together. I hope that’s ok. “Alright.” 

“She’s the one that asked where you were last night.” You nudged him, smiling. “Wondered why I didn’t bring you, so I’m sure she’s going to be -”

“Oh, so he is here.” Your aunt Carol stepped into the room, busy unwinding her scarf from around her neck. “Jess, come meet the new guy.” You rolled your eyes, sighing. He’s got to know that’s not how I introduced him. “We’ve heard a lot about you.” She stepped closer and Din pushed to his feet, extending his hand and nodding as he took hers - and then her husband’s, introducing himself. “Din. That’s an unusual name. Is it short for something?”

“It isn’t.” He smiled, shrugging. “Where I’m from, we usually take on a name from our family’s history, as a way to honor the past. Din’s … well, I don’t really know the whole story behind it, but it -” He was flustered and so you interjected, reaching up to tug on his hand and urge him to sit down next to you. 

“Aunt Carol’s nosy but she means well, I promise.” The woman scoffed, sinking onto the loveseat without looking away from the two of you. “I’m going to go and get a drink, does anyone need anything?” Din raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking toward the kitchen. “Is it time?” 

“I think it is.” He stood again, extending his hand and helping you to your feet before turning to face the rest of your family. “We brought a traditional Mandalorian drink for everyone to try, if you’d like.” 

“Is it alcohol?” Carol leaned forward, her smile widening. “Because I love trying new -”

“It is.” He smiled, nodding once. “We’ll get it ready and then bring it out to all of you.” Your parents agreed, too, shooing you out of the room. So they can talk about him, I’m sure. When you and Din were alone in the kitchen, you took a few seconds to compose yourself, gripping the edge of the counter and taking a deep breath as you leaned over the sink. “We can still wait to tell them,” he started, stepping close and settling a hand on your back. “I know what you said last night, but -”

“Din, I’m leaving in like 48 hours. They need to know.” You looked up at him, giving him a tight smile. “Their reaction won’t change my mind about going with you, but I’m … I’m worried they won’t support it entirely, and -” And I’d like them to.

“Oh, they won’t.” He laughed quietly, heading for the refrigerator. “What parents would? We weren’t close until a few weeks ago, and now you’re just … leaving to go across an ocean with me?” He uncorked the jug as you reached for glasses and set them on the counter, eyeing Din as he lifted the neck to his nose and inhaled. “This is a good batch.” He sighed. “I’d expect nothing less from Boba, though.” 

“I’m excited to try it. Can you tell me what to expect?” It was changing the subject, but that was fine with you. I don’t want to think about the fact that before Thanksgiving, we didn’t even really know each other

“About that.” He wet his lips, pouring two fingers of the drink into a glass and setting the bottle down. “It’s tradition for …” He sighed. “This is kind of strange so please forgive me.” Din reached for the glass and picked it up, turning to face you. “It’s tradition for Mandalorians to share spotchka when they’re …” He paused. “Courting.��� 

“Mandalorians or the Mand’alor?” Because if it’s all Mandalorians, that’s one thing … but if it’s just royalty … Swallowing hard, you chewed on your lower lip. “Because -”

“The Mand’alor. And I know I’m not that yet, but I’d… I’d like to do this right …with you.” Oh, Din. He’d told you that he couldn’t offer you anything concrete, and yet he was willing to participate in a sacred tradition with you - and that meant a lot. He’s got to know it. He has to realize it, especially if I do. 

“Ok.” You nodded. “Ok, so how do we…” You trailed off as he lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip before holding the remaining liquid out to you. You took it and did the same, keeping your gaze on him. 3 … 2 … 1…. 

You didn’t know what to expect, but the spotchka was sweet as you first sipped it, your eyes widening at the taste. Oh, that’s not … that’s not bad. Taking a larger drink, you smiled with a full mouth, raising an eyebrow before you swallowed, setting the glass down on the countertop. Din’s grin grew, the man reaching out with one hand to swipe his thumb over your lower lip, his eyes bright. “Did you like it?” Ok, we’re definitely going to have to talk about this later. I need him to understand how much it meant to me.  

“I did.” You looked at the jug. “It wasn’t what I expected, though. Is it … is it supposed to be salty? It’s sweet, too, but there’s a little bit of -”

“It is.”  He busied himself with rinsing the glass you’d used and re-corking the bottle. “It’s brewed with seawater, which adds the brine, but there’s also fruit in the mix.” He waited until you’d put the glasses onto a tray to continue as you walked back toward where your family was. “Each batch is a little different, depending on when and where it’s made, but it’s the same general taste.” 

You set the tray down on the table and Din did the same with the bottle. Everyone leaned forward, ooh-ing at the color of the bright blue liquid, but it was your mother that spoke first, keeping her eyes on Din as he poured. “Are we celebrating something? This feels like we’re celebrating something, and I don’t mean Christmas.” 

Din didn’t falter in his movement, finishing the pour and beginning to hand the glasses out, one at a time. But you weren’t as easily able to hide your reaction, a slight frown crossing your father’s features at your brief wince. “We are.” You took a deep breath as you accepted the second to last glass from Din, glancing over at the man before you looked at your parents. “We -”

“Are you pregnant?” Your aunt spoke first, narrowing her eyes. “No, that’s not it, you’re drinking today, and you drank last night, so -” 

“I’m not pregnant. I promise.” Laughing, you held up the glass and looked around the room. “It’s nothing like that, but …” With another look at Din - the man nodding so quickly you almost missed it - you continued. “We’re celebrating Christmas and … the fact that Din is going to be named as the Mand’alor next week when he goes home.” 

The room was silent - and then it wasn’t, your uncle cutting in as he leaned closer. “Can you repeat that?” 

“Drink first and then we will.” Din’s tone was steady, the man gesturing with his spotchka. “It’s better to drink it right after pouring.” 

“Merry Christmas, everyone.” There were murmurs of the same in return, and as all of you drained the small amount of liquid Din had poured, you mentally cursed yourself. That wasn’t slick. I could have done that better. I could have - 

“What’s a Mand…alore?” Your mother frowned, setting the empty glass down. “That was a very good drink, but… going home? That seems like -”

“The Mand’alor is my country’s version of a king or queen.” Din straightened his shoulders. “And your daughter is correct in saying that as of next week, my plans to formally fill the role will be announced.” He took a breath. “A good friend of mine currently holds the position, and he’s stepping down, so it’s my turn.” You reached over, squeezing his knee. “And that means that I’m headed back home in the next few days to make those plans.” 

“But the two of you are …” Your father leaned back in his chair, staring at Din. “How are you here right now if you’ve got such a responsibility?” 

“This - my time in Mistletoe - wasn’t ever going to be permanent.” Din set his glass down, shaking his head. “I was supposed to be here until later this year, and then go back, but … circumstances have changed, and I need to go back sooner. I came here to enjoy my last little bit of freedom before I take the title, and things … well, they didn’t go as planned.” Din lowered his head briefly and then raised it, making sure to make eye contact with each of your parents in turn. “Your daughter asking me to be her partner for this competition wasn’t part of my plan, but now … now it’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.” 

He wasn’t lying - you knew that he wouldn’t dare, and you inhaled sharply at his words, your fingers tightening against his knee, even as your mother leaned forward, opening her mouth to speak. One of the best things? But it’s only been a few weeks, it … “So you’re just going to… what? Have your fun here and then leave? The two of you seem very close. My daughter isn’t just going to -”

“Mom.” You glanced up at the ceiling, sighing. “Din and I are close. We’ve worked together since he got here, but we only really got to know each other after James and I broke up. We’re still… in the process, but, yeah. He’s leaving. And I’m …” Din’s hand covered yours, the man silently letting you know that he was there. “I’m going with him.” 

The room was silent, four pairs of eyes focused on you and Din, and for the first time, you felt true fear as you waited to see what they’d say. They have to understand, at least somewhat. They have to know that this isn’t just a crazy decision. 

“When are you leaving?” Your mother spoke first, the fingers of one hand twisting the end of her sweater’s sleeve. “If he’s announcing so soon, then it has to be before he does, right? What about your job?” 

“My plan is to leave the morning of the 27th.” Din cleared his throat, meeting the woman’s gaze straight on. “There are some … things that have come up that make it necessary for me to go back as soon as possible. There’s a plane on the way here for me right now.” 

“That man… the one that came up to you at the carnival the other night.” Your aunt took a breath, letting it out in a slow sigh. “Was that -”

“It was. That’s the current Mand’alor and my closest friend. He came here to bring me home, but I couldn’t … I couldn’t go without being honest with her.” Din reached for your hand, his head turning enough that he could look at you. “I care about your daughter. But I want to show her where I’m from before we make any long term decisions.” Your father stayed silent, his arms crossed, and you had no idea what to say in response. Something. Anything. 

“I’m leaving with Din and then I’ll be home in time to go back to work on the 5th.” You circled your thumb over Din’s knuckle, the warmth of his skin calming. “And then … then we might have some things to talk about.” It was the easiest way to explain things to them - telling them that you were going but the first trip was going to be a short one, that you were definitely coming back, that that day wouldn’t be the last time they saw you for the foreseeable future. “Besides, I haven’t been on vacation in a long time, and going somewhere for New Year’s Eve will be nice.” 

“Well I’m happy for you.” Carol held up a hand, her smile widening. “It sounds like fun. And congratulations, Din, on the new title. It sounds like -”

“Can I talk to you?” Your mother stood, pointing toward the kitchen. “Alone?” With a deep sigh, you agreed, standing. Din gave your hand one final squeeze and then dropped it, clearing his throat. 

You heard him begin to tell your family members more about Mandalore and himself as you and the woman excused yourself into the other room. It was apparent that she was fighting back emotions as you made your way to the small table, but you had no idea what she was going to say - or how you’d reply. 

She sat first, clasping her hands together and staring at them, and when she finally spoke, you were shocked to hear how incredulous she sounded, her tone sharper than you remembered her ever using with you before. “You’re telling us on Christmas that this man, this coworker of yours is actually next in line to become the king of a country that no one’s ever heard of?”

It was difficult to keep your voice even, but your desire to make her understand outweighed the part of you that wanted to lash out. “Yeah, mom. He was here for the last little bit of time he’ll have to himself before he takes over for Boba. He decided to leave Mandalore and see what else was out there, and… he ended up here.”

“And you knew this? But you didn’t say anything earlier? Why? Why didn’t you tell us?” She blinked a few times, her eyes filled with tears when she met yours. “Why did you lie?” It hurt that she thought you’d been lying to her, but the truth was probably going to hurt more. Because it’s unbelievable. 

“No. I didn’t know.” You covered your face with your hands. “Mom, I had no idea about any of this until the night of the snowman event. I just thought he was some guy that moved here. When he finally told me, I didn’t … I didn’t believe it either. But then I looked into it, and it’s all true. I met Boba and Din explained more about Mandalore and his position. It’s all happening fast, and I know it. But it feels right. It feels … good.” 

“You just broke up with James what, two months ago?” She scoffed. “And now you’re already getting ready to leave with some man you barely know? Didn’t you say that you wouldn’t have moved from Mistletoe with James? So why now? Why with Din?” 

She was making valid points, and even though hearing them stung, you stayed strong, flattening both hands on the table.

“Because James wanted me to move without any certainty for the future. He said he wasn’t ready to marry me or plan a life with me, but I needed to be ready to move as soon as he found an opportunity.” You rolled your eyes. “Din offered me a choice. He asked me to go with him. And he was honest about the fact that it might not work out after I see what being with him means after he takes over.” You reached out, touching the back of one of her hands. “I know it’s fast, and I know you probably think I’m an idiot. Maybe I am. But I wouldn’t have agreed to go if I didn’t … if I didn’t think that we …” 

You didn’t know exactly what to say - or even how to articulate what you were feeling. If I say that I think I love him, she’ll lose it.  “You own a house. You have a good job. Your friends and family and life are here. Are you just going to leave all that for him? You’ve known this man for less than a year, and have been … are you even dating? You’ve been dating him for less than two months, and… where is Mandalore? I’ve never even heard of it.” 

“We’re not at that point yet. I’m just going to visit for a week. No one’s talking about me quitting or selling a house or leaving for good.” Yet. There was a lump in your throat, but you cleared it away, swallowing. “I don’t care what his title is. He’s a good guy, Mom. Smart. Funny. Nice. And this isn’t an ideal situation because of timing, but if I just let him go and pretend like I don’t care, or it doesn’t bother me? I’ll regret it.” Your eyes filled with tears and you brought the back of the hand that wasn’t holding hers up to press it against your lips, biting down on one knuckle. “I wouldn’t ever forgive myself for letting him walk away.” 

“Then don’t.” She pulled her hand from yours and flattened both of them on the tabletop, letting out a deep sigh. “If that’s really how you feel, you can’t ignore it. You’ve seemed … happier since the competition started, and if you care about him as much as it seems like you do, then…” She tilted her head back and swore, her eyes on the ceiling. “Then we can’t stop you. All I can do is tell you to be realistic about the way this might work out.” 

“I know.” You felt relief - and at the sound of laughter from the other room, your eyebrows rose, your gaze drifting from your mother and to the doorway. Well that sounds promising. You’d thought that your father would be the one that Din had to work hard to win over, but you’d been wrong. It’ll be fine. “He’s a great guy, Mom. You should see him with Grogu.” 

“Well maybe sometime I will.” She stood, staring at you before she placed both hands on her hips. “If he comes back.” He will. He has to. He’ll have to pack. But you didn’t say anything else, instead giving her a smile and a nod. 

“Thank you for understanding.” Biting your lower lip, you pointed at the doorway. “Want to go back in there?” 

— 

You stayed at your parents’ for another hour and a half, the six of you talking in the living room for almost the whole time. Din filled your relatives in on the proper protocol in case anyone asked questions about you, telling them to use their best judgment about what they revealed. It might not even come to that, though. If Bo-Katan is going to try and make me look bad, she could talk to James, and… 

There would be a difficult adjustment period ahead for everyone involved, even if you and Din decided that continuing things between you wasn’t the right call. And we’ll deal with it as it comes. That’s all we can do. 

Din sat in the passenger seat as you drove, the man’s elbow resting against the windowsill. “That went well.” He sighed. “Better than I expected it to, anyway.” 

“Really?” You stopped at a red light, turning your head to look at him. “My mom all but begged me not to go with you when she and I were in the kitchen because I don’t know you well enough to make that kind of decision.” He smiled, the dimple in his cheek deep. 

“How’d you convince her?” His other hand was on your knee,the man’s palm covering most of it. “Your dad was surprisingly … receptive to the idea of you coming with me, which isn’t what I thought would happen.” As you started driving again, the tires spinning briefly on the slushy street, you sighed out an agreement.

“I told her that I know that this isn’t a typical situation, but that if I let you go back to Mandalore without seeing what could happen with us, I’d regret it. And that even if it is a mistake because it doesn’t work out and I get hurt… it’s my mistake to make.” Dropping one hand to rest on top of his, you squeezed. “Our mistake to make.” 

“It’s not a mistake.” He spoke so quietly that you almost didn’t hear him, but it was impossible to ignore the way he flipped his hand over, linking your fingers together. “But I’d regret it, too.” 

Both of you were silent the final few minutes it took to get to his house - but Din didn’t let go of your hand until you were parked, headlights shining against the closed garage. “I can come in for a little while, Din, but I need to go home and pack. I have to figure out what to bring with me, and put a hold on my mail, and -” He nodded, reaching up to brush his fingertips over your chin. “There’s a lot to do and I know I have all day tomorrow, but I don’t want to forget anything.” 

“We do have stores in Mandalore.” He arched a brow. “Lots of them, actually.” He leaned in. “Some of them even sell clothes.” You laughed at that, the sound bursting out as you rolled your eyes. “But I get it.” Jerking his chin toward the house, Din wet his lips. “Let’s go inside. I’ve gotta let the womp rat out, and I’m going to need you to tell me what to do with that tree since we’re going to be gone and it’s going to die, so…” 

I didn’t even think of that. You got out of the car, locking it as the two of you headed for the front door. The sound of Grogu’s excited barks from inside made you grin, and the moment you stepped into the hallway, he made sure you knew how happy he was that you were back. 

Din let him out into the yard while you took your coat and shoes off, your fingertips trailing along the wall as you headed for the kitchen. “You’ll probably want to put the tree outside tomorrow, Din. Take the lights and ornaments off, and then set the tree out on the deck, unless you want to come back to it and have pine needles all over the floor.” Stopping next to the table, you eyed the shape of the tree, though it wasn’t plugged in. “I can help you tonight if you want, it won’t take long.” 

“We just put it up.” He stepped behind you, arms going around your upper body and pulling you back and against him. “Will it be alright if I just unplug it? I don’t mind cleaning up the needles, but taking it all apart now just seems … unnecessary.” 

“If you want.” Sighing, you closed your eyes and focused on the way his breathing felt, the rise and fall of his chest steady. “I just wanted to warn you since you’ve never had a tree before.” With a low hum, you turned in his arms to face him, one hand rising to touch his cheek. “Thank you for today. Thank you for going. Thank you for being so -” 

That was as far as you got, Din’s mouth meeting yours to silence you mid-sentence. You kissed him without hesitation, the hand at his cheek sliding back so that you could grip his hair. It wasn’t a deep kiss, but it was familiar, the man’s lips closing around your lower one and drawing it between them, the tip of his tongue pressed against it before he backed off. 

“You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome.” He smiled, hands landing on your biceps and squeezing. “I’m going to go let him in, and then you can give him his present, ok? I moved both of them downstairs.” I’d like that. He gave you a final squeeze and then let go, stepping away and then toward the door. You followed, letting Din head to the sliding door as you looked for the wrapped presents.

They were sitting on a small table next to the couch, but before you picked them up, you switched the tree on, the tiny lights twinkling from between the branches. I wish I had more to give him, this seems… like nothing. At the sound of Grogu yipping, you turned your attention to the door. You watched as the dog ran inside, shaking his entire body to fling off lingering snowflakes. “Does it ever snow in Mandalore, Din?” Grinning, you pointed at his tiny body. “Because I think he’d mss it if it didn’t.” 

“Sometimes.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Nothing like this, though. You’d have to go a couple hours away from the bigger cities to find real snow, so maybe that’s what we’ll do next year.” Grogu sniffed at your legs, nudging into them a few times. “He does really seem to like it, though.” Wait a minute. 

“You said he saw snow last summer, though?” Din nodded as he turned away from you, taking the few steps toward the fireplace before he knelt down in front of it, beginning to prep logs inside. “So does that mean you didn’t go to -”

“I went back to Mandalore, but we weren’t at the palace the whole time. Boba has … I guess you could call it a summer place, but really, it’s just where he goes when he needs some time away. It’s probably where he’ll end up after he steps down, actually.” He crinkled up a few pieces of newspaper, stuffing them between the wood. “He and I - and Grogu - went last summer to have some privacy, and there were a couple inches of snow in a few places.” Makes sense. 

Din used a long lighter to ignite the paper, staying put while he made sure that the logs were going to catch. When he was satisfied, he stood and wiped his hands on his thighs, looking at you. “You did that fast. I’m impressed.” 

“One of my many skills.” He grinned. “Figured it would be nice to have it going even if you’re not staying long.” It was nice - the crackling flames paired with the lights and the hint of pine in the air reminded you of many previous holidays. But this one, I’m with … him. “Going to grab those?” He pointed at the gifts. 

“Oh. Yeah.” Shaking your head, you reached for the table, picking up Grogu’s present and then stacking Din’s atop it before you moved to sit on the couch - much like you had the first time you visited. “You didn’t seen too worried about him getting into anything at the street fair, so I just … grabbed a little of everything.” Din sat next to you, snapping his fingers to get the dog’s attention. But he didn’t call out to him, instead turning his head toward you and lifting a brow. Oh, he wants me to… “Grogu, come.”  

“K’olar.” Leaning over so that he could whisper it into your ear, you felt his lips move against your skin. “K’olar.” 

“K’olar, Grogu.” Heart pounding, you tried to pronounce the word the same way he did, and were rewarded with an immediate response, the dog closing the distance to you before he lowered himself into a sitting position by your feet - head cocked to the side and his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “Well aren’t you cute.” 

Your smile grew as you pulled the bow off of the colored plastic around the basket, the dog’s head tilted enough to follow the movement. His tail began to wag the second the contents became visible - and when he could smell them better. But he stayed put, tail thumping against the floor.

“You’re going to spoil him.” Din leaned forward, eyeing the basket. “Where did -” You took the ball out first, holding it up and letting Grogu sniff it before you set it on the table.

“Went to Peli’s store. She had everything there. But,” you continued as you dug deeper into the basket, fingers closing around the bag of jerky. “I got him stuff that she recommended. More of those frogs. Some jerky. A big bone.” You held that up, your smile growing as Grogu got to his feet, his excitement apparent as he shuffled back and forth in place. “It’s all honestly just snacks and one toy, but -” Grogu sniffed the bone, his tongue appearing as he licked it once. “Can I let him have it?” Din nodded and you held it out closer, Grogu’s mouth opening so that he could close his teeth around the treat. “There you go, pal.” 

You let go, eyes on him as he carried it across the room and plopped down in front of the tree, getting comfortable as he dug into what he’d just been given. “He’s very food motivated.” Din rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m just glad he likes it.” The two of you watched the dog for a few seconds, but then you reached forward and began to repack the basket, lingering on the rounded surface of the sphere. “Will you have room to take all of his stuff with you? I didn’t know when you’d be leaving when I bought this, and -”

“Yes.” Din’s hand settled on your leg, his touch comforting. “Plenty of room. I could take everything in this house that wasn’t furniture, and I’d still have room on the plane.” He paused. “I probably should have told you that before. You can bring whatever you want with you, too. As much as you need.” Good to know. 

As the moment of truth drew closer, you realized that you were nervous for Din to open his gift. 

What you bought had felt right at the time, but the more you thought about it, the more you were unsure. He might not even want it.  “So.” Clearing your throat, you reached for Din’s present, using both hands to lift the box. “I didn’t want to do too much, because I didn’t want … I don’t know. I didn’t want it to seem like I was trying too hard, but …” Just do it. “Here. Merry Christmas, Din.” 

He took the box from your hands and set it atop his thighs, the tips of his fingers running over the silver paper. “Did you wrap this?” Murmuring a yes, you took a deep breath as you watched him undo the ribbon, carefully pulling it to the side. It was silver - like the paper - but there was an iridescent sheen to it that made it look darker, and you’d chosen it because it reminded you of his jacket. But if I tell him, that’ll be weird. 

“What is this?” He stared over at you, wide eyed after pulling the paper off and opening the box beneath it to reveal the filled stocking, his name embellished on the cuff of it in festive, plaid fabric. “This is…”

“It’s a Christmas tradition. Mostly for kids, but I thought that since you’ve never had one, this would…” He traced the stitched-on letters of his name, Din’s lips curving upward and into a smile. “I just hope you like it.” 

“I already do.” He set the box and lid aside and then dipped his fingers into the stocking, lifting the smaller wrapped box out first. “Should I open this now, or wait?” 

“That can be last.” Wetting your lips, you gestured with one hand. “Go ahead and look through the other stuff.” 

Over the next few minutes, Din worked through the contents of the stocking methodically. He took his time with each item, laughing at the novelty socks that were printed with the lights and exclaiming over the snacks and gift card, even as you rolled your eyes and said that it was kind of pointless since you’d be leaving so soon. 

“Maybe we can stop on the way to the airport.” He turned his head to look at you, reaching up to scratch the side of his head. “And it’ll be perfect when I come back to pack the rest of this place up.” 

“You’re coming back to do that?” It surprised you - you figured he’d have someone to come and do it, especially with the increased visibility of being named as Boba’s successor. “You’ll have the time?” 

Din sighed, opening the tin of mints and popping one into his mouth before he spoke again. “Yes to both.” He paused again, frowning as he stared at Grogu, who was still chewing diligently on the large bone. “I won’t be back here for long, but there’s … a process that I’ll follow after my name is announced. It’ll probably be six months before I’m … before I become Mand’alor, if not longer.” I didn’t realize that it would be that long. “I’ll be able to come back. I might have security with me, but …” He looked around the room. “I’ll get to come back to Mistletoe to finish a few things.” 

“OK.” Closing your eyes, you nodded. “Well, then I look forward to seeing you then.” He moved closer, one arm winding around you and urging you to lean against him. “Din? What -”

“We’ve got to use that weekend getaway, right?” Really? “We won that together, and we’re using it together. I’ve never been to a brewery like that, and -”

You threw your arms around him, Din reacting with a surprised oof, though he didn’t move much, his return hug tight as you lowered your face to rest it against the crook of his neck. That’s something to look forward to. “

You thought I wasn’t going to be here for that?” He scoffed as you separated, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t know. I figured you wouldn’t be able to. Even if you wanted to, I wasn’t sure … it would be possible.” 

“I’ll make it work.” He tilted his head to the right. “You’ll have to get used to having security, too. Probably as soon as your name is made public, actually.” What? “Just to be safe, especially with Bo-Katan as a variable, and…” That was something that you hadn’t considered, but it made sense. 

“Well if we can avoid that, I’d like to. I don’t know how well that will work out with work and …” You gestured to the room. “Life here, but if you think it’s necessary, I won’t fight you on it. I don’t think anybody here’s going to care, but you know more about this than I do.” His hand was slowly stroking up and down your arm, eyes focused on your face. For long moments, you just looked at each other, sitting in the silence of the cozy room. But he hasn’t opened his actual present. He needs to… “Din?” There was a quiet hum in reply, Din giving you a brief smile. “You still have a present to open.” 

“I do.” He didn’t move to reach for it, though. 

Instead, Din leaned forward, lips landing against the corner of your mouth and then moving in, pressing against yours and lingering. You wondered what was going on in his mind but didn’t dare to ask, because that would have meant breaking the kiss and leaning back. It would have meant ruining the moment and forcing him to explain - and you were content. Who wouldn’t be? 

You deepened the kiss then, the fingers of one hand curled against the back of his neck while the other gripped his thigh. Even though you couldn’t see it, you felt him smile as he parted his lips, the man just as eager as you. Good. That’s good. 

He withdrew first, nipping at your lower lip as he cleared his throat, and you couldn’t stop your quiet laugh, the sound changing to a contented hum as Din stared over at you. “What?” Reaching up, you touched your cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I have something to tell you before I open this.” He took a deep breath, nodding. “It’s nothing bad it’s just…” Din’s eyes slid away from you and went to Grogu, yours following. The dog had given up on the bone - lowering his head to rest his chin atop it, eyes closed as he snoozed with it protectively between his paws. “I know that I said that we’ll see what happens in Mandalore and that I can’t promise you anything. I know that we… that you coming with me is just…to show you what my country is like, and so we’re together when Bo-Katan does whatever it is she’d going to do.” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut, and then Din opened them, looking down and reaching for your hands with both of his. This sounds serious. This sounds like … “But I really want you to want to stay.” 

His words - and the sincerity of his tone - hit you hard, your breath catching as his eyes met yours again. He looked younger and more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him, the crease between his brows deep. “I…” You squeezed his hands, thinking. “I wouldn’t have agreed to go with you if I didn’t think that staying was a possibility, Din.”

He relaxed slightly at the words, nodding once before you continued. “I understand what it means that you even invited me. I understand what it means that you’re going to … introduce me. But even if things were different and we were just going back to a normal situation? I’d still be taking it just as seriously. I’m going with you because of you and how I feel about you.” Tell him the whole truth. “And I know this is just a few days visit, but … I’ve thought about what might come next.”

“Next?” He shifted closer, keeping his fingers linked with yours. “What do you mean?”

“With my house, and my job, and figuring out what traveling between Mandalore and Mistletoe to visit friends and family might look like.” You sighed. “With what I would do in Mandalore while you did all of the leadership stuff, and if it’s legal for me to stay there as a non-resident, and -”

“Hey.” Din’s smile was wide, his cheeks round as his head moved slowly back and forth. “I’m glad to hear it, because I have, too.” He squeezed your left hand, the smile growing. “There are ways to make it all work, but we don’t have to figure that out yet, alright?” He leaned forward again, resting his forehead against yours. “This is just a visit. This is just to show you my life and to make sure I can keep you safe from whatever happens when your name and face go public.” He paused. “But I have the perfect set of rooms in the palace picked out for you, and a feeling that once you see Mandalore, you’ll love it.” 

It was your turn to laugh, eyes squeezed shut as you enjoyed his proximity. “Rooms in the palace, hmm? Is that where we’re staying when we go?” 

“No.” He sat back, easing his hold on your hands. “I’ll be splitting my time between the palace and my apartment while I get ready to take over, but for this week, it might be easier to keep under the radar by staying in my place and going there when we need to.” He said your name, his tone going serious again. “Boba and Fennec are working out logistics. I’ve gotten a couple messages from them today, so by the time we’re in the air, I’ll know more.” You nodded, still watching him, and then instead of answering, you reached for the wrapped package, handing it to the man. 

“Open.” He took it from you, his fingers closing around the box. “The longer you put it off, the more disappointed you’re going to be when you see what it is.” He laughed, rolling his eyes. 

“I doubt that.” Din slid one finger under the taped end of the box, carefully peeling the paper away. And he got closer to having it totally open, you felt your heartbeat quicken, teeth worrying your lower lip as you waited. “When did you get this?” 

“The day before the scavenger hunt.” You clasped your hands together, gaze flicking up and then back down. “Grogu’s were the last things I picked up, but your gift was the last actual present I bought.” 

He set the paper to the side, holding the box in one hand and reaching for it with the other, pulling the lid off. Here goes nothing. In the silence that followed you prepared yourself to explain - to tell Din why you’d chosen the gift you had. But it wasn’t necessary, Din’s grip on the box tightening before he set it down on the couch and then stood, reaching for you with both hands. 

You took them, letting Din pull you into a standing position before he bent down and picked the contents of the box up, tugging on your other hand to lead you toward the tree. He’s not saying anything. He’s … He kept silent as you stepped around Grogu, the dog opening one eye and peeking up at you, though he didn’t move. “Din?” 

It was little more than a whisper, but he slipped his hand free from yours and reached for one of the branches, pointing.  “How’s right here?” The anxiety disappeared entirely when you nodded, lifting one of your hands up to meet his. 

“Looks good to me.” You held the branch in place while Din slipped the silver ribbon around it, and then let go when he did, both of you stepping back at the same time. He slid an arm around your waist, pulling you closer - and then for long moments, you and Din just stared at the branches, both of you eyeing the new addition. 

“It looks like our cookies.” He spoke up first, his voice thick with emotion. “But the metal also looks like beskar, and -”

“It was the closest color I could find to it.” You wet your lips, tilting your head closer to his. “I did a little more research on Mandalore while I was shopping, and I know how important beskar is to you, but I couldn’t … I couldn’t find anything made of it on short notice, and -”

“You wouldn’t, especially here.” He took a deep breath, shifting in place beside you. “It’s very rare. And with the exception of our exports to the aerospace industry, beskar has to be … earned.” He pointed with his free hand, your eyes following the motion as the tiny lights bounced off of the shiny metal. “You wouldn’t have been able to engrave it like that, either. We have special forges and people that work with them that know how to manipulate the metal. The number of people that are able to to that is very small, so finding it for something like this is … almost impossible outside of Mandalore.” 

“Good to know.” You turned to face him, Din’s arm staying in place. “When we’re in Mandalore, will you show some to me?” You frowned. “Or is it all -”

“You’ve already seen and touched beskar.” Din’s smile grew, one brow arching. “The Mythosaur on Grogu’s collar is pure. It was my pendant first, but I wanted him to wear it. The royal Armorer has another one waiting for me when I get back to Mandalore, so you can come with me when I pick it up.”

“OK.” Agreeing, you blew out a breath. “I’d like that.” After a few seconds, you gestured to the tree, saying Din’s name softly. “I wanted you to have a memory of your time here, even if it was something small.” 

You’d looked through the mall for a long time that day for Din’s gift, but nothing has seemed right until you’d passed the kiosk near the food court. And normally, it would have been something you ignored as you walked by, but one of the ornament options caught your eye. 

There were three variations of snowflakes - each of them available in a variety of colors, including a gleaming silver metal. One of them was similar to the snowflake design that you’d chosen for your cookies, and the kiosk offered engraving. 

You kept it simple - First Mistletoe Christmas and the year in the center of the ornament, and then Din and Grogu’s names on two of the bottom branches, a blank one left between them to balance things out. 

“Even if you don’t have a tree next year, you can … I don’t know, keep it on a shelf in your room, and -”

“We’ll have a tree.” He leaned over, speaking directly into your ear. “And this will be the first thing I put on it … after the lights, of course.” You both laughed then, Din spinning you to face him so that he could hug you tightly again. “Thank you. It’s almost perfect.” Almost? What could - “You should have added your name to it, too.” 

You backed away from him immediately, eyes wild. “What? Why would… Din, that’s … we’re not … we weren’t…” But we are now. And we spent this whole Christmas season together, and … “It was for you and Grogu, and I thought … I didn’t know if …” 

“We can still add it.” He smiled, reaching forward to stroke his fingers over your cheek. “You gave me Christmas in the first place, Wero.” You wrinkled your nose at his use of your nickname, but nodded in agreement. If that’s what you want, ok. “I know that you said you needed to go home tonight, but … could I convince you to stay?” He tilted your head back, the frown reappearing. “You can leave early tomorrow morning to pack, but I’d really like it if you stayed here.” Din took a breath, his eyes on your face. “With us.”

The simple phrasing floored you, because you knew that with him, it was purposeful. He’d already included you in his unit with Grogu, even if at first it had just been a reflex. His invitation to Mandalore spoke volumes as to the fact that he wanted you in his life, but the use of us as a group that had previously only included him and the dog was telling. What did he called it? A clan of two? 

The decision wasn’t hard. 

“I want to stay.” You looked down, gesturing to your outfit. “I’ll have to go home tomorrow in this, because I didn’t bring anything, though. And this won’t exactly be comfortable to sleep in, but -”

“I think we can figure something out for you to sleep in.” He winked, a lopsided smile crawling up one cheek. “Or not.” You laughed loudly enough at that that Grogu’s head popped up, the dog looking between you and Din for a few seconds before he laid back down. 

“And you call me trouble, Din? I could say the same thing about you.” 

— 

On the morning of December 27th, you locked the door of your house behind you, one carry-on bag slung over your shoulder along with your purse. 

Din carried your other bag, his fingers tight around the straps. It was snowing again, the flakes light as they fell around you, and even though you were on a tight schedule, you took a few seconds to stop and glance up, smiling as the cool air kissed your cheeks. 

The closing of the SUV’s trunk drew your attention, and you watched as Din rounded the car, heading back for you. Wait, it’s not his. Why? “New car? Where’s the truck?”

“I didn’t have much choice.” He opened the door for you, shaking his head. “We’ve got a driver.” Oh. You climbed in, turning your head toward the back row of seats at the sound of Grogu’s tail thumping against them - and then slid over so that Din could get in next to you. “We’re going to that private airfield just outside of town, and I didn’t want to leave my truck there, so …” He shrugged. “A driver.” 

You leaned back against the comfortable seat just as Din’s arm slid around your shoulders, and as you backed out of the driveway, the reality of the situation set in. I’m going to Mandalore. I’m spending a week with him in his home, and I’m… You closed your eyes, turning your head toward his body. “How long is this flight anyway? I’ve been so busy packing, all I want to do is go back to sleep.” 

“Hours. Close to ten, I think. Plenty of time for you to nap.” He leaned closer, mouth moving over your ear. “There’s a bed on board.” You perked up at that, inhaling sharply. He wouldn’t have said anything unless… “You’ll be comfortable.” 

Neither of you talked much until you turned down the road to the airport, the tower and some of the planes coming into view. “I’ve never been on a private plane.” You leaned closer to the window, Din’s hand on your back. “Does Grogu get to ride with us, or does he have to be in a different area?” 

“With us. He’s got a crate that he has to be in for takeoff and landing, but he gets to roam if he wants.” Din sat straight up, too, clearing his throat. “As much as I’m not sure I want all of this, there are definitely some perks.” 

And you found that to be true only a few minutes later when the three of you made your way across the freshly cleared and salted tarmac toward the steps that led into the plane. Grogu ran up first, Din urging you to go next - and the second you stepped on board, you couldn’t hold back your response. 

“Holy shit, Din. This is …” You looked around, eyes traveling over the oversized, plush seats, small tables and screens that adorned the walls between the windows. Soft leather, thick carpet and tasteful decorations filled the plane, and at a second glance, you saw that both of your names were on the screens along with a welcome message. “Oh, man, Din. This … this is incredible. It’s beautiful, what is -”

“Good morning.” A young man stepped into the cabin from near the front of the plane, his outfit - a clean, black shirt with the Mythosaur logo on one shoulder and dark pants - standing out against the light colored interior of the plane. “If you could please stow any bags in the side drawers or in the sleeping quarters and then take your seats to prepare for takeoff, we can get underway.” He paused, holding up one finger. “I do need your passports, though, just to fill in the paperwork.”

You nodded immediately, reaching into your purse for your document before you handed it over, Din doing the same, though he handed over two booklets. Grogu’s got one too? Din tugged on your arm, urging you deeper into the plane, and as you walked through the cabin, your head was on a swivel, trying to take everything in.

There’s no way I’m going to be comfortable on a regular flight ever again. This is insane. Din shut the door behind you as you entered the bedroom, and another gasp left your lips. “This is ridiculous. A bed? A full bathroom? Din, there’s a damn shower on this -” 

He stepped forward, hands going to your waist. “I should have warned you. I’m sorry. This is …” 

“Din.” You reached up, holding a finger to his lips. “It’s going to take me a little while to process this. But.” You used your free hand to gesture around the bedroom. “It’ll be fine. Nothing you could have said would have prepared me for any of this, so don’t worry about that.” You wet your lips. “I still can’t believe I’m here, or that I get to spend a week with you there, and -”

“I can’t either.” He curled his fingers, pulling you closer. “But I’m happy.” He was dressed down - the man wearing a pair of thick sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, his hair air dried and curling over his ears. But he looked right at home in his surroundings, despite the fact that you’d never seen him in anything similar before. And Din was grinning, his excitement palpable. “And I hope you are, too.” 

“I am.” You let out a deep breath, squeezing his arms. “So kiss me, and then let’s go and sit down so we can take off, yeah?” Din contemplated your words for a few seconds and then leaned in, pulling you closer. 

“I can do that.” 

— 

He gripped your hips, staring up at you, and after only a few seconds, a smile crept over Din’s face. “You taking a break?” He dragged his thumbs slowly over your skin, his head moving to the side without him lifting it from the pillow. “Need me to -”

“Be quiet.” Circling your hips, you felt Din’s body stiffen beneath you, his stomach muscles tightening. “Just give me a second.” You took a breath and trailed your fingers up the center of his chest. “This is the first time I’ve ever had sex on a plane Din, so -”

“Me too.” You didn’t know why you’d assumed otherwise, but your eyes widened at his admission, the tips of your fingers curling inward and scraping against the skin beneath them. “But I think I like it.” He raised his hips off of the mattress, pushing deeper into you and you couldn’t bite back your moan, the sound loud, even over the quiet hum of the engines. “We should do it more often.” 

You began to rock your hips in earnest again, increasing your speed as you moved your hands into place so that you could brace yourself on his chest. Din’s legs were bent, supporting a little of your weight as you leaned back - and within seconds, you found your rhythm, Din’s hands gliding up your body and settling over your chest, fingers squeezing the muscle there. 

Watching him though hooded eyelids, you reached behind you to grip his legs, slowing your lower body down. The angle allowed him to go deep, Din sliding in and out of you with each roll of your hips. But it wasn’t until you shifted your angle again and lowered your body to take him all the way that you really began to appreciate the position, your mouth falling open in a surprised whimper. “Oh my… dank farrik, Din, you -” 

That did it - Din dropped his hands from your body and pushed into a sitting position before he reached for you again, one arm winding around your upper back, the other hand cradling the back of your skull and urging you into a deep kiss. You scrambled to wind your arms around him, too, wanting nothing more than to keep him close.

What did I do?

He licked into your mouth without restraint - fingers tightening as his tongue met yours, Din not breaking the kiss even as he eased you both back down so that his back was flat on the mattress, your upper-body weight settled against his chest. When he did eventually pull back for air, he groaned, the vibration traveling the length of his body. 

“I need to teach you more Mando’a.” So that was it. That makes sense. He kissed you again, his mouth leaving yours and then moving over to your ear before he sucked the lobe between his lips, holding it there. “Lay down. Gedet'ye. Please.” He spoke so quietly that you barely heard him, but with a quick nod, you agreed. 

Din reached between you to hold the end of the condom in place as you pulled off of him and then laid down next to the man, head turned to the right. Ok, I did what he asked… now he can… Din moved gracefully - rolling toward you and then hooking his leg over one of yours, both hands pulling you back to the center of the bed as he knelt above you.

Without speaking, he used one hand to urge the knee he wasn’t straddling into a bent position, his palm dragging over your thigh before he reached forward and grabbed a pillow with his other hand. “Lift.” You did, giving him room to slide the pillow beneath you - and once it was settled, your hips elevated, Din inched forward, moving one knee so that he was between both of your legs again. 

He lined himself up as your entrance as he laid a hand on your bent kneecap. You nodded and then dropped your gaze, watching as he slid back in - but Din didn’t give you a chance to get used to the feeling. 

Instead, he immediately picked up the pace, one hand on your hip, the other still on your knee - and when you cried out at a particularly deep thrust, he moaned, bending over and adjusting his hands so that he could take yours without stopping the motion of his hips. Holy shit. Holy shit this is … fuck. 

He slid your joined hands up the mattress and crushed his mouth to yours again, the kiss messy and almost desperate - but no less passionate. 

You hadn’t been with him more than a handful of times, but you felt as he got closer to the edge, Din’s thrusts changing in intensity so that he was almost stroking into you, and when you widened the spread of your bent legs, you gasped into his mouth, the sound turning into his name, though he swallowed it quickly, never faltering in his movement. 

The changed position meant that with each motion, he was dragging the dampened curls at his base and on his lower belly over your sensitive skin, the heat from your bodies radiating between you. I’m going to come like this. I’m going to … he’s… 

You were determined to get Din off before yourself, though, and after another low moan, you broke the kiss, turning your head to the side so that you could whisper into his ear, the man’s roots damp when you moved one hand up and tangled your fingers into his hair. “Right there, Din. Yes. Please.” You sighed, racking your brain, and then you hummed. “Gedet’ye.” 

He cried out - the sound louder than any that you’d previously made, and when his hips stuttered, you weren’t surprised. Din came with a series of quick, powerful thrusts of his hips, emptying inside of you as he mouthed along the top of your shoulder and the curve where your neck met your collarbone, the edges of his teeth scraping over the thin skin. 

You felt his teeth - but weren’t worried that he’d leave marks or actually hurt you, especially when Din pulled his mouth away and mumbled your name, releasing his hold on one hand to put it back between your bodies. What is he… 

That question was answered only moments later, when he backed his hips off enough so that he was still inside of you, but there was room for his hand between your bodies, fingers working deftly to pull you past the point of no return, too. “Din.”

You rocked your hips upward, seeking more friction and pressure from his hand, and when you got it, you nodded, the fabric of the pillowcase crinkling beneath your head as you turned it to the side, eyes squeezed shut. 

“No, come on. Look at me.” He sighed, thumb continuing to circle over your skin. “Let me see you.” You made eye contact with him, Din’s expression in the low light of the bedroom cabin easy to read. He looked satisfied and content, the spark of desire in his eyes turning your core into liquid metal, and that was all it took. 

You came hard around him, your knees locking into place against his hips as your back arched off of the bed, one hand fisting the blankets and the other curled tight against the top of Din’s thigh. You held his gaze for as long as you could, wanting to give him what he’d asked for, but when he didn’t stop the motion of his fingers, you had to close your eyes, mouth falling open as your muscles tightened a second time - surprising both of you. 

“Fuck, Din.” When you were finally able to speak, your voice was shaky, both eyes cracking open as he eased away from you, his hand the last thing to leave your body almost as though he was unwilling to stop touching you. “How am I supposed to get up after that?”

“Not sure.” He stretched out next to you, one arm rising to cover his eyes as he pushed his shoulders back and resettled his hips, causing the mattress to shift. “But I don’t know that I can get out of bed, either.” 

You both needed to - you needed to clean yourselves up and then get dressed, to make yourselves presentable for landing, to have a final conversation about what was expected of you once you were on the ground. But I don’t want to. I just want to…

Instead of climbing out of the bed, you rolled toward Din, draping your arm across his chest and nuzzling against the side of his neck. “Well then let’s stay here for a few minutes, alright?” 

He mumbled something that you couldn’t make out, and as your breathing calmed, his did, too - Din’s chest rising and falling, his head turning toward yours so that his chin rested against your forehead. Just a few minutes, and then we’ll get dressed and go back out into the main section of the plane. 

— 

But you woke hours later, the lights in the room dimmed, and Din still sleeping next to you. Whoops. 

With one final deep breath, you rolled away from him and toward the edge of the bed, swinging your feet onto the floor. There was a throw blanket on the ground and you reached for it, holding it up to cover your chest before reaching out to push the blinds up, not knowing what to expect. 

It wasn’t just clouds that you could see - there were lights, too, pinpricks of gold and silver far below you. It wasn’t like flying over the United States, where everything looked like a grid, cities and towns connected by winding highways and arranged in haphazard patterns until you got close to the big ones. 

What was beneath you were multiple brightly light places, each of them arranged into neat, well-illuminated circles. There were smaller bursts of color between them, your eyes moving between the geometric shapes and the scattered lights, lips parted. It’s beautiful. There’s so much open space, I wonder where we are. I - 

You felt him moving before he said anything to you. Din wrapped himself around you from behind, the skin of his broad chest warm against your back. “We fell asleep.” He spoke as he settled his chin on your shoulder, arms tight around your body. “And we…” He trailed off, and when he continued his sentence, you understood why. “There it is.” 

He tilted his chin down and kissed your shoulder again, one hand slipping beneath the blanket to splay his fingers across your abdomen, the man’s hold almost possessive. You knew the answer, but asked anyway. “Din? Is that …” 

“That’s Mandalore. You’ll be able to see Sundari in a few minutes. We’re home.” 

— 

Gedet'ye = please

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Tag list coming soon!

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Thank yous: 

When I started this story thanks to a reader vote last year, I thought I’d be able to wrap it up pretty quickly - but as is the case with most of my stuff, that turned out to be untrue, and here we are 8 months later and finally getting a true ending. 

I’m going to miss these two (three, because I cannot forget about Grogu) - but I’m definitely open to revisiting them in the future, so if you have questions or thoughts or ideas, please feel free to send them over! 

I want to thank everyone that took the time to read, comment, reblog or message me about this story. It was so much fun to talk with you about it, and I hope you’re satisfied with this ending - and that you all feel that it’s ‘right’ for them. 

Thank you to the people that let me bounce plot points and ideas off of them - especially @the-blind-assassin-12, who was INSTRUMENTAL in many BKK decisions and choices for Grogu. 

Thank you to the people that made artwork for this - @valkblue​ and @guiltypleasure-art​ specifically, because those pieces were perfect. 

I don’t know that I can top this one with the 2023 Christmas story on this blog - but I’ll definitely try. Thank all of you endlessly for the support throughout this story and all of my others. I love you all very much. 

[mottlemoth]

So I’ve been hiding a lot. I’m really sorry. Being back on Tumblr makes me feel like it’s fine to share some of this - I’m sorry if it’s weird to hear - I’m just having a tough time and I need to be honest.

Various things are happening to me in real life at the moment. It’s been one thing after another, and there’s more to come. Usually I turn to fandom for a support structure and an escape from stress, but I’m realising that sense of comfort has been missing from my life for a few weeks now.

I came to OFMD from a small rarepair with a very close and very supportive community. I absolutely wasn’t prepared for the kind of things I’ve experienced in the last few months on Twitter. The OFMD community there has a lot of problems right now, one of the most worrying being a lethal lack of awareness that fan writers are fans. We’re writing for fun, sharing our work for free. But we’re being ripped apart by people who’ve had years of practice at criticising showrunners for creative decisions they don’t approve of. The abuse is largely motivated by jealousy - any author who picks up too much kudos or appears on too many rec lists becomes the next target, and it’s usually cloaked under a false banner of social justice. It’s happening over and over again. It’s transparent and it’s exhausting, and the things being used to justify the abuse are so tenuous that I often can’t believe what my actual eyes are reading. I’ve been accused of misogyny for writing Edward ‘Shoot-The-People-Who-Teased-Me’ Teach as reacting emotionally, therefore “female-coding” him, therefore sexism. I don’t know how to cope in this kind of environment.

I’ve been through endless rounds of coaxing myself to try to relax - to forget about the paranoia and the toxicity, and shut up and get on with writing because I have a duty to finish this fic and everyone’s waiting for the next chapter and if I don’t hurry up and post it then I’ll get Tumblr messages saying “when can we expect the next chapter” and - suddenly I realise, wait. I’m not actually obliged to do any of this.

This is my hobby.

I am 100% allowed to stop doing this at any point I want to.

“But you have a duty to the people who’ve--”

Look, I get that this isn’t something anyone wants to hear, but... no. I don’t. I’m an exhausted thirty-something sitting in her pyjamas after work, having a cry because my hobby somehow turned into a full-time job on top of my already miserable full-time job. AO3 writers don’t have a duty to do what they’re doing. Fanworks are literally a gift of time and energy from a complete stranger. I’d love to be able to ignore the people being abusive towards writers, but I can’t. And, again - this is my hobby. I’m not obliged to ignore the abuse and just get on with the task. If I’m upset, I’m allowed to stop. (Let’s say I joined a knitting club. Let’s say some of the members were routinely vicious and awful to anyone who got “too good” at knitting, and none of the other members ever hit them with any consequences for their behaviour. I don’t have a duty to stick around at Toxic Knitting Club, even if I never finished that pair of socks I started. If the club cares about its own survival, then it needs to make the environment feel safe and welcoming. It can’t just expect people to ignore the nastiness.)

OP, I blanked your name and pfp from this message because I don’t want you to get grief. But I’ve searched for your username in my email inbox, and found that this is the first time you’ve ever spoken to me. You’ve never reached out to chat or be kind or make friends, but you’ve reached out to prod me when you think that I’m being tardy with delivery of your content. Chapters 1 to 43 appeared at least once a week, sometimes twice or even three times a week. Did it cross your mind that maybe there’s a reason why chapter 44 hasn’t dropped yet? Did you think, something must be wrong, maybe I should ask if they’re okay? No, you just came to bang on the vending machine. I’m sorry if this is an uncomfortable lesson to learn, but the writers in your fandom aren’t staff. We’re guests. Tonight, when I get home from work, I have the option to run a long bath, have a cry and play The Sims until I fall asleep, or the option to sit down at my desk and write something for you, even though I might get harassed and bullied for it. You haven’t tipped the scales in the direction you meant to.

I don’t know how to even begin concluding this post.

I’ve been struggling ever since I was dogpiled back in September. I feel very lonely and very tired. Twitter is an awful bloody website and it’s structured around division and argument. I’ve been feeling better since I came back to Tumblr. My breaks at work are now spent scrolling through pretty GIFs or cool meta or funny things about Izzy, rather than drama, and it’s helping. So... I don’t know, OP. Don’t start being like this here. I’m fighting so hard to find reasons to stay in OFMD. Life is rough at the minute, and I want to spend my free time feeling happy and safe with people who see me as a friend, not a vending machine. I’m doing everything a professional writer does, but for no pay, with no protection or support from a publisher, and I’m fitting it around a full-time job. That’s... well, that’s the situation. That’s the situation all your fan writers are in, however well they seem to be handling it. It’d be great if you could reflect on that.

TLDR; this is my hobby, and I work on my hobby when it feels fun.