#and all i can think is that the person who wrote that fic is engaged in fandom

[thevioletcaptain]

y'all get that screenshotting fic to publicly make fun of it is straight up bully behavior, right? like. it doesn't matter if you redact the author's name. this is no different to a kid taking someone else's art off the wall in a classroom, walking out into the playground, and holding it up to say "haha look how shit this is"

[bandgie]

Hi! I ABSOLUTELY LOVED your Beast of a Man tarzan!smut. Seriously it was so engaging and you wrote him so well (HES SO HOT AGHH). He's such a hot character idk why others don't write about him, I'm starved for Tarzan fics...

Could you please make a part 2 to the smut? You have such a great/smutty idea going I would love to see you continue it!!

It would mean everything to me!

( ^◡^)

a/n: hi yes thank you so much and ofc! it's been so long since I've written smut on Tarzan so please bear with me! (fic anon is referring to here)

synopsis: You have successfully brought back the ape-man for research. Despite behaving like an animal, he's a lot more human in more ways than you originally thought.

warnings: MDNI 18+, recording during sex, oral (m!), 69ing, semi-public oral sex, cumming in mouth (m!&f!), rough throat fucking (f!rec), cum eating (m!&f!)

2.8k words

"Who the fuck is this?!"

Your colleagues screamed and ran upon seeing who, more like what, you brought back to camp. They hopped up on tables and held up papers as weapons. They eyed you both wearily, on the verge of tears as you stood just a few feet away.

"I think that's a bit extreme," you sigh. 

The ape-man was beside you, clinging onto your leg like a child would do with a mother. He, too, was very wary around these strangers. You could hear him grunting and pulling at you as if keeping you from getting too close. 

Cute yes, but this would mean it would take a lot of work to build trust in the entire group.

Slowly, the fellow researchers began to try and communicate with the man. Talking slowly and softly, just like you showed them to. All of you agreed that this being could be the missing link, the answer to the question anthropologists have tried to find for decades.

It took over a month for everyone to be comfortable around one another, but of course, another issue was raised. 

"So does he just not have a name?" Professor Porter asked. 

As of now, you all were just calling him 'the ape-man' or 'hey you' to get his attention. It never crossed your mind to give him an actual name. 

"We're not gonna name that beast," Clayton butted his way into the conversation. Clayton, as big and strong as he was, seems the most afraid of your new friend. He's hostile, rude, and arrogant. Even if the ape-man cannot understand the words thrown at him, he can feel them.

The best thing to do in these situations was to ignore Clayton, he just loves the sound of his own voice. 

"No," you turn your attention back to the professor. "Not that I know of at least. Should we come up with one?"

"Oh great," there's heavy sarcasm laced in Clayton's voice. "Here you are naming a dog you're not even gonna keep."

"With no due respect Clayton, please shut the fuck up," Terk, the youngest of you, speaks. Terk is small for his age, but he has built. A hairy man who's lively, talkative, and one of the natives that live here. He and the ape-man get along well, a little too well sometimes.

Clayton flips Terk the bird.

"A name for him would be nice, yes." The professor looks as though he's sweating from the tense atmosphere. "Do come up with one dear, I think the missing link would rather you do it."

It's no secret that the ape-man prefers you over the other researchers. He's constantly at your hip, following you like you have an invisible leash on him. Your colleagues, however, don't know how close you two actually are. 

The conversation stays in your head for the rest of the day. A name. A name. Something everyone has yet is unbelievably difficult to come up with. Hundreds of possibilities run through your mind as you carry out your daily tasks. Even the ape-man, who's used to you ruffling his hair, grows confused about your behavior.

Nightfall comes with everyone in their tents and you still haven't come up with a name. 

With a groan, you turn on your side to see the very person who's making you struggle already looking at you. His eyes are dark, but the candle in your tent lights up his features just enough. You reach out and brush a lock of hair out of his face, watching how he moves to try and get you to touch his skin.

You settle with resting the palm of your hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb over it. 

"A name," you tsk. You narrow your eyes and let your gaze travel over his body. He needs to look like his name, that's a must. "Hey, do you know what a name is?"

He doesn't answer. 

"Something to call you. That's a name. Do you have one?"

He stares at you.

Well, this is going to be harder than you thought. 

Pursing your lips, you say the first name that comes to mind, "Edward?"

He reacts to that. His calm expression turns into a scowl, bushy eyebrows coming together. You quietly laugh and shake your head, "Not that one okay."

"Tony?"

He frowns.

"Taren?"

He pouts.

"Okay, okay. I think I got it...Garrett."

The ape-man groans, mimicking the behavior he's seen you do hundreds of times. It shocks you to see him act so human, so you. It's equally adorable as it is terrifying. 

He's gotten closer to you, a breath away. The proximity used to freak you out, but you've learned it’s how he shows his affection. His trust. 

The ape-man is waiting for you to say a word he likes, a sound that comes off your tongue magically. Judging from your facial expression and earlier absent behavior, this is an important task for you.

You want the name to be strong, versatile, and not easily replaceable. The being you've found is one-of-a-kind, it's only fair his name is as well. You play with a few letters in your head, bouncing them in your mind until you think of one that suits him.

"What about Tarzan then? Do you like that one?"

His pupils dilate, watching your beautiful lips pronounce the word. His word. 

"Yes."

You gasp, sitting up abruptly. Your sudden movements make him panic as he sits up with you. He scans the tent to find an intruder while you sit there stunned. 

He spoke. The ape-man no! Tarzan just spoke to you. He understood language and used it, even if it was just a mere word. A one-syllable answer that has shaken you to your core. 

"Oh my god. You just, Tarzan you just spoke. Holy shit, say it again. I need to capture this on video." You ruffle through your bag looking for your camera. 

Tarzan stops searching the tent and looks back at you looking as confused as ever. Like he didn't just display human speech in a mere month.

Quickly, you pull out the camera and hit record, aiming the lens at Tarzan's hard, yet beautiful features. 

"Repeat what you just said," you look at him through the monitor. Instead of complying, Tarzan stares blankly into the lens. "Do you like the name Tarzan?" You press.

No answer, his eyes flick from the red light to your eyes. 

"Come on! Just tell me whether or not you like the name." You're starting to grow impatient. At this point, you're convinced he's just being an ass.

Finally, he adjusts his seating position. Tarzan glances down at his crotch then back up to you, then back to his crotch. You follow his gaze, trying to understand what he's trying to say. Then it clicks. 

Compensation. If you want him to do you a favor, you have to do him one as well. 

"Are you being serious?" You sigh at him. Tarzan gives a faint nod to you. Even if he can't do so, you swear you see him smirk. Asshole. Setting the camera down, you angle it towards the two of you. Might as well have fun with it.

You crawl your way towards him, parting his thighs slightly before giving him a playful glare, "You're such a man sometimes."

Unlike before, Tarzan wears cargo shorts rather than a mere piece of clothes from last time. Professor Porter made it clear that if he was to hang amongst you all, clothes were necessary. 

They suited him nicely, even now. The way the material hugs his toned thighs, how his cock bulges through the shorts even when he isn’t hard. You couldn't help but run your hands along his muscular legs, finding his crotch.

He groaned as you palmed him, straining to not thrust his hips up. Tarzan learned to be patient with you, especially in the presence of others. Most animals didn't care whether they mated alone or in their pack. Even if Tarzan was raised by those animals, the thought of others hearing the sounds you make for him is repulsive. 

Instead, he has to settle for brushing your hair from your face as you undo his buttons. Delicate fingers unzipping the seam until his half-hard cock sprouts in your face. 

It doesn't matter how many times you've seen his dick, it makes your pussy quiver every time. All you can think about is how perfectly it stretches you, how the tip slides against your cunt deliciously. Your mouth salivates at the memory, and you let your spit drool off your tongue to land on his cock.

Tarzan loves the sigh. A pink tongue just hovering over his length. He also remembers the feeling of your hot mouth on him. The way your lips slowly come closer to the crown of his head, how your breath wafts over him. It feels euphoric when you finally make contact with him, mouth enclosing his flushed head.

It's so warm in your mouth, smooth as you lightly suck on him. The hand on your head slightly grips your hair, a sign that he likes the slow pace you've set. You hum around his cock, taking him a little deeper as you widen your jaw.

One of your hands makes way to grip the base, pulling the skin upwards in a stroking motion. 

This makes his hips jerk, gagging you for just a split second. Your wide eyes look up at him, small tears peeking at the corners. Tarzan gives an apologetic look, but the sight of your teary eyes and pretty lips around his cock makes him fuck up toward you again.

You pull away from him, earning a whine as Tarzan throws his head back dramatically. 

Maybe he thinks you're going to stop as punishment, but it's quite the opposite. Your cunt is sopping from tasting him, even if it was for a brief moment. Even if you have a task at hand, and your camera is still recording for 'research,' you have your own needs to take care of. 

Tarzan is none the wiser as you put a hand on his bare chest and lay him down. He eyes you curiously but lets you push him all the way down before hopping on top. His eyes widen as he's faced with your clothed cunt. Underwear the same color as your tongue that holds the strongest smell of you.

He doesn't need any directions as he dives his nose into you. Tarzan is obsessed with your natural smell. His nose immediately grows damp from your wetness, his tongue poking out to lick the juices that leak out.

Softly moaning, you take a hold of his cock once more. You pump it a few times before taking it into your mouth. It's surprising to see that he's not humping in your mouth like normal, but he's so distracted with your pussy that he can't seem to bother noticing his own pleasure.

It's hard to focus on his hard length as his teeth tear off your panties. You gasp when you hear the fabric split, but it turns into a whine when his tongue finally makes contact with your bare cunt. 

Tarzan has to grip your hips to keep you still. As much as he would love for you to grind on his face, he needs to have his meal first. His tongue runs over your folds, finding that little bud you love so much to be touched. 

He sucks on it and pulls, stretching your clit. Your legs shake and you have to pull away from his cock to catch your breath. Lazy hands stroke his hard-on as you look back. You clench at the sight of his unruly hair peeking above your ass, the sounds his mouth makes as he laps at you.

Turning back to your literal task at hand, you find the energy to take his cock once more. You unhinge your jaw and exhale, taking Tarzan deeper and deeper until your eyes roll back. You hollow your cheeks and suck, moving your head back up until just the tip remains in your mouth, and go all the way back down.

Now Tarzan can feel the bliss of your mouth on him. He moans into your pussy and slightly jerks his hips up, making you gag around him once more. 

Feeling you work so hard makes him want to reciprocate. He shakes his head left and right to try and bury himself deeper. He uses his grip to force you further onto his face. Tarzan's tongue finds the squeezing entrance that he's breached so many times. He digs his tongue into you, finally getting a taste of you from the source. 

He's guiding your hips so you could drag your pussy against him how you like. Tarzan can feel your hips trying to pull away from him as the feeling of his tongue has gotten too much. And it has.

You're trying to distract yourself by deepthroating him, but it's no use. All you can feel is his experienced mouth, how he remembers every detail he knows you like. You can feel your orgasm approaching, and how it builds in your stomach rapidly. 

Tarzan feels your legs shake. Your thighs trembling and giving out, full lower body weight on his face. He can taste how the wetness has changed, thicker and tart. Tarzan knows this taste like the back of his hand. You're going to cum, give him that white cream he loves licking out of you.

You've completely stopped paying attention to his dick. A part of you should feel bad for neglecting him, but you can't seem to care as Tarzan's tongue fucks you. Instead, you find yourself humping his face, his mouth following as you approach your high.

You squeal as you come, clamping a hand over your mouth as you finish. Warm gushes out of you, body quivering as the eager man under you happily drinks it all. Tarzan gulps and slurps until he's beginning dripping from the corners of his mouth. 

He takes and takes until you're the one having to tell him no more, that you can't handle another orgasm. 

Tarzan hears the desperation in your voice, the way you plead. It takes strength for him to pull away from your pussy, a soft growl emitting from his chest. 

Then his thighs wrap around your head, securing you in front of his cock. You have no time to question him as you involuntarily take his cock into your mouth.

There's so much pre-cum dripping from the slit that all you can taste is its saltiness. He's throbbing, fucking his hips into your mouth as he holds you still with his legs. 

All you can do is take it. Lips wrapping around his girth as he desperately slides his dick in and out. You gag and silently plead for Tarzan to be gentler, but he's having none of it. Your hands warp around his thighs to steady yourself, your head bobbing uncontrollably to match his movements.

Tarzan twitches in your mouth once, stilling his hips deep into your throat. Tears immediately prick your eyes and fall down your face, and you swear your vision goes black for a fraction of a second before he pulls out. You get the chance to gasp for air as he lines up his cock to your lips again and shoves it back in.

You think you might pass out. You're at the mercy of Tarzan, and he's still unable to see how much stronger he is than the average man. Your mouth is nothing but a fleshlight to him as he makes you choke around him. It makes you feel like a toy, a warm hole for him to fuck his seed into.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

The familiar twitch in his cock occurs again. Once, twice, then three times before he unloads in your mouth. Hot spurts of his cum find themselves in your throat, forcing you to gulp it down. 

Tarzan's hips slow, letting his cock drag against your lips before he finally pulls out. You cough and pant as his orgasm drips from your tongue. 

His thighs release you and you promptly plop down on them. You feel his hands rub soothingly over the curve of your ass, up and down your thighs. And an extra apology, Tarzan presses a kiss to your throbbing pussy. You chuckle and kiss his thigh back before sitting up, hoping off his face. 

You have to crawl to grab your camera, breathing a sigh of relief to see the red light still shining. You aim the lens at his face as he too sits up. You can see the arousal on his face from eating you out, his swollen lips, and messy hair.

"So," you start. "Tell me, Tarzan, did you like that?"

Tarzan's lips quirk into what you think is a smile before he looks at you directly through the camera. 

"Yes."

a/n: holy fuck I dont think y'all know how hard this was. I kinda went all out for the first one so the second one was hard as hell to match lmaooo. I physically and mentally can't do a third installment. this is the final one sowwy also I added some characters from the film! hopefully you caught that, I made Terk human, Tarzan needed a friend even if it's a fanfic

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about Inumaki Toge being insecure about his speech (or the lack of thereof).

I feel like if he could trade a year of his life for sixty seconds without his cursed speech, he would. Without second thought. And specially because of you.

He's had a crush on you for a while (ever since your first encounter), but he'd never admit it. Not because he's scared of rejection, but because he's scared you'll reciprocate his feelings. Because he thinks you deserve better. Actually, scratch that: he knows you deserve better. You deserve someone so much better than him.

"And then you won't believe what he said! He said: 'I can't date you, cause I'm actually your brother!'"

"No way! That's the plot of the movie? How shitty!"

You deserve someone like Yuta. Someone who can make you laugh with their own words, someone who you don't need to strugle to understand what they're saying. Right now, you and Okkotsu are talking about some bad movie he watched. And you're laughing so hard and your laugh is so pretty it makes him wanna laugh too. He wants to engage on the conversation. He wants to say: "That's one of the worst plots I've ever seen! I can take you to the movies to see a real good movie if you'd like to"

But he can't. He can't, but Yuta can. He should let you go so you can be with someone who deserves you. He has no right to be this selfish, making you a slave of a love without any words of affection.

It feels like everytime he looks at you, there's a nagging voice in the back of his head, painfully reminding him that he can't be with you, and there's nothing he can do about it. It's an impossible love.

Hell, even Panda is making him feel envious and jealous. Even though he's literally a panda, at least he can talk to you. Sing your favorites songs with you. And he can't. At least not without cursing someone (and, God forbid, maybe even you. You're the last person he wants to harm)

He wanted you to confide in him just like how you confide in Maki. You always tell her everything. He wishes he, too, could be a source of relief. A shoulder you can rely on. But he can't. He can't, cause the best he could say in that situation is "Salmon", "Caviar" and other stupid onigiri ingredients that have nothing to do with the actual topic of the conversation. Honestly, he would be tired of himself if he was his friend. You don't have the obligation to understand his dialogue. Nobody does.

So, he comes to the conclusion that he should just avoid you. He should give up on loving you, because he doesn't want you to suffer.

"Toge, please! We haven't talked in days! Why did you suddenly stop talking to me?"

He stays silent. That's the only thing he can do, after all. He can't speak. He can't. But he wishes he could. He wishes he could tell you everything that's going through his head, tell you about how he feels like dying when he sees you playing a game with Itadori and Nobara because he knows he'll never be capable of doing that with you normally. If he speaks now, everything that'll come out of his mouth are foods. Speaking now would only remind him about the drift that exists between you both (and there's two options to avoid anyone's fall: you either close the gap or you widen it. He chose the latter)

"..."

"Inumaki, talk to me" (how sad. You want him to do exactly the only thing he can't do. That just makes him remember that he'll never be enough for you. Never)

Also, wow. You're using his last name. He got in a really bad situation, huh? How will he get out of this? How will he stop your (and also his) suffering?

There's only one way. And even though he swore that he'd never use his spell against you, he finds himself lowering his scarf with trembling hands.

"Leave. And don't look back."

~A/N: This is the fic I wrote that I mentioned on my last post!! I know a lot of people have writen abt this b4, so this is inspired by other stories I've read (if you've written something like this and want me to credit you, feel free to send me an ask!!). IT JUST FITS INUMAKI CHARACTER SO MUCHHH!! Like, I can totally imagine him being insecure about not being able to speak. I just thought I should give it a try cause I CAN'T FIND INUMAKI STUFF, so I took matters into my own hands. I don't realy like this, but I thought it would be a waste to not post it anyway

Masterlist

[inbarfink]

So when I wrote down that Big Undertale Meta Post about how Sans probably doesn’t remember RESETs at all and why that’s cool - I got a lot of responses to the tune of ‘that’s probably canon but I’m still gonna enjoy Sans Remember fics because of the angst’. And, well... first I want to emphasize that those are very good and correct responses! Like ‘I acknowledge might or might not be in the text but I am also gonna explore alternative ideas Because I Enjoy Them’ is a Good Damn Position to have! Transformative Fandom is Transformative on purpose! Engage with the text and it’s various analyses but don’t let it chain your creativity or fun!

It’s just that… all of the people saying that they prefer Sans Remembering ‘for the Angst’ make me think that maybe folks are kinda ignoring the incredible angst potential of Sans NOT remembering.

My original post focused on how cool it is that Sans manages to be so on-top-of-things even though he doesn’t remember anything - but let’s not ignore the fact that this situation is also grim as shit.

Through some mysterious super-science or whatever, Sans has managed to discover that his timeline is being RESET and altered constantly (before the Player came along, Flowey had already managed to basically 100% the entire Underground) and he has no memory of what's going on and what exactly is being altered. 

He knows he might’ve gone through the same day over and over and over again thousand times but he’s simply not aware of it. It’s all the helplessness and lack of forward momentum of a classic timeloop and none of the benefits of memorizing occurrences or acquiring extra information. That’s exactly the thing that drove him into his depressive spiral.

That line always strikes me. It’s like… Sans suspects that without the meddling of capricious immortal time gods, he’d be a much happier and motivated person. But he doesn’t know for sure, because he can’t remember how he was in some distant ‘original timeline’. He is essentially fighting to avenge a version of himself that might not even be real.

Like, yes, it is very impressive and badass how well Sans trained himself to notice every tiny little hint that might indicate that a RESET happened - but it’s impressive because the deck is stacked so heavily against him. And it is very impressive and badass how Sans managed to turn his weaknesses into strengths during his Boss Battle - but it’s impressive because these are usually huge weaknesses. Trying to work to solve a timeloop that you can only infer is going on through context clues is quite a hopeless and desperate mission!

Another bit in the Sans fight that I often think about is his unique reaction if you kill him and then RESET to Fight him again.

With how skilled he is at reading expressions, Sans probably knows what that ‘weird expression’ means, he knows the Player killed him once before and is here to try again. And yet he still goes along with the same attack plan he has, the one he knows killed him in that previous timeline. Why? Because he doesn’t know where the flaw in his plan was exactly, he can’t even begin to guess. So he has no choice but to go along with the plan he knows did kill him, because that’s the only thing he has. 

You know, the thing about Sans, is that he always plays his cards very close to his chest. It’s very hard to tell what exactly he’s thinking. That’s probably why so many people do believe he remembers RESET. If any non-Flowey character remembered RESETs, only Sans would be remotely able to hide it so well. But for me? It makes me wonder how much of his Troll who Knows Too Much persona is a bit of an act as well. 

You know, Sans’ deduction requires some keen observational skills - does he ever second-guess his conclusions? Living on constant high-alert that something has been reversed or that someone knows something they shouldn’t requires fostering a lot of paranoia, and that can’t be healthy for him. Is he ever overcome with doubt on whatever something was really an indication of a timeline RESET or not? How does he feel when he realizes something horrible happened on a previous timeline (for example, his brother dying) but he doesn’t know about the context to feel sure that he can stop it from happening again? 

I also think about it in terms of his relationship to Papyrus in general. Sans tends to hide so many things from Papyrus, especially in timelines where the Player is particularly kill-happy...

In part it’s about his perception that Papyrus’ kindness and pacifism is born from naïveté and thus the only way to preserve it is to hide the cruelty and harshness of the world from him (Undyne also does that). But also, with the paranoia and helplessness Sans lives in every day - is it any wonder that he might believe that ignorance is bliss?

I do truly think it’s beautiful how fandom can experiment with cool non-canon ideas! There are probably so many great emotional angsty ideas tied up to Sans remembering RESETs! I just feel it’ll be a shame if people ignore just how dire and depressing Sans’ canon situation also is!

[writer-freak]

Gossiping | Hazbin x Gn reader

Characters: Alastor, Rosie, Vox, Lucifer, Angel Dust, Husk, Cherri Bomb and Velvette

Warnings: gn reader, can be seen as either platonic or romantic for most of these characters, is probably messy and characters could be ooc, english isn't my first language, maybe I will clean this up one day

A/n: Not really that happy with this and wrote this today to take my mind off things but I was thinking about who has the most tea to share in hell and this is how I ended up writing this. Also as a fellow aroace person, I'm probably gonna start writing some platonic Alastor fics.

Alastor:

Doesn't really spill tea himself that often but if he does expect it to be really hot

He often gossips with Rosie though it is mostly her who has something to talk about

So he really is used to listening to someone talking about the drama around hell

And actually, Alastor enjoys some good gossip especially if he can use that information to his advantage

He usually has these gossip sessions with you over a good cup of tea with some low jazz playing in the background

It also isn't unusual for you to go over to Rosie's to invite her into your gossip session

Rosie:

Rosie is the queen of gossip in cannibal town, knowing everything juicy about everyone around

She loves inviting you over to her place for some good tea and pinky fingers to snack on while you exchange drama

Rosie is really interested in others' lives so usually people are just open with her which is why she has so much information about everyone

While she really enjoys gossiping she also is a really good listener and can keep a secret if you need her to

Vox:

Not really that interested in gossip that is more Velvettes kind of thing

But he does try to stay up to date with some people (mainly Alastor) though that is usually as far as his interest in gossip goes

But he can actually tell you some juicy information as he has cameras all around the Pride ring 

But it will not really be a real gossip session as he just isn't that interested in drama 

If you ask he may tell you some things but it will probably be very brief 

So not really a gossiper even though he has a lot of information about people all around Pride

But this only applies to personal gossip everything looks completely different if he can use it on one of his broadcasts 

Drama from famous people around hell is great to get in viewers and sometimes if you really beg him to he will tell you some information before the official broadcast

But I wouldn't be surprised if he told you to just watch the show to hear what is going on

Lucifer:

He doesn't seem overtly interested in gossip especially if we look at the other characters 

But I think he just enjoys talking to you in general so if you have some interesting drama to tell him about he would listen attentively 

He would probably forget everyone's name in your gossip session and you would constantly have to explain to him again who was who

You two probably have these conversations in his suite, you two just chilling together maybe cuddling a bit while you watch something on the TV

Something happens in the show that reminds you of some gossip that you heard about and you need to tell all the details to Lucifer

Angel Dust:

Angel Dust is probably always in the know about the latest gossip and scandals

He just sees quite a bit of stuff on social media and I also wouldn't be surprised if he hears some stuff around the V tower

Also sometimes he hears some things from people he flirts or hooks up with

You two would probably be in his room to gossip just chilling on his bed doing some skincare

Him painting your nails while exchanging anything that you have picked up since your last gossip session

How he tells you about stuff is just so engaging and he also just loves to hear what kind of tea you have

For him, this really is good quality time and just loves spending his downtime with you like this

Husk:

Husk hears so much stuff while at the bar from the hotel's residents

So this is also usually where you tell him about some of the latest hot gossip going on around hell

While Husk has quite a lot of information about the other residents of the hotel he doesn't really wanna tell on them so usually he doesn't add much to these sessions

He is just more the listening guy and doesn't participate in spreading

He will listen to you and if you have something more serious to discuss he is a great person

He just lends you a non-judgmental ear and you can confide in him 

And you know that he doesn't tell anyone about what you tell him

Cherri Bomb:

Cherri Bomb is someone who loves stirring up trouble but I don't think she is that strong of a gossiper

Or at least she isn't really that dedicated to it

With how you two mostly meet up to go out and get fucked up that is also when you exchange some gossip

Like hell yeah she will listen but it's not really something that interests her in the long run

And she is usually drunk or on drugs (but probably both to be honest) 

So don't really expect her to remember everything you told her if you want to update her on something

For her, it's mostly one ear in and out the other 

But that is really only for random people that she doesn't care about 

If it is one of her friends or if you have some trouble she will try to be more attentive and actually help you out

Even if she is high as a kite she would never leave a friend hanging

Velvette :

Velvette usually knows everything about the drama going on online

She really enjoys gossiping and it isn't unusual for her to call you up if she has something particularly juicy

Often invites you over to her place so you two can chill with some food and talk about all the shit going on around you

Wouldn't be surprising that if you two are close she also tells you about insider tea going on around the V tower 

However, she has to trust you that you won't share anything that could actually harm the V's

Even if you tried to spread something about them it wouldn't go far

Divider: @thecutestgrotto

[flawlessflesh]

at arm's length

CW: Discussion of CSA and trafficking

I originally wrote this meta in response to a retrospring anon - These are my thoughts on the impact of child abuse on Thistle's ability to form relationships or feel attraction.

Keep in mind as you read that this is based on my personal interpretation of Thistle as a present-day teen who was trafficked for several years before being taken to the golden kingdom. This meta is canon-adjacent, not canon, and can be considered supplementary info for my fics.

-

Thistle has a heaping pile of trauma centered on interpersonal relationships and intimacy. This, along with his lifespan, inhibits him from forming equal relationships with others, and outside of his very small family group he doesn’t feel safe or capable of reaching out to people or letting people in.

He can feel attraction towards others but he shuts it down and doesn’t act on it because it feels like something bad will happen if he does. I consider him to be more comfortable around men than he is with women because he thinks he knows what he can expect from men (men were the main perpetrators of his abuse, but men like Freinag and Delgal are also the most important relationships in his life), but he has no idea what to expect from women. Best to avoid them. Most of his attraction is towards men as well and that complicates things due to the likelihood that these historical fantasy tall-man societies are homophobic - and Thistle isn’t treated like a man but he also isn’t a woman, so is it allowed? Is there something wrong with him for feeling this way? He doesn’t know. It isn't safe. So he keeps it all to himself.

In my timeline, Thistle doesn’t start puberty until a few years before the kingdom is turned into a dungeon. He never has the typical experience of crushes and childhood romance because he has no peers to engage in them with - his slower aging and his race isolate him. Everyone sees the silly little elf jester first and not the person. All he has is the royal family. Delgal goes through puberty, fools around, gets married, and through it all Thistle only understands that behavior like it’s something he’s read about in a book. He's disturbed by it too, having only had negative experiences with human sexuality, as little as he remembers of it. As an aside, I think when Thistle was brought to the castle he briefly had a crush on the king, but it was a child’s harmless emotion directed towards someone safe who he perceived as having saved him. If you’ve ever had a strong attachment towards a teacher or mentor growing up it was like that, and Freinag wasn’t aware of it and did not encourage it.

This is going deep into headcanon territory now. Thistle was trafficked by the troupe master of the traveling performers who had him before he was given to King Freinag. Thistle has suppressed the entire thing and can’t clearly recall the last twenty years of his life before Freinag. The information he has about that time is what people later told him (“your parents abandoned you”, “you were part of a traveling troupe”, “you already knew how to play the flute and follow instructions well”, etc). Freinag unintentionally replicates the emotional abuse that Thistle suffered — he calls Thistle his child but treats him more like a pet who has to perform for approval, and he is overly physically affectionate while neglecting the very real parental needs Thistle has as a young child. Thistle's hurt is like a barely scabbed over wound that keeps being picked at until it bleeds again.

Thistle grows up with an incorrect idea of how adults are allowed to treat him which leads to wariness towards everyone who is not the immediate royal family. They’re safe, they don’t do anything bad, but he can’t trust anyone else. Plus - he doesn’t like when strangers single him out for being an elf. He wants to fit in so badly and instead they invade his space and point out how he’s different and are always reaching for his ears. The few times he feels attraction he suppresses it on instinct without trying to understanding what it is or what prompted it. He doesn’t want to feel drawn to anyone he isn’t already close to. It’s a self-preservation mechanism and a reaction to the abuse he suffered, and after a while the curiosity is blocked off altogether.

In a post-canon future where he’s found a will to live and is healed to the point where he is interested in meeting new people, I still think he wouldn’t want to have an intimate relationship. It’s like a chasm, a frightening abyss of possibility for new experiences but also for getting hurt, and he has been hurt too many times already. Friendship would be daunting enough - I genuinely think he’d struggle with it - but anything more is equivalent with ruinous loss of control in his mind. Things can get better with time, conscious work, and understanding, but this mindset is where I see him staying for a long while. Thistle doesn’t do well with change or admitting truths to himself that he’s worked very, very hard to suppress.

[olderthannetfic]

This is partly a vent and partly hoping someone reading this can offer some advice or at least insight into wtf the person/people doing this are hoping to accomplish.

Over the past few months, someone(s) has been sending purity policing “concerned” anon asks to people in my fandom, mostly about supposed untagged triggering content. Which sounds like standard anti bullshit at first glance, but there are some really weird aspects to this situation, and I don’t know what to make of it.

First, in both of the cases I’ve seen, the “untagged” content Concerned Anon complained about was comprehensively tagged, way beyond fandom norms. Concerned Anon is complaining about something that isn’t even true.

Second, the people who received these asks seem to me like really weird targets for anon harassment. From what I’ve seen, they’re both really nice people. Not in the Cult of Nice way, but in the welcoming to newcomers, supporting all shippers even the people who ship things they’re not into, willing to chat about even the most wild theory or headcanon you might have without judgment kind of nice. Good stewards of fandom, I guess is what I’m trying to say. So I don’t get why anyone would want to target them. Especially since one of them wasn’t even being harassed about their own work, but about a fic someone else wrote that they happen to like!

Third, if the source material for this fandom were a fic on AO3, it would easily meet the threshold for all archive warnings. This isn’t about Stephen King fandom, but it’s got that level of things antis lose their shit over. Why is Concerned Anon even in this fandom? Why are they ~*so concerned*~ over fic when canon is like that?

Since the first Concerned Anon ask, I’ve noticed a sharp drop-off not just in ~*problematic*~ fic, but in fic in the fandom in general. I know fandom engagement comes and goes and there could be a lot of reasons for that unrelated to Concerned Anon. I can even think of a couple specific reasons it would be happening in this fandom. But the timing rubs me the wrong way, especially since it doesn’t seem like there’s as much a of a drop-off in general fandom activity, and I’m worried the latest set of Concerned Anon asks will have an even more chilling effect on fic writers.

I hate that this is happening. I hate that people who are just out here making fandom fun are being targeted. I hate that it might be discouraging people who haven’t been targeted from writing. I hate the possibility that Concerned Anon is out there harassing other people in the fandom who haven’t responded to them or that I just haven’t seen. I hate that, as a complete fandom nobody, I probably have no power to do anything about this. I hate that the person or people behind Concerned Anon probably aren’t even going to have to face up to being this kind of shitty, because it’s all anonymous.

--

People pop up in the inboxes where the owner can get their comments in front of more eyeballs.

Of course they want to poison the blogs of the welcoming fans who get the newbies writing fic.

The way to combat them is for those bigger blogs to either ignore them entirely or to politely but firmly tell them where they can shove it while pointing out that they're a liar.

They're a toxic blight on other people's inspiration, and the "nice" blogs should tell them so. The failure to do so is going to have at least as much of a chilling effect as their shitty comments themselves.

[moonshynecybin]

do you have any motogp fic recs?

yeah sure man. im gonna keep it simple (ao3 only) because i am a capricious bookmarker and refuse to wade through the weeds of tumblr fic as im not a natural tagger. no order just vibes. all of these i love and reread !

cant change that, cant change you by kingsquarding

Marc at the ranch for the (second) first time.

this fic is the platonic ideal of marc and vale post reconciliation being TOGETHER and at the RANCH and trying to make it WORK but they are also. still being a little messed up. themes include: guilt. injury. marc trying to get vale to stop treating him like glass and FUCK HIM already because he doesnt want to admit that their relationship/his body has changed since he was twenty. delicious.

Che Spettacolo! by serve_cunt

“What do you think,” Vale says, and leans against the doorframe. “Will he come?” Uccio stays silent. Of course he will come, he wants to say. In what world does he stay away? In what world can he resist?

sending uccio to the cuck chair. outside POV rosquez always hits for me becuase they match each other's freak in so many ways its fun to see what antics they engage in as obsevered by someone more normal. in this case. uccio. also helps get around vale's shit ass communication because its him through the eyes of someone who KNOWS that vale is being WEIRD. even if marc doesnt. fun and SEXY. academic au by the same author ALSO slays

of crashing and burning (and falling for you) by Anonymous

It has always been Marc and Valentino, Valentino and Marc. Two rivals inseparable on- and off-track throughout their careers, their story so closely intertwined they might as well have been the same person, dominating their beloved sport between the two of them. Then Marc breaks his arm, Vale loses their championship, and they are left trying to pick up the pieces. AKA a rosquez same age AU.

someone wrote out. elle and i's same age au. and it was so perfect i legit struggle to answer asks about this au now because im just like. its in the AU !!! its all here !!! really nails vale in this specific scenario imo... all the love and resentment and self-imposed walls and. my favorite of all. the exact way these guys talk in press conferences. like their exact diction. hits the spot beautifulperfect

arms out like an angel by yekoc

“Does Marc still work here?” he asks. He can’t think of the word for performing. “I dunno, man,” the guy says. “Sorry, I’m new.” Vale blinks at him. “Find out,” he says, and then, annoyed at himself for the impatience, “if you can. I came a long way.”

the efficiency of word choice in terms of characterization in this one really moves me... every line has implications !!! sexy ones even !!! and theres so much baseline CHEMISTRY and inability to really STAY AWAY from each other but also. a tense little undercurrent of slight misunderstanding and hurt that makes it stand out... i also just love fics where marc pushes back just a lil and vale has to like. figure out what to do with that. in a horny way. yekoc's bezzcele also goes crazy if you wanna think about nipple piercings as much as i do

All I Wanted by agnst-crrnt

The first time it happens is just after Marc’s 10th birthday. He’s about to complain to his parents about how Álex always finishes the milk and then puts it back into the fridge, when the faces of his parents’ blur in front of him. Marc closes his eyes, trying to make it better and grabs onto the edge of the table. He can hear his mama ask him if he’s okay, before everything stops. or Rosquez Time Travel Au, where Marc randomly gets teleported through time, always ending up somewhere around Vale

hey thats my friend. rosquez time travel au as ive said my favorite thing to think about maybe EVER !!! really love the strict marc POV on this one and how you REALLY see the. youre in love so you go. and his just. his ceaseless romanticism and optimism wrt to vale and their relationship that fits this fic concept SO well. guest appearances from pedrenzo as well yayyyyy

i give into the fall series by lestelledreams

Her and Pol were good; they did win a gold at Junior Worlds after all, and that’s not something anyone can just go out there and do. But her and Valentino – they could become great. Mar’s never been more sure of anything in her life. or, The first year of Mar's and Vale's partnership.

genderbend figure skating au where marc gets to have all his weird injury complexes explored AND it gets slutty AND we get to see his freak ass ambition. imagine if motogp was a pairs sport (like actually not just in a fake way) and marc had the option of pairing up with vale. imagine how crazy he would go trying to make that happen adfhdflk

a hundred ninety-nine degrees by hardlythewiser (sequinedfairy)

“You should fuck me again,” Bez says. It trips out, all his defenses worn down by the long, annoying day of meetings, by the feeling of Cele above him, pressing him down into the couch, by Cele’s bright clear gaze. Above him, Cele doesn’t smile with his whole face, scrunching up his eyes, like he did the first time Bez asked. He doesn’t smile at all, just keeps looking at Bez. “Really?” he asks. “I didn’t know – did you like it, last time?”

cele tops lets GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. some fics just. have an ability to pierce directly towards what actually and precisely makes a pairing or a situation or a dynamic SEXY, while also revealing a new facet of said dynamic that i've never thought about in depth before. this is one of those. fuck him!!! make him cry !!!! perfect !!!

i was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy (whose reality i knew was hopeless to be had) by babynflames

In Motegi 2005, Hiroshi Aoyama wins his first race during his home GP, Dani Pedrosa gets second while hiding a fractured humerus and Jorge Lorenzo is handed a one race ban for riding in a irresponsible manner after nearly colliding with Dani and causing de Angelis to abandon the race, leaving the third position to Casey Stoner. The haircutting is incidental.

dyke PEDRENZO. fic that is fun and funny and filled to the BRIM with the kind of homoerotic tension you can only have between two teenage dykes in direct competition who dont even know theyre horny about each other except they REALLY kind of do. also. the best sports rpf to me always engages with a sport on a sociological level... also just love the writing style on this. direct and avoidant at the same time. very dani in sexuality crisis to me aljfdhl

[ffcrazy15]

"Just Write For Yourself"

I think the thing that gets to me the most about the whole "just write for yourself!" response to writers complaining the lack of engagement in fanfic, is that it makes me realize that there's a fundamental misunderstanding between writers and readers of how much work writing fic is.

Like, there are 2-3 scenes in any given oneshot or chapter that I want to write. I usually write those first. They'll take me a couple of, very enjoyable, hours at most.

And then I have to go back and write the whole rest of the fic. Which is work. And it's usually not immediately enjoyable.

For example, one of my best fics on AO3 is a Star Trek fanfic called Rascal'ed. This was one of the fics that was easiest for me to write, one of the ones that just possesses you until it's done. It took me less than five days to create.

And I still had to go back in and fill in blank spots and cut bad prose and revise the dialogue.

If you want to see what a difficult fic to write looks like, like my fic Leap of Faith, here's what I do for my stories that I actually plan out:

And that's just the planning. I still have to write the damn thing. And there are things in the above layout—which is just for Chapter 1, mind—that got changed between this and the final published version of the chapter. You can see that the title of the story itself was changed at some point.

So when people say, "write for yourself, not for engagement!" What I personally hear is: "I as a reader do not understand how much work writers put into getting a story into a publishable form, and I also do not realize how easy it would be for them to write the couple of scenes they enjoyed writing and then to let it sit forever in their drafts."

(Of these eight fics—averaging more than 20 pages each—only two of them ever made it to AO3. The rest remain unfinished and unpublished.)

And for the record: I, personally, have wonderful readers. Kind, attentive readers who leave me comments engaging with the work. And it's because of them that I continue to publish stories! Like, I don't want to sound like sour grapes here, because I know that I get way more comments than many great writers out there.

But I've seen, across the board, writers trying to express that they are just not getting the engagement that they desire and expect for the work they put in, and people responding with "you shouldn't expect engagement; just write for yourself."

And the thing is, I know they're not trying to be rude. I know that! Of course they don't know how hard we work, who would have ever told them? We can't blame them for not knowing what they've never been told. Which is why I just felt the need to get out here and say:

Writing fics takes a lot of work. A lot of work. Hours upon hours of unpaid labor. Any fic that you see on AO3 or Fanfiction.net or Wattpad, is not something someone wrote solely for themselves. They could have just daydreamed about it, or written a couple of scenes and then left it unfinished. But they chose to put in the hard work it took to finish it. Because they wanted other people to read and engage with it.

Please engage with it.

Because if all fic writers ever hear is "you should just write for yourself"—we might start believing it.

[topazadine]

On Fandom Entitlement

It seems every week, there's a new spate of ungrateful fanfic readers complaining about fanfic, whether that's whining that their favorite story hasn't updated or that the work isn't of the same caliber as they would expect from a book they paid for.

"This hobbyist wrote horrible dialogue! Pillory them!"

"Oh no, fic writers use this as catharsis! How horrible!"

I believe this stems from a fundamental misunderstanding of who they are as a reader and what fanfic is as a whole.

Entitled fanfic readers like this have a specific problem: they think they are consumers rather than fellow hobbyists.

Consumers are allowed to expect a certain level of quality from the item or experience that they purchased. (Note well the purchasing aspect.) They have protections under law, are encouraged to leave feedback for the benefit of other consumers, and can demand a refund if necessary.

With fanfic, no money is changing hands - in fact, no money CAN legally change hands, because the writer is dabbling in someone else's intellectual property.

Readers didn't purchase anything, have no legal protections, and can't take recourse if they're dissatisfied, because they willingly chose to engage with the work without any expectation of quality. The reader lost nothing whatsoever by opening that fic other than some of their free time. (Note well the "free" time aspect.)

Many people use this analogy, and I completely agree: reading fanfic is like getting a free meal from a family member or friend. It's not going to be restaurant quality; you wouldn't expect it to be, even if that person is a great cook or professional chef. If you didn't like it, you don't demand they make you something better or refund you, because that'd be insane. You eat it, thank the person who graciously made you something, and keep your opinions to yourself unless they ask you for feedback.

And if you act like an asshole and tell them to their face that their cooking is awful, you shouldn't expect them to make you anything else. Same as fanfic writers often leave their fandoms because entitled readers complain about their work and demand tailor-made fic for free.

Some complain that they'll just read professional work from now on because fanfics are so awful, a la this gem:

What they don't seem to understand is that every writer needs to practice, and fanfic is one of the best ways to do so because there are no consequences.

No one springs from the womb as a literary genius; you need to spend years honing your talents. I've been writing for well over 15 years now, but I only started to become really confident in my skills after writing over 1 million words of fanfiction as practice. I wouldn't have bothered creating my own OCs and writing a trilogy if I hadn't gotten so much positive feedback from readers of my Touken Ranbu fics.

When you're a bitch to fanfic writers and castigate them for imperfections, you are directly limiting the professional literature you'll have in the future. You're telling people that unless they're perfect, they might as well not try at all, and then they don't reach that level. You expect free, professional-grade work that matches your current special interest, then wonder why your stock of new fics to enjoy is dwindling.

YOU are the problem when you waltz into AO3 with a consumer mindset. Not the fanfic writers providing you with free content. YOU.

And frankly, I wish someone would take your internet away until you take a course in fandom etiquette. Get out.

[abbysdruidess]

˜”°•.˜”°• headcanons about you and abby's wedding - modern au •°”˜.•°”˜

wc: 1.1k

warnings: wedding w modern au(obvs), crying, tooth rotting fluff, allusions to sex, no use of y/n

a/n: lmk what you guys think of this one and whether you'd like more of reader and Abby in this universe! don't hesitate to send any requests<33

this is sort of on theme with a previous fic where abby proposes to you, this one can be read as a standalone though:))

❦ after the proposal, you guys hurrying too much to get the wedding off the road and on the rails- you're still extremely proud and giddy to call each other your fianceé, and you've sent about 100 pictures of your wedding ring to everyone.

❦ it isn't until one night where you're having dinner over at jerry's that he brings up the wedding preparations and you're like oh shit, you two kinda need to haul ass and start sending invites.

❦ you decided on a small affair, only your immediate families and close friends over. I imagine that in the insistence of your future brother in law Lev you sent out RSVP invitations that were ocean themed with cute little sharkies on the front that say in a vast ocean of people we found each other(💀). A lot of people found them pretty funny though, and Lev was pretty excited about them.

❦ on par with the beach theme of your engagement, you decided to have the wedding on a beautiful beach resort in the beginning of June-not too hot, not too cold;)-with the ceremony and the reception on the shore.

❦ of course, you couldn't leave out the bachelorette party! You and Abby travel to Vegas with your respective friend groups for a weekend of clubbing and partying in general. And lets be fr, someone from either of two groups ends up getting lost and you have to recover him Hangover style. Thank God you didn't arrange for it the day before the wedding.

❦ the days before the upcoming event are mostly a blur, both of you making last minute arrangements about the food, the flowers, the music. Your gown with the final adjustments is delivered and you have to hide it in a fridge box in the basement so Abby won't take a peek.

❦ "But baaabe, I just wanna see what it looks like! You know this stuff about bad luck isn't actually legit." "I know, but it will be more exciting to see the final look at the wedding. I promise you."

❦ finally the big day is here! And let me just say, as a very emotionally constipated person, you'd probably be a little teary eyed all day long. When you put on your gown and look at yourself in the mirror and realise that holy shit, I'm about to marry the love of my life, my Abigail, she wants to spend the rest of her life with me. And this just hits you all at once and a few tears run down your chin.

❦ if you have any wedding traditions from your culture that you'd like to honour, Abby would be 100% down for it. It makes her feel closer to you, and part of the new family she's going to be in. She also really likes listening to its origins and what it's supposed to represent. In my country, we do this thing where the wedding squad writes all their names down in the couples' shoes and by the end of the night whoever's name is the most smudged is the one who's going to get married first. Let's be real, if they did this, it'd probably Manny whose name had almost disappeared and he'd freak the fuck out.

❦ once you're ready to walk down the aisle, and you glance at Abby you let out a small ᵍᵃˢᵖ at the sight, with Abby dressed to the nines and a glowing expression on her beautiful face. Her mouth also formed a little O at the sight of you, ready to become her wife, looking so so happy and a slightly teary eyed.

❦ during the actual ceremony, you two keep stealing glances at each other, smiling kinda goofily like :]. You two are goobers fr.

❦ for the vows, I think the game establishes that Abby is a big bookworm, so she chooses something perhaps from Emily Bronte or Jane Austen. Of course this isn't the entirety of what she wrote, she just finds it more accurate to express her love for you through someone's else perfectly adept words.

❦ once the reception kicks in, you're carefully wiping tears from your eyes so you don't smudge your makeup, and take some photos with the wedding party on the beach. You're accepting everyone's congratulations for your newlywed status, and settling down to prepare for your first dance.

❦ you had decided on dancing to Por Una Gabeza, and had actually rehearsed the slow tango a couple times so your movements are synchronised. By the end of the dance, you're in each other's arms, cheek to cheek simply enjoying the moment.

❦ by the time you've finished you meal, the party is in full swing, and you join in for a few dances until you decide on a cake break and allow Yara to be Abby's dancing partner. By the way, your wedding cake? Exquisite, chocolate ice cream with strawberry.

❦ I also imagine you guys doing the whole tossing the bouquet thing and -surprise surprise!-it ends up on Manny's lap on accident. He almost leaves.

❦ by the night, you're both clinging to each other, ready to resume your lives as Mrs and Mrs, and also ready to break into the bridal bed. Seriously, you can feel Abby's fingers feeling up your thigh and she's been whispering the things she wants to do to you all night. By 2 in the morning you're home, very much exhausted by the preparations and the emotional high, but also very ready to let Abby peak what's under your bridal gown.

❦ for wedding gifts to each other? She hands you two tickets for some exotic island you guys always talked about going, and make it your honeymoon. You get her an antique vinyl record player, because she had always been going about getting something to listen music to while cooking. Needless to say you both love each other's gifts:D

❦ a week or so after the ceremony you receive the photographs, and Abby makes it her duty to hand them on every corner of the house. Seriously, at some point, you could see a photo of you two in your field of vision pretty much about everywhere.

❦ her favourite one remains in her desk, one where you two are about to leave, sweaty and drunk, the camera capturing your musky faces as you sit on her lap clinging for dear life. It's so sweet and endearing, and it reminds her why she married you in the first place.

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 [𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐙𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐘]

PAIRINGS —  Fitzwilliam Darcy x fem!Reader

SUMMARY —  Referred by a close family friend, reader finds herself a job tutoring a lovely young girl and begins to form an unlikely connection with her older brother

WARNINGS — slight angst, non main character death, breastfeeding (non descriptive, idk if this i need a warning for this but)

NOTE — okay so I know some of my fics in the past got kinda niche with concepts and some characters but honestly I think we’re entering a new era with that, but either way I hope those of you who like P&P enjoy this just as much as I do :) also I wrote this with Colin Firth’s Darcy in mind but I think it could just as well work with Matthew MacFayden’s (This can be considered to happen after his proposal to Lizzie but like if they didn’t end up working out)

You tried desperately to shake off the nerves that overcame you, it was not like this was the first wealthy family you had tutored for, but something about Pemberley just seemed so out of your grasp. You had received the position only through an old colleague who was moving to Scotland to be nearer to his family and had communicated with your employer via mail. From what your friend had shared his former boss wasn’t one who was warm and open, he might even be considered a little standoffish, but all he wanted was what was best for his younger sister who you would be tutoring. 

He’s a good man, he’s just maybe not as warm as you’re used to. 

And according to friends you were used to a lot warmer than most. Your father was never shy showing his affection to his children and you all loved him more for it, but it seemed to make you just a little off put with the way everyone acted in such a closed off society. 

With one final deep breath you knocked and the door was almost immediately opened by one of the servants. 

“I-I’m here to see Mr. Darcy,” you explained. “I’m the new tutor for Miss Darcy.” 

“Yes, Miss (L/N) is it?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” you gave her a polite smile. 

“Right this way, Mr. Darcy is in his office.” 

You followed the housekeeper inside and had to keep yourself from gasping at the beauty of Pemberley’s interior. 

After your presence was announced to Mr. Darcy, you were allowed to enter the room and gave a quick curtsey to get the formalities over with. 

“Mr. Darcy, it’s nice to finally meet you in person,” 

The man nodded, but offered no response. 

“I am assuming you have gone over the subjects I would like Georgiana to go over?” 

“Yes sir,” you nodded and bit the inside of your cheek. It was your job, why wouldn’t you have done that? 

“Very well, then that will be the extent of our dealings today. Someone will take your to Georgiana so you can meet her and being your studies,” 

“Thank you, sir,” 

Hamish was right, Mr. Darcy was not as warm as you were used to.

The lady who had shown you to Mr. Darcy beckoned you to follow her again and took you down the long halls and up the grand staircase which took you to the young Miss Darcy. 

When you saw her she was hunched over what looked like a piece of sheet music, making various annotations and comments in the margins. You remembered a younger version of yourself doing something similar to remind yourself of where there needed to be extra emphasis on things. 

Georgiana Darcy had a quiet shyness even just to the way she carried herself, but in that way she reminded you of your younger sister closest to you in age. She was maybe a year or so older than Georgiana and even from having barely known her a few moments you knew if they were ever to meet they would be great friends. 

“Ma’am,” Georgiana looked up and noticed you in the room, quickly shuffling away her papers while introductions were made. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled. “I’m close friends with Mr. Morrison, he’s told me a lot about you.” 

“You know Mr, Morrison? I was so sad to hear he was moving so far away,” Georgiana sighed. “He was a very engaging tutor,” 

“I hope I can live up to his standard,” you chuckled. “Your older brother gave me the impression that you’re prepared to begin your lesson today.” 

“I am,” she confirmed. “I was hoping we could start with something a little lighter though, but knowing my brother and his curriculum that might be impossible.” 

“He does have very high hopes for you,” you noted. “He mentioned to me in one of his letters he hopes for you to have the tools to be a smart, capable, and independent young lady.” 

“As long as being independent doesn’t mean being sad and alone,,” she giggled. “Come, I have a space set up in another room for lessons.” 

Georgiana took your hand and dragged you off to her study room, decorated by he you assumed, with flowers, paintings and lots and lots of books. There was even another piano in the corner of the room and she gauged your reaction to the space. 

“It’s beautiful,” you grinned. “You did this all yourself?” 

“Aside from moving the piano, yes,” she nodded. “But I told them where to put it and my brother helped me pick out the paintings.” 

“Well, you both have very good taste,” you praised. “Which might be a rather nice segue into our first lesson,” 

“Are we going to paint?” Georgiana asked, she even looked a little excited. 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but unfortunately not. It’s a review of art history, but I promise I’ll try to make it as bearable as possible,” 

“I trust you,” Georgiana smiled and sat down at the table. “As long as you can keep up with my endless questions we should be in good shape,” 

“I’ll try my best.” 

You smiled as you set down your papers and lesson plans. You would have to send a letter to Hamish because this may just turn out to be the best job you’d ever have. 

—

It had been a few months of you working at Pemberley and you couldn’t have been happier. Your walk to and from the village everyday was a little long, but it was worth it when you had a student like Georgiana. It really felt like you were spending time with your younger sister and you thought she maybe even came to see you as an older sibling. 

You had only really spent a handful of moments with Mr. Darcy and most of the pleasant ones involved his younger sister. You hadn’t much inclination to spend time with him although you didn’t complain when he came to sit in Georgiana’s study room to observe or read quietly while you went through your lessons with her. 

There was a quiet handsomeness to him and although he was not outwardly warm and fuzzy at least he was like the works of art you would review with Georgiana when discussing sculpting during the Renaissance. 

One afternoon during lunch, you noticed Georgiana was sending her brother some sideways glances, as if she wanted him to say something and when he wasn’t understanding her signals she cleared her throat and turned her attention to you. 

“(Y/N)-,” 

“Georgiana, we’ve spoken about this,” her brother scolded. 

“No, it’s quite alright,” you assured Mr. Darcy. “We’ve made a small agreement to refer to each other by our first names,” you explained. 

“I am well aware of the agreement, but that doesn not change the fact that it demeans your position as her tutor when she refers to you so plainly,” 

“I didn’t think my name was that plain, sir,” you remarked and ate a bite of your salad while Georgiana chuckled. That seemed to silence him so his sister continued. 

“Anyways, I was meaning to ask you about your walk to Pemberley every morning, it must be terrible when the weather is poor.” 

“I must admit it worries me to catch a cold when I should be fit enough to work, but I don’t mind the walk too much,” 

“I believe what my dear sister is trying to express,” Mr. Darcy jumped in. “Is that we’ve cleared a room for you to stay at Pemberley if you wish to do so.” 

“A room here?” you confirmed and Georgiana nodded with a wide smile. “You wouldn’t have to get up so early in the morning anymore and if you’d like to walk you can always do it around the grounds.” 

“T-That’s an incredibly kind offer Mr. Darcy,” you looked at him. “Are you sure this is something you would be alright with in the long term?” 

“I’ve given it extensive thought and it seems to be the best course for Georgiana’s studies and to ensure your continued good health.” 

“Well then, in that case I’d be honoured to accept your offer,” you smiled shyly. “I’ll move my things this weekend.” 

“Fitzwilliam and I can come and help you,” Georgiana suggested. “Can’t we?” 

Mr. Darcy looked at his little sister and you thought you might have caught a flicker of a smile before he nodded his head. 

“We can bring a carriage down and help load it up,”

He very well could have people come and do that for him, but there was something interesting about how he was so casual in accepting the suggestion of his sister. 

You would have assumed helping his younger sister’s tutor move into his home to be something quite beneath him. 

“Thank you, that’s a very kind offer. I’ll be sure to have tea waiting for when you arrive,” 

Georgiana clapped her hands together as if having you move to Pemberley was the best news she’d ever heard. You couldn’t help but wonder if the closed off and distant Mr. Darcy was doing all of this to please his younger sister, but when you took a moment to glance at him you saw how his eyes were already fixed on you and maybe it wasn’t just Georgiana’s doing after all. 

—

Something you would never come to understand was how the gardens of Pemberley were so pristine no matter the time of year. The hedges were perfectly trimmed, flowers beautifully in bloom and never wilted. 

During the summer months it was warm enough to go outside and sit without a jacket by the lake which you enjoyed doing on the weekends, bringing a good book and soaking up as much of the sunlight as you could get. 

You were so engrossed in your novel, oftentimes you wouldn’t notice if someone had come to call on you, or anything around you for that matter. 

So it came as a shock when you heard a voice that was in very close proximity to you, making you jump with fright. 

You placed a hand on your chest to steady your beating heart as you looked up only to find Mr. Darcy there. 

“Oh, Mr. Darcy, I don’t think I’ve been scared like that since… well, it’s been a long while,” you tried to catch your breath and steady it. 

“I apologize,” he said. “Might I ask what has inclined you to sit out here,” 

“Well, the sunlight for one,” you noted. “And a good book which I was reading until I was so frightfully interrupted.” 

“Right,” he nodded. “I should take my leave so you can continue-,” 

“Mr. Darcy I’m afraid you misunderstand me,” you interrupted him with a small chuckle. You were only teasing him,  “If you’d like to join me you're most welcome to. This is, after all, your home.” 

Mr. Darcy lifted his coattails and sat himself down on the grassy knoll next to you, looking out towards the lake. 

“Is your family all in good health?” he inquired. 

“Yes, as of last week they are,” you nodded. 

“You have how many siblings?” 

You took a moment to count on your fingers, whispering the names of each of your sisters and one brother until you had the final count of six. 

“Six, sir. I assume it’s just you and Georgiana?” 

“You are correct in your assumption,” he nodded. 

There was a moment of awkward silence between you both before you figured you would probably have to be the one to break it. 

“I do enjoy myself greatly at Pemberley, I’m very thankful for your hospitality.” 

Still silence, but as if he wasn’t sure how to answer. 

“Mr. Darcy are you alright?” you asked. 

“Quite,” he cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, I’m quite alright,” 

His eyes drifted over to your book and noticing its title he pointed to it. 

“M-May I?” 

“Of course,” you nodded, sliding in your bookmark and handing the novel to him. His fingers brushed over yours and you could feel your breath hitch at his touch. 

He examined the binding and structure of the book before its contents, scanning the first few pages, but you were too focused on the burning feeling that he left on your fingertips. You gently massaged it away hoping he wouldn’t notice the way you had reacted to such a simple thing, but desire was nothing to be fooled with. 

“H-Has it passed your inspection, Mr. Darcy?” you asked, glancing down at the book, then at him, your hand still folded in your lap. 

“I have no objections,” he agreed. “A fine choice.” 

“I’ve only just started it,” you told him. “I’m rather anxious to see how it ends,” 

He took one last glance at the title as if he wanted to commit it to memory before handing it back to you. 

“I shall look forward to hearing your thoughts on it once you finish,” 

You smiled when he said that, you knew what Hamish had said when you first came to Pemberley, but now that you had been there the greater part of four months you wished to believe that maybe Mr. Darcy did have a soft side. 

“And I shall look forward to conversing with you,” 

You noticed the faintest twitch of his lip as if he was fighting away a smile, but he quickly brushed it off and gave you a polite nod before standing up and wishing you a good day. 

You opened your book back to where you had left off, but your mind was distracted. It was safe to say you didn’t get much further. 

—

“Fitz, you have to help me convince her she’s being very stubborn,” Georgiana eyed you and you tried to focus on eating your dinner. 

“I’m sure Miss (L/N) has a very good reason to not be convinced of whatever it is you’re asking of her,” Mr. Darcy came to your defence. 

“But-,” 

“Georgiana,” her brother warned, but the young lady would not have it. 

“Fitzwilliam,” she mimicked him. “She’s planning on staying bolted up in her room during our ball you have to do something,” 

Mr. Darcy looked up from his plate to you, his hands holding the utensils relaxing as he eyed your curiously. 

“You won’t come to the ball?” he asked. 

“No sir, I was not intending to,” you shook your head. 

“May inquire as to why?” 

“I-I don’t have anything to wear,” you admitted. “And I do not want to make yourselves or myself out of place with the company you shall be hosting,” 

“It would be more cumbersome for us if you weren’t there,” Georgiana tried to convince you. “Most of these balls are out of societal obligation and Fitzwilliam and I would be better off with your company, not without it. Lord knows how much he hates small talk,” 

“Georgiana, now that’s enough,” Mr. Darcy ended whatever was left of the conversation. “Miss (L/N) is a grown woman and can make the decision herself on whether she will attend the ball or not,” 

You thought that would be the end of it and that you would stay in your room with no questions asked, but a few days later when you walked into your room there was an unfamiliar package on the bed. 

You picked it up and unwrapped the carefully folded paper packaging to reveal a beautiful dress, one of the latest fashions from London. Something you could never imagine being able to afford. 

Attached to the package was a note, you quickly unfolded it and read what was written. 

I hope you understand that I only wished to remove any barriers preventing you from joining us next week. The decision is still yours, but I hoped this might help. 

Darcy

You looked down and examined the dress again. It was in a colour you remembered having mentioned — perhaps it was to Georgiana — you liked and the detailing was something like you’d never seen. 

You closed the door to your room and slipped off the dress you were wearing, replacing it with the one from the package instead. 

When you saw your reflection in the mirror you knew then and there you could not let this dress sit away in a closet to be eaten by moths. This dress deserved to be worn. And even though the very thought of it made you sick with nervousness, it deserved to be worn at a ball. 

—

“I cannot tell you how happy I am that you’ve decided to come,” Georgiana linked your arm with hers once you entered Pemberley’s ballroom. 

“It would have been foolish of me to stay in my room with a dress like this,” you looked down at yourself, still unable to believe you were wearing it. 

One of the maids had helped you with your hair, it was in a different style than what you normally wore day to day, but she had done such an amazing job with it you figured it would be hard for people to figure out you didn’t really belong.

Georgiana was your saving grace for a while, helping you start conversations with others and introducing you to their guests, but eventually — just like all good things coming to an end — she was pulled away by one of her friends and you were on your own. 

You poured yourself a glass of punch and stood off in a corner, observing everything that was appening in front of you. 

Georgiana was now dancing with the others and you realized that the whole night you hadn’t caught a glimpse of Mr. Darcy. Your eyes scanned the room for him, but there were so many new faces it was almost becoming dizzying looking through them all. 

“I see you’ve taken my approach to the ball,” 

You jumped at the sound of his voice so near making you spill your punch and staining your new dress. 

“Mr. Darcy,” you gasped. “I hope after this encounter you come to realize how easily I am frightened,” 

“Again, I apologize. It wasn’t my intention to scare you,” he was sincere, but there was a hint of a chuckle in his voice. 

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” you took a deep breath and set down your drink, wiping your hands on a napkin and turning to give him your full attention. “I must say I’m surprised to see you on the sidelines.” 

“I believe Georgiana was ever so kind in mentioning that I detest small talk,” he reminded you. 

“And dancing?” 

“It depends,” he looked straight ahead, his eyes finding Georgiana’s in the crowd. 

“On?” you urged him to continue. 

“Who I’m dancing with.” 

You looked at him thoughtfully before remembering the stain on your dress and you knew there would be no way you could remove it with a little scrub of water alone. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Darcy,” you sighed. “It is unfortunately not acceptable to dance in a punch stained dress.” 

“Of course,” he nodded. “Although, Miss (L/N),” 

You turned your head back and looked up at him. 

“Yes?” 

“I would be very grateful if you would allow me to accompany you.” 

“Accompany me?” you confirmed. “To remove the stain from my dress?”

“Yes… or to perhaps mysteriously disappear from my own ball and not return,” he offered and you quickly lifted a hand to cover your mouth and stifle a laugh which finally revealed to you Mr. Darcy’s smile and what a beautiful sight it was. 

“I would be happy for you to accompany me Mr. Darcy,” you nodded and waited a moment for him to catch up the few extra steps to be at the same pace as you while you walked out of the ballroom and towards the bedrooms. 

You could still hear the music faintly in the halls and you admired the peacefulness of it all. 

“Does it ever feel too big?” you asked. 

“Pardon?” 

“Pemberley. Does it ever feel like it’s too big?” you asked him. 

He took a quiet moment of reflection and you patiently awaited his answer. 

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” he admitted. “I’m not sure what smaller would look like.” 

“It’s more about what it feels like,” you expressed. “Including my mother and father there were nine of us at home while I was growing up,” you began to explain. “Our home was not as small compared to a lot of the others around us, but in contrast to Pemberley it seems miniscule. When I wanted to get away from everyone I would have to leave the house, go take a walk in the field. Here I can just go to my room and I’ll be left alone,” 

“Do you miss your home?” Mr. Darcy asked. “Surely you wouldn’t stay there forever.” 

You looked at him curiously and he clarified, 

“What I mean is a woman such as yourself will eventually get married, perhaps move away.” 

“I do miss home sometimes, but it’s mostly my family. There is something about the quiet here, it’s so serene.” you clasped your hands together to stop them from swinging at your side. 

There was another spell of comfortable silence before it was broken again by Mr. Darcy. 

“Miss (L/N), if we stopped by my office I may have something that can help remove the stain from your dress,” 

“You do?” 

“When I was younger I had an awful habit of spilling tea on my white shirts so the maids started to give me something so I could get them cleaned faster,” he explained. “I-I’m not sure if it will work, but it might prove to be useful.” 

“Perhaps you should go grab it while I change out of this dress and into another?” you suggested. “You can meet me at my room.” 

Mr. Darcy nodded and quickly took the turn to his office while you hurried your pace to the end of the hall where your bedroom was. 

As quickly as you could, without damaging the dress, you removed it and laid it on your bed before picking out the nicest clothes you had out of your own belongings, but it came nowhere near even the simplest dress at the ball.

A couple moments after you had gotten dressed there was a knock on your door and you grabbed the dress and opened it. 

“We may need an area with better light,” you looked at your dark room only lit by a small candle. 

“Bring the candle, if we take it to one of the balconies it should give us enough to work with.” 

You nodded and did what he suggested before following him to one of the balconies in question. 

Mr. Darcy held out his hand for your dress and you gave it to him seeing the jar he held in his opposite hand. 

He hung the dress along the balcony’s ledge and opened the jar, pouring some of its contents on the stain. 

“Vinegar?” you asked. 

“And lemon juice,” he nodded after placing the jar down on the ground and scrubbing the affected spot. 

“Mr. Darcy, if you’d like I can take care of it,” you reached out and offered to take the dress off his hands. 

“I-,” he stopped himself as if he was unsure how to word what he wanted to say. “It would mean a great deal if you allowed me to do this for you, Miss (L/N),” 

You nodded your head and retracted your hands, holding them against your stomach, watching as he took extra care until, by the warm light of the candle, the stain was almost completely removed. 

“Thank you,” you said while taking the dress carefully back in your own hands, folding it and placing it on a table inside before coming back out. 

You could hear the music clearly coming from the ballroom, you suspected the windows were open and the sound was travelling. You thought it was a shame you didn’t get to dance, but that was partially your own fault, if you weren’t hidden off in the corner perhaps someone would have asked you. 

“Miss (L/N), I know it is just the two of us, but if I noticed correctly you did not dance tonight,” 

“I was just thinking about that myself,” you nodded. 

“If you would do me the honour of sharing a dance I’m sure we can change that,” he offered his hand. The music was slower, not something one would typically dance to, but maybe Mr. Darcy knew a different style of dance than that which you were familiar with. 

You cautiously took his hand and he brought you close to himself. You placed your other hand on his shoulder while he placed his just above your waist. 

“Have you ever waltzed before?” he asked. 

“Not that I can remember,” your voice was a whisper unable to comprehend how close you were. 

“It’s very simple,” he explained softly, “It’s three steps and you just follow my lead-yes like that,” 

You kept watch on your feet until you got a hang of the movements, allowing yourself to look up and see Mr. Darcy staring right back at you. 

You felt like you couldn’t blink, that if you did the whole moment would vanish. 

“I-I’m sorry I ruined the dress you bought me,” you apologized and looked down again at your feet, any excuse to tear away from his burning eyes that you sensed were reading your very soul. 

“No, I should be the one to apologize for frightening you,” he said. “With or without the dress you could fit in here, Miss (L/N),” 

You could feel your cheeks grow warm and you thanked him quietly for his words. 

The music came to a slow close and your movements stopped with it. You stood a moment, in that same waltzing position like you were waiting for another song to start so you could continue, but it didn’t. At least not one you could waltz to. 

You let go of Mr. Darcy’s hand and you were about to let your hand drop from his shoulder when you noticed a stray curl had fallen on his forehead, and out of instinct — perhaps from years of caring for your younger sisters or maybe even once or twice with Georgiana — you moved it out of the way, only realizing what you had done when it was too late. 

“Oh my-I-I don’t know what came over me,” you quickly stepped away. “I’m so so sorry Mr. Darcy. I should-I think I should take my leave,” 

Your movements were almost frantic as you quickly brushed past him and stepped back into Pemberley, grabbing the dress on the table and rushing to your room, overwrought with embarrassment. 

As if dancing with him so closely wasn’t enough, you scolded yourself behind closed doors, angrily lighting a spare candle and sitting down on the chair in front of the vanity. 

You looked out on yourself, a simple woman, from humble beginnings, desperately wanting something that could never be yours. 

—

“(Y/N), I am absolutely utterly restless, must we continue this lesson immediately?” Georgiana asked you as she looked down in dismay at her French grammar assignment. 

“I suppose not,” you hummed. “Would you like to go for a short walk perhaps? We can both get some fresh air and come back with a clear mind able to conjugate verbs,” 

“That would be amazing,” Georgiana shot up, out of her chair and was already halfway out of the room as you grabbed your things.

You linked arms with her and she eagerly led the way out of Pemberley and towards the lake. 

You saw a figure walking from there in your direction and you squinted trying to figure out who it was, but soon became distracted by some of Georgiana’s questions. 

She asked about the small town you came from, what it was like there, if you missed your family (the answer to that was yes, but the letter you had recently received from your father helped a little with the homesickness). 

You smiled at her curiosity, but your smile disappeared when you looked up and were face to face with a very indecent Mr. Darcy. 

Your eyes grew wide as you saw him in nothing but a soaking white undershirt and pants while Georgiana tried to hide a laugh. 

“Georgiana, Miss (L/N).” he addressed you both. 

You hadn’t spoken to Mr. Darcy — aside from light chatter at the table while you ate your meals — since the ball. You were far too embarrassed to try and converse with him after what you had done, but now here he was in front of you, hardly dressed and making your stomach flutter.

“Mr. Darcy,” you nodded. 

“Shouldn’t you be doing a French lesson Georgiana?” he asked his young sister. 

“We decided to take a break,” she explained. “We’ll get back to it soon,” 

“A-Are you enjoying your walk?” he asked, but his eyes were locked with yours. 

“Yes sir,” you nodded. 

“And your family is in good health? They are all well? Y-Your mother, father and siblings?” 

“Yes, from what I have last heard.” you confirmed. 

You stood there the three of you, staring at each other for a moment before Mr. Darcy finally excused himself to go dress more appropriately. 

After he was out of earshot Georgiana turned to you and with a quiet chuckle noted that her brother enjoyed swimming in the small lake on the property occasionally in the summer to cool off. 

“I don’t think I've seen him quite so flustered before,” she said. “He’s often so composed but I haven’t seen him stutter and stumble like that.” 

“I’m sure he was just cold,” you lied, hoping more than anything you could quickly go back inside and forget about the incident all together. 

—

Mr. Darcy walked down the halls of Pemberley a couple weeks after the lake incident, simply trying to go to his office, but when he heard a loud shriek come from your room his adrenaline raced and he ran there as quickly as possible, knocking on the door to see what was the matter. 

“Miss (L/N)?” he called. “Miss (L/N), are you alright?” 

There was no answer so he announced that he was entering the room, worried for your safety, only to see a letter dropped at your feet while you clutched your heart. 

“Good God,” he ran up to you, almost offering you the solace and comfort of his arms before remembering that it wouldn’t be appropriate. “What happened?” 

“I-I-,” you gagged and covered your mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick!” 

Tears were streaming down your face and your heart was racing far faster than it should have been, you wanted to tell Mr. Darcy the terrible news you had received. What made you cry in horror, and withered your very soul, but you felt dizzy, your dress far too constricting and making it harder for you to breathe.

“(Y/N), you must let me call someone, a doctor, you are unwell,” 

You shook your head, but not as a sign of refusal, you weren’t even aware of what was happening anymore, everything was becoming fuzzy before your knees buckled and it went black. 

You were lucky Mr. Darcy was right next to you as he caught you before you fell and quickly carried you to your bed, laying you down before rushing to the hallway and calling for help. 

Georgiana was closest and she came running down the halls wondering what her brother needed. 

“Georgiana, I need you to get Evangeline to call a doctor immediately and bring me a towel soaked in cold water and the smelling salts.” 

“What happened?” 

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “She read something and became distraught by it. She wasn’t well enough to tell me before she fainted.” 

“I’ll be quick,” Georgiana nodded and ran back down the hall to do the tasks her brother had requested of her. 

Mr. Darcy headed back into the room and kneeled down next to your bed. He couldn’t help but reach out to hold your hand and give it a squeeze, the worry shimmering in his eyes. He could care less about propriety at that moment. 

He needed you to be alright, desperately, whatever the news was, when he found out he would do everything in his power to assure your comfort. 

Georgiana came back quickly with the requested items and Mr. Darcy sat himself next to you on the bed. gently dabbing the cool towel on your forehead. 

Georgiana placed the smelling salts under your nose only getting a slight twitch from you before Mr. Darcy told his younger sister to leave it for a moment before continuing. 

“Georgiana perhaps you should be at the door when the doctor arrives,” Mr. Darcy said quietly, his eyes never leaving your still frame. 

“Of course, please do call someone if you need anything though,” 

“I will,” he nodded and she slipped out of the room leaving only you and Mr. Darcy. 

He placed the cold towel on your forehead and gave it a moment before he tried the smelling salts again, this time with more luck seeing you begin to stir and wake, realizing all over again what had happened. 

You barely even had a chance to sit up when your body erupted with sobs, your chest heaving and shoulders shaking. Mr. Darcy, again, desperately wanted to offer you comfort in an embrace but giving you any sort of added shock dissuaded him from doing so. 

Georgiana, presumably having heard the sound, ran back into the room and fell at your feet her hand tightly grasping yours. 

“(Y/N), what happened?” her voice was gentle but carried the pain she knew you were feeling. 

“I-It’s my father,” you pressed your lips together and shook your head. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, covering your mouth with your free hand.

Mr. Darcy grabbed the letter that was on the ground and with your permission skimmed its contents before passing it on to Georgiana.

“Miss (L/N), given the circumstances I believe I should escort you to your family home,” Mr. Darcy shared. “After the doctor has come and checked on you. I’d like to make sure you’re in good health before I return you to them. They need you in one piece.” 

You nodded your head and sniffed, wiping away your tears with the sleeve of your dress. 

“A-And Georgiana, what about h-her? Her st-studies?”

“Never mind me,” Georgiana shook her head and looked at you like you were being silly. She sat next to you on the bed and wrapped you in a tight hug. “I’ll manage for a while. Go be with your family, they need you and you need them.” 

“I can’t thank you both enough for your continued kindness,” you whispered. “Especially at a time like this.” 

“Of course,” Mr. Darcy nodded. 

Georgiana offered to help you pack a bag and you accepted it graciously while Mr. Darcy insisted you stay seated until the doctor came around, not wanting to deal with another fainting spell. It was frightening enough the first time. 

The doctor arrived around five minutes later and assured Mr. Darcy you were alright, just greatly overwhelmed. He recommended for you to take time to rest and relax, but both you and the Darcys knew that would only come when you were back home with your family. 

So with your bag in Mr. Darcy’s hand, you walked up to the prepared carriage. Mr. Darcy helped you inside and he followed shortly after securing your bag, taking the seat next to you, but leaving a decent amount of space between you. 

As the carriage began to make its way off the property you stayed quiet. Watching outside of its window at the gardens passing by, thinking about how long it had been since you’d seen your father and how you wished you could have been at his side when he left this world. 

Your eyes flicked to the empty spot next to you, noticing the way Mr. Darcy’s hand was resting next to his side. You carefully inched yours closer to his, wanting to ask for comfort, but not knowing what reaction it would bring. He was — after all — a very proper gentleman. 

You turned your head again and watched the scenery outside when you felt the faintest brush against your hand, to be sure you looked once more and saw how Mr. Darcy’s hand was now even closer to yours, as if he was making sure it was alright. 

You slowly stretched your fingers out slightly to him as he made the last move, placing his hand over your own and giving it a gentle squeeze as you both continued to look out of your respective windows. You didn’t dare turn to look at each other. 

When the carriage stopped in front of your home, Mr. Darcy was the one to let go of your hand, but only for a moment until he helped you out of the carriage. He told the driver he would handle your bag and after he handed it to you, you thanked him once more for his kindness. 

“And not just this, Mr. Darcy,” you sniffed and wiped away a few remaining tears. “It’s not lost on me what you have done for me in the time I’ve stayed with you at Pemberley. My room, the dress, the small parcels of books you’d leave on my desk every month,” the thought of his generosity was enough to bring a small soft smile to your face. 

And if he had the chance to do it again, Mr. Darcy knew he wouldn’t change a thing. 

“Thank you for bringing a light back into Pemberley that I haven’t seen in many years. You’ve done me a service just as much as you have claimed I have for you.” 

You gave him one last fleeting smile as a goodbye before you knocked at the door of your home, waiting for one of your siblings to let you inside.

—

It had been three weeks since you had left Pemberley and as much as you wanted it to be, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling to return, knowing what was in store. 

Once you were let in, you headed straight for Mr. Darcy’s office where Evangeline said he would be. You knocked on the door and as soon as you heard permission to come inside you entered. 

“Mr. Darcy, I need to speak with you urgently.” 

“Miss (L/N), I-we weren’t expecting your return today. I’ll send someone immediately to prepare your room.” 

“There’s no need, sir,” you bit the inside of your cheek. “I’ve come here to hand in my registration.” 

“Resignation?” Mr. Darcy was not expecting that. “I-Is this because of the passing of your father?” 

“In part,” you nodded. “I’ve been given time to reflect on the matter and I have now realized that during my time here there have been many boundaries of which I have crossed,” you continued to explain. “This has nothing to do with either your or Georgiana, this is completely my own mistake and I wish to own up to it.” 

Mr. Darcy was speechless, he wanted to argue with you, tell you how foolish you were being and that nothing of the sort had happened, but he could see your mind was set and if this was something that would make you happy, he didn’t want to be the person who got in the way. 

“I understand your decision, and although I do not necessarily agree with it, I will not stop you,” he said quietly. 

You pressed your lips together and nodded, “I’ll go pack my things and give the news to Georgiana.”

You left his office without another word and headed to your room to begin packing. 

After everything was complete and your belongings were in the carriage you looked around for Georgiana, finding her by the piano playing a quiet melody. 

Her playing stopped abruptly when she noticed you were there and she ran over to give you a hug. 

“You’re leaving aren’t you,” she mumbled quietly into your shoulder and you nodded as the young girl squeezed you tightly. 

“I’m so sorry Georgiana,” you apologized. “Please know that I have loved every moment I have spent with you. And I love you very dearly, as if you were one of my sisters.”

“I love you too,” she cried softly and you held her close, clutching a letter you had written for her in your hand. 

You gently pulled away from her, only to be able to wipe her tears and place a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“You can come visit me anytime you’d like,” you assured her. 

“I will. As much as I can.” 

You handed her the letter and she held it close to her heart. 

“I’ll see you again, I promise,” you tucked a small strand of her blond hair behind her ear and pulled her in for one last hug goodbye before leaving Pemberley and your heart behind you. 

—

Two months later…

“Fitz,” 

“Hello, Fitz?”

“Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Georgiana snapped her fingers in front of her brother’s face and he finally blinked out of his trance. 

“What is it Georgiana?” his voice almost sounded like a sigh, the past two months at Pemberley had been gloomy to say the very least. 

“You’re unhappy, Fitzwilliam,” she stated. “Melancholic, miserable, despondent, however you put it, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Why do you think that is,” he sat back in his seat, listening to his sister. 

“Because you miss her,”

“Her? Who is her?” 

“(Y/N), you miss (Y/N),” she said. “And do not try to deny it. You’ve been grumpy since she’s left and all you’ve done is mope about. You love her, Fitz. Which is why you should go after her because I think she loves you too,” 

Mr. Darcy only shook his head at his little sister, but it was more to save his own image than to disregard what she was saying, because he knew it to be the truth. At least for him it was, why would you have left if you loved him.

After lunch he sat in his office and attempted to get some work done and unfortunately his productivity was not particularly fruitful. Evangeline came in later to bring him a cup of tea and he thanked her, hoping maybe a warm drink could get him back on track. Instead, he knocked over the cup and spilled its contents on his white shirt as he cursed himself for his clumsiness. 

He grabbed a spare shirt from his room close by and went to try and remove the stain from the dirtied one. As he pulled out his mixture of vinegar and lemon from one of his desk drawers he paused, his mind drifting back to the night of the ball. 

He remembered holding your dress in his hands, insisting that he be the one to help remove the stain, it was so simple yet to him it felt incredibly personal, he hoped it showed that he cared. The way you danced together, slowly, close to one another, scandalous by all definitions, but how you had both become lost in each other's eyes and how you hadn’t missed a beat in fixing an unruly curl that had fallen onto his forehead. 

Upon a moment of reflection, he realized that perhaps his reading of your behaviour had been wrong, that maybe everything you had done, even leaving, you’d done because of him. 

He didn’t want to inflate his own ego, but there was only one way he would be able to get it out of his mind and that was to ask. The worst that could come of it is things would stay the same. Mr. Darcy would be alone while the woman he loved moved on with her life. But if there was even an inkling of a possibility, he wanted to take a chance. 

He left his office in haste and asked the driver to prepare the carriage for him. He informed Georgiana that he was going out and that hopefully he would return by nightfall. 

The carriage ride seemed to take forever and Mr. Darcy waited impatiently for them to arrive at your home. He knew this was an unannounced visit and it was as rude as one could be, but he had to know, he could not wait even another second. 

After he knocked on your door, he had half a mind to leave, to abandon this foolish pursuit completely, but before he could give it another moment’s through the door swung open. 

You had to blink a couple times to make sure you were seeing things right. You carried your little brother on your waist and he had his head tucked into your neck, not wanting to expose himself to the stranger in front of him. 

To Mr. Darcy you had never looked more beautiful. 

“I-I do apologize, I realize how rude it is of me to come unannounced.” 

“Yes, quite so,” you nodded, still shocked by his presence. 

“(N/N) who is it?” one of your younger sisters ran to the door to come get a look at their visitor. 

“Iris,” you hissed quietly. “Go back inside.” 

“(Y/N), be nice to your sister,” your mother came to join the three of you by the door all staring at Mr. Darcy. “Sir, you must accept my apology for my daughter’s apparent lack of manners. May I ask who you are?” 

“This is Mr. Darcy, mother, my former employer,” you introduced. 

“Then what is he doing standing outside, please come in.” 

Your mother took no hesitation in pushing you out of the way so that he could enter and by that point, the rest of your sister had gathered around to see what was happening. 

Mr. Darcy stepped into your home and he was able to adequately see what you were describing the night of the ball. Your home was obviously much smaller than Pemberley, but comfortable enough to house you, your mother and your six siblings. He could understand how it might easily get loud and boisterous, but it gave him just that much more insight into you. 

“Might we offer you some tea Mr. Darcy?” your mother asked and Mr. Darcy shook his head. 

“No thank you, but may I ask for a moment of Miss (L/N)’s time? There’s something I wish to discuss with her in private.” 

Before you even had an inch of room to answer, Julia, the sister closest in age to you, swooped in to take Peter out of your arms and pushed you in the direction of Mr. Darcy. 

“Of course, you both can use the sitting room,” she smiled and motioned for the rest of her sisters to follow her upstairs. 

Finding no other option, you led Mr. Darcy into the sitting room. He walked to the opposite side and when you closed the door you crossed your arms over your chest, waiting to hear what he had come all the way from Pemberley to say. 

He stayed silent, unsure of how to string the words together and so you tried to prompt him with a question. 

“How is Georgiana?” 

“She’s well, in good health,” he nodded. 

“And Pemberley?” 

He opened his mouth to say something then paused. 

“It’s not the same.” 

“Why not?” you frowned. 

“It’s not the same without you,” he finally admitted. “The estate is always quiet, Georgiana isn’t engaged in her studies, she misses you, I… I miss you,” 

“Mr. Darcy-,” 

“Please, allow me at least to finish and then if you wish me to leave and never come again I will respect that.” 

You nodded your head, signalling that you were listening and ready to hear what he had to say. 

“When you left you said that it was because you had crossed boundaries and you wanted to own up to your mistakes. I didn’t agree to that from that start, but if that is how you see it then I am just as complicit in crossing those boundaries. I will admit to that, but I crossed those lines because…because…” 

“Why Mr. Darcy?” you stepped closer to him, just a few inches, but it was enough to see the hurt glimmering in his eyes. 

“Because I had fallen in love with you. I still am in love with you. I wish for nothing more than to have you be the first face I see each morning and the last face I see each night. My heart is in agony, ever since you left us, I only wish for that pain to be soothed.” 

Now it was your turn to remain silent. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, in all your time spent with Mr. Darcy you could have never imagined that something like this could occur. He was a gentleman of high status and you were just a girl from the country. 

“I know it’s selfish of me to ask of you to come back for this reason, but I would be beside myself if I didn’t ask if you would even consider doing me the honour of becoming my wife.” 

“I-” your voice was caught in your throat as a couple tears escaped from your eyes. “I would gladly take that honour,” you nodded with a sniff, wiping away a few tears and walking up to him and taking his hand in yours. “And I will carry that honour with me as gratitude for allowing me the opportunity to marry the man I love.” 

Mr. Darcy gently lifted his hand to hold your face tilted towards him as you leaned forward to rest your foreheads against each other. His thumb wiped away a few more stray tears before you moved his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss on his fingers. 

“Is there any chance I may convince you to kiss me?” you asked. “If our relationship consists of boundaries crossed we may as well continue to be consistent.” 

Mr. Darcy chuckled and tucked a finger under your chin, allowing his lips to meet your own in a soft kiss filled with love and admiration for one another. 

When you pulled apart, Mr. Darcy couldn’t help but hold your face in his hands, with a twinge of a smile on his lips. 

“My dear, I know it is customary for one to ask for the blessing of the father when getting engaged, but given the circumstances, I would like to ask your family. Would you be alright with that?” 

You nodded your head, and held one of his hands that was pressed against your cheek as you turned to kiss it. 

“I’ll go get them and make some tea while you talk,” you said. 

You didn’t want to let each other go, but you knew for the time being it would be necessary. When you stepped out of the room, as you had predicted your family was gathered around the door, waiting for some sort of news. 

“Mr. Darcy would like to speak to you all,” you said. “I’m going to go make some tea.”

“(N/N) what did he say?” Julia asked.

“I’m sure that will come to light soon enough,” you nodded. “Go on.”

You shooed your siblings off into the room and your mother followed closely behind with a slightly skeptical look on her face. 

You sat and waited patiently in the kitchen with a cup of tea in your hands until when you looked up at the door you saw Mr. Darcy standing at the entrance. 

“Well?” you asked. 

He simply nodded his head and you couldn’t help the grin that had become plastered on your face. 

You had to contain your excitement and simply stood up to meet him and extend your hand for him to take. 

With one look to each other and a simple nod, you were both ready for whatever would come next.

—

The sun peeked through the curtains on a clear Thursday morning, you yawned and stretched, reaching over to your side only to be met with empty covers. As soon as there was a frown on your face you saw your husband emerge from the adjoining room with two glasses of water in his hands and your expression relaxed. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Darcy,” he said softly, placing the glasses on the table next to the bed and taking a seat next to you. 

“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” you yawned with a chuckle. “Have you been up long?”

He shook his head, “Just a few minutes.”

“Could you stay?” you asked while fixing a few of his tousled curls. 

“Of course,” he nodded and leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips only to be interrupted by the sound of a soft cry coming from the room next door. 

You were in the middle of pushing yourself up to attend to it, but a careful hand was placed on your shoulder and encouraged you to stay down. 

���I’ll get him don’t worry,” he assured you and not even a minute later, Mr. Darcy walked back into the room with your son cradled in his arms. “I think he wants his mother,” he said while watching the little boy squirm. 

“Oh he’s just hungry,” you pushed yourself into a seated position and held your arms out to take the baby while Mr. Darcy came and sat next to you on the other side of the bed. 

Just as you had predicted, the squirming immediately ceased while he was being fed and it made you chuckle. 

“What is it?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“Nothing, it’s just you get cranky too when you’re hungry,” you let a laugh escape while your husband shook his head with a smile. 

“My darling, you wound me,” he teased and you simply smiled back up at him.

“I’m sorry Fitz, what can I say? Like father like son,” you replied as he wrapped an arm around you and he used his free hand to gently stroke his son’s head, suddenly overcome with overwhelming gratitude that he took a chance to be happy. 

[raptorladylover6969]

‼️WARNING TO THE JWCT FANDOM 😨😨‼️

so recently, ive made 2 posts targeting an anonymous certain someone in the fandom, but with new information ive gotten, its clear that the fandom needs to STAY AWAY from this person, esp my fellow minors of the fandom, and NOT INTERACT with them AT ALL. Im speaking about this because ive seen too many of my mootie patooties interacting with her acc, so instead of just dming all one by one im just making a whole post abt it 😼.

Theres an account by the name of xxcherrycherixx, and idk if I’d consider them “well known” but their art of The Handler is pretty popular so yeah ig she’s a bit well known 💀 chile anyway SO, basically she’s an artist and draws stuff for like Ever After High and JWCT, and I didn’t pay much attention to them at first, like , I did think some of their art of The Handler was pretty neat, and they were also a big fan of her, so I thought that was pretty epic, cuz like yayyy someone else who appreciates The Handler!! This is totes epicc!! (UNTIL IT WASNT…)

What happened was I noticed some of their posts about The Handler were very….DESCRIPTIVE, like she’d talk abt stuff that certainly NO ONE NEEDS TO KNOW…like in short, she was down bad, but not down bad as in like a normal amount of down bad, I mean DOWN BAD as in not in like a silly goofy tone, but more so CREEPY. She’d share her creepy ass “fantasies” for the whole world to see when NO ONE WANTS TO SEE THAT. An example post was when she talked about how she “wishes she was a raptor” and it was like innocent at first, until she reblogged the post again going into more detail, talking about how “I wish I was a raptor so I can have an attractive female Handler and when she’s h0rny she’d let me fuck her.” Like this woman is fr fantasizing abt b3ast1ality with The Handler….😨 and I dont care if thats a “joke”, joke or not, its fucking weird, and nasty, and 100% ILLEGAL. The fact she even has these sort of thoughts is disgusting.

To add onto that, they also wrote a smvt fic about The Handler and Panthera. (yeah, THE RAPTOR. THE ANIMAL.)

Another large red flag is the fact that they also draw nsfw art for Ever After High when majority of the characters are MINORS.

And the fact they’re one of those “minors dni” ppl when they literally interact in spaces where minors are GOING TO BE, and minors WILL SEE THEIR POSTS, BECAUSE THEY’RE ENGAGING IN SPACES THAT ARE MAINLY MINOR FILLED.

Even her art of The Handler itself is very “ehhhh..” like okay idc if you draw nsfw of her, she’s a character over the age of 18, theres nothing wrong with it, but when majority of the art is overly sexual, it gives off like bad vibes 😭😭 There is is 1 drawing they have of The Handler lying naked and is like holding 1 of her raptors against her while leaning against another, and like at the time of seeing this drawing, I thought the raptors were just used to censor her like body, BUT GIVEN THE MOST RECENT DISCOVERIES….😨😨😨 (yeaaaahhh….)

And the 1 thing that also pisses me off is the fact their content of her is just overly sexual content. I never saw ONE post of theirs where they just appreciate her as a character, it always has to do with wanting to like, fuck her. And like I do not care if ur like very very down bad for her, like shi I am too, but like, KEEP THOSE THOUGHTS OUT OF PUBLIC SPACES. ESP ONES THAT ARE FILLED WITH ‼️MINORS‼️ LIKE THATS BASIC ETIQUETTE.

Another thing is, they excuse their behaviour because of their hypersexuality, which certainly DOESNT EXCUSE THE WEIRD SHIT THE DO…does it explain their behaviour? Yes, but its NOT A JUSTIFICATION. Hypersexuality shouldn’t excuse the fact you fantasize about an animal fucking a human being, and you proceed to ENJOY said thoughts. Hypersexuality shouldnt excuse the fact that you have a thing for b3ast1ality, which again, is 100% ILLEGAL.

Anyway’s skibidi gang, BLOCK THIS HOE, DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS HOE, just stay away from this hoe 💀

on a serious note, I do hope that Cherry gets the help she actually needs, because this behaviour isnt “silly” or “goofy” its damaging their brain, and they need professional help. Stay safe ya’ll‼️‼️

[luxaofhesperides]

Listen. I love the dcxdp crossover. It’s a lot of fun! There’s so much that can be done for this crossover, with all the characters and settings and the many plots that can spring up from them. But as much as I love writing for it and sharing my fics with the community, there’s been a significant uptick in things that are rubbing me the wrong way. Some of these things have to do with canon vs fanon, but others are more about the shifting culture of the community.

(keep in mind that I only see things on Tumblr and am not in any discords, so my experience will be different from others bc I have a more limited experience with the wider community)

(putting it all under a read more bc its long)

Let’s start off with a look at what we’re doing as a group:

Building off of completed fics on tumblr: I always thought the etiquette is to not build off of a completed work without permission. Someone had an idea and executed it, then shared it with us. It should end there. If you want to add to it, contact the author first and see if it’s something they’re fine with; some will say no, some will say yes, some will say yes but be sure to credit them for the original fic. A lot of what I’m seeing is a completed fic gets added on to in a way that completely takes it away from the original idea. Having experienced this myself (on a requested prompt from someone else, no less), I found it kind of rude. Maybe it’s just me, but a completed fic is not a prompt request or something open for building up another story around. It’s already completed. Leave the story as is and let the author know you liked it.

Expecting others to write for you: the prompts are what build this crossover fandom, in my eyes. Prompts are posted and people create something around them, either as a group by adding onto what other people are saying, or as individual fics that one person wrote. Now I’m seeing people throw out prompts that are basically fic outlines, then begging others to write something for it. Like, those prompts are already written! They have very specific details! Why not write it yourself? You’re already halfway there, you can just write the thing you want to see and post it. It’s not about being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ at writing, it’s about crafting an idea to share to the world. Why ask others to write it for you when you’ve already practically done it?

But also, you are not owed fic. This might just be general fandom burn out talking, but being a fic author who has been treated like a machine? It sucks. I love writing, but I share what I write because what I wrote made me happy and I wanted to share that with others. I’m not a content creating machine who has to pump out fic after fic for other people’s entertainment. I just want to share what I love and having people pop up in my notifs only going “write more/tag me/sequel?/etc” is tiring. I get that it’s coming from a place of love bc you liked the fic enough to want to see more, but please actually talk about what I’ve already written instead of going “update? More? MORE????”

Hostility to DC canon: I get that DC canon is a mess, but it still is a canon and has a lot of cool stuff! I’m seeing a lot of posts recently about how dpxdc people refuse to engage with the comics, and I need to let yall know that this is not a new thing. DC fans also refuse to engage with the comics (it’s mostly batfam) and it’s very easy to tell who has and who hasnt ready batfam related stuff bc the fanon is incredibly wrong about characterisation and what happened in comics. But that’s for a different post.

I’m seeing both sides of the argument (this is for fun, reading comics isn’t required, don’t like don’t read vs it’s tiring seeing people butcher my favorite characters into ocs with their name/face, I want to share my love for comics but there’s so much pushback, it shouldn’t be weird to expect people engaging with a media to have actually engaged with that media). And I think you should engage with comics! DP is a unique case in which fanon is for the most part better and more interesting than the original show (also death to the author/butch hartman), but DC comics shouldn’t be engaged with in that way. If you like the characters you see in dpxdc, you should read about them in comics! The whole point of a fandom is that you’re a fan of the original media. That’s why you’re engaging with it in this way, writing within the world and characters and canon.

I don’t know how people write for fandoms when they’re not familiar with the source material. I wanted to write dcxdp so I started rewatching DP. I’m reading comics. I want to know the characters and their stories so I can have a foundation to write from, and also to better understand the media so I can share my love for it. The refusal to engage with source material while engaging with its fandom is so strange to me.

Also dc fans who love the comics are great! In my experience, they’re very kind and willing to help you jump into comics! Don’t know where to start? Pick a character or team and follow them! Want a reading guide? We’ve got TONS. want thoughts on a specific character or comic run? Just ask!

Now to more specific points about what I’m seeing in dcxdp works:

Mischaracterized batfam: this is a group of people who are disasters and have complicated relationships with each other. They’re kind, wonderful people who bring out the best and worst in each other. Why is Batman always adopting people. Why is this a running joke with the batfam. I get it being a joke the first few times, but I’ve seen it so often and done like it’s accurate characterization that I just. I can’t. I leave that fic immediately. I can’t do it anymore. Batman is paranoid and tried very hard to keep kids away from him/away from being a vigilante. Unfortunately all the kids he got are stubborn and smart so he was doomed from the beginning.

Superman and Kon: you guys are pretty much only pulling from Young Justice Animated which I think is a terrible adaptation, but that’s my own taste. But seriously. Clark is kind. That’s an important part of his character! He’s the strongest man in the world and he’s kind. He was also dead when Kon first appeared as a experiment from CADMUS in Hawaii. They’re not father-son, but they are family and they do care for each other, once they get to know each other. Also Kon is not an angry broody boy, he’s funny! And annoying! pls read kon comics guys, i promise youll like his actual character

Chronos??? Guys. Chronos is not a god in DC canon. He is in Greek mythology, but in DC he’s a Captain Atom villain and he’s literally just a guy who got obsessed with having perfect timing. He’s themed around clocks. He has nothing to do with time travel or time gods. The Speedforce is Time, basically, and it is not human. It is an eldritch being beyond our comprehension that can eat people. If it chooses to have a human form, it’s going to choose to look like Bart. Please read Flash stuff, it’s interesting!

Lazarus Pit Madness lasts like 5 minutes in canon. Jason having it, and being affected by it for years, is a purely fanon thing from the dc side. Not going to say anything more on this because it goes into Jason Todd discourse.

Repetition: I’m sorry but I’m tired of seeing the same things over and over. I barely see anything out of the dcxdp tags thats new and fun to engage with. Everything is the same variation of “Danny helps Pit Mad Jason”, “Bruce insta-adopts Danny”, “Superman is mean to clones”, etc etc. Think of any popular dcxdp trope and that’s all you’ll see. I get why these are fun and popular, but the way it’s being engaged with now? It literally makes me exit Tumblr and put my phone down.

Not every prompt has to go down the same routes as the other prompts. Please explore more options, branch out, twist those tropes around to do something new with them. And also stop going onto other people’s fics and saying “what about [dcxdp trope]? Cant wait to see [dcxdp trope]! You should have [dcxdp] trope.” If I didn’t include it, it’s not included for a reason. There are hundreds of other fics that write specifically about those exact tropes. Read those, or write your own. (im being super bitter here but please just let me write what i want to write without trying to pull the story into another direction for a trope you like. Im writing for me, but sharing it for you. Not every fic needs those tropes in them.)

Tumblr specific things: this is less about the content and more about general posting etiquette. Please put long posts under a read more. If it’s more then three paragraphs, consider adding a read more if there is significantly MORE than three paragraphs. Tag appropriately. Content warnings and trigger warnings should be at the very top of the post and in the tags so they can be properly blocked. If you’re posting fic/prompt, please double check your spelling and fix any typos you find because posts that are filled with excessive typos are difficult to read.

There’s probably a lot more to talk about, but just getting this much out is tiring and, frankly, I don’t want to think on it any more today. If you reply/add comments, I won’t get to them in a while bc I will be writing ghostlights and yhk fic to lift my mood :)

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 10)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut

Words: 1,245

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

Previous Parts: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8; 9

THIS PART IS DIALOGUE HEAVY AND PART EIGHT WILL BE SIMILAR, BOTH PARTS ARE NECESSARY THOUGH TO EXPAND THE STORY.

Three months later…

Over the next three months, you did not get to see Robert and whilst you worked on your thesis with Dr Lawrance in the experimental department and another professor in the theoretical department, you struggled with the mere fact that you could not run your ideas past the man you were now connected to more deeply than you had ever thought to be possible.

You knew that, at least physically, Robert was far away from you now and, yet, emotionally, he was so close since, just as he had promised, he wrote to you, week after week.

His letters were detailed and poetic, handed to you by no other than Dr Lawrance himself and, whilst Lawrance hated to be the middle man in all of this, he also knew that he had no choice.

“He writes to you more often than he writes his wife” he told you after a month or so had passed while, truthfully, you still had no idea where he was.

“You aren’t reading those letters though, are you?” you asked your professor who, reluctantly, shook his head.

“I admit that I have read the first two or three letters to ensure that there isn’t anything in them that concerns me or the security of the project, the nature of which I know you are somewhat aware of. But then I became to realise that the content of Robert’s letters has nothing to do with physics at all so I stopped reading” Dr Lawrance then admitted with blushing cheeks and, of course, you could not help but cock your eyebrows.

“Robert has a habit of being romantic. I am sorry Dr Lawrance” you stammered, concerned by the fact that your professor was now very aware of your personal life.

“We live in a time of turmoil and scarcity so, please, don’t apologise for engaging in a little pleasure now and then” Dr Lawrance responded before warning you that, if he had any reason to believe that you were going to engage in treason, he would report you as well as his colleague to the authorities for investigation.

“I understand, doctor and I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about” you reassured him which is also when he handed you yet another letter from Robert which, as usual, you could not help but read in a haste.

As such, you quickly handed Dr Lawrance a letter for Robert that you had prepared in the past week, responding to his previous poems and admissions of love and desire for you before, quickly, hiding away in one of the empty laboratories to tare open the envelope.

The letters…

“Even now, when I am so far away from you, in my mind's eye, I can see your smile. I can hear your laughter. I can taste your lips. This is when I realise how much I need you, my love” he wrote, amongst other things, in his past letters, the contents of which always made you blush.

With every word you read, your heart was filled with warmth and desire for him and, when you read through his writings every week, you took comfort in what he wrote to you, knowing that he missed you just as much as you missed him.

It was those words of his, from a man like him, that made you feel special and powerful. He was a man who was so utterly important to this country now and, out of all the women in his life, he seemed to desire you most which was evidenced by his writing.  

His letters were always several pages long and, every week, you received at least one of them, making you wonder how much time he spent in between work to think about you. According to Doctor Lawrance, it must have been several hours at least seeing that no one else received this much correspondence from J Robert Oppenheimer, not even his wife who, in his letters, Robert said he did not love anymore and yet, he could not leave.  

“I must retire now, or I will be overcome with love for you which is a feeling that has been rather unfamiliar to me for quite some time now” he thus said at the end of his last letter to you to which you responded with great enthusiasm.

You too wrote to him every week and, with every letter you received and every letter you sent, your feelings for Robert were growing stronger.

Your letters were also slowly becoming more intimate and sexual in nature and whilst Robert had no problem with being explicit, you struggled a little more with the idea of being open about your needs.

“I have very little power to resist the urge to kiss you again and convey my feelings for you with my body atop yours. I want to be one with you again and fight a great conundrum this night and every night, until we are together my love…” Robert told you on several occasions before you built up the courage to do the same.

“I cannot wait to see and feel you again Robert, but I can promise you that you are all I am thinking about when I am alone, wishing that my hands atop of my bare skin were yours” you thus wrote back while also telling Robert, in your final letter to him, that you were struggling to come to terms with his prolonged absence.

“It is in these quiet moments where I write you that I realise the depths of my loneliness and yet, I do not feel sad. I know that if it were not for the intensity of my feelings for you, I would not long for you the way I do” you wrote just last week which was the letter Robert had now responded to with only a short note, being the letter you received today.

“My love, I cannot bare another moment of being without you. Without you, I ache and this letter marks yet another step in my quest to illustrate to you just how important you are to me. These lonely nights will not build upon one another any longer and threaten the integrity of the foundation of our love. I will not allow it. It has been three months since our last encounter and I must see you again. I will be visiting the Four Seasons on Lane Street next week. Meet me there at noon on 3 March. Room 452. Yours always, Robert” was what it said and, since Robert told you that he had taken a room at the hotel that day, you knew that you had to drop everything else and meet him there. It was a chance you could not pass up and did not want to miss out on although, unbeknownst to you, you were being watched and so was Robert.

In fact, as soon as Robert made the booking at the hotel, General Groves’ security team contacted the receptionist of this luxury accommodation and ascertained the room number assigned to J Robert Oppenheimer for his impending visit.

The General’s team advised the receptionist that this was a matter of national security and since the receptionist could not deny providing the army officials with the information they had requested, the room number was given to a team of infiltrators.

As a result, the room was bugged with two listening devices, due to the concern that, perhaps, Robert was passing on secret information to you and the soviets.

This, of course, was nonsense though as General Groves’ assigned personnel was soon to find out when listening into your somewhat personal encounter with Robert and, yet, it would life changing consequences for you both…

TO BE CONTINUED. PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

[skellymom]

"Bring Me To My Knees" PART 1

Crosshair/Hunter x Reader Non Gendered SMUT++

Dividers by the talented: @saradika and @4ngelic-wh1spers

Background: Reader and Crosshair are separated from the group during the rescue of Omega and Tech from Mt Tantiss. Two broken people trying to get by in the galaxy. Then two broken people finally dealing with what happened to their group.

Word Count: 2.3K

Warning: Star Wars Canon violence, angst, sadness, crying, guilt, stuff blowing up, swearing, kissing, intercourse, heavy petting, hair pulling kink, smutty/lemony content, lovers triangle with Hunter and Crosshair.

FOR CLARITY, THERE IS A HUNTER FLASHBACK SMUT SCENE IN THIS CHAPTER. THE CROSSHAIR SMUT SCENE IS IN CHAPTER 2. Broke this up in 2 chapters because I just couldn't stop writing...and 4K might be too much for one sitting.

*YES! I know Mesh'la is Mando'a speak for beautiful. However, I personally think it sounds pretty sexy when someone uses it while going to Pound Town. I like it better than baby, honey, girl, boy, lover, whatever. My personal kink. If you aren't caught up, there's a whole Tumblr discussion about if the Clones would even use this language. PLEASE just let me have this one word. Thanks.

I purposely wrote the reader in this fic to be of no specific gender. Tried to carefully craft the sexual scenes to accommodate either gender/non gendered/trans/genderfluid/non-binary. Everyone has hills, valleys, sexual organs, nipples, and erogenous zones. I wrote them into the story, but it's up to you dear reader to put your imagination to work. Hope I have done a good enough job that you can enjoy yourself with Hunter and Crosshair without breaking immersion!

Explosions and blaster fire filled the air as you, Phee Genoa, and The Batch escaped Mt Tantiss.  Wrecker led the charge, firing away and punching imps.  Phee behind him with a group of prisoners she freed from the facility.  Hunter, his arm around Tech who was barely able to walk, blaster out firing.  You and Omega supported Crosshair bringing up the rear of the group. 

The Empire attempted to lock down the facility, engaging all doors on every level.  Hunter got Tech past them as they started to close.  

He turned with Tech in tow to shout, “Y/N, Omega, bring Crosshair!  Hurry!!!” 

You and Omega would never make it with the slow progress Cross was making.  Grabbing Omega and with a healthy heft, you slid her across the highly polished flooring.  She barely exited past the threshold just as the doors closed. �� 

The last thing you and Crosshair saw was Omega loudly protesting while Hunter grabbed the back of her tunic to yank her out of the way.  And the look of total panic on Hunter’s face. 

“Leave me.”  Crosshair weakly slumped against the steel hallway wall. 

“SHUT UP!  Too late for that!!!”  You grabbed Cross’ arm and attempted to pull him up. 

He refused to move.  You were warned he might be difficult. 

“GET UP NOW YOU FUCKING MOP!!!”  Viciously kicking his upper thigh in heated frustration. 

That got his attention.  Crosshair’s head flicked up.  Anger in his eyes. 

You grabbed the front of his tunic with both hands, hefting him up, spitting with rage “I’M NOT DYING HERE!  GET UP YOU UNGRATEFUL ASSHOLE!!!” 

He managed to stand with his arm around your shoulders.  Pulling your blaster.  “How do we get out of here?” 

“How should I know?  Been locked up all this time.” 

“KRIFF!  Knew I threw the wrong person under the door!!!” 

“Didn’t ask YOU to save me.” 

You gritted your teeth and shot the control panel to the door the rest of The Batch disappeared through.  The doors managed to only open a few feet.  You literally stuffed Crosshair into the gap.  His protests were muted by the sound of screams and explosions.  He got stuck halfway through, then you put a foot in his ass and pushed.  He popped through falling into a crouch on the floor.  

“You’re INSANE!” 

“YES!  KEEP MOVING!!!” 

Running up to Cross, you grabbed the back of his tunic and pulled him to his feet.  Both of you ran across the hangar bay.  The Marauder and Phee’s ship were gone.  You weren’t upset, they HAD to leave in a hurry.  It was total chaos.  

You both made a beeline for the first empty Imperial ship available.  Entering, you slid into the pilot’s seat and put up the gangplank.  Then commenced firing on every non-friendly that approached.  Some of the other Imperial ships got caught in the crossfire, exploding dramatically.  Crosshair buckled himself into the co-pilot's chair. 

As your ship left the hangar, two fighters followed in hot pursuit.  You kept the craft low and entered the thick forest, shooting down trees in your path.  Crosshair held onto his seat white knuckled. 

“You’re going to get us killed!” 

“Got any better ideas, Fly Boy?  We’re sitting ducks out in the open.” 

He shut up and held on. 

One ship pulled away from pursuit.    

The other followed.  You kept firing, making a path to evade your pursuer.   

He didn’t last long. One tree you felled, dragged another with it as you passed.  It caught its wing, flinging the ship to the forest floor, exploding brightly behind you. 

Pulling the craft up out of the forest, you ascended... 

...where the other Imperial fighter sat waiting! 

Close enough to see its pilot in the cockpit, waiting to open fire. 

The end of the line. Crosshair inhaled sharply.   

The ship exploded suddenly.  And your craft flew through the fiery remains. 

“Didn’t think I’d leave you?” Hunter’s voice came over the comm. 

You nearly burst into tears of joy.  “Oh, THANK STARS!” 

“Let’s get out of here!  Echo’s sending jump coordinates...” You immediately heard blaster fire over their comm. The transmission broke up. 

“HUNTER???”   

Static.  “...ing to...GO!  Can you hea...” More static.  Comm went dead.  Nothing. 

“HUNTER!  HUNTER...COME IN!!!  CAN YOU HEAR ME???” 

Crosshair shot you a horrified glance. 

The little bit you could discern, your Sergeant’s orders were to leave the planet immediately.  What if they needed help?  You couldn’t leave HIM...them behind! 

You brought the ship around and could see a craft trailing fire and smoke behind it.  Looked to be the Havoc Marauder making its way off world.  Several Imperial fighters were gaining on it.  Kicking your ship into gear and taking off in their direction.  You picked off two and allowed the Marauder to make the jump to hyperspace. 

The last ship circled round. 

Panicking, locking up, “Where did they go?  I don’t have coordinates!” 

Crosshair’s terse voice came from the co-pilot's seat, “Pick ANY!  We don’t have time!!!” 

“But...we...” 

“DO IT or we die!”  Dark eyes bore into your skull.  “I’LL DO IT!!!  You make the jump!”  He furiously typed something into the craft’s dash. 

“Jump...NOW!!!” 

The Imperial fighter on your tail, firing. 

You sat frozen.  Your hand a lead weight on the jump lever. 

“DAMMIT!”  Crosshair slammed his hand on top of yours, shoving the lever over.  The black star-studded sky elongated; bright blue light burst through the windscreen. 

You sat staring through the windscreen of the ship, blue blurs whizzing past. 

“Y/N?” 

A hand suddenly on your shoulder. 

“WHAT!”  You jumped and snapped upright. 

“You...went away for a while...” 

Staring at Crosshair’s unreadable expression. 

“We’ll find them.  Take some time, though.” 

Nodding, you relaxed back in the seat.  “Yeah, gonna take some doing.” 

Handing the soup bowl to Crosshair, he sulked...and refused to eat...again. 

“You NEED to eat.” 

He sneered. 

“Don’t make me regret getting you out of that facility.” 

Cross sighed heavily and took the bowl.  He STILL wasn't eating, just staring into it.  This man was driving you insane...if you didn’t kill him first. 

“It’s actually pretty good for a ration packet.  Provided you eat it while still warm.” 

“Why are you bothering?” 

ON YOUR LAST NERVE. 

“Why did YOU bother pushing us into hyperspace...if you want to suffer and die so badly?” 

Silence. 

Suddenly you had the urge to slap the damned bowl out of his hand.  “REALLY???  Let your skinny ass STARVE!  Ungrateful son-of-a...kriffing...GAH!  FUCK!!!” 

Your sudden anger sparked something. 

Crosshair slowly smirked. 

“Knock it off and DRINK YOUR FUCKING SOUP!”  Getting up, stalking off, mumbling angrily to yourself...hoping the tiny food galley didn’t have any knives. 

Checking up later, you found the bowl empty.  Cross slumped in the chair; eyes closed. 

To anyone else, it would look like he was napping.  You knew better. 

You picked up the bowl to take it back to the galley. 

“My compliments to the chef.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I meant it.” 

“Whatever.” 

Cross opened his eyes, aiming for an argument.  “It’s a compliment.  Take it or leave it.” 

“I don’t trust you.” 

An unexpectedly hurt expression flickered across his face.  “This isn’t about the soup, is it?” 

“No genius.  I was warned you’re a constant shit stirrer.” 

“Well, Hunter was never my biggest fan.” 

“It wasn’t Hunter.” 

This seemed to surprise Crosshair. 

“Echo...he’s a bit of a shit stirrer himself.  Takes one to know one.” 

Cross raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh...and Wrecker thinks you take yourself too seriously.  I think his actual words were...he needs to unclench his butt cheeks.” 

Raised the other eyebrow. 

“But Wrecker was incorrect.” 

“Oh?” 

“As far as I can tell, you DON’T have an ass.” 

Crosshair leaned forward, slight smirk around the edges of his mouth. 

“Been looking...have you?” 

“I think most people would say you��re just a torso with legs...Toothpick.” 

He genuinely smiled at the new nickname. 

“More soup?” 

“Yes more, Soup.” 

Nights were difficult and Crosshair struggled to sleep through. Awakening to hear him working through a nightmare. Sometimes he would mutter, groan, and thrash about, eventually snoring again. This happened several times a night. Other times he would awaken, panting and sweating, trying to remember he was no longer imprisoned on Mt Tantiss. 

At first, he turned down your attempts to soothe him. That didn’t last long. It became a habit of you sitting next to his bunk on the metal floor, talking him through it. Eventually, you just crawled into bed and laid there next to him. It was certainly more comfortable than that damned hard floor. 

Crosshair’s breathing settled into a regular rhythm. Stars, it was warm and cozy in this bunk. The idea of walking across that cold decking to your own bunk just seemed depressing. Five more minutes and you’d get up.  

That didn’t happen. Two minutes in and you passed out cold. 

(You like a song to go with the scene? Please check out this song. It "literally" FUCKS!!!)

"Mmhmmm...” 

The deep bass of Hunter’s groan making you wetter as his hard cock slid in and out of you.

“Ohh...fuu...mmm...” Words were difficult when he kissed your neck like this. Whispering sweet things in your ear while gently fucking your brains out. 

Laying on your sides, facing each other. One leg thrown over his hips, both of your hands deep in his curls. Grasping them with ferocity. The pain brought him pleasure... 

Hunter slid his hand down your back to firmly grip your buttocks and picked up the rhythm of his thrusts. 

“Kriff...can’t wait to do this...with you...in our home...all...the...fucking...time...” The last four words he spoke with each luscious stroke of his member. 

“Huuunter...” Your eyes rolled back into your head. 

“Got...a nice...little planet...just...for us...” 

Heat and intensity rising in you. 

“You...want...that...too...?” 

...sliding in... 

You gasp...” Yes...” 

“Yeah?” Cajoling you with that sexy fucking voice. 

...sliding out... 

“YES...” 

...sliding in... 

“Tell me, Mesh’la.” He’s shuddering. 

Your back arches “YES!!!” 

Hunter reaches out and caresses your face... 

...and you awake with a start. Crosshair had an expression like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Pulling back his hand suddenly. 

“Wu-what???” He stammered. 

Trying to shake off your sleepy arousal...slurring. “Did...YOU jus’ touch...Mah face?” 

“WHY are YOU still in my bunk?” 

The dream-feeling melting away...your brain having to process the waking world... 

“...because...your nightmares... I’m the dumbass...who makes sure you sleep.” 

Silence. Crosshair studying your face. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Well, I’m NOT having one NOW.” 

“Ships cold during the night. Ain’t going nowhere.” You rolled over, giving him your back. Maybe...you could pick that dream back up? 

“Fine. You can stay if YOU stop moaning Hunter’s name when you spoon ME!” 

You rolled back over shocked. 

“Yes, you did.” 

“What else did I say...or do?” 

Crosshair grinned like he knew too much and rolled over without answering. 

Weeks passed as you and Crosshair bickered your way slowly through the galaxy.  The Empire tamped down tightly on most of the planets in the system.  The Outer Rim while wildly dangerous, seemed mostly untouched and safest. 

You both did side jobs to keep yourselves fed while trying comm channels and leaving messages with close contacts about the rest of The Batch’s whereabouts.   

Everything seemed to lead to a dead end.  Like they just disappeared. 

In your heart of hearts, you knew Hunter would NEVER stop looking for you both...even if Cross had his doubts. 

The open-air market on some back water Outer Rim moon provided a distraction. The textile stand caught your eye. Beautiful scarves...you picked up a jet black one with fine silver metallic strands running through it. 

"Good choice. It compliments your hair." The elderly shop keep stepped from behind a long quilt hanging behind the counter. 

"Marv! Are you flirting again?" An older woman approached clearly teasing her husband. 

"Now why would I do that when I have you, my sweet Meiloorun? Besides, here's their partner now." 

Cross sauntered up to the counter, amused at the comment. 

"Hello honey" He teased. 

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his "greeting." "Toothpick, what do you think of this scarf?" 

"Hmm, not really my style." Cross reached down to pull another scarf from under the pile. "Now this one..." 

It was rusty red with fine intermittent broken off-white stripes dispersed through it. Crosshair draped it around his neck. "What do you think?" 

The blood drained from your face. 

"No..." You dropped the scarf and hurried away from the stand. 

Cross caught up to you a few moments later...still wearing that damned scarf.  

“Soup!” 

You kept walking, angry...and hurt. 

"Care to explain?" 

Stopping and grabbing the fabric in your fist. "That's HIS scarf...NOT YOURS!  

Cross softened. Not a trace of snark on his face. "You WERE in love with Hunter." 

"We are STILL in a relationship, Crosshair! Just because Hunter and I are apart doesn't mean that ended." 

Crosshair stared into your eyes with such an intensity...it was difficult to keep eye contact. 

"So...I complicate those feelings." It wasn't a question. He didn't need to ask. 

You noticed his eyes changed from brown to grey in this perfect light. The light of the sun starting to set on this backwater moon. Almost the same color as his brother's eyes. 

You sighed deeply, letting go of the scarf. Your hand dropping to rest, open palmed on Crosshair's chest. 

He stepped closer, placing his warm hand over yours. 

“We’ll find them.” 

“How? We’ve been looking...” 

He squeezed your hand. “Marv and Mel...they’re a front for The Rebellion. Gathering intel and recruiting volunteers to fight the Empire.” 

You looked up at Crosshair with renewed hope. 

“They know where we can find Rex. He’ll be able to help us.” 

You nodded. So many thoughts going through your head. 

Cross took the scarf off and slid it over your head, to rest around your shoulders.  

“C’mon Soup, there’s a place around here with those Space Cakes you like. My treat.” 

He led the way hugging you closely. 

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To read Part 2:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/744276448825769984/bring-me-to-my-knees-part-2?source=share