#also sometimes I find original works on ao3 and those are good actually

[disorganizedkitten]

Sometimes I wander onto blogs of fandoms I'm not in just to explore. I like looking at the fanart and the dissertations and the fics and wondering what goes on in canon

Seeing how much I can figure out

Or I'll jump into a new fandom tag on ao3 and get the full weight of foreshadowing without the dramatic irony because I know NONE OF THESE PEOPLE

NONE OF THESE EVENTS

Your dramatic-irony-foreshadowing clues don't work on me!!

it's incredibly fun, 10/10 do recommend

[dollmulder]

afternoon

pairing: fox mulder x fem!reader

word count: 7.8k

warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, oral (f recieving), fingering

other tags: it’s alluded to that mulder is trans

authors note: i originally posted this on ao3 under the same title and username (afternoon by dollmulder) if you’d rather read it there :) otherwise, enjoy!

p.s, as i stated on ao3 this is the first bit of writing i’ve done in some years now, and it’s also the first ever explicit smut scene ive written, so i apologize if it’s not that great as i really have no idea what im doing here and my skills are rather rusty. but i do hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

you stood in front of the stove that belonged to the kitchen of your small apartment. before you, a pink kettle was placed on the burner, while you patiently waited for the water inside to boil. it was midday, and for once neither you nor fox had any plans. typically, when one of you wasn’t tied up with work, the other one was. however, today was different, and you intended to take full advantage of it.

you may have wasted part of the day by sleeping in until the afternoon, but you couldn’t help it. fox was asleep in your bedroom still, and he looked so agonizingly beautiful while he slept. not that he didn’t when he was awake, because by god he did, but being able to lie in bed next to him, admiring him and listening to his heartbeat thrum in his chest was an experience like no other. the way his eyelashes rested upon his cheeks, and how he snuggled his face deeper into the pillow now and then.

you enjoyed moments of domesticity like that, even though they were somewhat fleeting. oftentimes the two of spent your time together at his apartment, and when you weren’t doing that, he was either at work or off chasing the paranormal. sometimes he would invite you on these excursions, and generally you would go if you weren’t busy with work yourself, but it seems this weekend he had nothing planned for once. it was as if all the stars were aligned to give you both this perfect day, and you were hoping to keep it that way.

you drummed your fingers against the wooden countertop, impatiently waiting as your thoughts drifted from weekends spent with fox to other mundane things, like going over your to-do list of errands for this weekend, laundry, dishes, shopping, etc. and you wondered how many of those things you were actually going to be able to check off. you decided though that for today, your list could wait. today was going to be a perfect day, you said to yourself, as if manifesting it to be true.

you watched the kettle for a moment longer but a watched pot never boils, and almost as if a meant to be a perfectly planned distraction, you heard your bedroom door creak open, and the soft thuds of fox’s feet making his way down the hall. you smiled to yourself, and turned around just in time to see him leaning in the archway, his hair looking scruffy and his face still wrought by sleep. he was wearing nothing but boxers that clung to him loosely, and you must say, even then in this disheveled state, he looked breathtaking.

“i was wondering where you went,” he yawned, rubbing his eyes and still trying to rid the slumber from his system. you felt your heart flutter at the way his voice was laced with sleepiness, before you sauntered over to him, his large hands immediately finding their way to your hips, like following a well traveled road. it was instinctive for him.

you reached up and placed a chaste kiss to his lips, cupping his face as you did so, your hands moving down so your thumbs could glide over his paltry amount of stubble. “miss me?”

“always.” he smiled at you and you smiled back, before reaching up to give him another quick peck on the cheek.

“well, good morning- er, afternoon i guess.”

fox hummed, and after a beat he asked, “is it really that late?” his eyes roved over your body, eyeing your outfit, and you squirmed under his gaze.

“i see the mystery of my missing t shirt’s been solved,” he remarked before you had a chance to respond to his previous question, not that it mattered. fox had realized his shirt was missing a little while ago and he had figured you’d borrowed it or that he had misplaced it, but now that he knew for sure, this was another mystery he could check off from his ever-growing list. he supposed he could’ve asked you about it before, but it was never a top priority to him compared to other unsolved cases that wracked his brain on the constant.

you pulled out of his grasp, swaying your way back over to the stove, as his hand outreached, wanting to hold you still. “i borrowed it the other day,” you said facing away from him, pretending to be watching the kettle and biting your lip, thinking. “i hope you don’t mind.” you knew that he didn’t. he loved when you wore his clothes, when you gave them back and your scent lingered interwoven in the fabric, as if he needed any more reasons to put off doing his laundry.

“do you want any tea?” you cut through his thoughts, asking over your shoulder while you still faced the stove, and he hummed in approval.

suddenly, a smirk befell your face as you walked over to the cabinets, standing on your tippy toes to reach for two mugs. your- his -shirt rode up slightly, but just enough to expose your light blue underwear and the way it hugged your curves. you stretched a little more than you needed to, making sure he got the vision.

he hummed, too focused on watching your little display, eyes focused on your movements as he spoke, voice still slightly gruff from sleep. “you know that i don’t mind,” he trailed off, returning to your prior conversation. he pulled his plump bottom lip into his mouth, “but i’d like if you at least told me first.”

you grabbed the two mugs, one of which being a dusty blue color, with darker blue dots and little white ghosts swirling all around it, and the other was a translucent pink, with a red and pink strawberry pattern encompassing it. you placed them on the counter and stopped being on your tippy toes, his shirt falling back into place covering you back up for now. it was an old shirt of his, one from his time at oxford, and it hung slack around your smaller frame.

“im telling you now aren’t i?” you turned around and found fox stepping towards you, his arms coming to wrap around your waist. this was another thing the two of you usually did at his apartment, which made sense of course, as you both spent lots of the time you had together there, but last night, after staying particularly late at his office, fox called and decided to crash at your place as it was less of a drive than going back to his own apartment, and of course because he missed being in your presence. you gave him a key a short while ago so he could do just that, and because you loved having him in your space too. you couldn’t quite explain it but it made your apartment feel more like a home whenever he was here. you wondered if he felt the same about you being at his apartment, and decided he probably did, seeing as your presence there did make it more homely. you remembered when you used to continuously pester him about using his bedroom for it’s intended purpose instead of a large cluttered storage space, and he teased you back asking what you meant by “intended purpose”. you told him he’d have to find out, and that he did when the next time you came over his bedroom was decluttered, ready and waiting.

a flush aroused on your cheeks as you continued to think, now about last night, where upon his arrival here, you had ushered him to bed while he sleepily rambled to you about whatever it was he was working on, probably things he wasn’t supposed to tell you. all you could remember was something about government conspiracies and alien abductions, which was the usual topic of his sleepy rambling. that, and talking about you. you loved to listen to his sleepy words and babbling, even if it didn’t always make much sense to you.

then you thought of later that night when you both were in bed, sleepy fingers fumbling, touching, teasing one another in the dark. the way his hands slithered up and around your bare chest as yours did the same, before dipping down below his boxers while your mouth swallowed up the sleepy whines and whimpers that mewled past his lips.

“more like showing me,” fox chuckled, bringing you back to the here and now, and your blush deepened at his remark. he then pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you smiled, holding your left hand out to rest your palm against his chest. his skin was warm, much warmer than your cold fingers. as if to prove your point, he shivered a bit as your fingers delicately traced the two surgical scars across his chest.

“sorry,” you whispered, giggling and pulling your hand back to rest a finger on your bottom lip, doe eyes looking up at him, but just as suddenly as you did that, he grabbed your hand away and brought it to his own lips, kissing each of your dainty fingers. you smiled, going to take a step back but forgetting there was nothing but counter behind you. you were too enraptured by the moment to think about anything else, but just as soon as it happened it was over with.

“pretty,” he muttered to himself, before letting go and walking off towards presumably the bathroom, and you sighed into a smile, body still pressed to the counter behind you. he was such an interesting man, and you meant that in the best way possible. even from the very first moment you had met him, you couldn’t stop thinking about him and all of his intricacies. he had enthralled you from the beginning, and you couldn’t help but to question what he saw in you, not in a strongly self deprecating sense, but in the way that you questioned how you could compare to someone like him.

you knew if you told him these thoughts he would simultaneously shut them down and reflect them back at you, wondering what he did to deserve you .

you then turned and reached up again, this time towards a different cabinet, your fingers sliding under the lip of the wooden door, pulling it open with a low creak. you were looking for your tea bags, and after a moment of shuffling between boxes you finally found the one you were searching for. grabbing the box of just plain black tea, you opened it carefully and plopped a teabag into each mug, before closing the box back up and stretching once more to put it back into the cupboard where it belonged, in perfect timing as the kettle began whistling.

finding your way over to the stove, you grabbed the kettle and turned off the burner, then stepping back over to the counter and pouring some water into each mug. you heard fox shuffling his way back into the kitchen and shortly after felt one of his hands grab your hips, the other brushing your hair to the side so he could kiss at your neck.

“grab the honey for me?” you asked him, leaning over and placing the kettle back onto the stove, and he groaned, not wanting to let you go, but nevertheless he did, returning a moment later, honey in hand, which he had retrieved from the nearby cupboard behind you both. you turned around and outstretched the ghost mug towards him. “i’ll trade you,” you said, doing just that, knowing he preferred his tea without any honey in it.

he smiled, taking the mug and blowing some of the steam away from it. “you gave me this mug on purpose didn’t you?” he questioned, already knowing the answer, he just wanted an excuse to hear your angelic voice once more.

“of course, spooky.”

normally, he didn’t care for when people called him that name, not that it necessarily angered him, it was more annoyance at best, but with you it was different. you used it as a term of endearment, and he loved it, along with every other pet name you would call him. you had a way of spinning things into a positive light, one of the many, many, things he adored about you.

you turned back around to face the counter, grabbing a nearby spoon and stirring the honey into your tea, while he sat his mug down and put the bear-shaped honey bottle back into its home where it belonged. he came back behind you again, wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on your shoulder.

“what’s the plan for the rest of today?” he asked, snaking his large hands under his oxford shirt so that they could rest upon the bare skin of your hips. he hooked his thumbs under the band of your underwear, just wanting to be able to feel the coolness of your skin beneath his fingertips and the way it’s softness complemented the somewhat calloused nature of his hands.

“whatever you want to do, monster boy,” another pet name. “it’s your day off after all.”

he hummed. “it’s yours too.”

you sat your mug down in front of you waiting for it to cool off some more as it wasn’t ready for you to take your first sip, and then you turned to face him. “we both know you’re busy with work much more often than i am. even when you’re not working, you’re working . so you choose. i’m just happy to spend time with you,” you stretched up to press a lingering kiss to his lips, “but if i do get a say, brush your teeth, you have morning breath.” you paused… “er, afternoon breath.” and he smiled at you before groaning in mock annoyance.

in return, you batted and fluttered your eyelashes at him. “please?” and he smiled once more. how could he not give in to what an angel asked of him?

“oh i suppose, anything for you, my dearest.” and then off he went again, back towards the bathroom. you always kept a spare toothbrush for him in a cup at the sink. it made you smile in the mornings to see it there, just a little hint of his existence in your life, along with all the other little things around your apartment. you’ve left your fair share of belongings at his apartment, probably more than he has here, and with that thought, you made a mental note to yourself to steal more of his clothes and other belongings to have around.

sliding the mugs to the side, you hopped up on the countertop, grabbing your own mug and blowing the steam away as you waited for him to come back. you gently took a first sip of your tea, cursing at yourself as it was still too hot for you, so you resumed blowing on it, and as you did, your mind drifted, thinking about what kind of adventures the day ahead of you might hold. who knows with what fox might have in mind, always conjuring up some new adventure to fill the boredom of the rest of the day with. you were perfectly content with just lounging around your apartment in your underwear all day, not particularly wanting to go out and about and do anything, so you hoped he wouldn’t suggest anything of that nature. you didn’t want to have to take his shirt off in order to change into something more appropriate for outside wear, as you enjoyed the way his scent lingered around you. although, you decided, while you don’t necessarily want to take his shirt off to change out of it, you wouldn’t oppose to taking it off for other reasons.

your mind drifted, envisioning your previous escapades, your mind conjuring up pictures of his hands roaming your body, your hands slipping underneath his boxers, feeling him, teasing him, palming him in a way he had rarely let others do. the way his mouth hung open, his hands clutching your shirt, the bedsheets, whatever they could grab ahold of. excitement stirred in your abdomen and you shifted your hips, squeezing your thighs together. your hands became his in your mind, as the vision shifted to how he teased you, holding you, kissing you, fingers dipping beneath your lace trim to slip inside of you, and you bit your lip feeling a familiar hunger starting to growl within you.

last night the two of you had fooled around a bit before he dozed off, but it was barely anything more than soft touches and sleepy kisses, hushed i missed you ’s and whispered i love you ’s. even if your fingers had curled underneath his boxers, it was mere teasing, and it left your body (and his) wanting more, but you were sleepy and you knew he was too. however, now that your body and mind were awake, your desire was too.

after a moment fox returned and found his way over to you once more, moving to stand between your legs, and even with you sitting on the countertop he was still a bit taller than you. his hands rested on your thighs as he leaned down to kiss you slowly. it was a passionate kiss, and even though your bottom lip still tingled a bit from burning it with the hot tea, you ignored it and focused on the new tingling sensation. there was nothing better than a gentle kiss from fox mulder himself, and you’d never trade up this opportunity for anything.

“what’s gotten you so bothered?” he asked with a smirk, pulling his lips away from yours and picking up on your flushed face and warm skin, and the neediness you kissed him back with. in response, you wrapped your legs around his torso to keep him there before saying anything. this moment now felt like home. having the man of your dreams, the man of your reality , standing before you, between your legs, looking at you with such adoration you’d think it was like you had gifted him the whole world. but you did, because to him, you were his whole world.

“just thinking about you,” you hummed, your mug off to the side, forgotten about for now as you reached your hands around so your fingers could twirl themselves in the bit of hair at the nape of his neck, and then you smiled as you pondered for only a second.

“of me?” he asked, smirking as you looked at him with such innocence, but a gleam of something else in your eyes. a look he knew all too well. “me how?”

“oh, you know.” you shrugged, playing coy.

“enlighten me.”

“well, i do have an idea for something we could do today.”

he leaned down, kissing the corner of your mouth, speaking lowly, as his lips moved their way around to your neck. you tilted your head to give him more access, and his breath tickled your skin as he spoke. “i thought you said i got to choose today's events?”

“would you rather do something else then?”

“you haven’t told me your idea yet.”

“i thought you liked solving mysteries.”

the way his mouth moved against your neck, you began to feel butterflies invading your stomach, sinking further down below, and you felt one of his hands slide from your hips to the expanse of your thighs, to the space in between, and you gasped at the sensation. his fingerstips delicately traced over you, nothing separating the two of you except for the thin cotton layer of your underwear, which had procured a small wet patch in the time being.

“something like this?”

you gasped, feeling his teeth scrape gently at your skin, followed by another pink flush rushing to your cheeks, and you felt him smile and chuckle against you, to which you smiled back.

“don’t laugh at me,” you breathed out as his fingers pulled away from you, sliding back up to hold your waist beneath his shirt, and the butterflies in your stomach began to flap their wings more vigorously. your mouth hung open, as his worked magically against your neck, and you couldn’t help but whine slightly as he pulled away, the only contact now being his hands holding you still, which on a regular day, you would never complain about, but you did desperately wish for his fingers back where they were moments ago, deeper, inside you . you shuffled your hips at the idea and a devious smirk swept across his face. “but uh, yeah i think you’ve got the idea now.”

he looked you over for a moment, his eyes holding sweetness like that of the honey in your now forgotten tea, and the softness of a prairie after a long night of rainfall. but there was something else lingering there too.

your hands, which had been holding onto the countertops edge for the time being, traveled their way back up to cupping his face once more, your thumb gently caressing over his bottom lip, plump and sheening with saliva. his breath was hot as he panted between parted lips.

“i love you,” you said before you could even register the words coming out of your mouth, and your face flushed again with subtle embarrassment. it was true of course, you did love him, you loved him like you needed air to breathe. your hand dropped from his face, down his neck, and rested languidly against his chest.

“what was that?” he asked, leaning down again to press sloppy kisses to your face, your neck and around your ear. his voice was low, and you sucked your bottom lip in between your teeth in anticipation. your fingers curled, scratching gently at his chest. “i couldn’t quite hear you from way up there.” and of course there it was, you were giving yourself to fox mulder, allowing yourself to be loved and touched and cherished by him, and he couldn’t help himself from making a joke at the expense of your height. you smiled and you couldn’t stop the laugh that he loved so dearly from tumbling from your lips.

“i said,” you spoke in mock annoyance, shoving him away playfully as his hands roamed up your stomach to gently cup your breasts, and you gasped at the touch, thoughts becoming more jumbled in your brain by the second. you scrunched your face trying to keep the facade of annoyance up, but you were unable to keep the smile from breaking through, and you swallowed thickly as his thumbs massaged in circles. “i said, i love you, you giant idiot.” and he smiled a toothy grin at you.

“i love you more.”

you couldn’t quite describe the emotions you were feeling, there was a culmination of so many at once. happiness, love, lust, contentment, desire, the whole lot. it amazed you how one person could conjure up such sentiments within you, and you could only hope you did the same for him.

he pulled his hands down to hold your waist again as he leaned down to capture your lips with his own, a kiss of fervor. you tasted the lingering effects of your toothpaste mixed with the earthy flavors of the tea you had made earlier still somehow soaked into the cracks of your lips. he pulled your bottom lip with his teeth softly, and you moaned into the kiss with surprise, a sound he swallowed up with nary a complaint. but then he pulled away, and you leaned forward, body and mind still begging for more, and he chuckled breathily.

“quite needy, huh?” he spoke softly, and your eyes fluttered open at the sound. you watched the way he looked at you, and it only fueled the flames of desire within you more.

“quite a tease, huh? ” you mocked, leaning forward to capture his lips once more, whatever passion that the last kiss held, this one was tenfold. it was sloppy, wet, incited by the intensity of your coupled desire. your lips parted and he took the chance for his tongue to slip inside, and your fingers grasped and tugged at his hair, earning a groan from him, and you melted into the sound and sensation.

you arched your back, head thrown back as his hands roamed under your shirt and gently traced up your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and with this new angle his mouth kissed, licked, and nipped at your throat and your hold on his hair got impossibly tighter, and he groaned once more, feeling the vibrations rattle against your throat. you loosened your grasp suddenly and clumsily, uttering hushed apologies as you did so, fearing you might’ve hurt him by pulling too hard. you felt fox smile against your neck, and he pulled away, lips parted as he looked at you. your breathing was fast and your cheeks burned. your neck was red and glistening from his lips, teeth, and tongue, and you looked absolutely stunning in his eyes.

you sat there, deep breaths and adrenaline coursing through your body, and arousal pulsing at your core, as you waited for him to say something, anything. his tongue slid across his teeth into a smile.

“don’t be sorry,” his hands, which had found their way back to your waist, gave a gentle reassuring squeeze, and he leaned in close to your ear again. “i like it.” and you felt your heart flutter.

“i don’t want to hurt you,” you crooned, and his smile remained. he kissed you gently and you fought your bodies urge to lurch forward and devour him whole. your insides fluttered with lust and your core dripped with desire. there was an empty ache within you and while yes, you enjoyed this moment of intimacy, your arousal was like waves, pushing at the floodgates within your brain, and you were willing to let it take control.

“you weren’t.” fox said, pulling his lips away from you slowly, eyes watching you almost as if he could sense your internal struggle, and you simply tried to catch your breath in return.

his hands slithered down away from you, pushing your legs apart wider as he began to kneel before you, eyes watching your reactions the entire time as he cupped his hands and arms around you, pulling you towards the edge of the counter, ever closer to him, and during this process your heels naturally found a resting spot against his back. your skin burned where his hands held you, and all your brain could think about was how his long slender fingers would feel curling inside of you, and his plump lips and tongue tasting you. it was intoxicating.

“we’re doing this here?” you asked, and still he looked up at you, an eyebrow quirked. you felt like a divine being sitting here before him like this, even though he was not on his knees for prayer. fox mulder was not a religious man, but you held the power to make him one, for you were like a goddess to him, and he was going to treat you as such, even if it meant he would have to use his mouth for something so sinful, but for you, he would do anything. his eyes, a deep, dilated color like the moss covered forest floor stared up at you and you felt sacred, even with his gaze mirroring that of the hungry fox lurking within, but you, you were the forbidden fruit, and he was dying to have a taste.

“here.” you decided firmly before he could answer. it was your world, and nothing else mattered. you created the space before you now, and fox was nothing if not your devout follower.

your hands gripped the countertop tightly, knuckles turning white in anticipation, desire tingling in your abdomen and pooling in your underwear. his eyes looked up at you, hands going to push his shirt up your stomach so he could get a better view, and you shivered as the movement tickled your belly. a small tuft of pubic hair peeked out of the top of the lace trim of your undergarments, and your face grew hot as your eyes watched his every move.

fox shot you a quick look, a soft “can i?” surpassing his lips, hanging in the air as you nodded in approval, too busy staring at his face and analyzing his long eyelashes. your eyes traveled down his large nose, sweeping over his pores, and finally resting upon his parted lips, watching as they moved and his voice pulled you from your thoughts and brought you back to the moment.

“use your words,” was what he said, still holding you, but not moving an inch closer until you permit him to. you had control over the situation and your body trembled before him, your tongue darting out to lick your lips before you spoke.

“please.”

and that was all he needed as he leaned forward, pressing gentle kisses to you through your underwear. you gasped at the contact, hips shifting, pelvis tilting, but he held you in place, eyes closed as his mouth pressed more fervent kisses to you, and god, you never wanted to remove an article of clothing more in your life. as if he could read your thoughts, a sudden sound between a gasp and a cry escaped your lips as he pulled the wet fabric to the side, and his mouth pressed directly against you in a gentle teasing kiss. you throbbed before him, and it was almost torturous when you felt the slick cotton fabric covering you back up again, his fingers tracing over you through the fabric once more, oddly reassuring you that he was going to take care of you.

you groaned out of frustration, now exceedingly desperate for his touch, and he cocked his head at you, a faux innocent smile plastered on his face, looking like a dog sitting on the floor in front of you, paws on your thighs, tail wagging excitedly as he begged for scraps. you wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d seen him drooling before you.

“what?” he asked, unable to hide the teasing glint in his eyes as he stared up at you and you quivered before him.

“are you trying to get me to beg?” you asked, chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths.

“well… you know i wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

“i already said please.”

“so say it again then.”

his hands gave you a gentle squeeze causing you to squirm before him, your cheeks getting hotter and the ache within you deepening.

“christ,” you whined, rolling your eyes back in frustration. you knew what you wanted, he knew what you wanted. all you had to do was ask for it.

he loved it when you begged, and while yes, it might inflate his ego a bit, that’s not the reason why he loved it so. it’s because it was nice to have vocal confirmation that you wanted him so desperately as he did you. deep down he was a bit insecure that you didn’t love or desire him nearly as much as he loved and desired you, and while he knew this wasn’t true, there was always this little voice in the back of his head saying “what if?” and hearing your voice pleading for his touch drowned it out and shoved it away.

fox peppered kisses up your thighs, getting close but staying ever far away from where you desired him most. your hands found his hair yet again, intertwining in the soft brunet locks atop his head, and you sucked in a breath as he licked a stripe at the crevice where your leg and hip joined, breaths tickling your skin as the sweet scent of your arousal filled his nose.

“fox, please , if you don’t hurry up i’m going to-“

“what?” he asked, cutting you off while his eyes looked up at you and the cunning smile of a fox etched itself onto his face. you couldn’t quite help but think he had chosen his name appropriately. fox, fox, fox, the word played in your head like a melody, darting around your thoughts like an animal chasing its prey. “you’ll do what exactly?” his words sliced through you while you sat atop the counter like a divine meal, waiting to be ripped and torn to shreds by gnashing teeth, juice dripping and soaking into the earth beneath.

“christ, i don’t- i don’t know, okay? just-“ your words fumbled out of your mouth faster than you could think, frustration and arousal bubbling fast within your body like a pot boiling over on the stove.

“please, please , just touch me already. pretty please?”

“pretty please, huh?” he chuckled to himself as his hands slid to your lower back and over the curvature of your ass, thumbs hooking themselves in the waistband of your underwear. he looked up at you, eyes silently asking for your assistance and you obliged, lifting your hips, allowing him to pull the sodden underwear down off from you, and you kicked them off to the side, legs resting over his shoulders once more. your eyes locked with his as you stared each other down, wondering who would break first. your hand outreached coming up to cup his cheek and jaw again, your thumb tracing over his bottom lip out of habit, and your breath hitched as he pulled it into his mouth, tongue darting over your fingertip devilishly.

he was the first to break eye contact, eyes lurking down your body, finding their way to your dripping core, glistening in the dim lighting, and you were brought back to reality a little bit, realizing that here, now, fox mulder was about to go down on you, in your kitchen. thank god.

you squirmed under his gaze, both out of desire and longing to be touched, tasted, devoured, and picking up on this, he shot a glance up towards you once more, before leaning down and kissing your inner thighs, lips leaving ghostly kiss marks everywhere they touched, and your skin burned with want as his mouth got closer and closer.

fox decided that he had teased you sufficiently. you were a whining princess sat atop a tower, waiting to be rescued, satiated, and he was your knight in shining armor. that and of course, you had asked so nicely. pretty please. how cute and desperate you were, you really were like a princess, his princess, and while fox was never one to be controlling over you, he loved and relished in this possessiveness he was feeling. no one else got to see you like this, but him. no one else made you feel like this but him.

with that thought, he pressed a warm kiss to your wetness, and your body jolted at this, feeling electricity course through you as his tongue licked a tantalizing stripe up your center. one of your hands clenched at his hair, fearing your grasp was the only thing holding you down on earth, the other pushed against the countertop, holding you up as your fingers writhed.

your heart beat for him, quite literally as he felt it pulsing within you. his tongue was soft and his jaw relaxed as he tantalizingly licked from your entrance up to your clit, and a moan escaped from your throat and past your lips, sounding like an angel. your eyes squeezed shut and your head threw back again as his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs like a soft ripened peach, and his tongue swirled around you.

“jesus, thank you,” thank you, thank you, thank you, you moaned out, not caring if you were being too loud for your thin apartment walls. that wasn’t an issue for now, you would deal with it later. all that existed to you was this moment and the man before you, as he clouded your mind and drank you up, your soul pouring right through you and into him, for him to hold, to love, to cherish. and cherish you he did.

it was like a stage, dark and empty minus the large spotlight shining on you, and only you. the audience was empty, spare for fox, watching you and encouraging your performance as a heavenly choir of moans tumbled from within you, to which his tongue danced in time to.

his mouth worked expertly against you, and your hand tugged at his hair, mewling and moaning, all this behavior just egging him on more.

and then he pulled away, chin slick with a mixture of his saliva and your arousal, and you whined at the loss of contact, eyes flashing open and looking downwards at him, confusion scribbled all over your face. you had thought the teasing was over.

“christ,” he chuckled at your expression, licking the taste of you off from his lips. “are you that desperate or am i just that good?”

“why’d you stop?” you whined, ignoring his gloating and teasing. usually you might feel embarrassed, but right now all you could focus on was the missing sensation of his mouth, and the panging emptiness within you, and his expression softened at seeing your pained one.

“relax princess,” he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh and you whimpered. “i wanted to know if you could hold yourself up okay? i want to use my fingers.” your insides pulsed and your gut clenched at the mention, and how he said it so casually. wordlessly, and quickly, you rearranged yourself into a better position to hold yourself up, his hands slithering down around you, and up your inner thighs.

“good girl,” he praised succinctly, patting your inner thigh gently as he did, the heat on your cheeks burning deeper at his words. his long slender fingers then traveled up towards you and his when they reached their destination, he began moving them in circular motions over and near your clit as you sucked a breath in between your teeth. they moved slow at first, and then gradually began to pick up some speed, stroking up and down, before his fingers fully moved down, parting your folds before slipping inside, slowly starting with just one, pushing inside and then pulling it out, repeating this process teasingly, knowing just how to get you going.

“you’re so beautiful, so needy for me, huh?” he teased, and you wriggled in response, unable to create a coherent sentence, so you opted to let a singular word flow from your lips.

“more.”

he hummed, and then suddenly it was two fingers, and a string of lewd noises and blasphemous curses came from you in response. you were drunk on him, on everything about him, his words, his actions, his smell, his taste, and oh how that thought made you desperately want his mouth and his tongue back on you, tasting you.

his fingers slipped out of you again, slick and shiny, and you looked at him with your mouth dropped open from pleasure, and a protest almost escaped from you before you witnessed him licking his fingers, like he could read your mind, and for a second you wondered if he actually could. your arousal coated his tongue, before he slipped both his fingers slowly back inside, gingerly picking up speed. your eyes closed, relishing in the sensations he was providing you and you were unable to control the soft moans that vibrated from the back of your throat.

“you sound so pretty,” his voice was soft as he spoke. “so pretty just for me, hmm?” he was taking expert care of you, as if that was his divine purpose. he felt that it was, for you were kind enough to let him see you like this, and it was so so much better than anything his mind had ever fantasized about.

he pressed a few more wet kisses to your thighs, and then just as suddenly his mouth wanted to resume it’s place, and so a bit of spit dribbled from his lips down onto you, adding a bit more wetness to the situation, before his tongue resumed its place, supping at you with unequivocal thirst. his fingers were coated in your wetness and he began curling them up and attacking one spot in particular, earning a whine and a sharp intake of breath from you.

his mouth and lips found their way back up towards your clit, pulling it into his mouth and then letting it go just as suddenly. but then it was back again, and he gently sucked on it, lips soft and warm as he darted his tongue over and around you, and you couldn���t help the surprised and wanton noises you created in return.

your eyes fluttered open to see that his were closed, and you looked down at him, watching his every move, pulsing as you sucked in a breath. the roles were now a bit reversed, you were still the receiver, but he was now the performer, dazzling you with his magical talents. his fingers moved miraculously inside of you causing your thoughts to fade away, like some silly card trick. his sleight of hand was wonderful, his fingers and his mouth knowing exactly how to please you.

“sh-, i’m-,” you panted out, hips grinding against him. his other hand slid back up to hold you and offer more stability, and your walls clenched around his fingers in a way that made him hum against you, sending vibrations throughout.

his mouth pulled away again, jaw beginning to ache from the way he was hungrily feasting upon you, but his fingers remained and he watched you pant and shudder before him, your eyes now closed once more, too focused on the sensations he was providing you.

“yeah?” he asked, encouraging you to use your words. he loved when you were vocal about what he was doing to you, telling him how good you felt or even when all your brain could do was conjure up unintelligible noises. and he loved watching you like this. your parted lips, heavy breaths, eyes scrunched close as you bathed in the way he was making you feel.

“fuck, keep going,” you whined, pleading almost, as your arms and muscles strained, holding up your weight as your hips undulated against his hand. you would be afraid of toppling from your position on the counter, if the only thought you were able to think about wasn’t fox and his hands and his mouth and the sensations he was providing you. just him, him, him, nothing else mattered at the moment, your brain too clouded by pleasure and your impending orgasm that was bubbling beneath the surface. all because of him.

“oh i wouldn’t dream of stopping…. again,” he smirked, able to tell you were close. if you weren’t so enraptured by the moment, you would’ve laughed at him, but you were hyper focused on how good you felt. how good he was making you feel. he swapped his fingers for his mouth, but not before telling you to watch. he wanted to drink you up as you came on his tongue, which he was now fucking you with, and he wanted you to watch him do it. you moaned loudly, sweat pouring from your brow, eyes fluttering open as you watched him between bated breaths.

he hummed against you, and you fought the urge to throw your head back, pleasure washing over you, vibrations coursing through your body as you were ready to come undone.

and that you did, your body tensing and your grip becoming more harsh, grabbing at his hair and holding him in place as you rode out your high. your head threw back, mouth agape, thighs squeezing together around him tightly like a vicd, and a rush shot through your body like a bolt of lightning and you pulsed, walls contracting. his mouth kept working against you, coaxing and guiding you through your orgasm until your body and muscles began to relax and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding, along with releasing him from both your hands and thighs grip, cheeks reddening in embarrassment as your brain began to slowly process everything.

you used your hand that was holding him in place to now gently push him away from you, feeling overly sensitive, and as he pulled away, his chin was still slick and jaw still aching as he regained his own breath, breaths that slipped past his pink and puffy lips. he stood, leaning forward to enrapture your lips in a kiss, the taste of you still lingering all over him.

“sorry.” you squeaked out, after breaking away from the kiss, still reeling from the effects of your orgasm.

he hummed, “for what?” he really didn’t know what you had to be sorry for, for feeling good? he’d wanted you to, he wanted to take care of you and wanted to make you cum. and he had many times in the past, so what was there to be apologetic for now? he figured it was your nerves, or your own embarrassment rushing to the surface, so he rubbed your side reassuringly. there was absolutely nothing you needed to apologize for, and he really couldn’t think of what it would be.

“suffocating you?” you questioned, as if it was supposed to be something so obvious. and he laughed, a big laugh, like really? that was it? he wasn’t laughing at you, so much so as the apparent absurdity of your statement. as if being suffocated between your thighs wasn’t something he’d enjoy.

after recovering from his laughing fit, he cupped your cheek, smiling softly when he saw your confused expression and the way you couldn’t help yourself from leaning into his touch.

“baby,” he kissed you once more, lips lingering against yours for a second before pulling away to look into your eyes. he opened his mouth to say something else, more reassurances, but you cut him off with another kiss.

“‘s my turn to make you feel good now?” you questioned, drunkenly in love with the man before you. your hand traced down his chest, past his belly button and down his happy trail, fingertips dipping below his waistband, but he grabbed your wrist stopping you from going any further.

you looked up at him, once again confused. did he not want you to touch him?

“not here love,” and then you smiled as he helped you down from the counter top, rescuing the princess from her tower and holding your wrist again to lead you towards the bedroom, leaving your underwear behind, forgotten about for now, along with the two cups of tea you had prepared earlier that had now gone cold.

[colorfullpaperbird]

Characters in Ace attorney that i believe are aware of fanfiction✨ ( and fandom )

Warning i haven’t played all the games yet, in fact my apollo justice trilogy is crashing every time i try to open it, so all the characters from after aa3 are based on fandom osmosis

Miles Edgeworth - writes Steel Samurai fanfiction on ao3 and has been doing it for some time now (the living embodiment of the ao3 writers curse) would rather die than anyone finding that out tho, doesn’t have a lot of free time so only posts once in like 3-4 months, fics are pretty good and distinct since he writes them with so much formality, so he is relatively popular in some fandom spaces;

Maya Fey- fanfiction reader only, runs an account on Tumblr for Steel Samurai news and fanwork, famous in the fandom and runs a discord server, one of those people that lowkey have their own fandom mostly bc of the insane revelations she drops about her own life from time to time ( “ lmao guys sorry for being absent but i got accused of murder for the 4th time and that really sucked ANYWAYS did you guys look at the leaks for the new reboot… “ ) Shes also way too open about herself on the internet;

Simon Blackquill: Sasuke fan ( derogatory ) also steel samurai fan tho, dont think he goes out the way to read fanfiction ( i think if he did he would read them in fanfiction.net ) but its pretty funny to think hes edgeworths beta reader ( AN: sorry for the delay, unfortunate circumstances came to light that my beta reader was arrested and is now on death roll ) He ran an AMV account on youtube before going to prison;

Trucy Wright: Shes 16 and her only friends are her dads coworkers, she opened wattpad AT LEAST once, probably accidentally read one of those “got sold to one direction (gavinners)” fics and immediately closed the app;

Klavier Gavin: opened wattpad to see what type of fanfiction people were writing about him, he runs a secret fan account and shares fun facts about him and his bandmates as “hcs”, also pretty popular but most people hate him bc they believe his depiction of the gavinners is “too ooc”. He is actually pretty impressed by the quality of most of the works and alludes to their existence constantly in his main on twitter, the fans go insane everytime;

Franziska Von Karma: I don’t believe Franziska is a fanfiction reader nor is she into any fandom, i do however believe she has notifications turned on for Edgeworth’s ao3 account, he doesn’t know that of course, what a foolish fool to think he could hide such a thing from his big sister, she will sometimes quote his work back to him and find amusing seeing him freeze. He thinks its a coincidence because he is too secretive about his hobbies, he’s wrong, she’s been following him online since she was 13, that’s how she knew he wasn’t dead in JFA.

Extras: Phoenix is technologically illiterate, he couldn’t read fanfiction even if he wanted to. Apollo is way too normal for that, he has the law autism not the fandom one. Athena knows of fanfiction bc she is young and in the internet but she wasn’t very interested in it. If you ask Gumshoe about fanfiction he would give you a smile and say “Of course im a Fan of Fiction Pal!”. I do believe Pearl has wattpad but only reads original works on there, so in my opinion she doesn’t count.

Im sorry for any spelling mistakes, english is not my first language

[osunism]

Muse's Fanfic Masterpost

⚠️ Please read before following/interacting. ⚠️

A rebloggable version of this.

I reserve the right to set and maintain boundaries with my blog and my writing. As a rule, I block ageless/blank/minor-run blogs. This blog is run by a real adult and so I only want to interact with other actual adults because my content lends itself to being adult-oriented.

Every original female protagonist I write unless otherwise stated is a dark-skinned Black woman. Sometimes I will include art or a model for closest approximation, but for the most part I make this explicitly clear in the narration.

I usually only write OC/Canon ships. That is central to all of my writing. I know a lot of people are weirdly hostile about OCs being shipped with their favorite characters but I promise you it’s not and never will it ever be that serious. If you’re a dick to me about what I choose to write, at best the only attention you’ll get is a block.

That being said let’s just get this out of the way: I write characters who like to fuck. Sex is going to happen in my work so if that gives you the ick well…you’ve been warned.

I do not take requests. Writing is already very taxing for me given my health issues and schedule, and I want to focus on writing things that I personally enjoy, this includes prompts I choose to participate in.

For my roleplayers and those who like to ship one another’s OCs and do collaborative worldbuilding and headcanons: please ask me first before taking things from my personal sandbox. I’m very protective of my little corner and would rather do things like that with those whom I’ve established a close rapport.

Do not ask me about BioWare [Dragon Age and Mass Effect] content. Yes, my work is still available to read. But I no longer have any interest in creating content for that fandom, so don’t ask me about it.

My purpose and goal in my fanfiction is not to be strictly canon-compliant, and my interpretation of canon events and characters may and likely will differ from yours. Canon is not sacrosanct to me. If you find my work disagreeable because of this, feel free to go read something else suited to your tastes!

If you like my work, pleasepleaseplease share it. Liking my posts or giving kudos on AO3 doesn’t do much if you don’t share it for others to read. Comments are highly encouraged and appreciated as well. It’s always good to see feedback on how people interpret my work. It also helps me refine my writing in order to get my stories across more clearly.

Due to the frequent racist hostility and unpleasantness in other fandoms I inhabit, my comments on AO3 are moderated as a rule. Act like someone raised you right before you interact with me. This includes checking your racial biases at the door.

Below is a list of all my current works. Since I’m currently only active in the JJK fandom, those are the works that’ll be listed! Once other fandoms get active, this list will be sorted and updated!

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 FFN 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs 𑁍 Headcanons & Meta ⛩️

Fic Status Key

[♡] - AO3 version.

[⭑] - Tumblr version.

[♤] - Fanfiction(dot)net version.

[🚩] - Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

[🔏] - Commissioned Fic

[∞] - In Progress

[☥] - Rewriting

[☯] - Complete

[📿] - Parallax

[🔮] - Sonder

[🪄] - Lost Worlds & Endless Nights

Relationship Key

🧿👹 - Satoru/Sundari

⛩️⚔️ - Sukuna/Nadja

🧿🧜🏾‍♀️ - Satoru/Asabé

⛓️👸🏾 - Toji/Akasha

⛓️👩🏿‍🦱 - Toji/blackfem!Reader

Relevant Tags

#muse writes

#fic rec

#jjk x oc

#jjk x black oc

#jjk fanfic

#jjk fanart

#fic: [ficname]

#series: [seriesname]

#ch: [charname]

#oc: [ocname]

#otp: [shipname]

noun [📿] par·​al·​lax ˈper-ə-ˌlaks ˈpa-rə- 1. the apparent displacement or the difference in apparent direction of an object as seen from two different points not on a straight line with the object. especially: the angular difference in direction of a celestial body as measured from two points on the earth's orbit.

Nadja Hikmat, an immortal warrior tasked by Heaven itself to hunt Ryōmen Sukuna, falls in love with the sorcerer instead. From that fateful meeting, a ripple of unforeseen changes echos across the sea of time.

Beast of No Nation [♡] [⭑] [♤] – One night, the King of Curses took an over-curious fugitive of heaven to task. Over the course that night, and the many that followed, she found herself continuously drawn to the jujutsu world. [☯] [📿] ⛩️⚔️ || 🧿👹

If [♡] [⭑] [♤] – One night, Satoru meets a woman with strange tattoos who sears a place on his mind and memory. Who is she? [☯] [📿] 🧿👹

Crystalline [⭑]– The night Itadori Yuji takes in Sukuna’s Finger, Satoru sees Sukuna’s cursed energy erupt in Roppongi and finds a familiar face at its epicenter. [🔏] [☯] [📿] 🧿👹

We Might Even Be Fallin' In Love [♡] [⭑] [♤] – The miracle of existence bridges the infinity between them. [☯] [📿] 🧿👹

Daughter of Disgrace [♡] [⭑] [♤] – In the aftermath of Satoru Gojo’s sealing, Sundari must choose rebellion in order to free him. Lucky for them both, rebellion has always been her preferred modus operandi. [☯] [📿] ⛩️⚔️ || 🧿👹

The Godslayer Project [♡] [⭑] [♤] - Coming soon...

The universe conspires to keep one pair's love kept safe. Nadja and Sukuna walk Samsāra, no matter the form, recognizing one another's souls everywhere they meet. Here is how their meeting ripples across the multiverse. [Or: I am in love with these two and here are some AUs I'm cooking up.]

Highball [♡] [⭑] [♤] - The price of peace has a cost. The scales must balance eventually. [Yakuza/Found Family AU]

noun [🔮] 1. the feeling one has on realizing that every other individual one sees has a life as full and real as one’s own, in which they are the central character and others, including oneself, have secondary or insignificant roles: In a state of sonder, each of us is at once a hero, a supporting cast member, and an extra in overlapping stories.

A collection of fics in my sprawling JJK multiverse featuring various protagonists, including the Reader!

The Unforgiving Roads That Lead to You [♡] [♤] – Roxanne Abaza, the only foreign-born special grade sorcerer in existence, is called to assist with the wrangling and exorcism of Ryōmen Sukuna. What ensues is more than she bargained for. [☥]

Halfsleeper [♡] [⭑] [♤] – A young widowed sorceress seeks protection under the aegis of the Honored One, but he has a better idea for keeping her out of the clutches of her dangerous clan. [∞] 🧿🧜🏾‍♀️

Unsanctioned [♡] [⭑] [♤] – Bodyguard/Yakuza AU. Toji Fushiguro, who is in disgrace after having an affair with his boss’ now ex-wife, is now tasked with protecting her as the mercurial grounds of Tokyo’s Underworld begin to shift into uncertainty, putting the entire syndicate and anyone associated with them in peril. [∞] ⛓️👸🏾

Before It's Gone [♡] [⭑] – Toji’s been darkening your doorway for a while and is only now realizing what you already knew. [☯] [🔮] ⛓️👩🏿‍🦱

These are playlists for the fics and characters within my JJK ‘verse. It cannot be overstated how much music plays an integral role in my creative process, and it makes me happy to share it with you all to expand the picture I paint with my stories. A ☮︎ indicates a link to the Spotify version of the playlist. Keep in mind that due to licensing issues [yuck], my personal music library tracks can’t be played on some services so there might be more or less songs, different versions of songs, etc. Still bangers, tho. Enjoy.

🎧 [ fugitive of heaven ] [☮︎]– Nadja Hikmat's playlist. Like her immortal life, this playlist has been curated across decades, evoking imagery of a wild, twisting sojourn through many eras. 🐍

🎧 [ godslayer principle ] [☮︎] – Sundari Hikmat's playlist. Expect atmospheric haunting, psytrance, hard techno, some house, R&B, trap, and strange chanting. 🔱

🎧 [ ritual + bone ] [☮︎] – Roxanne Abaza’s playlist. Witchy, just like our girl likes it.

🎧 [ highball ] [☮︎] – The soundtrack for my Parallax AU: Highball.

© 2024 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. This includes feeding any of my writing to an AI as well as copying my masterlist format. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN. All general banners and dividers by @cafekitsune.

☕️ Member of the @pixelcafe-network.

🇵🇸 Palestinian Resources - A guide to Palestine as well as resources in order to help with relief efforts for individuals and families. You can also check my main blog for fundraisers I boost as well.

[mooncello]

Hi friends. I posted chapter 5 of more than a footnote last Sunday. It's over on ao3.

I'm working through some beats for chapter 6. Unlike some of you magnificent plotters, I hate outlines. They feel constricting to me. And the story shifts and evolves as I write. Characters reveal stuff to me as we spend more time together, and sometimes that necessitates plot changes or deeper subplots. It's also my greedy curious distractable brain. Like: Oh, but what if this happens? What if he did this instead? Truly, squirrel brain. But y'know those lil bushy-tailed fuckers can unintentionally plant oak trees so ... I will follow those acorn trails and play with a new thought or question, even if it wasn't originally plotted, to see whether it has a place in the story. It's kinda like having an ongoing conversation with the story as it's being written. It's humbling af and takes twice as long, I'm sure, than if I wrote an outline and stuck with it. But I've tried the detailed plotting thing, and it just doesn't work for me.

So I don't have anything from chapter 6 to share just yet. But I do have something else. It almost feels like a tease, because I don't know when I'll actually sit down and write the rest of this fic, but I finally figured out what direction lost boys is going. (Sometimes you follow the squirrel, and sometimes you let a story rest to see what emerges from quiet stasis.) I'm excited about it again. Which feels amazing. Here are way more than six sentences from chapter 3, Baz POV:

“How old were you,” I ask softly, “when you first came here?” “Eight.” He switches his hands behind his head and moves his shoulder blades against the earth, like he’s trying to get more comfortable. I have a sudden bolt of reckless courage. “Here,” I say and sit up fully. I scoot closer, angle my body, and wrap my palm around the curve of his head. Thankfully, he understands what I’m communicating and shifts until his head is resting in my lap. I suddenly find Simon staring directly up at me. An easy smile slopes across his face. “Hey,” he says. “Hi.”  I feel my own mouth stretch into a responding smile. There’s a delightful tumble of butterflies in my stomach. Without giving it any thought, my fingers thread through his hair, nails skimming his skull and then pulling away with curls between knuckles. The slightest of tugs. Release. Then I repeat the sequence over and over again. Simon melts against my thigh, and his eyes flutter closed. A tiny, contented moan leaves him, and I grow momentarily dizzy because I did that. That sound was because of me. “Feel good?” I murmur. “Mmph.” I’m glad his eyes are closed and can’t see me smirking. I’m so goddamn pleased. And he looks incredible like this. Relaxed and untroubled, draped over my lap.

tags under the cut!

thank you for the tags today @monbons and @orange-peony

🩵 ✨@drowninginships @valeffelees @run-for-chamo-miles @blackberrysummerblog @orange-peony

@youarenevertooold, @shrekgogurt, @hushed-chorus, @whatevertheweather, @fatalfangirl

@cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @artsyunderstudy, @emeryhall, @raenestee

@iamamythologicalcreature, @bookish-bogwitch @thewholelemon, @best--dress, @rimeswithpurple

@ileadacharmedlife, @skeedelvee, @monbons, @j-nipper-95

@ic3-que3n, @theearlgreymage, @theimpossibledemon, @brilla-brilla-estrellita

@facewithoutheart, @larkral, @messofthejess

[chaotic-tired-fox]

Resident Evil obscure facts PART 3

Since y’all like these so much

(Probably the last part since I really scraped the bottom of my brain here)

Part 1 Part 2

☠️ Hunk telling Nighthawk to go and leave him during RE2 4th Survivor is the first time we see him respond with any emotion or concern for anyone else other than his mission.

☠️ Nikolai and Sergei Vladimir were friends and fought together in the soviet war.

☠️ Sergei Vladimir and Ozwell E Spencer were also old friends which is how Sergei came to rule over the UBCS in the first place. He was completely loyal to Spencer.

☠️ Chris bulking up between Code Veronica and RE5 was a direct response to Wesker being able to beat him so easily. He wanted to get stronger despite Wesker possessing superhuman strength.

☠️ Claire and Leon have a really shaky relationship thanks to Leon’s loyalty to the US Government. He doesn’t deviate from this until RE6 when he decides to defend Helena Harper and sympathises with her actions.

☠️ The knife Leon carries in the RE4 remake is the same knife Marvin gives him in the RE2 remake

☠️ Jake Muller said he was trained by an unnamed mercenary, some speculate this could have been Hunk as he became a mercenary after the Umbrella trials in 2003

☠️ The metal band Ice Nine Kills made a song based on the Resident Evil franchise called ‘Rainy Day’ (and its very good I recommend)

☠️ For Hunk to snap necks the way he does would require a hell of a lot of strength

☠️ Umbrella Corps (which is canon) set after Resident Evil 5 has voice lines from Wesker in it which implies he may be still alive.

Quote: “The circumstances of my death were greatly exaggerated.”

☠️ In Resident Evil 4 The Merchant’s eyes are blue but glow yellow in the dark/at night. In the Remake he doesn’t do this.

☠️ Luis Sera was Catholic which was the original religion of the village before Saddler moved in.

☠️ In Operation Raccoon City Nikolai has a scar on the side of his face but in the Resident Evil 3 Remake he doesn’t

☠️ Chris’s height was changed from 5’11” to 6’2” in later games

☠️ In Resident Evil 7, Ethan loses his left hand, in RE8 he loses his right.

☠️ ‘Master of Unlocking’ is perhaps the most well known ongoing Resident Evil reference not only in the series but many other games as well including most recently as an achievement in the game ‘Killer Frequency.’ You’ll find it most commonly as the name of trophies.

☠️ In Resident Evil 3 Remake RPD, Carlos makes a quote about cameras being used to kill monsters which is a reference to the Fatal Frame series.

☠️ Also in the RE3 Remake, we never truly find out who Nikolai’s client was and Jill never does the ‘detective work’ on it either. It’s theorised that it was Sergei Vladimir as he is the only person Nikolai had any kind of contact and relationship with.

☠️ There is an unofficial Resident Evil 4 inspired puzzle game on the Switch called Safe Room where you organise items into differently shaped grid boxes. Perfect for those that enjoy the satisfaction of good inventory management.

☠️ Crimson head zombies are a mutated variant of regular T-Virus zombies that can happen sometimes if you ‘kill’ them. But they are actually the midway point between a regular zombie and a Licker. (Note the sharp claws)

☠️ Rebecca’s coffee order is an iced caramel macchiato

☠️ Extra fact: I write Hunk related short stories on AO3! I’d love if you checked em out! The link to my fics is HERE

Death Island spoilers below!

☠️ In Death Island, Chris and Leon have matching watches

☠️ As of Death Island, all five of the main characters have been infected with something and cured.

☠️ Chris mentioning Piers in Death Island is the first we’ve heard of him since RE6 (and it hurtttt)

☠️ It’s implied that Chris finding Leon in Vendetta and bringing him back saved his life. We see his mood has greatly improved since then

☠️ We don’t actually have an answer for when Leon and Jill first met but it could have been around the same time he met Chris in 2010

☠️ Once again the trend of Leon crashing every vehicle he touches continues!

[kaybreezy3000]

----------------------------------------------------

Sometimes your fanfic best friend gives you a shout out in an anon ask reply, and then you get excited and make your quickest Five fanart and first-time sort of animation based on a pairing she mentioned and that you wrote years ago. 😄

Link to Bad Kitty's ask

Link to my other art and stories on Tumblr

Link to my long read/3-part Five Centric TUA story with Five paired with a character similar to the one above (and yes-she has Harley Quinn vibes but don't worry if you don't like her-she is not her, I just borrowed some of her wild and fun and qualities. 😉)

------

Updated note added late 6/28/24 after a continuous thread of harassing comments from one user that now has been blocked. No this is not 'AI' made or traced like that person repeatedly said it was. I did not steal someone else's art like they accused me of with no back up other than ripping me apart with more mean comments about what looks so bad about this. They also said my other art posts are 'AI,' and that I have no drawing skill or understanding of how clothes fold.

The AI accusation is a very mean thing to say and it's happening to so many people on here and in the actual profession art world. I do agree that I am not great at art or writing but that doesn't mean I am using AI and claiming it's mine. It's very sad that people feel the need to attack art in this way when it's clearly not even good like mine.

This picture/animation was done with me doing a very bad, very fast sketch, and then hardly correcting my lines before I quickly color filled the drawing that I MADE based off the fact that I have drawn Five in a suit more times than I can count and I have basic drawing skills, not great skills but basic. The reason the hard lines are both gray and black in some spots is because I went in after to correct stuff like gaps that needed to be filled for color filling and I did that in a different layer with black rather than the gray I used the first time. It's an error but one I was aware of but didn't care about because this was supposed to be fast and messy.

So yeah... this is NOT TRACED, and from what it was supposedly traced or 'stollen' from, I have no idea what this user thought that was because they never backed that up with some image that they seem so sure I used. This was based on Five with one of my original characters, so that image they claim I stole didn't exist until I made it.

I'm just trying to have fun with my friends on here while learning to draw better digitally. I am not an artist, and I definitely don't get paid or try to make people support me.

To those like the user who did this, please just chill with the mean comments and be kind to art makers on here and writers and all content posters. If you don't like something ignore it or keep your negativity inside instead of spreading hateful intentions and saying things that are not true about people and their work or their ideas.

Sorry to go off about that on here when it was just supposed to be silly and fun, but this stuff isn't okay and needs to be shut down. I am not always going to post 'proof' pictures of my works in process. I have done that before, but it's not what this is about for me, so I don't even think to do it normally. I have other art posts on AO3 with hand drawn stuff so I figure I don't need to prove I can draw. If someone wants proof, it isn't hard to find it through my posts.

I know most people are only here just for the fun stuff and let's have more of that. ❤️ Peace and love to you all.

[mixelation]

FAQs

Housekeeping post! Last updated 9 November 2024.

General:

Who is Tori?

My OC! Check out her masterpost.

Do you have a tags masterpost?

I'm working on it. :)

How do I refer to you?

I've been telling people to call me Mixel, but some people call me Mix. I use she/they.

Can you tag something for me?

I am not good at remembering to tag things. In general, if you following a blog requires certain things to be tagged, I wouldn't recommend following this blog.

You didn't answer my ask!

I don't answer even close to every ask I get. It's nothing personal! Sometimes I don't have time or energy, sometimes I just don't have opinions on the thing, and sometimes I mean to answer later and then forget and then it gets buried. Sometimes this happens even if I've specifically asked for people to send me stuff via an ask meme. Sometimes I don't answer even when I really want to for various reasons.

I want to talk to you about the thing you just reblogged!

Most of the art/fandom posts (like gifsets, original art, etc) are on a queue and I don't actually know what things post and when. If you do not contextualize the post you are referring to, it's likely I will have no idea what you're talking about.

Do you want a recommendation?

Please don't send me recommendations unless I have specifically asked for them.

Can I DM you?

I don't like getting DMs from people I don't know. Please don't DM me unless we've talked before (via comments, asks, etc -- anon does NOT count). If you have a question you don't want answered publicly, you can send me an ask and request it be answered privately.

Also: please do not send me posts with zero context. I cannot read your mind and I don't like not knowing what you expect me to do with the post (reblog it, talk to you about, etc). Yes, even if you think the context is obvious. You do not need many words to contextualize a post.

Do you have a DNI?

No, but relevant to being a fandom blog: I am a bonafide adult, and my view on shipping and other fandom activities is basically "I have no right to judge what fictional scenarios other people enjoy or want to explore, regardless of my personal feelings on them." If either of those things make you uncomfortable, go ahead and block me.

Can I repost your content to another website? I'll credit you!

For fics, absolutely not. Do not repost any of my creative story writing, fanfic or original fic.

For generic tumblr posts, I am wary of giving permission to repost any sort of content on another site. I can’t stop you reposting screen caps of my posts, and I’m not going to hunt them down or (publicly) complain about screen caps of my post on other sites. But if you come to me actually asking for permission.... the answer is no.

Fandom and fics:

I came here to find the Plasticity AUs and what I found confuses and frightens me.

Not to worry! I made a masterpost.

Why did you change your user name?

Here's a post about it. Most relevant notes form that post: 1. Don't refer to me by my old user name, even on other sites. 2. If you find an old tumblr link that's broken, you can replace my old user name with "mixelation" and it will work again!

Can I do ______ with your fic?

I have a permissions statement on my AO3 profile. I try to keep this up-to-date as my feelings on how my work is used evolves.

Can I tag you/send you a post that reminds me of your fics?

Yes, but please explain that's what you're doing. Please don't send me context-less posts. I cannot read your mind through the internet.

I might retract permission for this if I start getting a ton, just for my own sanity. But so far it's been fine.

How do I send you fan art?

Most people have been sending them by asks, but you can also post them to your own blog and @ me, or else comment on the fic itself or send me a link via tumblr asks. Give me a few days to interact before following up.

When are you going to update _____? Is _____ abandoned?

I have a busy life and what fic I work on in my free time is controlled by the whims of my brain. There's no schedule and I am unlikely to be able to give you an estimate. I will tag a fic as abandoned on AO3 if I decide there's no way it will ever get updated. For some fics for which I get this a lot:

Homemade Dynamite - I actually have about 95% of chapter 13 written. Chapter 12, however, is only like half written and I have a pretty big block on it. :(

Fun and Games - I do hope to continue this one, and I have a decent chunk of the next chapter written, plus notes + an outline for the rest of the fic. Unfortunately, to keep writing it, I have to do a decent amount of research on HP canon, and certain recent events have really soured my motivation to interact with that canon.

I found a fic I think you would like!

Please see my answer about recommendations. Don't send them unless I've asked, no matter how good you think it is.

Can you give ME a fic recommendation?

Probably not. I don't have time/energy to read a lot nowadays, and I don't tend to bookmark or save fics I do read. I don't mind sharing if I've mentioned a specific fic, but I feel bad when people ask for recs and I literally don't have anything.

[gggoldfinch]

Hatchetknife

Richard B. Riddick x OFC (or reader)

(disclaimer: photo found on pinterest ^ )

A/N: I’ve been gripped by the most manic and inexplicable riddick brainrot ever and needed to get this out of my system or I’d deadass explode ‼️I usually don't write oneshots like this so it was a nice breath of fresh air actually. Hopefully now this sexy bald bitch will leave my poor brain alone so I can do something else other than binge watching vin diesel movies

warnings: original female character (descriptions vague enough to be reader insert), possibly a little ooc, very brief discussion of SA (in a non-threatening manner), minor violence & injury, explicit language, forced proximity, only one bed, explicit sexual content, smut, oral sex, praise kink, scent kink, size kink, light choking, biting, pet names. MINORS DNI

word count: 12,114

{AO3 Link}

summary: A low-profile merc masquerading as a man has her ship (and life) invaded by an unlikely guest. She gets found out, and things progress interestingly.

***

There's a ship that's been sitting idle in the upper-east Storage B-Port for weeks now; Riddick knows this. He also knows he hasn't been this incapacitated in a while. It's a hard thing to admit to himself, but he can feel the exhaustion creeping in. He hasn't slept in over 72 hours, and has been fighting and running for most of that time. He's out of his element— stuck in the heart of a congested city-planet rather than out in the wilderness of some uninhabited backwater planet. He's bleeding from somewhere— his side, maybe. His nose is broken, too, and there must be some sort of nerve damage too, because he can't scent who's coming after him anymore. He lost his goggles somewhere during this most recent scuffle, too, so all the neon signs are like miniature suns searing his retinas.

There's an idle ship gathering dust in Storage B-Port. He recalls it looking like a good model, some custom parts. It'll be easy to hijack. It'll be easy to leave this planet and his merc pursuers in the dust.

———————————————————————

Everyone has their own way of surviving in this nightmare of a universe. Some kill, some are killed. That's just something each and every person has to come to terms with while they draw breath. While not exactly thriving, this one particular individual has found their own way to survive. Some may call her a mercenary, and they wouldn't necessarily be wrong— but she prefers to call herself a mere gun for hire. It's easy to make a living when you have a thick head and nothing to lose, going from one job to another with little in the way of possessions and even less in the way of social relationships. She goes where the proverbial wind takes her, planet-hopping and working odd jobs. Sometimes the jobs entail hunting dangerous quarry, but more often than not she's hired for non-violent jobs running security for personnel protection or transport. Honestly, the only jobs she turns down outright are those having anything remotely to do with the Necromongers. Sure it isn't ideal, but it's better than living in the slums of the over-crowded metroplanet where she'd grown up.

It's a risky job, no doubt, made no less difficult by her deliberate choice to fly solo. Solo is safe. Solo, she don't have to worry about crewmates stealing or betraying her, or worse, taking advantage of her. Barely an adult when she'd begun her life hopping between merc crews, she'd learned early that being on her own is better, safer. No— she keeps to herself with nothing but the ship's computer system for company. And, when the occasion rises where she does have to venture out into civilization again—to find a job or stock up on supplies—she takes heavy precautions.

Strong from years of fighting and labor, her body can shoulder the burdensome weight of armor; broad shoulders and sturdy bones make her intimidating and capable. Years worth of mismatched armor plates make up her regular uniform, both metal alloys and plastic prints. Some pieces were taken off fallen quarry—or former crewmates—some purchased responsibly. Each plate has a little story she can recall, fondly or not. When worn all together, her form is virtually unrecognizable, and more importantly, masculine. The crown mantle is her helmet: sturdy, sleek, black, with a visor capable of internal screen display. The vocal distorter programmed into it deepens her voice to a disguised pitch. The suit of armor isn't entirely comfortable, but it's a requirement for her safety.

"Hatchet!"

She swivels her helmeted head, looking in the direction from which she hears her codename. She hadn't been calling herself anything when she'd assumed this masculine persona. Her various employers just began calling her a shortened version of her ship's name—the Hatchetknife—and it just ended up sticking within the merc circle she floats in. No one knows her true identity, as far as she's aware. If they do, no problems have arisen from it yet.

A man approaches her, stocky and shorter than her. He's been her employer for the past several weeks, paying her to be a glorified bodyguard for his uppity son, on probation for yatta yatta yatta. She'd tuned out the rest once she'd heard the price of the paycheck. 350 thousand units just to  babysit an alcoholic man-child for a month while he's on probation. She couldn't pass it up.

Her employer holds out a datapad, the blue screen alight with money transfer information. She's about to receive her payment and get the fuck off this stuffed metroplanet. Maybe she can finally replace some of the older parts on the Hatchetknife with this payment.

"Don't be a stranger, now," the man says amicably once the digital paperwork has been filled. She receives a notification ping on the screen of her visor, indicating the payment has gone through successfully.  

She inclines her concealed head, thanks him for the business, and turns tail to leg it back to the ship. The thing has been docked in storage for nearly a full month cycle now— long enough for the ticket expense to be a bit of a blow to her newly acquired units. It doesn't matter; this planet will be long behind her in only a matter of a few short hours. She's been idle, been on this polluted and overpopulated planet for too long.

And she'll be damned if a little blood on the exterior hatchpad of her ship is going to deter her from getting out of dodge in a timely manner. It's a handprint, maybe a couple, smeared all along the white panelling of the cargo bay door's control console. The cargo bay door is locked up tight though, so she's not particularly worried that any ne'er-do-wells have tried breaking into her sturdy old ship. It's a good model, she tells herself. It has a security system that would alert her of suspicious activity through the link between her helmet and the ship's mainframe. Sure, someone clearly tried to get in, but there's no sign the bay door had been opened recently.

She pays her exorbitantly priced docking ticket and opens the bay door herself. She remains completely oblivious to the other trail of blood, smeared up the side of the ship and leading to the secondary hatch. She doesn't notice the cut wires either, spraying pathetic little sparks instead of warning signals to her security system. To be fair, she doesn't notice much of anything—doesn't even remove her armor or helmet—in her haste to take off. She just charges through the cargo bay, vaults the ladder to the upper deck, and wedges herself behind the control console.

It feels like home, being behind the console. More of a home than she's ever really had, at least. She exhales against the interior of her helmet. Her reflection gleams in the bare windshield, the sleek black glass and metal of her high-tech helmet staring back. Gloved fingers press buttons and flip switches, igniting holoscreens and a rainbow of lights. Meters and regulators all seem to be in check despite the ship's extended idleness, and the hyperdrive kickstarts with a comforting purr. She has to take the ship up and out of the atmosphere before kicking it into warp speed, lest the planet's nasty police force pick a fight with her. Fog and flames lick the nose of the Hatchetknife as it accelerates upward, breaking through the upper atmosphere at a smooth 15 kilometers per second, and an even 75 degree angle. Only then does she crank the hyperdrive and watch as the countless stars warp around the nose of the ship.

She plots an aimless course, avoiding setting a firm destination until she can get her hands on another potential job lead. Upon throwing it into autopilot, the ship's automated computer system welcomes her back on board. Hatchet, it calls her. Not even her own ship uses her true name anymore.

Her boots are heavy as they tramp out of the cockpit. Reinforced steel and acid-resistant soles, these boots are. They're her favorites. They make a robust thump thump as she walks into the narrow hallway of the Hatchetknife. Here resides her bunk, and across from that is the kitchenette and table where she eats and works and sometimes sleeps. It's barely wide enough to fit two people standing shoulder-to-shoulder. She's used to close-quarters; it's almost comforting, like a womb. The hatch and ladder down to the cargo bay gapes at the end of the hall, and this is what she beelines for once acclimating herself with the interior of her ship again. Her bunk looks awfully inviting, but first on the agenda is to shuck off all the armor.

Boots bracketed on either side of the ladder and gloved hands holding tight to the side-rails, she slides down until landing on the grate panels of the cargo bay floor. This area is vastly larger than her living quarters— it has to be, in the event she has to transport sizable goods or heavy machinery. A armory case for her weapons and uniform sits bolted against the side wall, its grate doors barely revealing the contents. She opens the thing up, removing the machine gun strapped to her back to place it on its rightful hooks.

She hooks her thumbs under the seal of her helmet and disables the suctioned airlock. Just as she's preparing to lift the burdensome thing from her head, something collides with her right side, knocking her clean off her feet. It takes only a few frantic moments to realize it's a human being— a male attacker. Her deactivated helmet collides with the metal flooring at an odd angle, instantly disabling the visor's screen as a result of some internal damage. The force of the tackle and impact against the floor has the breath drawn from her lungs in a violent, rattling wheeze. The muscles over her ribs convulse and tighten, sending a shock of panic and pain and adrenaline through her system. With little time to think, no weapon handy, and no opportunity to scan the stranger, she starts thrashing. Amidst the scuffle and blow to her head, she can't quite see clearly, only able to make out a blur of squirting blood. The blood isn't her own— she's sure she would feel it if she'd been shanked in any of her armor's vulnerable spots.

She thrusts a gauntleted arm upwards in the direction she thinks the intruder's head is. Her metal-sheathed wrist collides with something and the oppressive weight above her slumps over to the side.

Hatchet scrambles up to her knees and tears the nearest gun from off the rack. She spins, points the weapon at the stranger's head, and... doesn't shoot.

Sprawled on the cold metal floor is a man. A large man. Bald-headed and covered in blood she knows she hadn't drawn from him herself. It's old blood, old wounds— maybe hours, maybe days. Despite the vaguely stunned look about him from being hit in the head, he wears a wry little smile upon his full mouth, lips and nose bloody from what looks like a previous beating. His eyes glint in a peculiar fashion, almost like feline eyeshine, silvery and shifting.

He holds his hands out by his head placatingly, palms facing upward. Then, he grins. "Okay, okay. You got me." His voice is deep and smooth like rolling thunder. It's almost startlingly in its intensity.

"Who the fuck are you? What are you doing on my ship!? What do you want?" she barks into the voice modulator, keeping the hardy submachine gun trained on him.

"Got a pretty nice ship here, don't you think?" he rumbles out.

"Fuck you!"

He chuckles at that, although the action looks like it pains him. The blood, she realizes, is oozing from a substantial stab wound on his left flank, just below the contour of his shapely pectoral muscle. She swallows thickly, choking down the apprehensive lump in her throat. Still a little off-kilter from the blow to her helmet, she shakily rises to her feet, steady finger not leaving the trigger once. The man clenches his silvery eyes shut, sucking in a substantial breath only to groan it all out again. One broad, tan hand shifts to press against the wound on his side, the other remaining innocently idle.  

Without prompting, Hatchet's line of sight raises to the secondary hatch within the cargo hold. There it is: a smear of blood and sparking wires. That's where he'd gotten in. Must be a determined fella—let alone smart—to have hacked the ship's security system to override the locking mechanism and find which wires would send out a warning signal before they even had the chance to. She looks back to him, curiously tilting her head to the side in observation of him.

"What the fuck do you think is supposed to happen now?" she grits out. The voice modulator gives it an extra bit of bite.

The man laughs, blood staining his straight teeth. "I dunno. Thought you might hand over your ship."

"Hand over my— Do you have a fucking head injury?"

He laughs again and she kicks his calf roughly.

"What about this is funny? Please, illuminate it for me. Because all I see some fucking stowaway who has a gun to his head and a nasty stab in his side. You're not getting my ship, pal. You'll be lucky if I let you see tomorrow."

"Bad timing," he murmurs, voice thick with strain and sardonic amusement. His expression slackens, the crease between his thin brows flattening out gradually.

"What?"

She kicks his leg again; he's unresponsive. Unconscious, actually, judging by the sudden lack of tension in his face and limbs. She drops the gun-wielding hand to her side and lets out a high-pitched wail of frustration.

She's not a cold blooded murderer. Sure, she's had to take a life or two throughout her days, but then again, who hasn't in this line of work. Those times were different— kill or be killed. This is... this is an injured, apparently unarmed guy on her cargo bay floor. Yes, he'd broken in, but maybe he has a valid excuse. She's had to break into places to survive before, it's really not that unusual. And despite all the shit she's been through, deep down Hatchet has a bleeding heart. She'd be pressed to admit it, of course. The sight of the stranger, wounded and unconscious, male as he may be, pulls at her tender and guarded heartstrings.

Fucking hell. She can only hope that someday in the future, if she's ever in time of need, that some stranger will treat her with kindness.

The man is heavy. Not deceptively so, as his height and build imply a great amount of mass, but hell if she's not winded by the time she drags him over to the cargo lift. The small elevator is usually for objects and not people, but it's the only way she can get his dead-weight ass to the upper level where the only cot and good light source are. She hasn't taken her armor off, and at this point she doesn't think she's going to. Certainly not with a strange man aboard, unconscious or not.

Upon both arriving at the upper level, it takes a great amount of effort to haul the man over to the bunk. The space is barely big enough to comfortably hold Hatchet, and she's nowhere near the size of this beast of a man. The cot creaks as she lowers him onto it, his boots scraping the wall as she crams him into the broom closet sized space. Flicking on the overhead light, it illuminates him with white fluorescence. It's only then does she realize he's not entirely unconscious; somewhere in there, he's aware enough to wince at the light coming on. She squints at him for a long moment, scrutinizing the situation. He doesn't show any other sign of cognizance besides for that averse reaction to the bright light beating down on his eyelids. When she decides it had only been some sort of odd reflex, she goes to retrieve the medical supplies from an aptly labeled storage cabinet.

Modesty be damned, she has to remove his shirt. It's barely holding itself together, anyway, and she has replacements to dress him in after she's patched him up. She feels hot under all her armor and layers, nervous as she stares down at the stranger's bare chest. Christ, he's build like a tank. It's intimidating, actually, once she chokes down the insidious feeling of attraction that prickles her skin and bubbles in her abdomen. Anyway—  upon closer inspection, the wound on his side is largely superficial. The extensive bruising along his ribs, however, indicates some unknown level of internal damage. It may only be deep-tissue bruising, or his ribs could be broken. She can't be too sure either way, and makes sure to properly bandage up his torso regardless, though only after disinfecting and stitching up the gash.

His nose is broken, that much is obvious. However, it looks as though it's already been set, so all she has to do is clean the blood, disinfect the small cut on the bridge, and properly bandage it. He has a nice face, apart from the bandaged nose. She can't really describe his features. Harsh, but soft at the same time. She huffs against the interior of the helmet at the thought, crossing her arms and leaning back.

She has stationed herself at the table across from the bunk, cautiously watching over the stranger through the deactivated visor of her mask. Hot and stuffy and heavy as the armor may be, she won't risk taking it off just yet. She doesn't quite have a plan yet as to how this is going to unfold. She'd chosen to spare his life, yes, but that isn't to say she won't protect herself to the nth degree if the need arises going forward. She doesn't want him out of her sight—especially considering her unprofessional lack of manacles—which means she can't program a route into the ship right now. The task would've been made simple if he hadn't gone and broken the screen display mechanism in her helmet. She can't even scan him in this state, to gather his identity or vitals status. She hadn't realized how dependent she'd grown on the visor display until now, having worn the damn thing for weeks straight at this point.

It takes a couple of hours by her count for the stranger to rouse again. He's disoriented at first, but soon grows aware of her shielded gaze burning into him from the other side of the narrow living area. He shifts in the cot, turning onto his wounded side to better assess the situation. He doesn't seem threatened—or particularly threatening—at the moment.

"Rise and shine," Hatchet speaks into the voice modulator.

She kicks a boot up onto the edge of the cot from where she sits barely three feet away. She tells herself it's a show of dominance, to plant her boot right beside the stranger's head, but in reality she probably just looks stupid. The man just looks at her with those silvery eyes, squinting under the bright overhead light. She doesn't shut it off.

"Now here's the deal—"

"How many people you got on this ship?" He cuts her off, tone both aloof and detached despite the situation. He breaks into an odd little grin, then twists his head to scent the pillow. "You hiding a lady somewhere? Fella like you sure wouldn't smell this sweet."

Hatchet's face crumples under the cover of secrecy. She has to school her perturbed reaction for the sake of her anonymity. What the hell kind of guy is she dealing with here, exactly? Not only must she refrain from showing any physical reaction, she shouldn't verbally address it, either.

"Now here's the deal," she repeats. "I spared you once— even did you the favor of patching you up. But, it's not gonna happen again if you try something funny."

The man tucks his chin to his chest to look down at the bandaged wounds, holding a curious hand to his side. She can't quite interpret his expression perfectly, but she thinks he seems vaguely impressed by her medical treatment of him.

"I'm going to take you to the nearest inhabited planet and dump your freeloading ass off at the first dock I come across. You aren't going to resist or complain. I'm doing you this favor— clearly you were on the run from someone dangerous, and I got you out of dodge. I don't expect payment, but I'd be mighty grateful if you didn't do anything violent or stupid." Hatchet kicks the bunk when his eyes slip shut again. "Hey! Are you listening to me?"

He does appear to fall unconscious again, but she can't be totally sure he isn't just fucking with her. Irritated, she sucks her teeth and curses him out, kicking off the bunk to stomp off into the cockpit. Forget keeping him in sight, he can suffocate for all she cares. There's a shotgun under the control console, anyway.

She seals the cockpit door shut behind her. Only then does she feel safe to remove her helmet. Once again she's greeted by her reflection in the windshield, though this time it's her own face that stares back. It's a tired and sweaty face, with hair matted flat to the scalp from the tight interior of the helmet. She needs a nice long shower—that much is obvious—but now isn't the time. Finally breathing fresh, unfiltered air again, she gulps it down greedily and deposits herself in the pilot's seat. The autopilot had taken itself out of hyperdrive some time ago, and now the Hatchetknife careens at a steady pace through open space. The stars are magnificent, as always. The endless, unfathomable sight almost makes her forget her burdensome stowaway.

Hatchet pulls coordinates for the nearest inhabited planet. She expands the view on the holoscreen projected across the console. The information, illuminated in a fluorescent blue, scrawls across the screen just fast enough for her to barely be able to read it in time. Her eagerness to be rid of the stowaway slowly melts into a nauseating apprehension. Apparently, according to the data, the nearest planet for several lightyears just happens to be crawling with Necromongers. Fucking Necromongers. If there's anything Hatchet hates, it's violent religious cults that double as armies. She avoids well-paying jobs on the off-chance that those psychos might catch a whiff of her— she's sure as hell not landing her ship in a hive of those wasps.

"Fucking shit!" She kicks the console.

There goes the plan to drop this motherfucker off. It'll take days at the very least to make it to the next viable planet. She tosses her head back and groans loud, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes until they come away leaving splotches in her vision. Venting her frustration, she kicks her heel against the console twice more.

———————————————————————

If Hatchet learns anything during her time in close proximity with the man, it's that, 1. he's a shockingly fast healer; 2. he doesn't like bright lights; and 3. he's quite sharp-witted despite the meathead look about him. In the few days that follow the unexpected detour, she avoids him as best she can in such cramped quarters. They only interact on the occasions when she checks up on his wounds or gives him MRE meals throughout the day—  always outfitted in her armor, of course. He only takes power-naps, never a full sleep, and reacts tensely to loud and sudden noises. He's smug and facetious when he speaks, and brooding when he doesn't. He's like a storm in every aspect of the description: thunderous voice, eyes like lightning, and a stormy personality to match. Despite Hatchet's aloofness, the man has found a way to wheedle himself under her skin. Once he was stable enough to stand on his own, nothing could stop him from getting up and wandering around the ship, hiding in the shadowed areas like a predator stalking its prey, much to Hatchet's chagrin. He makes little quips and witty comments in that deep voice when she's least prepared for them, and he stares at her with those glimmering eyes like he can see right through her disguise. Sometimes, she worries he does. He's like a fucking ghost the way he soundlessly moves around the small ship. That's more unnerving than his appearance, she thinks.

It's all getting rather frustrating. At first she'd been pissed that a man had the audacity to impose himself upon her time, energy, and ship. Now, she can't help but feel a strange tug of loneliness when they aren't in the same room. It's upsetting how the mind perceives human connection. She doesn't even know his name, yet the thought of being on her own again seems... well, lonely.

It does help that he's easy on the eyes, too. She finds herself locked away in the cockpit more and more frequently, brooding long and hard over the increasingly frequent thoughts of how fucking fine the man is. That soft yet masculine face, those thick arms and sturdy torso. The deep, intense tenor of his voice alone is enough to make her weak in the knees. And those eerie, glowing eyes, which watch her every movement like a hawk. Oh, for fucksake...

Hell, in all honesty she might as well be swimming in her armor with the way she sweats when he stands close and talks real smooth. She's afraid she's making it a little too obvious, actually. That carefully crafted persona is slipping through her fingers and all because she's a little hot under the collar about this stowaway she'd sworn to dump like a box of rocks come first chance. It came to a point approximately three simulated days into their time together when she couldn't stand the sight of him shirtless anymore; she ended up handing over one of her spare XL tanks, which still managed to look small on his burly frame. There's a sort of undeniable animal magnetism about him which is almost a little distressing in its intensity. What a fickle thing her trust in others is— and how tragically simple it was for her to get comfortable with the situation.

She doesn't insist on taking her bunk back from the healing man. While he rests his battered body on the cot, she kicks back at the well-worn table every night cycle, sprawled across the bench seat with a flimsy pillow beneath her helmeted head. This way she can keep the stowaway within her line of sight. Once his intimidating nature is overlooked, he is surprisingly amicable and seems rather appreciative of all her efforts. He hasn't tried to attack her, or otherwise threaten her person, which she takes as a sign he'd heard and accepted her deal before passing out on that very first day. In fact, he only ever deliberately menaces her when standing over her shoulder, or appearing out of nowhere. Or when he belligerently thumps his fist over wall panels to deactivate overhead lights he finds irksome.

Hatchet, though she herself is nameless to an extent, finds his lack of proffered identity a little frazzling. Though she's come to accept his presence as a whole, it would make her a lot more comfortable if she had a name and background to put to the face. Which brings her to the locked cockpit, wherein she works tediously to repair the screen and scanning mechanism in her helmet. With her tongue poked out from between her lips and one boot up on the console, she takes the helm apart and repairs it with a notable proficiency, then puts it all back together again. The screen automatically powers on when she activates the airlock seal, illuminating her field of view with digital notifications and vital statuses.

She catches him unaware, aiming her visor at him for long enough to scan his facial features and biometrics. Identification data scrawls across the screen before her eyes, her blood pressure spikes. Under the guise of piloting the ship, she locks herself in the cockpit again and feverishly scrolls through mugshots and bounty reward data.

Holy shit. She's been harboring the infamous convict Richard B. Riddick.

Her jaw clenches, muscle twitching against the interior padding of the helmet as she absorbs the newfound information. She should've known. She should have known. Those eyes— she'd heard the merc legends about those eyes.

But fuck... for a guy who'd spent half his life in the slam, he's certainly been affable within these restrictive quarters, mingling with a complete stranger, no less. It's hard to reconcile what she reads on the screen with the man she's been interacting with for the past few artificial cycles. She yanks the helmet from over her head, roughly scrubbing her palms over her face.

When she returns from the cockpit, nerves gathered to the extent they can be, she finds the man halfway through shaving his tan scalp. She stands at the mouth of the living area, the girth of her armor nearly taking up the entire doorframe. Richard B. Riddick, her reserved and shockingly mannered stowaway, sits at the metal table with a compact mirror and razor— a feeble weapon which she now knows could be used against her in all sorts of ways if she were to get on his bad side. Does he even have a good side to be on? She hopes he does, and hopes she's on it. Largely without thinking, one of her hands flutters up to her touch throat as images of it being brutally slit flicker through her mind.

She sits down across from him, folding her hands on the tabletop. He doesn't pause his grooming, doesn't even glance up. His eyeshine remains trained on the little mirror as he meticulously scrapes the stubble from his head with help from what looks like motor gel, no doubt nicked from the cargo bay below. Hatchet purses her mouth into a nervous line beneath the safety of her helm. She can't help but silently observe the flex of his muscles as he moves, every innocuous gesture striking a flustered chord within her. She swallows against the tightness constricting her throat.

"How are you feeling?" She hopes the modulator eliminates the shakiness she feels in her voice.

Logically, she has nothing to be afraid of. Unless this guy is prone to switching demeanor on a dime—which she has no reason to believe he does, based on what she's seen so far—why wouldn't this passive companionship continue? If anything, Hatchet is more afraid of how he will react to knowing she knows his identity now. Either he's been assuming she has known this entire time and just doesn't care, or knows she's been blissfully ignorant and has taken advantage of the anonymity.

He finally spares a glance at her across the table. His jaw visibly twitches, then one corner of his mouth quirks upward. He returns to shaving his head.

"Better. Thanks." He sniffs, sounding indifferent.

"You... uh. Want anything to eat?"

"Naw."

Hatchet exhales, both relieved and oddly disappointed. The storage compartment for the MREs is right beside him, meaning she would've had to stand right over him to retrieve anything.

"You got any goggles laying around?" His deep voice brings her out of her mind. "Been looking but..." he sucks his teeth.

Her brows raise confoundedly. "Goggles?"

"Yeah, you know. Goggles."

Fuck, he must think she's an idiot. She fumbles for words. "Uh. I'm not sure, probably not. I usually just wear the helmet when I need to shield my eyes. Why do you need them?"

He snaps the compact mirror shut and sets down the razor, using the bloody tank he's arrived in to wipe the remaining gel from his scalp. It looks like he'd shaved his beard recently, too, if the dark shadow on his jaw has anything to say about it. Setting the tank down, no more than a scrap rag at this point, he inhales deeply and briefly sinks his teeth into his plump lower lip. Hatchet bites her cheek hard enough for it to hurt, deliberately keeping her gaze from his mouth.

"I wouldn't need them if you didn't keep turning on all the lights," he replies. A hint of dry amusement hides within his flat tone.

"I wouldn't have to turn on the lights if you didn't hide in the shadows all the time," she retaliates. Riddick chuckles like deep, rolling thunder. Hatchet's pulse jumps; fear, arousal. "I'll keep it in mind not to turn them all on. I know your eyes are sensitive to light," she continues.

He suddenly pins her with a suspicious, scrupulous glare. She realizes her mistake and backtracks, sweating bullets beneath her armor.

"I mean, you squint a lot. And you make your way around in the dark better than in the light. I shouldn't have assumed." She's babbling. She can't keep a lid on it.

If he suspects what she knows, he doesn't let on. He cocks his head to the side, eyes glimmering as they trace the contours of her hefty armor. His gaze stops on her visor, right where her eyes should be. Somehow, she feels like they're making direct eye contact.

A questioning smile graces his handsome face. "Do you ever take that damn helmet off? Or do you live in the thing."

Hatchet's face falls beneath the shield of the visor. Her pulse thumps in her throat; a part of her thinks he can sense it. Her demeanor becomes prickly, unchecked. "Why do you care? You're a stowaway on my ship— what is it your business how I eat, sleep, shit—"

"Fuck?" He raises a thin brow, tickled by his own addendum. Meanwhile, Hatchet flushes a fiery shade of red beneath the helm in question. Then, he huffs a short little laugh— more a harsh exhale than anything. "I have to say, your little getup had me convinced at first. But, I know you ain't a man."

Hatchet's heart skips a beat. She disguises her anxiety with derision. "Disappointed?"

"Not in the slightest, sweetheart." A white canine glints when he flashes that oddly charming smile.

That combination—a quaint pet name and that devastating smile—has her feeling lightheaded and confined within her suit. Her hands slip from the tabletop to clench into fists in her lap. He appears upsettingly smug about his little revelation.

"How'd you figure it out?"

His nostrils flare; he takes a deep breath. "Thought I smelled a woman my first night in the bunk. My nose was all fucked up, but... eventually I figured out that sweet smell was coming from you and not some phantom scent hanging around. I give you credit, you had me going for a little while."

Her brow twinges. What a strange man.

She's faced with an internal conflict. She could deny the accusation, but something tells her that won't work in the slightest. She could keep the helmet  and armor on until they part ways, but really what's the point, seeing as he already knows she's a woman; he looks strong enough to pry the armor right off her body anyway. The most logical choice she can make is to take the discovery in stride and go back to living comfortably, with the addition of a slightly threatening guest who does one-armed push-ups in the hallway and lurks around dark corners. The jig is up. He's just that good. Her choice is practically made up for her.

Hatchet's hands raise, slow and tentative, and she maintains what feels a lot like eye contact with Riddick. Her gloved thumbs hook up under the seal, disabling the airlock and visor screen. Air hisses out from the seam at her throat, loosening the helmet's grip on her head. Somewhat dubiously, she lifts the burdensome metal and glass dome from over her head. It comes to rest in her lap as she shakes out her sweat-dampened hair and takes a deep breath of fresh air.

They look at each other's faces for the first time, unencumbered. The visor distorts perception a tiny bit, so it's almost like seeing him for the first time. A permeable scent of sweat and metal lingers between the both of them, despite both having showered recently in the ship's minuscule wash room. She can also smell the motor gel he'd used to shave his head (so strange— must be a leftover trick from the slam, she thinks). The woman is overcome with a bout of anxiety and shyness upon revealing her true face, and flushes under his heavy gaze. She resists the submissive urge to tuck her chin to her chest and avert real eye contact.

"Well... I guess you know who I am, now." She clears her throat; she hasn't heard her unfiltered voice in ages. Her jig may be up— but she still has something of a trump card on him, too. Sure, he might kill her for it, but this entire conversation is toeing the line of life-threatening risk to begin with. She musters courage to utter her next words; "Just like... how I know who you are now, Richard B. Riddick. Thought I wouldn't do a facial recognition scan?"

Hatchet squares her shoulders and raises her chin by a fraction, feigning confidence. He can probably smell her fear. The man inclines his head, brows raised as a chuckle rolls in like a storm. He almost looks impressed with her mediocre detective work.

He smiles that wolfish smile, showing teeth and smile lines. "So, you think you know who I am now, huh? You afraid of the big bad monster now?"

One corner of Hatchet's mouth quirks downward. "Should I be?"

"If you're smart you would be." He levels her stare with that inhuman eyeshine.

"I only fear true monsters. Men who kill for pleasure and nothing more. I read the files on you. You don't kill unarmed women— children. You don't rape them."

It isn't phrased as a question, but he replies regardless; "Naw."

It's actually kind of relieving that he looks a bit offended by the idea. "Then you aren't a true monster. You do what you have to to survive. We all do out here. I can't fault you for killing people trying to kill you. I won't fault you for anything you had to do in the slam."

There's more she would like to say—to tell him he'd been dealt a really shitty hand—but that feels too intrusive for the context of their relationship. She doesn't want to risk angering him by coming off as pitying.

Riddick narrows his naturally suspicious gaze at the woman. He doesn't touch her previous soapbox comment. "So... that mean you're gonna try to turn me in for a payday?"

"Fucking— Jesus, dude," she guffaws incredulously. "Why the fuck would I turn you in after I did so much to save your ass? You're worth more dead than alive, you know. If I wanted to, I could've."

The big man shrugs. "Who knows. Every other merc would."

"Well I'm not every other merc, am I?" She leans back, crossing her arms over her chestplate.

"Naw, definitely not."

If she'd been any less observant, she may have missed the glimmer of flirtation in his tone and demeanor— in his eyeshine. Stifling heat rises like a kettle boiling, tinting her face a noticeable hue. She can only hope she looks disheveled and sweaty enough for it to pass as an exacerbated flush. Abruptly, she stands from the table, wringing her hands in an uncontrollable combination of nerves and bashfulness. The helmet is dumped onto the tabletop, rolling towards the seated man.

"I'll uh—" Her voice cracks; she clears her throat. "I'll look for those goggles for you."

"Good talk," he calls after her as she hastily turns on her heel.

She pauses her stride, mind running a mile a minute to find a way to gain some sort of traction and authority amidst this interaction. She shifts halfway to turn back and face him.

"Hm. Yes, good talk... Richard."

His uproarious laughter follows her down into the cargo bay where she quickly disappears.

———————————————————————

Riddick is both a complicated human and a very simple man. On one hand, a selfish part of him wants nothing more than to take control of this cramped little vessel and fly it fuck-knows where. It's clear to him that this ship and its pilot are a package deal, which brings him to a sort of moral crossroads. On the other hand, this woman—this merc—has been undeservingly kind to him, more so than anyone he can remember. She has a point, too. He'd been dangerously incapacitated for a short while, in which time she could have easily gone and ghosted him or handed him over to some other scummy mercs. But she hadn't. This lone woman, mistrustful enough of others to go so far as to masquerade as a man, had saved his hide and given him shelter and transport, all out of the kindness of her heart. She isn't threatening or outwardly malicious; he doesn't know how the hell she's survived this long out here. Perhaps her assumed persona has gotten her this far after all, amongst the masses less perceptive than himself.

Fuck. Merc or not, he can't just ghost her now.

And besides— he's a man, and she's a woman. Simple as that.

Even suited up to the jaw in armor and reeking of sweat, her newly revealed face stirs something all-too familiar within him. Hell, her scent alone is enough to get him off. Riddick doesn't even have to know what the rest of her looks like to know he wants to fuck her. And she doesn't seem all too averse to the idea of him, either, based on the subtle changes observable in her posture and scent. His senses are too keen to miss the physical and vocal cues she tries so hard to hide with that modulator and beneath the suit of armor. He knows hot and bothered when he sees it; and it's a fucking ego-boost.

After their little conversation, she'd grown more comfortable— if that's the appropriate word for the scenario. He'd revealed her identity and she responded by completely forgoing the suit of armor. Not that he's curious or anything, but he finds himself asking more about her. She shares that she is called "Hatchet," which he thinks is a little entertaining given her rather docile nature. He also learns that she's been in the mercenary business since her early teenage years, which almost always spells trouble for young women— hence why she'd taken up the persona of a more masculine, faceless merc, rather than be perceived as lesser-than by her professional peers. She's funny too, he pleasantly discovers, when not restrained by that helmet.

He's surprised when she comes up to him a few cycles following their conversation. She's dressed in a tank like his (which he realizes is hers) and a mechanic's jumpsuit, the top of which rests tied around her supple hips. He eyes up her body with a brashness that usually intimidates even the most battle hardened of men. She doesn't even flinch— she grows shy, instead. He stands by his previous statement in which he'd wanted to fuck her without knowing what her body looked like, but he's certainly not complaining now in getting to see her without the bully armor to conceal her curves and soft shape. Even the light musculature of her arms and width of her shoulders is hot.

She holds something as she approaches from the cargo bay ladder, and he quickly deduces it is non-threatening. She sidles up to the table where he has been parking himself at more frequently lately. She wears a sweet expression halfway between anticipatory and nervous— not much different than usual.

"Hey, dollface," Riddick greets.

He cocks his head to the side as he looks up at her, observing her through the purplish hue of his shine-job eyes. He quickly discovered that playfully teasing the young woman almost always earns a flurry of entertaining responses; namely flustered yammering and a red flush which trails all the way down to her full breasts. The pet names come easily, oddly enough. She blushes as expected and leans a hip against the table edge. While toying with the object in her hands, she glances between it and him.

"I uh. I found a pair of goggles, since you'd been asking."

She holds her flat palm out towards him, displaying a set of simple black welding goggles. They're essentially like the pairs he usually sports: midsized circular lenses, held in place by a thick plastic compound. Riddick takes the proffered eyewear and tests the weight in his own palm. The strap is a fabric material rather than a continuation of the flexible plastic, but still appears sturdy. He pulls them over his head, lowering the lenses over his eyes. They block out the Iight sufficiently, subduing the vibrant hue of his altered vision.

He scans the woman through the shades, smiling appreciatively. "Thanks, sweetheart. You're a real peach."

Hatchet releases a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, sure. No problem... Richard."

She doesn't use fluffy little names on him like he's begun doing for her. When she does refer to him, she only calls him by his first name. Which, given the fact virtually no one else does, feels like a more powerful naming. It's humanization in its rawest form. She shifts to sit down across from him. Neither of them can ignore the way their ankles tangle together beneath the table, hefty boots knocking into one another. Riddick watches her throat bob as she swallows. He raises the goggles and leaves them perched on his knit brow.

"Okay, so, I've been thinking," she begins, somewhat hesitantly. "Here's the deal— I'll take you wherever you want to go, so long as you don't, you know, kill me in my sleep and steal my ride or something. I think that's only fair since I didn't do the same to you when you were incapacitated. Also, I guess it goes without saying that I'm not gonna tell anyone about this encounter or your whereabouts. If you don't trust my good will, just think how negatively it would affect my life if it got out among the wrong crowd that I've been in cahoots with an escaped convict."

Riddick barks out an abrupt laugh. "In cahoots, huh?"

Hatchet blanches, her jaw opening and shutting several times before she gathers her words. "W-Well, I'm willingly harboring a fugitive, aren't I? I haven't booted you out the airlock yet— so yes, we're in cahoots."

The man's laughter tapers into a light chuckle. He perches his chin on his fist in a way that makes Hatchet tense with bashfulness. A muscle in his thick forearm flexes, drawing her curious eye. Lately, she's been daydreaming about those strapping arms. She's been catching herself daydreaming about the rest of him, as well.

Her eyes dart back to his silvery ones, clearing her throat. "Well, what do you think of my deal?"

Riddick tilts his head, unable to resist smiling. "Sounds good."

The woman blinks at him, big doe eyes wide as she picks apart his reaction. "Ah... uh. Okay, cool." She drums the tabletop with both hands, fidgeting under his heavy stare.

She pushes to her feet suddenly, and Riddick launches up after her. Instantly he crowds her in the tight space, his large frame taking up a majority of her vision. She startles, automatically pressing her hands flat to his built chest. This draws a rumbling chuckle from him as he gazes down at the flustered woman.

Hatchet's heart rate quickens, the muscle thumping wildly in her chest. That pulse begins its mortifying throb between her thighs, too— a desperate, hot desire which boils up without her expressed permission. It's not an entirely unwelcome feeling, but it's certainly indicative of her poor self-control given the situation. She has no clue if this dangerous convict is about to crush her head like a clump of dirt, or if he's going to make a move on her. Those are the only two explanations for his startling proximity to her.

Nervously, her eyes raise to meet his. She finds his head bowed towards her.

"Uh."

"Why don't you ever sleep in your bunk?" he asks, derailing her frazzled train of thought. "Don't you need your beauty rest, sweetheart?"

"O-Oh? Where are you supposed to go if I take back my bunk?"

He hums and sways his shaven head. "We can share."

Brain unable to catch up with what he's offering, she defaults to thinking in a blunt, literal sense. "W-We can't both fit. It's too narrow."

He steps forward and she steps back, only to realize he's effectively backed her against a wall. One of his beefy arms rises, forearm and fist resting on the wall beside her head. He leans further into her space, smiling as he takes a deep breath of her scent. Fuzzy butterflies explode in her abdomen; she goes weak in the knees.

"Oh really? 'Cuz I got a few positions in mind that we can fit into," he purrs. Hatchet lets out a surprised little noise and he ducks closer. "Aw, don't get all shy on me now, babygirl."

"I'm— I—" she stammers.

Her eyes flick between his own and his lips. That now-familiar eyeshine glimmers with heated desire as he carefully observes her. He leans in real slow— torturously slow. The tip of his nose brushes against hers and she shudders. Riddick's breath is hot as is fans across her face. She finds herself panting heavy through parted lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his steady one. Her chin ducks low, shyly averting his advance to where he has to chase her lips.

His full lips are shockingly soft when they do finally graze hers— his mouth gentle and curious at first while he tentatively pecks her. The few kisses he lavishes upon her lips are short and teasing, serving only to rile her up further. The heartbeat at her core prompts her thighs to clench; the action doesn't go unnoticed. One of his broad hands clamps over her upper arm, effectively pinning her in place against the wall. The shared kiss grows more frenetic with each passing second. His other hand slides rather possessively up the length of her back, coming to tangle in the hair at the base of her skull. He uses it as leverage to tilt her head back— a move which earns a quiet gasp and unintentional whimper through her parted lips. With a small self-satisfied grin, Riddick takes the invitation to claim her open mouth, exploring teeth and tongue with his own.  

Hatchet can barely catch her breath— especially not when Riddick slips his tongue past her lips. The pulse between her thighs grows increasingly unbearable and she squirms desperately in his tight hold. That hand holding her arm in a vise grip shifts instead to press against her shoulder blade, pinning her to his broad chest. Her own hands find the courage to come up, fingers taking liberty to slip beneath the hem of his borrowed shirt. His tanned skin is warm and pulled taut over an ample amount of muscle. Her hands are cold—they always are while in space—which results in a string of tangible shivers as she drags her fingers up his sides. The thin fabric of the grey tank bunches up around her wrists as her hands continue their exploration upward. Her right hand is careful to avoid irritating the stitched wound over his left-side ribs. Instead it glides to his smooth chest, squeezing a generous handful of his pec.

He chuckles into her mouth and she swallows the deep noise with fervor. Without warning, he crouches and drops his large hands to her ass, hoisting her up with ease. Her legs clamp around his waist on instinct, canting her hips to shamelessly grind her throbbing core against his hard stomach. Her hands continue to grope his muscled chest and arms, appreciative of his powerful physique. All the while, mouths slot together in feverish kisses.

Riddick pivots on his heel and effortlessly pitches forward at the waist, dropping the woman clinging to him down onto the cot. There's little give to the canvas fabric bunk, but it's certainly more comfortable than a metal tabletop. Not that Riddick particularly cares; he's already swimming in visions of bending her over the table, anyway. Only when he deposits her on the bunk and crouches over her does Hatchet release him from her clinging grasp. Her hands barely leave his chest long enough to yank the tank up over his head, relying on his aptitude to fully rid himself of the thing while she continues her impromptu anatomy lesson. While she latches her mouth onto the pulse point of his throat, he plucks the goggles from his brow and flings them aside. They clatter down somewhere unimportant.

Wordlessly, there lingers between them a mutual agreement that this is consensual. This is needed. This has been building up for a while now.

Riddick's broad hands engulf Hatchet's soft waist, squeezing her affectionately. His fingers push upward, skirting along the hem of her own shirt. She parts her mouth from his neck only long enough to allow him to tug the garment up over her head, hastily followed by the discarding of her sports bra, too. His palms are rough with calluses against her sensitive flesh, and unrelenting when they come up to squeeze her bared breasts. The topless woman licks up the column of his throat to just below his right ear, tasting sweat and skin as she suckles the sweet spot. Her fingers dig into his biceps, keeping him in place as she straddles him. She smiles against his hot skin when he groans. His weathered hands explore her torso, sliding from her chest to her back, then down to grasp her waist tightly.

"Fuck, come on," Riddick grunts into her hair. His hands slip lower to her ass, yanking impatiently at the fabric of her jumpsuit bottoms. "Pants."

It takes no effort for him to lift and flip her onto her back again, taking pride in the surprised expression she wears. Her limbs and eyelids feel heavy as she undoes the tied sleeves around her hips, helping him shuffle off her slate grey jumpsuit. She doesn't even realize he's also slipped off her underwear until she feels the cool air of the ship against her bare core. Fuck, all her constant worrying over her appearance, and in the moment she isn't even concerned. She just needs to feel good with him.

Despite this minor revelation, Hatchet briefly feels a tad in over her head as the burly man holds her down by the hips and leans over her. He eclipses the dim overhead light, his eyes shining magnificently. Those nocturnal eyes are growing on her at a frightening rate.

"Richard," she whispers. One hand reaches up to touch his face, petting his cheek before skating over the stubbly crown of his head. "Fuck, Rich."

He drops his head and growls against her hot, bare skin. The sound rumbles beneath her palm where it presses over his heart. That's a new one— Rich. He's never been called that before. He doesn’t dislike it, mainly because it comes from her.

Riddick leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses down her neck and across her chest. His fingers press into her supple flesh of her hips hard enough for it to dimple under the force. He continues downward, laving his hot tongue over her pebbled nipples, teasing his teeth against her delicate skin. With her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, she remains ignorant to the garland of lovebites he leaves across her skin, decorating her chest with the constellations of the open universe. His lips follow the line of fine hair down the middle of her stomach, until finally stopping just above the curly thatch at her mons. He shifts his attention, choosing to nip at the skin of her inner thighs. He kneels on the floor and roughly yanks her to the end of the cot for better leverage, earning a surprised yelp from the woman. In the same moment, he tucks his thumbs around the underside of her knees and hoists her legs over his broad shoulders. Her ankles automatically lock overtop his shoulder blades.

Hatchet shudders with delicious anticipation. Her big eyes shoot open and head cranes, meeting his silver gaze from where he has positioned himself between her thick thighs. Without much civility or warning, the man stuffs his shaven head into the tight crevice of her thighs. She is suddenly relieved that he'd taken the bandage off his nose almost immediately after gathering his bearings all those days ago, because now he puts the prominent feature to good use against her swollen clit.

A wanton moan claws out from Hatchet's throat as she throws her head back against the rigid cot. Riddick's breath is hot against her cunt, tongue skilled as he works it into her most sensitive area. Two fingers pry her labia apart to get at a more effective angle. Her hands dart to clamp down on either side of his head, her nails digging crescents into his nude scalp. Panting and squirming, she uses her iron grip on his head to grind up against his big nose. He groans low against her core, the vibrations on his tongue adding to her pleasure. Her thighs squeeze against his flushed ears, and for a moment the thought she may suffocate him flashes through her mind. That worry is ejected out into space when his tanned hands come around to grip her where her thighs meet her hips, dragging her even more securely against him.

Her eyes roll back, body wracked with uncontrollable spasms as Riddick brings her increasingly closer to her peak. His nose is replaced by a skillful thumb, rubbing firm circles around her clit. He continues lapping at her cunt, groaning and taking intermittent gasps for air. Just as she feels that hot coil tightening in her lower abdomen, sees white light flickering beneath her lids, he does the unthinkable. He pulls away. Hatchet whines at the sudden neglect and desperately claws at his head in an attempt for him to continue, leaving red stripes on his stubbly scalp.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?" he asks lowly, smugness dripping from his tongue. That isn't the only thing dripping from his tongue; his nose, mouth, and chin are coated in her arousal.

Hatchet laughs breathlessly. "Fuck off."

She welcomes him with open arms when he crawls up over her again, accepting his lips as he presses down to kiss her. She can taste her own wetness on his mouth, but is largely distracted by his hips slotting between hers and grinding down.

He pulls back for a moment, leveling her with an entertained but mildly miffed eyebrow raise. "You got protection?"

Hatchet has to take a moment to catch her breath in order to answer. "Don't worry, I got that fancy implant. Unless you're riddled with some horrible penitentiary disease?" She smiles brightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with playfulness.

Her hands cup his face when he returns a dazzling smile. "Me? Who do you take me for? A convict?"

She curls against him when he ducks his face to the crook of her neck, warm and blushing as they both laugh. Unabashed, laughing together. It feels bizarrely intimate, and so completely foreign to the both of them. When the brief chuckles taper off and the weight of the scenario sinks back in, Hatchet wriggles her hips against his, attempting to stimulate some friction. The rough fabric of his cargo pants sparks a little something, but nothing spectacular. Catching on to her renewed desperation, Riddick presses weight against her hips, teasing her with his clothed erection. She mewls softly, grinding up against him.

A calloused hand slides up the length of her body to her neck, first two fingers and thumb pressing lightly against either pulse-point. He squeezes just hard enough for her to squirm with an intoxicating faintness, but light enough for it not to harm her. She swallows hard, feeling the pressure of his palm against her larynx. It would be child's play for him to fully wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze the life out of her. This flirtation with death is not only exhilarating, but it's something she'd never considered as enjoyable before now.

She's too busy with panting against the hand around her throat to realize he'd slipped his other one down towards the apex of her thighs. That is, not until there comes a delicious and unexpected pressure against her swollen clit. She jolts from the sudden stimulation. The moan that slips unbidden from her lips is loud and breathy, and she arches up into his devilish touch. His thumb rubs concentrated circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, the middle finger sliding lower to tease her slit. Meanwhile, he drops his head to press against her temple, lips leaving sloppy kisses on her cheek.

Riddick groans, rutting against her soft thigh. He drags his lips against her cheek, bottom teeth scraping her skin. A tingly shudder ripples through her body.

"You want it, babygirl?" he growls in her ear. "Tell me you want it."

Hatchet whines when his thick finger breaches her entrance, sliding in easily with the wetness of her arousal. Her toes curl and back arches when that searching finger strokes that hidden sweet spot, her entire body overcome with a delicious shudder.

"Fuck," she pants, "Please. I want it."

The hand at her throat inches upward to clasp her jaw, angling her head for him to effectively whisper in her ear. "Want what, sweetheart? Use your words."

Another finger is stuffed into her pussy; she pants and squeezes around them. An embarrassed flush heats her chest and face at being made to speak her desire aloud. In some little act of defiance, she merely continues huffing and rutting against his hand. Punishment for her disobedience comes swift however, arriving in the form of the ceased stimulation. Riddick sucks his teeth and shakes his head in mock disappointment.

"So stubborn," he tsks.

Fuck— that rich, buttery voice sends a desperate throb straight to her neglected clit. She sobs out a pathetic whine, making a futile attempt to force his hand to continue its work.

"Please. Okay, okay. Please, please. I want you, I need you. Fuck me, please, Richard," she begs, voice coming out ragged.

He brings his lips to the corner of her mouth and smiles into the kiss he places there. "Good girl," he purrs.

Hatchet squirms under him, clit pulsing with an immediate flush of blood at the praise. "Say that again," she pants, sliding her hand over the back of his thick neck. "Please, please, Rich. Say that again. I'm— Hah."

She can feel the fond chuckle under her palm as it rumbles in his chest. He wrestles with the button and zipper of his cargo pants while keeping himself aloft with one arm. "My girl. Good girl."

Each kiss steals her breath away, dizzying her with butterflies and anticipation. It takes a hurried moment of effort, but Riddick manages to shuck his trousers and boxers, leaving them in a pile on the floor with the rest of their discarded clothes. Perched on his knees between the woman's spread thighs, he greedily admires the sight of her laid out before him. There's something particularly special about this woman. She's managed to weasel her way into his frigid heart, and he can't find it in himself to complain. She's sweet, and kind, and sure fucking hot. She too watches him greedily as muscles flex in his arms. He plants his hands on her bent knees, dragging them down the length of her soft thighs. Fingers sink into the fat of her hips, dragging her closer.

One glance at his proud erection is enough to draw a flustered whimper from Hatchet's lips; his dick is thick, befitting of the rest of him. She thrusts an arm up over her face, if only to hide the embarrassed blush which splotches her skin. The big man lowers himself over her once more and gently pushes her arm away, murmuring about her shyness. The weight of his cock resting on her belly makes her squirm, which he seems to enjoy greatly, much to her impatient desperation. He slots his plush lips with hers while his left hand slips around her right thigh, encouraging it up. Her knee brushes the bruised wound over his ribs, but he doesn't seem to care all that much as he pins the long limb tightly against him.

In the space between them, he fists his dick and pumps once, twice. He holds Hatchet's lidded gaze with those intense eyes of his, drinking in the dazed sight of her. He drags the cockhead through the wetness of her arousal, teasing her swollen clit before aligning himself properly. His throaty groan mingles with her gasped noises as he slowly presses into her, sheathing himself within her hot cunt. It's a snug fit, lax as she may be. He bottoms out painfully slow, taking his sweet time in stuffing her full of himself. That hand returns to her throat and gently squeezes while he holds himself aloft with the other arm.

Hatchet sucks her teeth against the slight sting of his size. The discomfort quickly fades into a satisfyingly tense pressure once Riddick gets a steady rhythm going. With her leg hiked up over his side, he continually pulls out almost all the way before plunging back into her, driving her down into the stiff cot with each powerful thrust. She shudders with each drag of his thick cock against her inner walls— with every gentle squeeze of his broad hand around her throat.

"Fuck, babygirl. You feel good," he grunts out. "Such a good girl for me. Real pretty." Riddick groans through clenched teeth when her cunt spasms particularly hard around him. His words are like a match to her gasoline.

The hand at her throat shifts away in an attempt to touch as much of her skin as possible— caressing her breast, tangling in her hair, touching her lips, squeezing her waist and hip. It's almost like a compulsion to feel every part of her warm body, to get lost in her skin and pretty noises. Hatchet's hands perform their own exploration; she can't get enough of wrapping her fingers around his biceps and broad shoulders, her breath panting hard against his collarbones as she clings to him. The middle two fingers of his wandering hand come down on her clit again, sparking electric spasms throughout her writhing body. Those fingers rub circles against her sensitive bud, and every so often slip lower to stroke around the spot where they join together.

An especially rough drag and thrust has the tip of cock kissing that sweet spot within her. She cries out and he repeats the motion with an exact precision. He continues hammering into her at that perfect angle, grunting and shuddering with each of her clenches and moans. Light blooms beneath Hatchet's eyelids, that hot pressure coiling up in her belly once more. The combination of internal and external stimulation is enough for her to see stars and arch into the man like her life depends on it.

Nearly animalistic in his frenzy, Riddick can't control himself when his teeth sink into the woman's shoulder. It feels right.

Hatchet cries out at the sharp feeling of his bite, shock mixing with odd delight. He doesn't use enough force to break the skin, but his teeth leave a sting nonetheless. In retaliation, her nails sink into his muscular back and drag downward to his sides, leaving crisscrossing stripes across his tan skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognizes that she may have torn one of his stitches, but he doesn't make any indication of it bothering him. That delicious tension deep in her belly increases almost unbearably; she bucks up into his fingers on her clit, grinding against the hilt of his cock stuffed in her. His mouth latches onto the slope of her neck and bites again, licking the minimal damage each time he retracts his pearly teeth.

Her orgasm comes suddenly, like fireworks. She spasms around him as she comes, back arching up against his hard front as she cries out. Riddick continues pounding into her— continues rubbing her clit through her shuddering orgasm. The sounds of their sex seem awfully loud in the quiet confines of her small ship.

"There we go. Good girl," he murmurs into her throat.

He pushes up on his supporting arm, putting a bit of space between himself and the spent woman. She twitches and pants beneath him, cunt contracting around his continued thrusts. Her nails haven't yet retracted from his sides, clinging as though grasping for purchase. Riddick sits upright with her legs slung around his hips. One hand wipes over his head to clear away beads of sweat, before both come down to clutch her hips.

"Fuck... Where do you want it, sweetheart?" He punctuates with a harsh snap of his hips, plunging deep into her.

Hatchet's wrists demurely cross above her head. Her breaths come in short, exhausted puffs as she wriggles against him. Overstimulation is beginning to fray at her edges, but the feeling of being so full of him overrides the discomfort. She can barely think straight enough to give him a proper response— fucked thoroughly out of her mind.

"Richard—" She groans low in her throat. He's practically rearranging her guts. Tears prick at her eyes. "Fuck. Inside. Please, just— ugh, inside."

He makes a noise halfway between a grunt and a chuckle. "Sounds good to me, baby." She doesn't have to open her eyes to know the smug, cocky, sexy bastard is grinning. "Nngh, fuck."

Riddick's head tilts back, shuddering violently. He groans loud and holds her steady with his fingers dug into her hips. She feels his hot release spill into her, coating her insides as he ceases his relentless pounding. She's overly sensitive from the intensity of her own orgasm, so his sudden stillness comes as a relief for her tender parts. His chest heaves, fingers twitching.

After an extended moment of basking in the bliss of his finish, Riddick slumps forward. While he's careful not to crush the woman, he does rest a bit of his weight atop her. Sweat-slicked skin meets sweat-slicked skin as they recover together, lounging in the afterglow. He remains partially sheathed within her, allowing a minimal amount of his seed to trickle out around his length.

Amidst tenderly petting Riddick's back, Hatchet nearly gets lost to the grips of sleep. That is, at least until his rumbling voice stirs her again.

"I think you needed that." He noses her throat, inhaling deeply. She cants her hips without thinking, then grunts softly at the feeling of him still buried within her.

"Oh?" she chuckles quietly, "Is that right?"

She smoothes her palm over the back of his head, then traces her fingertips up and down his neck and shoulders. He hums against her clammy, flushed skin. Sentimentally isn't even remotely his forte, but this intimacy feels surprisingly good. Odd and unfamiliar, but pleasant. He feels safe to relax in her hold, resting a little bit more of his weight against her capable form.

"Yep. You're a little uptight."

Briefly pressing his lips to the bite-shaped bruises on her shoulder, he lifts his head. She cracks an eye open to peer at him, then sighs wistfully. He really does have a beautiful face. She caresses his cheek.

"And hey, would you look at that. We fit." He grins wide and smug and raises a brow, referring back to the conversation which started this whole affair.

Hatchet drops her head to the cot and closes her eyes again, laughing heartily. "Fuck you, Richard."

[jinxquickfoot]

20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by @16woodsequ. Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

82!! And that's counting the one-shot collections as 1 fic.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,572,787

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Still in Marvel, although I've had a few ideas around Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss that I probably would written if my MCU WIP list wasn't so impossibly long.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The One Where Peter is Bucky's Weakness

Let's Whump the Spider-Kid and Friends!

The One Where Peter is Tony's Weakness

You're Always Spider-Man

The One Where Clint is Tony's Weakness

You guys really like it when I kidnap Peter Parker.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Of course!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The Worst Thing, it's the only ending I wouldn't call 'happy'. I labelled it 'bittersweet' instead, which I think is fitting. Actually Dollhouse also is a strong contender.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Let's Whump the Spider-Kid and Friends! teeters on the edge of soppy. Everyone is alive post-Endgame, Peter gets a prom with all the Avengers and his high school friends, and the Spider-Kid in question gets a whole month of rest.

In hindsight, I wrote that fic during pretty extreme burnout (that I am now thankfully over), and I can see my need for rest and care just bleeding through Peter in those final chapters. I'm so grateful we both got what we needed.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not for a long time, since the debates over Civil War have... if not settled, maybe don't hold as much interest as they used to.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not yet, but I think I might be brave and include some Winterhawk smut in the Heart of Stone series.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. I've come across one or two with eerily similar premises and wondered, but I've never followed up. Tropes are tropes for a reason.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not a translation but Hair is Everything has a podfic!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Many! And tried to many at the same time which was a mistake, but I'm so glad I've gotten to work with so many incredible authors:

The One Where Clint is Steve's Weakness with @16woodsequ

The One Where T'Challa is Shuri's Weakness with @fluencca

The One Where Bruce is Thor's Weakness with @onwardmeteors

The One Where Peter is Peter's Weakness with @spagbol99

The One Where Bucky is Steve's Weakness with @usaonetwothree

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Winterhawk aka Clint/Bucky has my heart forever and ever, but I have a soft spot for Clint/Matt and Wanda/Vision as well. Outside of Marvel, I love reading for Stede/Ed, Husk/Angel, Caleb/Essek and Buck/Eddie.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you will?

If I've posted it, I'll finish it (I swear, I know I haven't touched the Whumptoberverse in three years). I do have an outline for something called the Amendment trilogy which I thought had some promise, but I've done so many Civil War Fix-Its now I doubt it has anything original to say these days.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't think my plot twists are too shabby, and I like to think that I find new things to say about well-worn characters and tropes. I'm also pretty damn good at structure, but that's because I studied and practised the hell out of it. Oh and occasionally I like to think I'm funny, especially when writing for Tony.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I focus too much on getting a fic done than letting it breathe. I've been told several times the ending to The One Where Peter is Bucky's Weakness is disappointing, and I agree. I was ready to get out of there so I Game of Throned it instead of spending a good 5-10 chapters wrapping that fic up properly.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Short bits are fine if you pop the translation in the end notes. If not, I like to just say something like, "He switched to Russian [continues dialogue in English]."

19. First fandom you wrote for?

MCU and we're still going, baby.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

AH okay I want to include all those I co-wrote but that feels like cheating, because what I like about those fics is often what other people brought to them.

I used to say Budapest and that's still a strong contender. But I actually love The One Where Clint is Sam's Weakness, specifically the final chapter. The idea of mistakes and regrets and choices not making you who you are is a very personal thing for me. Clint saying "You’re my hero, Kate." might be my favorite line I've ever written in a fic. Sometimes the simplest ones are the best.

Low pressure tag: @fluencca @usaonetwothree @queenofalotofdifferentworlds @spagbol99 @teeelsie-posts

[little-peril-stories]

LPS: Blog (Re)Intro

Little Peril Stories | Kate | adult | she/her

✨ linktree | website | ko-fi | ao3 | oc/wip extras ✨

✨ I post writing/publishing updates every Wednesday and Sunday here. ✨

The Queen of Lies (ongoing): AU for The Prince of Thieves—sheltered, rich sad girl meets snarky criminal; chaos ensues; whumpy, Victorian forbidden love vibes with a side helping of angst and girl power

The Court of Rogues (work in progress): sequel to The Prince of Thieves; in the works but it will be a while before details come out

The Prince of Thieves (complete): guy and gal get arrested and tormented by super cool, totally normal constable while pals on the outside freak out and make bad decisions; fun 1800s prison vibes with a side helping of angst and chosen family

Blood Garnet (side WIP, low priority): girl gets lost in magic woods and gets chased by her hapless cousin and a grump hunter; awkward magic man tries to help; supernatural(ish) romantasy vibes with a side helping of angst and betrayal

Man of Letters (UNRESOLVED; part of Whumptober 2023): awkward scholar boi tries to save the girl he falls in love with and gets way more than he bargained for; light romantasy paired with heavy emo vibes, with a side of helping of angst and torture

Fen and Freddie (complete): gal gets kidnapped, dopey cinnamon roll with hopeless crush tries to rescue her and fails; vague superhero sci-fi vibes with a side helping of angst and pining

The Curiosity Collector (complete): sweet non-confrontational magic boy gets kidnapped and needs rescuing by bf and sis; witchy, autumnal vibes with a side helping of angst and falling in love

This is a whumpblr/writeblr space! Sometimes I’ll post/reblog writerly posts, memes, etc., but a lot of the posts/RBs will be about whump. I post original writing and reblog the work of others that I enjoy, gifs, tropes, prompts, and other such things.

I love comments and feedback on my writing and welcome them with open arms.

A note on age: I know I can’t actually stop you from accessing this blog, but I do not wish to interact with people under 18. It’s not personal, I’m sure you’re great, but it has everything to do with my job IRL. Please respect this boundary and come back on your 18th birthday.

Check out: My Most Common Tropes

My favourite elements of whump have to do with power dynamics, intimidation, dread, and angst. I love captivity-with-a-cause: kidnapping for ransom or as leverage over someone else, prison (in fantasy or historical settings, less so for modern settings though it’s not a hard rule), and the like. Fantasy presents so many creative versions of this trope, so I do love me some fantasy whump! It also gives lots of opportunity for dungeons, shackles, and other fun implements like that. Gratuitous tying or chaining up is always delightful to see. Pining, desperately trying to protect a loved one (…and failing), and self-sacrifice are other big tropes I love, so expect to see lots of those!

As for characters, I love it when they are as far as you can get from perfect, pure, and innocent—when they’re good enough people, but whose flawed or maybe even problematic decisions lead them into trouble. Always, always, I want my characters to have a hand in their own fates. Pure-hearted victims of the narrative who simply fall into a whumpy situation are cute and fun, but not what I tend to write.

A few odds and ends I’m such a sucker for, so you’ll probably find them in my writing:

Sibling relationships

Allusions to songs, books, folklore, and musicals

Nature and weather helping to set the scene (oh my goodness, how many times can I work snow into one story?)

If romance, either slow burn or instant attraction

…with a sprinkling of “huh, I don’t understand what I’m feeling, wtf is going on??”

‘In the nick of time’ rescues

Painfully awkward moments

Fluff and comfort, but only once they’ve really earned it

Almost kisses

Hard choices

Happy endings

You probably won’t find much gore or explicit noncon here, but there might be some elements of those in my stories or in reblogs. I don’t write BBU or pet whump.

My original “whumpy things I like” post can be found here.

Anyway, thanks for reading! 💕 Happy whumping!

[tiktowafel]

Hey, I love your art style and your work on class 1B. I was just wondering if you have any recommendations for fics that are 1B centric, maybe even stories with someone like Setsuna as a main character. I love the MHA fandom, but it's sometimes hard to find those good stories with all the fan generated content, an I was hoping another 1B lover would know what's what.

thank you, and sure! i don't actually read that much fanfiction (my taste is rather narrow), but here are a few ones that i read and enjoyed! i'll put it all under the cut because my summaries ended up making this list kinda long lol

'Class 1-B' is Trending #1 in Japan - 9k words and absolutely hilarious crack oneshot with a lot of chatfic/social media elements. Tsuburaba accidentally turns one of Monoma's rants into an international meme, which results in 1-B becoming incredibly popular and the League of Villains being defeated in the dumbest way imaginable. the fic is restricted to AO3 users, since i don't have an account there i can't check if the link works but i really hope it does :'D

Adrift - long (13k words) and extremely angsty space horror oneshot with Setsuna as the main character. AU where class 1-B are a space crew and a mission goes terribly wrong, leaving Setsuna, the sole survivor, floating hopelessly in space and thinking about everything that happened. 10/10 made me feel extremely uncomfortable for the rest of the day

Mindfucker Has Closed the Chat - 9 chapter 17k words long very chaotic Monoshin chatfic (with one non-chatfic style chapter) where Monoma texts the wrong person and ends up befriending Shinso without knowing who he's talking to. the fic is tagged "attempt at humor" and i gotta say that the attempt was 100% successful, this thing is hysterical and i audibly laughed several times while reading it

Picture Perfect - i know i hardly ever talk about Kosen on this blog despite the fact that it's one of my favorite ships, but one day i'll post something about them i promise- anyway this tiny 2k word fic is pretty much what made me ship them. it's just... very good and very sweet yknow

Unlikely and Unusual - a oneshot collection made for one of those rarepair month events. it's not specifically a 1-B fic, but some of the oneshots feature 1-B characters and the ones i read are very cute :)

the one and only The Heart of a Hero - 345k words and recently updated after a long hiatus, basically a 1-B fandom legend. It has everything: drama, epic fights, romance, slice of life, character backstories, it's pretty much what BNHA would have been if it was about 1-B. A lot of things in it are inaccurate to canon because it was first written before the joint training arc even came out, but that just makes things more interesting in my opinion (dude i actually wish Reiko's quirk was like this in canon)! it's actually one of the main reasons why i got so invested in 1-B in the first place, i couldn't recommend it more!!

The author of THoaH has also written many other, shorter stories about 1-B, so their entire profile is worth checking out! my personal favorite out of these fics is I Want to Break Free, a 6k word oneshot focusing on Setsuna and her family.

and now for what is probably my personal favorite:

When Die Rolls Differ - 294k words and counting, canon divergence/butterfly effect fic where class 1-B is the class who gets attacked at the USJ instead of 1-A and becomes more involved in the main conflict of the series as a result. honestly i don't even have the words to describe it, it's so good, the character interactions and backstories, and the fights, and the humor, and the way 1-B students fit into the events that originally only featured 1-A characters, and the everything!! just!! dude!! it's amazing!! and there's so much love and thought and creativity put into it!! please check it out because this fic has my whole heart <3 it's also on a break right now, so you have time to catch up

aaand that's it for today! there are probably more fics that i like, i just can't remember them rn, so i'm planning on updating this post every time i remember a nice fic or find something new!

sorry this took so long i may have procrastination issues

[greentrickster]

Canceling Internal Cringe Culture to Start Writing

Okay, I just got asked on AO3 about how to start writing in the face of cringe culture, especially the internalized sort, and I have a feeling this might be applicable to more than one person. So I’m gonna share what I told them with all of you as well! Here it goes:

Hmmm, this one's actually a little hard? Just because I've been writing for over twenty years now, and when I started, cringe culture just... high-key didn't exist. Neither did AO3. Tumblr was Right Out.

All that said... hmm... well first? Instead of using any sort of app or program, get a notebook - whatever floats your boat (I like to use ones with nice pictures on the front, but my sister uses those little pocket-sized ones) - and write in that instead. Even if you're not used to writing like that, give it a try anyway, because writing in a book makes it private, makes it personal, makes it just for you. And if it's just for you, then who cares if it's cringe? It's for you, no one else, and it's makes you happy, which is much more important! I like to use pens with green ink in my writing books. It sparks joy and adds an extra layer of good to the process. It may be slower, but it’s also an activity and movement that’s completely disconnected from all the nonsense on the internet, which can hopefully make it easier to ignore all that.

(If the page looks too big and blank and intimidating, I suggest adding stickers or a silly sketch or something. You can write around them, it’s fine.)

Just as important? Love what you're writing. This isn't 'content' or a product, this is a story or a poem or a memory. This is something you're writing down because you want to remember it. So love it. Indulge yourself, then indulge yourself more. Put everything you want to see into this, because you're also sitting in the audience, a very eager audience member and- hey, what do you know? The audience-member-who-is-you also just happens to be an up-and-coming new producer, everything they touch has been a hit so far, and they're taking an interest in your work. They think there could be something special there, that you, yes you, could be the next big thing. So be super sure to cater directly to this audience-member-who-is-also-you, it could lead places in the future.

Another thing that I find surprisingly helpful? The concept that there are no original ideas left in the world. A lot of creatives find this one super demoralizing or depressing, but I find it encouraging. Because it means, if I've had an idea, then someone else has had it, too. And that someone else probably wants to see it, even if they've made their own version of the idea. Heck, there could be a lot of someones! And they're cheering for you, so go for it!

And finally, the hardest part... you have to make a choice. Which do you care about more: listening to the part that cringes or writing? You can't care about both equally. You just can't. Writing is a lot of fun, but, like any creative form, it's also a lot of work. I didn't sit down and start writing at my current skill level, this is the result of two decades of practice, polishing, and honing my abilities. Looking back, the amount of work I put into all this is kind of staggering. But I didn't do it because 'I have to' or 'it's necessary.' I did it because I love writing, because I knew I could get better and I wanted to. And yeah, sometimes that involved doing stuff that was scary. There will always be aspects of it that are scary. I still get scared when I introduce certain new aspects to this fic, or enter new fandoms, or try something different. Writing can be hard and scary, that's just part of it. But the idea of not writing... that's so much worse.

You're starting in a really rough time for beginner creatives. Cringe culture, purity culture, cancel culture... all disgusting trends that need to end yesterday, if not sooner. It can be hard and scary to try because of all that. So step away from all that, take a chance somewhere private and safe that's just for you, and be brave. Choose to please yourself before anyone else. Love your stories, your characters, and the part of you that loves them, and take that first step. The best time to start a new project was probably yesterday, but the second best time to start one is always now. ;)

[argisthebulwark]

Ao3 20 Questions

thank you @kagedbird for the tag!! <3<3 i will tag some friends @daedrabait @miraakswhore @somethingscarlet13 @queerbashir if u wanna participate <3

How many works do you currently have on ao3? Currently 25. holy shit, i thought it was more than that lol

What's your total ao3 word count? 98,336. Used to be like 200k before i cleaned out some old works i didn't care for anymore.

What fandoms do you write for? Skyrim and Star Trek TOS & AOS

What are your top five fics by kudos? Sorry Lass, Make Me Feel Mortal, Don't Shut Me Out, Fascinating, and Destroy Rebuild

Do you respond to comments? Sometimes! Honestly it depends on whether or not i'm online and see them. if i don't respond right away it feels rude to respond weeks after the fact, but for repeat commenters or usernames i recognize i try to!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Idk i used to like to emotionally beat up Jim a lot, so probably one of the short stories where i explore all his traumas

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Probably Sorry, Lass. I originally wrote it in 2015 and i'm fairly certain it ends with a mushy marriage scene.

Do you get hate on fics? Surprisingly, no. I think i got a few rude comments back when i first started, but honestly everyone's been too kind to me.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Hell yeah brother that's what i do!! I love angsty, emotionally charged smut. my personal favorite to write is angry, hatefuck type of stuff. or when they're using it to avoid talking about feelings.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Not that i've ever posted lmao. I don't usually post non canon compliant fics for whatever fandom i'm working in.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Kinda. a few years ago someone let me know that my work had been reposted to a fic site i don't use and one quick message got them to take it down. Also, i once posted a fic as a one off, forgot that i'd done that, and used the same scene much later in a larger story - and some nice commenter on the original let me know that someone had stolen my idea lmao

Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope, never had anyone request that and don't want to do so incorrectly.

Have you ever cowritten a fic? Kind of? an old friend and i used to write separate chapters of our self insert marvel fics and mush them together into one story lol. never posted it anywhere, it was just shared emails and google docs.

What's your all time favorite ship? God, that's hard. probably McKirk. as i've gotten older and unlearned all the internal shame about self inserts it's gotten easier to do a self insert story instead of an established pair.

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Every few weeks i pluck away at my regency au Miraak fic. i don't think i'll ever actually finish it because it's just so big in my head it's hard to get on paper, but i hope i do someday.

What are your writing strengths? I'm very comfortable writing sex scenes. I think that often when the author is uncomfortable about writing explicit sex the reader can really feel it in the story and i put in a lot of work to get over those mental hurdles. i've been told i'm good at characterization, which is awesome! i love getting in a character's head!

What are your writing weaknesses? Very often i find myself bogged down with the need to describe every little scene. it's a major reason i haven't posted a longfic in a while - i want to write these big stories but find myself getting lost in the little details. i also have a terrible habit of editing myself while i'm writing, which just gets me stuck in an unproductive loop.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Since i'm only fluent in English, this isn't something i am confident in. i've written in a few fictional languages for fics before but would probably reach out or suggest another author if a reader wanted something that heavily involved this.

First fandom you wrote for? Twilight babey!!! self insert oc to smooch Edward Cullen when i was a little middle schooler!!! i didn't know what fanfiction was but i knew i had a big ol crush on him.

Favorite fic you've written? not to be cringe on main, but most of my favorites are things that never got published. they're the little things still hanging out in my google docs that i go back to over and over. i rewrote all of star trek into darkness word for word just to make bones and jim kiss, i made a self insert just to smooch skurge after hyperfixating on thor ragnarok, and the weird time a few months ago where i wrote like 40k words of a cowboy romance. i read them often and wish that i'd written more on many of them but i do not read my published works.

thanks to anyone who read my rambling lmao. love you all sososo much, thank you for reading my silly little stories and caring about them. <3<3<3

[gallavichthings]

Writer's Spotlight - Rita

This interview is long overdue and has been long in the making! I'm super pleased and excited to finally present a friend and my right arm on this blog, Rita aka @sickness-health-all-that-shit aka whatyouandihave on AO3, author of Lifeline, Possiblities, Short&sweet and several other fics, and some great gifs too!

R: I grew up in a small-ish town, dreaming about going to university, finding a job I loved, and living on my own with a cat as my companion. I'd say my 13-year-old self would be pretty happy with how my life turned out! I've always been into tv shows and films, plus languages and literature (that's what I mainly studied at uni) and I've managed to find a job that combines those things, which is the absolute dream! I translate and adapt lines into Italian so that dubbing actors can replace the original dialogues of movies, tv shows, documentaries and the like. Besides reading and writing and watching shows, I love travelling, enjoying good food and spending time with my family.

GT: Oh, that's a great job! It looks like you're living your dream, and I'm very happy for you! I assume you must watch all kinds of shows for your job, but what do you watch in your leisure time?

R: Yeah, for work I've had to watch plenty of children's cartoons, anime and lots of unscripted programs like reality television, cooking competitions and things like that. All stuff I would not watch in my spare time 😁 Some of my favourite shows are Btvs, Doctor Who, Breaking Bad, The Office, Outlander, Derry Girls, Peaky Blinders, Dexter and Shameless. I also watch a lot of British comedy panel shows (Taskmaster, QI, Big fat quiz of the year etc) and stand up comedy.

GT: Oh, some of my favorites on this list! Do you read/write fics for these other fandoms as well?

R: Nope! I actually came to fanfic pretty late, despite all the years spent lurking in fandom spaces. I only really started reading fics about 4 years ago, and that was after the Ian and Mickey prison reunion, having binged the first 8 seasons of Shameless a few months before that. I had read a couple fics for other fandoms over the years, but I honestly wasn't that interested. I was content with just rewatching the shows I loved and maybe making up my own headcanons, but nothing more. I guess you could say Ian and Mickey have made a fanfiction convert out of me!

GT: What was it about them that you think made you want to write your own fics, especially coming into the fandom late, as you said yourself, when there were already a lot of fics written.

R: Honestly, it just looked like so much fun to play around with them and all the themes you could explore through their story. When I first started reading fics, it opened so many avenues in my mind (I was so convinced I wouldn't be into AUs at first. Wrong!) and I was also reading tons of meta that had been posted on Tumblr over the years, which I had a lot of thoughts about. I think part of it was about needing a creative outlet at that point. I hadn't really written fiction before, and definitely not in English, but I think I'd always wanted to try and write stories. Building a world and creating characters from scratch would have been way too daunting, but playing around with my Ian and Mickey 'dolls' was instant, cathartic fun. There's just so much potential there, so much history and emotional depth to these characters and their love story that keep me coming back to them over and over.

GT: Do you tend to write more from Ian's or Mikey's pov?

R: I alternate a lot depending on the vibe of fic, but I guess maybe Ian's? The longest multichapter I have up is almost entirely written in Ian's pov, and one fic I'm writing at the moment that's gonna be longer than my usual is also from his pov. I have a lot of fun with Mickey's, but I really love exploring Ian's inner world in depth.

GT: What do you consider your forte when writing fic, the thing that comes to you more easily? And what do you struggle with sometimes?

R: I love writing dialogue the most, and I think I'm pretty good at making it sound in character for them and nailing their voice. I definitely struggle with descriptions and maybe pacing. I'd love to write a slow burn but I don't think they're for me. I get too impatient lol

GT: What kind of fics do you write the most? 

R: I mostly write one-shots, but hope to work on more multichapters in the future. I've also posted a series of short ficlets. Lots of fluff, some angst, though always with a happy or at least hopeful ending. Maybe someday I'll try my hand at some smut? Who knows. A lot of my fics tend to be either canon compliant fill-ins that expand on canon scenes or different first meeting AUs, especially meet-uglies. I also like including Mandy and exploring her friendship with Ian and sibling relationship with Mickey. I love writing banter and sprinkling in humour in my fics.

GT: I'm a huge sucker for meet-uglies! Which of your fics are you the proudest of?

R: Oh, the one I'm most proud of has got to be The stranger in my brother's bed. It was my first stab at a multi-chapter, my first AU and a chance to play around with different POVs and an unfolding plot. It's also still my most popular fic to date. It's very sweet and fluffy and warm. When it comes to one-shots my favourite I've written is probably Unexpected, a dialog-heavy meet-ugly with lots of banter and flirting. And then there's Caught me by surprise, my second attempt at a multi-chapter that's still currently a WIP. I do hope to finish those last two chapters someday, but I'm proud of it all the same. It's the longest thing I've written and I got to have fun with tropes like Fake dating, Secret relationship and Bed sharing.

GT: Are there any tropes or ideas you haven't had a chance to explore yet but you'd like to someday?

R: I'd like to write some fill-ins for the early seasons, especially exploring Mickey's pov. Of course a lot of amazing fics like that exist already, but it'd be a chance to expand on my headcanons and do some interesting character studies. Other than that, I have a few ideas for plot-heavy stories that sometimes I think might be too ambitious for me but also can't get out of my head. If I ever write them, they may feature tropes such as Childhood friends, Soulmate AU, Private investigator AU, and even a Genie AU, though fantasy is definitely not my go-to genre. I'd also love to write an angsty Enemies to lovers or a classic Roommates AU. And maybe some canon divergent stuff.

GT: Where do you get inspiration from?

R: Movies and tv shows I watch, stories I read or random posts I see on Tumblr are all potential sources of inspiration for me. Sometimes I'll get particularly obsessed with a line a character said in canon or a certain scene and a story just forms in my head around it. And when all else fails, I go looking for a prompt that speaks to me to get things going.

GT:What about motivation? Do you force yourself to take time to write or do you wait for motivation to strike randomly?

R: I'm still trying to find a balance that works when it comes to motivation, to be honest. I've gone many months waiting for motivation to strike, and getting more and more frustrated and disappointed the longer I waited in vain for it to come. Other times I'll try to force it, but end up convincing myself I have lost any ability to write I once had 😅 I definitely work better with some sort of deadline and 'peer pressure'. That's why I'm trying to participate in as many fandom events as I can at the moment. I struggle with anxiety, so I used to think it would be too stressful for me, but I need some structure in order to be productive. And sometimes it is a matter of getting yourself to write a little bit (almost) every day, just to move things along and keep the momentum going.

GT: What's your writing process like?

R: If it's something long or plot heavy I'll prepare a bit of an outline first, but I'm not generally big on outlines. When I go to write, I'm usually sitting on my bed or couch with my laptop. I tried having music on or ambient sounds, but honestly I work better in silence. I think of the scene I want to describe and the thoughts and feelings I want to convey and watch it as a film in my head, hearing the characters voice the dialogue. Then I put it all into words, if they behave that day and just come to me 😁 I first do a rough draft, trying not to edit too much as I go but just keeping going until I reach either the end of the story (in the case of a short-ish one-shot) or a good stopping point. Then once it's done I start editing, filling in details I left out, double checking things online and making various changes until I'm reasonably satisfied with it. At that point I'll send it over to my beta reader.

GT: Do you write about other characters or ships as well? If not, would you someday?

R: No, not really. Even if I include other Shameless characters, the focus is always on Ian and Mickey and their relationship. And I don't think I'll ever write about anyone else. I have a bit of a one-track mind when it comes to ships and fandoms. I can only really focus on one at a time, and even if I love lots of other shows and media, I don't feel the need to create for them, or be all that involved. I think that, beyond my fascination with Ian and Mickey as characters and as my all-time favourite ship, this fandom space and the community I share this passion with has a lot to do with my continued participation in it. I don't think I'd be still writing and posting fic if it wasn't for all the wonderful people that create and enjoy fanworks about Ian and Mickey alongside me. They're a huge part of what inspires me and motivates me to keep creating.

GT: Definitely. It's incredible to me how much the fandom has grown and changed, while still being welcoming.

What about OCs, do you have any? Do you create them based on real people or just whatever you need them for?

R: I only occasionally create OCs for specific purposes, though most often I try to cast other Shameless characters in the roles I need if possible. I had fun with Mr. Binckley in my most recent fic for GGE, The Ghost of Christmas Fuck You, and last year, again for GGE, I created two OC children for How I met your dad. I don't see myself using them for other fics in the future, though I really admire writers who can create fully fleshed out OCs and have them recur in more than one of their stories.

GT: What about reading fics, what makes you choose something to read (and what would make you give up on reading something)?

R: I usually trust authors I already know and love, and who tend to write the sort of fics I go for anyway. But I'll give any story a chance if the premise sounds intriguing. So a good summary will draw me in, for sure. I love any kind of meet-cute or meet-ugly, and enemies or friends-to-lovers. I'll read fluff, smut or angst depending on my mood, but always with a happy ending. I like any sort of AU, but I steer away from fantasy in general, and prefer things set in the present day (though I do enjoy science fiction as a genre so space, time travel, etc. might attract me to a fic). I don't read a/b/o, mpreg or mcd. I'll give up on reading something if it's just a wall of text or riddled (and I do mean riddled) with typos. Also if I feel that something is written way too out of character to the point where I barely recognise them as Ian and Mickey.

GT: Can you name some of those authors you already know and love?

R: Sure! @goodkwuestion, @beckyharvey29, @damnnmilkovich, @gallavichy, @jellovich, devovitsuasartes and @crazynadine are some of my all-time favourites.

GT: What about some favorite fics?

R: You can bite me by Shamelessquestions, all comes down to you by BeckyHarvey29, Bad Date by @thevioletjones, the Southside Forever series by proval, You make me feel human by Dragona, Two of your earth minutes by @the-rat-wins, So Sleeping fucking Beauty, right? by @cjmarlowe, sideways by @whaticameherefor, Maintenance by devovitsuasartes, Love is a ballfield by and_i_take_it. There are many others, but these are some of the ones that have really stayed with me.

GT: Do you ever reread fics?

R: Oh yeah, I've definitely reread some of the ones above. I've been in a reading slump for a long while now though, which is why the fics I've mentioned are almost all older ones, and a lot of those writers aren't active anymore. There are so many amazing new authors writing brilliant fics at the moment, but often I end up just reading snippets of their work or their drabbles on Tumblr, so that's why I haven't mentioned them here. I've got so many incredible fics to catch up on! But brains are weird like that, you know?

GT: Oh, I totally get that! What about your own, do you reread those?

R: Not often. I tend to publish something and then not look at it again, focusing on the next project instead. There's a little bit of a cringey feeling for me when I think about rereading my own fics, but then when I do happen to read a bit of one I'm like 'Hey. This is good, actually. I do not remember writing this, but wow. Good job, me.' 😆

GT: You make gifs too, right? Have you ever made a gifset for a fic, yours or someone else's?

R: Yep! I've made a single gif for my most recent fic, The Ghost of Christmas Fuck You, and also for an older one, Ready to do this. I really want to make gifs/graphics for my fics more often in the future, actually. And I once made a gifset inspired by a quote from Cooperative gameplay by grayola.

GT: Do you make moodboards or playlists when planning a fic?

R: Hmm not really. I sometimes look up images to help me visualise a particular scene, but it's not a regular habit of mine.

GT: Let's talk about Shameless. You said you binged the first 8 seasons? That must have been a wild ride.

R: Haha oh, yeah. I remember watching the first 5 seasons in just one week, then slowing down considerably for s6 and s7, and I think season 8 took me a full month to get through. At that point s9 was a couple of months away, and I alternated between a faint hope for some kind of reunion between Ian and Mickey and just bitter disappointment for the state of the show such as it was at that stage. I absolutely died when the prison reunion happened. I watched that scene on a loop for days, and when I came back up for air I went looking for all the fics I could find. Especially ones set in prison or detailing their life after prison, since I was so convinced they were off the show for good. But of course that's not how it went. What a wild ride indeed! Those days were so crazy for me lol

GT: How did it feel to come into such a large, albeit somewhat asleep at the time, fandom?

R: It was weird because I wasn't on Tumblr at the time. I'd had a blog before but then left for a few years and once I got into Shameless I didn't immediately come back to it. I looked up news about the show on Reddit of all places. Then around the time I started reading fic, I found a little blog called gallavichthings ❤️ where I caught up on all the meta that had been written over the years (and gifsets and art and everything else). I only made my new blog when s10 was about to start, right around the time I posted my first fic on AO3. And at that point the fandom was being revived by I&M being on the show again and by the news that they'd be getting married by the end of season 10. It was my first real experience of being active in a fandom like this, so it was pretty wild for me. It was definitely not as nice and chill as it is nowadays, that's for sure.

GT: Awn, I'm glad to be part of your Gallavich journey. 

Are you able to select a favorite season, seeing as you saw them kind of all together?

R: Oof the earlier seasons are all so special in their own ways. But when I got to season 4, the grip this show had on me had reached the highest levels. Despite Ian being gone for so much of it, or maybe because of it, since his absence was so deeply felt and instrumental for us to see sides of Mickey we hadn't seen before. I'm a sucker for some good pining. And then the second half of the season was such a rollercoaster of emotions... Ugh. Plus it was also an amazing season for the other characters (Fiona especially, who I love so much). So dark and intense, and it felt like a more 'adult' season than previous ones. It just hurt so good.

GT: What's your favorite episode overall?

R: It's hard to choose a favourite, but I think ep 4x11, Emily.

GT: Oh, that's a fantastic one! What about a favorite scene?

R: Maybe the s5 dugouts scene in 5x10. The way it's filmed, the lighting, the music, the rawness of the emotions... it hurts like hell to watch them hurt each other, but then there's that sense of release, and of new hope when they're finally on the same page again and happy... and then it gets taken away from them, because we can't have nice things. But that scene is such a little gem, and it never fails to make me feel all the feels.

GT: If you could go back and change only one thing about the show, what would you change?

R: The quality drop in the later seasons? lol. Honestly, as happy as I am that we got to see Ian and Mickey get married and be husbands, the show was just unrecognisable by the end. So I'd have it end sooner. Have the s7 finale be the final episode of the show, but with a happy ending for Ian and Mickey, obviously.

GT: Speaking of, what did you think of the ending?

R: I wish I could say I was satisfied with it, but yeah, no. It was way too open ended, I only liked where they left things for Ian and Mickey, and I should count myself lucky for that, really. The parallels they tried to do with the pilot and season 1 mostly fell flat for me, but then, like I said, the show was a shadow of its former self by that point. There was too little left to enjoy for me. I don't think I would've watched s10 and 11 at all if it wasn't for Ian and Mickey.

GT: How do you headcanon Ian and Mickey's life together after the ending?

R: I think they live in that apartment for a couple years, then get a house closer to where they grew up. They keep in touch with family and spend holidays with the other Gallaghers. They get a pet or two, and eventually adopt or foster kids, a few years down the line. Mickey takes over the security business, while Ian finds a way to use his medical training again to help the community. They'll be happy, safe and in love for the rest of their lives. ❤️

The happily ever after they deserve.

GT: Well, that's it from me. Thank you so much for your time! Now leave a message to those reading this.

R: This was great, thank you! And thanks to everyone in this little corner of the Internet. Whether you create or simply enjoy creations and support them, you are a vital part of something really special. Thank you for being on this ride with me, and here's to another year full of ideas, events, collaborations, and lots and lots of fun!

[its-all-papaya]

FIC WRITER INTERVIEW

ty for the tag @bright-and-burning booping u like a tumblr cat paw

How many works do you have on AO3?

uhhhh six if you count the lestappen i put on anon and the comp thing that's just a collection of kiss prompt fills that did not become their own fics

What's your total AO3 word count?

35,045

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

even if it ends (460)

anybody, nowhere (319)

the devil in me (310)

gentle with the ache (236) i am this fic's deadbeat dad like i'm not going to pretend i didn't write it but you can only interact with it if ur gonna be nice bc it makes me want to scream cry & throw up

the hollow hereafter (217)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i literally respond to every single comment ! if i don't know what to say i will think of something ! comments literally keep me alive. like i joke about writing for attention but genuinely the thought of receiving comments and reblog tags is what keeps me going on my wip's. i have the biggest praise kink that has EVER existed and god knows nobody is praising me for anything ever in my real life, so i gotta take what i can get. it's insane that real people read my words and have enough thoughts about them to like... type those thoughts out. so i must thank every individual person with a heart and a virtual kiss on their head.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

even if it ends for suuuure. i had people threatening self-harm in the ao3 bookmarks of that one in a loving way, and that's without even knowing about the rich inner life that i didn't expand on the way i originally planned to. in my brain, oscar has already decided to leave mclaren by the time the events of that fic happen bc their teammateship has gotten so self-destructive, so lando's "you can't stay" and oscar's "i know, but i want to anyway" is so much more knife-to-the-heart than y'all even realize.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

uh. i don't really want to count the kiss prompts because they don't really exist to me as fic, so... anybody, nowhere i guess? the devil in me is not NOT happy. can i cheat and say dad lando even though it doesn't actually exist yet?

Do you write crossovers?

no jesus christ i can barely write characters outside of oscar and lando (and apparently max fewtrell according to like two people). adding in even MORE variables is making me nauseous just thinking about it.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

"hate" is a strong word but there is a reason that my lestappen is on anon now.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i do write it sometimes, but not very successfully (glaring at u lestappen garbage). i have two landoscar wip's that are basically pwp, but i just don't really think i'm good at smut, so idk if they'll ever go anywhere for real. the pacing is simply so impossible to me. like how soon is too soon to have an orgasm. also like 90% of my writing is just knockoff versions of my own emotions from various points, and so as someone who only hooks up with people for reasons not really related to actually getting off, i find it really really hard to write the build-up and come-down from smut WHILE ALSO really struggling with the actual acts. like what are normal people's brains doing before during and after making someone come? bc i guarantee it is not what my brain does. it just doesn't really compute unfortunately.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don't think my fics have existed long enough to be stolen tbh.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

no

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no but i wrote literally millions of words while roleplaying in any number of ships back in the day.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

i think probably steve/bucky of the marvel universe? i don't really fw it much at this exact moment because endgame literally ruined my life for a bit, but that's probably the ship i've enjoyed the most over the years.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

honestly all of my wip's outside of dad lando and that nutcracker thing i'm definitely not writing shhh. I will fight shave fic eventually i think. the wip that's absolutely never getting finished the most securely is the fake dating thing based on that kiss prompt i filled in like july. like it's a 50k concept that i have like 5k worth of motivation for.

What are your writing strengths?

um. i think just, like. prose that sounds nice? i think i did a good job putting readers inside of lando's head in anybody, nowhere, so i'd say i'm occasionally good at translating emotion/headspace too. actually i'll go ahead and say that about all of my published landoscar, because i think that's even if it ends' strength too. dad lando is less that way, but it has other things going for it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

i'm really really mean to myself, so it's hard to pick just one. i'm bad at writing characters distinctly i think. like i just make them do things based on what feels good in my brain and just hope that y'all don't think they're OOC, but whenever i stop to think "what would oscar say here?" it's like... blank. bc i don't know. and it's really MUCH worse with everyone outside of landoscar. i also don't think my pacing is very good and i get hung up on details people won't care about and also i have a compulsive need to make EVERYTHING a metaphor. i'm going to stop there bc insecurity isn't very cute but i also over-edit and introduce too many threads and i could literally go on all night

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

i don't honestly see the point? because either you provide a translation, which defeats the purpose, or you don't, which makes it a secret for some readers but NOT the ones who speak the language in question. i'm spoiled by native-english-speakers landoscar as my primary ship, but i think if i ever wanted to write a convo between like. charles and pierre, ig, i would just write it in english and be like "they said in french" afterwards of smthn, idk. i think the only time i've written in not-english is that lestappen "after a long wait" kiss prompt and it was like a language device (haha) and not dialogue.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

i've only ever published on ao3 for F1. way way back i used to fill prompts on tumblr for one direction, which was the first fandom content of any kind that i wrote. the first actual fanfic i ever typed into a word document was finnpoe from the star wars sequel trilogy. so depends how you wanna define!

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

i got really really spooked by my lestappen adventure because it actually broke my brain for a bit, so now i'm scared to write anything but landoscar. i think the most likely non-landoscar ship i'd write is maxiel, probably? i saw them across the bar and loved their vibe. daniel feels kind of impossible for me to write though so idk if i ever will.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

anybody, nowhere i think, because i think it's the most complete thing i've done. i also really love how even if it ends turned out too, which is crazy bc i haaaaated it mid-writing process. i think it feels really like... i don't know. gritty? messy in a way that makes it authentic? idk how to describe. i think even if it ends has my favorite characterizations i've written for both lando AND oscar. but anybody, nowhere is my firstborn and i treasure her, so. yeah. tie, maybe.

tagging @fear8not1 (i know ur like. not on tumblr. but in case u would like to) and @volantium !!