#but i was out of ideas for what character to write it for

[anjelicawrites]

If we only write for ourselves, then there would be no fic shared with the world. We write to create a connection with the other people who share our interests (and yeah, maybe a bit of validation because who doesn't like to hear "You did good?"). Writing your story and publishing it here or wherever, is an author's way to say: this is how I see this character(s), is someone out there seeing what I see? We're not mindless ai content machines, we're people seeking connection, and the like/kudos are just half of it, if not a mindless tap, like the one you do on IG stories. We want to hear your opinion to open a channel with you, share ideas, brainstorm them, which is what fandom is all about. If you can't understand this, then don't act surprised when no one will share anything anymore, you had your chance at steering where your fandom is going, and threw it away.

what the whole "please comment on fic you like, it will encourage more writing" vs. "fic writers shouldn't be writing for engagement and validation" debate fails to really grasp, for me, is that comments shouldn't be boiled down to "engagement and validation" in the first place. by which i mean: comments aren't payment for a service, they are communication and connection. they represent the audience reaching back.

i don't write just for myself. are you kidding me? the point of storytelling, to me, is to present certain narrative arguments and produce or encourage an emotional response to them. That communication is essentially useless if there's no endpoint, no listener. To me, there is no point if I'm not communicating with someone. When I write, I am talking to a reader. If you've read anything I've written, then I was talking TO YOU.

you are well within your right to consume fic as ~content~ and withhold your "payment" out of a sense that the writer should be satisfied at having created anything at all in an unresponsive void. but please be aware that it feels really good when you talk back.

[kaidanworkshop]

Workshop Update: Kaidan Revoiced - Community Expansion 1.0 Launch!

After two years of development, the Kaidan Workshop Staff is proud to present Kaidan Revoiced - Community Expansion (KRCE)!

First and foremost, none of this would be possible without livtempleton graciously giving us permission for our project! Throughout the years, the assets she's allowed the Skyrim modding community to build upon has kept Kaidan alive in thousands of modlists, providing the opportunity for even more players to enjoy her original creations; we're very honored to be added to the list of modders whose creations are inspired by her work. When we started the Workshop, we had no idea if anyone would even notice our project; a new voice actor, a new iteration of an already established character, and no product to show for it in advance. The only thing we could offer the general public at the time was the promise of transparency and community cooperation throughout the process. So we created a budget for revoicing Kaidan, a plan for community involvement, and hit the ground running. We added new staff, taught ourselves new skills as the scope of the project evolved, and leaned on the advice, ideas, and encouragement from our community. Alongside the (mostly) monthly updates on our Tumblr and taking suggestions from our 'I Had An Idea!' Discord channel, our methods for ensuring transparency during development evolved; our Community Team began hosting public meetings via our Discord to discuss our current workflow, answer questions, and conduct live script readings of our original scripts, to ensure that our Writing Team was matching the original tone set by livtempleton. We also streamed our beta footage on Twitch, trying our best to stress test the new framework built by our Creation Kit Team while also taking more suggestions from our audience for future content. Finally, we were incredibly pleased to be able to host an Open Beta for KRCE this past October & November for our Discord community, as a special thank you for their support. We were able to get some excellent feedback on some of our new follower features, as well as hunt down any missed audio or errors our internal testing missed. All in all, it took many, many people to bring this mod to life, and our Staff is incredibly humbled and grateful for the support of everyone involved. While this 1.0 version will be available indefinitely for those who prefer it, the Workshop Staff is very excited to begin creating more original content moving forward into 2025! One of our original scripts for the Daedric quest "Pieces of the Past" is in the 1.0, so you can check it out to get a sense of the tone our writers are going for! You can read about what content is present in our mod, as well as find the answers to commonly asked questions in the KRCE Mod FAQ. Keep up with the project via our updates on Tumblr, or join our Discord server!

The Kaidan Workshop is a community-led, non-profit project that aims to build upon the original LivTempleton Kaidan 2 mod. Our project is strictly non-profit; all funds raised are to commission Mr. Warren for his services. You can read more about what the Kaidan Workshop is here.

[everythingspokenfor]

Casually thinking about older!Bakugou . As usual, all characters are aged up 18+. MDNI.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

Older!Bakugou who is still in his early 30s, being pestered by his mother to at least get a girlfriend (and eventually settle down). She is afraid she'll never be able to meet her grandkids if this continues.

Older!Bakugou who has attended weddings of his friends, co-workers and even few of the people he had rescued. Although, had no intention of settling down anytime soon, wanting to focus on hero work because it gave him a drive, something to look forward too.

Older!Bakugou who was never really interested in any women that threw themselves at him, always keeping to himself, mellowed out with age. His friends no longer setting him up on blind dates because it was all in vain.

Older!Bakugou who hires a new support tech, because he was impressed by the work. Who meets the newbie in the hallway of the building, screaming at a rookie prohero.

"this is my resume", you shoved an open file into the rookie's face,"on page 12 it list all the things I was hired for", you pause pulling the folder, skimming through the pages to open page 12, he assumes. "Here, now read carefully, does it say 'write reports for rookies because they are apparently incapable of writing it' huh?", you slam the folder shut on the table. " Don't ever expect to do your work, rookie."

You turned around and left the hallway, not really noticing that you almost ran into Pro-hero: Dynamight.

Older!Bakugou who observes you working around the lab, fierce support tech that minds her business and prefers talking to her projects over actual people. Diligent with her work, getting her job done.

Older!Bakugou who enters the lab one day because his gauntlet need to repaired.

"they are too chunky." You don't really have a filter, already working on dismantling the whole thing, not sparing Bakugou a glance.

"You should focus on your work, kid." He was already staring at you.

"What do you think I am doing, Dynamight? This chunk isn't going to fix itself."

He is glad that your words remains same, irrespective of who you are talking to. Always stating the obvious.

"watch it, kid." He walked out of the lab.

Older!Bakugou who is surprised when the new tech remodels his gauntlets but also repairs the old ones, showing him the perks of new ones while still repairing the old ones just in case he doesn't like the new ones.

Older!Bakugou who, at 32, finds himself horrified by the idea that he might be interested, in someone, someone who is younger than him. You are 24, barely am adult in his eyes. You are smart, snarky and considerate.

You explain things to people, help around the lab, yet you are still sharp can take a joke, can make a joke.

Older!Bakugou that is nervous, prospect of asking out a girl making him sweat. He stands at the entrance of your lab, clear door doing nothing to hide his hulking frame, you are still working on something, hunched over a table with a chunky metal in hand.

"you know, I can see you, right?"

He lets out a breath, a small smile breaking onto his face, he moves into the lab. You notice he is wearing casual clothes, sweatpants and a t-shirt, carrying take-out boxes in his hand.

"I was getting dinner, thought I'd get you some too." He is already setting up on the 'not work table' in the room, already aware of what would happen if he put food on your 'work table'.

"What did you do, boss?" You voiced suspiciously, already moving to wash your hands.

"Can't even get people dinner in this economy"

"People", faux disbelief evident in your voice,"I wouldn't call me people, boss" you pulled the chair out and sat in front of him.

"Why not, tech?" He teased, handing you pair of chopsticks.

You look at him with mischief in your eyes, you lean over and play your hand around you mouth, almost as if sharing a secret,"Because you don't practice asking 'people' out, Suki."

His eyes widened,"You heard that? I thought the glass door was fucking sound proof." He let out a sigh, hours of practising and he doesn't even get a chance to say it.

"They are soundproof. From the inside tho." You looked over to him, before placing your hand over his," And I'll go on that date, also we should totally check the sound proofing of the lab tonight."

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

[kick-a-long]

In terms of the actor example, I spent a long time acting (non professional) and I will say it’s a relief to have the doyalist explanation and come up with your own clever Watson explanation so you can sell the scene.

However! It’s a pet peeve of mine how theater treats well regarded playwrights as writing gospel rather than humans intentionally leaving bs in the script because they don’t want to figure it out and they recognize that good actors will fix it for them, often finding better and more creative solutions to the inconsistencies is the art. I hate the idea that actors are just trying to mind read exactly what the play write wanted them to do on stage. Acting is an art because it requires creativity, close reading, comprehension, emotional/situational/practical instincts to create a compelling and believable character.

If an actor is trying to do what the play write wants and that’s all, just get a puppet or a trained monkey and have the play write record the lines how he wants them done. Or better yet make a movie where someone else picks the takes and actors don’t even have to be in the same country or know the full scene while they act.

In my opinion.

I feel like we need a refresher on Watsonian vs Doylist perspectives in media analysis. When you have a question about a piece of media - about a potential plot hole or error, about a dubious costuming decision, about a character suddenly acting out of character -

A Watsonian answer is one that positions itself within the fictional world.

A Doylist answer is one that positions itself within the real world.

Meaning: if Watson says something that isn't true, one explanation is that Watson made a mistake. Another explanation is that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle made a mistake.

Watsonian explanations are implicitly charitable. You are implicitly buying into the notion that there is a good in-world reason for what you're seeing on screen or on the page. ("The bunny girls in Final Fantasy wear lingerie all the time because they're from a desert culture!")

Doylist explanations are pragmatic. You are acknowledging that the fiction is shaped by real-world forces, like the creators' personal taste, their biases, the pressures they might be under from managers or editors, or the limits of their expertise. ("The bunny girls in Final Fantasy wear lingerie because somebody thought they'd sell more units that way.")

Watsonian explanations tend to be imaginative but naive. Seeking a Watsonian explanation for a problem within a narrative is inherently pleasure-seeking: you don't want your suspension of disbelief to be broken, and you're willing to put in the leg work to prevent it. Looking for a Watsonian answer can make for a fun game! But it can quickly stray into making excuses for lazy or biased storytelling, or cynical and greedy executives.

Doylist explanations are very often accurate, but they're not much fun. They should supersede efforts to provide a Watsonian explanation where actual harm is being done: "This character is being depicted in a racist way because the creators have a racist bias.'" Or: "The lore changed because management fired all of the writers from last season because they didn't want to pay then residuals."

Doylism also runs the risk of becoming trite, when applied to lower stakes discrepancies. Yes, it's possible that this character acted strangely in this episode because this episode had a different writer, but that isn't interesting, and it terminates conversation.

I think a lot of conversations about media would go a lot more smoothly, and everyone would have a lot more fun, if people were just clearer about whether they are looking to engage in Watsonian or Doylist analysis. How many arguments could be prevented by just saying, "No, Doylist you're probably right, but it's more fun to imagine there's a Watsonian reason for this, so that's what I'm doing." Or, "From a Watsonian POV that explanation makes sense, but I'm going with the Doylist view here because the creator's intentions leave a bad taste in my mouth that I can't ignore."

Idk, just keep those terms in your pocket? And if you start to get mad at somebody for their analysis, take a second to see if what they're saying makes more sense from the other side of the Watsonian/Doylist divide.

[abadbadbrujah]

Jane Espenson writing the majority of Spike episodes where he shows positive character growth, the fact that Spike is the antithsis of Angel and that Joss Wheadon hated his popularity can not be by coincidence.

I know I'm connecting a lot of dots with this one (that have probably been connected before), but she quiet literally wrote the episode where he is reintroduced in season 4 with "Harsh Light of Day", where he becomes part of the Scoobies with "Pangs", "Doomed" and "A New Man".

Then later on in Season 5 saved his character with the masterful "Intervention" where in the same episode she writes Spike creating the sexbot he also shows his worth by being tortured (where we see him being penetrated) and not breaking.

In the season 6 episode she wrote "After Life" where we see Spike's trauma of Buffy dying and how he is literally the only Scoobie to be able to look after her after being resurrected, as he himself has gone through the trauma of dying then digging out of his own grave. Also in this episode we see that he has now taken the mantel of Dawn's supernatural protector, out of surviors guilt from the events of the season 5 finale, and then later on how those events have haunted him every night. Jane then wrote Spike to be the only person in Doublemeat Palace to offer Buffy a way out of working there.

Season 7 Jane co-wrote the highly acclaimed "Conversations with Dead People" then "Sleeper" and "First Date" where we see Spike's fall to The First and where he killed people, but also where we see how he has risen in Buffy's eye's to being trustworthy in "First Date".

With all this being said you can probably understand now why I'd say a lot of Spike nuance is credited to Jane Espenson. To quote James in the SDCC 2012 Buffy panel "Joss would come up to me about 3 episodes in to every season and say he has no idea what to do with me", so this meant the other writers (mostly Jane) to take over with writing Spike. So you can see why it's not too far fethced to say she is the reason behind his popularity as she set a lot of the ground work after s2, outside of James's himself giving a masterful preformance. Later on in the SDCC 2012 Buffy Panel she says "we knew we had this amazingly verstial character largely because we had this amazingly verstial actor, we knew whatever we put infront of James he could do..." this shows that she felt comfortable making Spike into whatever she wanted.

For my last point, there's a lot of examples here that the fandom loves to highlight Spike's being Angel's opposite, like how Spike's treament of a Minor having a crush on him compared to the soul having Angel's. Spike's complete polar opposite on how he see's love as something postive to protect, where as Angelus's use of love as a tool to torture someone with. William loved and respected women where as Liam only used the ones around him.

This all leads me to the conclusion that Spike was more popular than Angel mostly because of Jane's input and groundwork on the character after season 2, and we all know how Joss felt about Spike's popularity and there's no way Jane didn't make all his postive traits the opposite of Angel by coincidence.

Thank you Jane for creating what I believe to be one of the best characters in media history and for being the original Spike girlie.

[reverieblondie]

Surprise Guest

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Warnings: Some dry humping, language, and self indulgent to the max.

Summary: Your brother Bucky invites a guest to spend Christmas with your family... you should have known it was Steve and that old feelings would come back up...

A/N: Hello, This is my first time writing for Steve and I would like to thank @buck-star for showing me their wonderful Fluffy Winter Event! Now if you are used to my BG3 content, this might be a bit different. But I love Steve so please don't judge! The heart wants what the heart wants. If you are new to my writing hi! hope you enjoy and if you have any ideas for Steve (or Chris Evans characters) just ask!

Tropes: Brothers Best Friend, Baking together, Dancing.

Word count: 6,469.

"Bucky's bringing a mystery guest? What, is it some new girlfriend?" 

You tease, watching as your mother picks up your brother's old childhood room, fussing over the bedding and ensuring everything is still just as he left it. The only changes made are the sublet Christmas decorations to make the room appear more festive. She also kept your room in the same state when you left for college; it was like a time capsule every time you two came home for the holidays. 

"Well, from my understanding, it's supposed to be some kind of surprise for us?" She says as she brushes the nonexistent dust from the curtains.

Scrunching your face and piercing your lips, you try to think about who Bucky could be bringing. It's no surprise Bucky is bringing a guest; he always seemed to bring home a stray or two when he came around for the holidays. Sometimes, it was girlfriends to meet Mom or friends from college, like Sam, who had spent last Thanksgiving with your family. But it's supposed to be a surprise… so it would have to be a girlfriend, right? 

You end up just shrugging your shoulders. As long as Bucky didn't bring anyone that would make the holiday awkward, you really didn't care who was coming around. 

Hours later, you're all still waiting for Bucky and the mystery guest to show up. Dad was asleep in his recliner as you and Mom wrapped presents while sharing memories from past Christmases. Fond memories flooded as you thought of the play fighting you and Bucky would always get into and the delicious sweets you would make with Mom. But the best part was just getting to see your family and making more memories with each other.  

During your trip down memory lane, you didn't hear the door slowly opening, and you definitely didn't hear your brother sneaking up behind you. You did, however, feel when he suddenly squeezed you in a tight bear hug, making you scream. 

Embarrassed at being spooked, you turn around and see that it's just Bucky laughing at your reaction. The panic you felt turns into elation as you hug your brother, "You asshole, you scared the crap out of me!"  

Bucky laughs before ruffling your hair, "Wow, language Goober, we have a guest." 

Ah, yes, the guest! You let go of Bucky and finally look towards the door, expecting to see an excited girlfriend, but when you look, your eyes feel like they're going to pop out of their sockets. Filling the doorway with a massive form was the surprise guest…tall, blonde, cute... Steve Rogers? 

Blue eyes watch you intently as he stands holding what you assume to be his and Bucky's bags. You're still not even convinced it's him until you fully take in all the features of his face, full lips, nice nose, and sweet smile that shows off his cute dimples and perfect teeth. Holy shit, that is Steve.

Mom rushes up with a squeal when she sees Bucky. The loud squealing finally jerks your father awake from his snoring as he looks at what his wife could be screaming at. He seems to relax when he sees she's just fussing over Bucky like always. Usually, you would be messing with Bucky at this moment, teasing him about being late and being a mama's boy, but your focus has gone to the elephant or, well, the big bulky guy shaking your father's hand. 

It's been years since you last saw Steve. Unconsciously, you touch your fingers to your lips as what feels like a storm floods your gut. You didn't mean to be staring at Steve, but you feel as if you're in shock. Of course, as you're staring, his eyes leave your fathers to return to you. He smiles at you, and it almost looks like he's about to approach before an excited, pitched scream from your mother has him startled and shooting a wide-eyed look at her.

Her excitement leaves your ears ringing as she goes to Steve, giving him a hug and promptly rubberbanding him for not coming to visit sooner. Steve just fumbles out some excuses as his eyes go from her to you and back to her. Looking back at Bucky, you inch yourself closer to him before swatting his shoulder. 

"Ow! What?" He gripes. 

"You didn't think to tell us it was Steve coming over?" 

Bucky just gives you a smirk, "It was a surprise; you're surprised, right?" 

“yeah…real surprised…” you mumble under your breath.

Both of you watch as your mom continues to gush over Steve, how it's been so long, how he's so tall and different looking, what he has been up to. All questions you wanted to ask yourself. Seeing Steve again throws you for the biggest loop, and frankly, it makes old feelings you thought died freshman year swell up. Why the hell is he here? After all this time, his face looks like some kind of sexy lab experiment gone all too right. 

"Steve, we are just so happy to see you. It's been forever. I should have guessed it would have been you! Right, honey, we should have guessed!" Your mom throws her eyes towards you to see you with confused glare. "Sweetie? Aren't you going to say hi? It's Steve. Isn't that incredible!"

Some might think it's unbelievable… 

Plastering an awkward smile to your face, you give a slight wave, "Hi Steve." 

"Hey, Scout, it's nice to see you again; it's been a while." A smile is stretched on his full lips as he calls you his old nickname, you haven't heard in forever. You almost forgot how he always called you Girl Scout for running around with him and Bucky playing army and then baking cookies afterward. You hated that nickname before, but now that you think about it, the name fits. 

There is a silence as your family watches the lukewarm reunion. Finally, your mom is moving over to you with a wide grin. "I don't think you're going to have to compare heights with him anymore." -Why is she bringing that up… 

You may have had an obnoxious habit of every time Bucky would bring Steve over, you would stand next to him to compare heights. At first, it was just your little secret. You would be behind his back to make sure you weren't getting too tall too fast, but then it became a game. Steve was always a good sport about it, and you always hoped you wouldn't become taller than him. But now, as you look at his 6'2 stature, it's clear that fear wouldn't happen. 

"I'll stand still so we can double-check," Steve chimes in, "It is kind of a tradition, Scout. What do you say?" Your mom looks expectantly as Bucky just gives Steve a quick pat on the back before sneaking off to the kitchen. You walk over to Steve, keeping your eyes steady on his, finding it hard not to roam your eyes down over his broad build. Okay, maybe you did seek a glance down his tight shirt, screaming across his chest, which leads to what you're sure is an impeccable abdomen and narrow waist. God, even his thighs underneath his jeans just look perfect to sit on. -Shit!

Burying down some horny thoughts, you stand in front of Steve, who now towers over you. From this close, you see that he's still every bit as cute (maybe even more handsome…), And he smells of that same musk you have come to recall so well, just this time there is just a hint of spruce. Steve has a smirk on his lips as he looks down at you, "Looks like you never got taller than me." he whispers as you judge your height with your hand; he's a whole head taller than you, maybe more. 

Your cheeks flare with a blush that you're sure is reaching your ears. You look at his face, your eyes immediately going to his smiling lips, and those memories of that night in that lonely hallway come rushing back. Why is it equally wonderful to see him and make your stomach twist into a sicky storm? 

"You're so tall now…" is all you can seem to answer, making Steve chuckle even more and you wish the ground would swallow you up ‘You're so tall now’ yeah no shit!

Finally, you're able to slip out an excuse completely modified at how you're turning into such a flustered schoolgirl! Steve stutters some kind of goodnight after you as you make your way up the stairs; turning back, the last thing you see is a concerned-looking Steve watching you. 

You're quick to rush past all the Christmas decorations and tuck yourself away into your room, leaning your back against the door and doing what you found yourself not doing when you were so close to Steve: Breathe. 

Steve Rogers, honestly, of course it's Steve. You should have considered it sooner since he's been your brother's best friend for years! He's so different now. He was as thin as a pin the last time you saw him. Now he's a total beefcake, and those fluttering feelings of a crush you thought were tamped down years ago are bubbling forward. 

Steve was always a good friend, not only to your brother but to you and your family. Now that you think about it, he was always just a good person? He always defined your brother no matter what and would always help anyone in need. He was bullied and teased when you knew him, but that never stopped him from voicing his opinion and standing up for what was right. Sure, it often ended up with Steve with a busted lip and Bucky pummeling the bully, but you couldn't help but admire his courage and willingness to help people and his kindness.

A sigh slips from your chest… Steve's kindness… he really was kind, sometimes confusing, but ultimately kind…

During the winter dance, you still remember all the beautiful snowflakes in the air and the way the silver tinsel shined under the sparkling lights. It was a tradition that the school put on a Dance before winter break. As a jaded Senior, Bucky wasn't as impressed, but you, as a freshman, were beyond excited. You had saved for new heels, Mom helped you pick the perfect dress, and you even managed to somehow get a date! There was no way this night was going to be ruined! 

The night did not go as planned. 

Your new heels you got on sale? Snapped. The new dress you got? Ruined when someone ran into you with a full glass of punch. And your date? Your oh-so-wonderful date? He left to dance with some flirty junior…

Now, here you are, sitting on the floor outside of the dance, trying not to cry in the dark hallway. You listen to the music, just waiting until you finally hear the last song end. Then you can walk home with Bucky and Steve and forget about this embarrassing night. As if it were fate, a nearby door swings open, and who do you see? Steve Rogers.

Steve looks at you, and his jaw tenses; he immediately turns to go back into the dance to find and try to beat up your ex-date. Before he can, however, you're standing up and quickly grabbing Steve by the sleeve. Steve, being Steve, of course, pauses per your request, but you can tell he didn't want to. 

Steve sits on the floor as you talk about your series of unfortunate events.

"So, how did you figure out I was out here?" 

"When I saw your date dancing with Suzy, it kind of clued me in..." There was a short pause before Steve looked at you confused.

"Why did you even say yes to that idiot?"

Of course, that made you laugh before you shrugged, "I don't know. I think that I was just excited to be asked…" 

Steve nods in understanding, "If that's the case, then I should have asked you." 

You feel butterflies when he says it, and when you turn to look at him, he's looking forward with a noticeable blush. Dammit, he's cute.

As you sit there with Steve, the announcement of the final dance is made, and as you gather your courage to ask him to dance, Steve beats you to the question, "Dance with me?" he asked so quietly, almost like a whisper…

You smile, "I thought you didn't dance?"

"Let's just say I'm willing to dance with you."

"But I don't have shoes."

Steve just looks over at you with a warm smile before he stands, reaching his hand down towards you. "Then I guess you won't be taller than me." You bite your bottom lip as you take his hand, letting you get up. You look into his beautiful blue eyes, "I'm only an inch shorter than you and still growing." 

Steve carefully places your hand on his shoulder before placing his hand on your waist, "Then let me enjoy this while I'm still tall enough to lead."

As the song goes, you dance with Steve, loving how he slightly stumbles and needs to look down at his feet every couple of paces. It's not until you move both his hands to your hips and wrap your arms to hug around his neck that the tension leaves him, and you can sway together in harmony. As you lean your head down to his shoulder, you take in his scent and surprising warmth.

"Thank you, Steve..." you whisper in his ear, Steve chuckles for a moment, his hands seeming to tighten slightly.

"I just wish I was a better dancer... for you." 

"Well, I think that this is perfect." You look into his ocean eyes, "That you're perfect." His cheeks flush red as he smiles clearly not used to the complements. 

You take the time to trace over his handsome features like you have so many times before, but instead of your staring being secret, Steve's eyes stay on you before they flick down your lips. Your heartbeat races, and you can feel yourself blushing redder. Caught, he quickly looks back into your eyes, but that's when you lean in, moving to play with the golden hair at the nape of his neck. 

Swallowing, Steve focuses his eyes on your lips as he places his hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

"Steve... please…"

"Y-You Sure?"

"Yes." That's all you had to say as you closed your eyes and felt Steve take your first kiss. His full lips started sweet and shy before you felt the feeling of his tongue timidly asking for permission to push past your lips. As soon as you let him in and his tongue brushes against yours, he pulls away.

Steve looks at you guilty before he backs away. "I gotta go... tell Bucky I said goodbye."

"Steve, wait!"

But as the song ended, Steve was already gone... leaving with your first kiss and leaving you completely confused.

Thinking back on the memory makes you groan as you go over to your bed, plopping down with a thump. Who the hell kisses someone then leaves! Were you bad at it? Damn you, Steve Rogers, you fucking nerd! That stormy feeling of rejection starts to bloom within your chest. Was it rejection? It felt like it... and after the kiss, things were different. He didn't come around as much, and then he graduated.

Now he's back, tall, and still so cute. Who are you kidding? Steve looks downright sexy, and it isn't even fair! People are not supposed to get hotter like that! Steve looks like he's been living at the gym while your acne just cleared up. And from what you have seen from him tonight, he's still just as charming and lovely…

oh, universe, tho, are such a cold bitch...

The following day hits you like a ton of bricks. You feel as if you didn't get one wink of sleep last night. Dreams ranging from memories to fantasies have kept you from getting any rest. Sighing, you roll out of bed and maybe put on just a little bit of makeup... - Just to look less tired, not for any other reason…

Finally, you make it downstairs, rounding your way over to the kitchen, where the smell of fresh coffee wafs through the air. The sight looks like one from a Christmas card, with the garland hanging from the window and the Christmas-themed tea towels everywhere. Then there's Mom making a frantic list of last-minute needs, Bucky checking his phone, and Steve? Oh, Steve. He stands drinking his cup of coffee, and his eyes seem to go from tired to bright as soon as they lock with yours.

You chime out a good morning as you enter the room. Mom and Bucky mutter out a grody morning in response. 

“Good morning Scout, Coffee?” Steve says in what seems like anticipation and you just give him a small nod and a yes please as you walk to see what your mom is scratching away at. 

Looking over her shoulder as you sit confirms your thought that she needs last-minute things. As soon as you sit, a mug of fresh coffee is placed in front of you, with cream and sugar to follow. Looking up, you see Steve looking down at you with that same kind smile. 

Dammit, he's still so sweet…

"Such a gentleman..." your mom says almost teasingly. Yes, mom, you know! She gives you an expectant look, and all you can do is roll your eyes. 

"Last-minute list? I thought last year you said you were never shopping on Christmas Eve again?" she sighs, ripping the paper from the pad. “Unfortunately, some things can't be helped. So while me and your brother are at the store, you, my favorite daughter, will do the baking."

"I'm your only daughter."

"Jury is still out on that." Bucky snarks

Rolling your eyes, you discreetly shoot Bucky the bird that he fakes being insulted by. Though as soon as mom looks up you two are going back to being civil. . 

"What am I making this year?"

"Your wonderful Chocolate pie and Steve has requested Chocolate Chip Cookies." The request makes you give Steve a pointed look. He quickly turns away, making a fake whistle. You swear if he has only come back for your cookies, you don't care how big he is; you will throw him off the roof.

With the plans set Bucky slides out from his chair pocketing his phone, "Alright, Steve, let's get ready to go."

"Actually, I was going to hang back and give a hand with the baking." -what? 

"She would love that! So kind!" Your mom beams -excuse me? 

"Yeah, maybe you can help her keep the pies in one piece this year." Bucky snickers, teasing at the fact that every year, the pie always has a missing slice by morning. Bucky suspects it's you, considering you made it. You think it's Bucky, but nobody truly knows the truth. 

"I'm not the pie thief you are," you say, pushing Bucky with your elbow. Of course, Bucky isn't just going to take that… so he shoves you back, and the sibling bickering starts. 

"Am not"

"Are too!"

"Am Not!" 

"Are Too!" 

"Shut up!" Mom is quick to end the immature argument, but it doesn't stop you and Bucky from sticking your tongues out at each other—very mature.

"You, desserts, Bucky, with me, Steve, I'm sorry." With that, Buck and Mom are gone to do late shopping, leaving you and Steve alone in the kitchen.

It's quiet for a minute before Steve finally turns to you with a wide smile. "Just tell me what to do, Scout. You're in charge."

Ah, so you're leading now.

Grabbing the recipe book, you quickly flip through the pages until you find the right one. With a smile, you shove the book into his large hands. Steve doesn't even seem fazed as he keeps his eyes on yours.

"Chocolate pie, it's foolproof."

Steve cocks his head to the side, "Foolproof? Ouch, Scout." 

"Don't pretend to be offended. I've heard you and Bucky call each other much worse."

Steve steps closer to you, “I don’t know you seem to have a bit of meanness in you know, I saw you give him the middle finger.” Steve tsk his lips and you wince, of course he saw that…  

Not backing away from a challenge, you get even closer—so close you can smell the coffee off his breath. “Well Steve; you haven't seen me in a long time. I guess it only makes sense that I changed."

Steve shakes his head with a laugh as he looks over the recipe but keeping your little game going, "Don’t worry I plan on figuring that out while I'm here." 

“Figuring out what?" you say crossing your arms and popping out your hip, Steve's eyes move to you as they roam slowly over your body, then he smirks.  

"If you're still as sweet as I remember..." The way it just rolls off his tongue is so Sinful. Sure, he's still sweet, but now he's seemed to learn how to flirt. And with how your cheeks heat up from his words, you might be in trouble for falling even more for him.

Instead of quipping back, you just turn away and start gathering the ingredients you need. Trying desperately to ignore the budding tension. Baking in a kitchen with a handsome man can create its own kind of testion. But baking alone in a kitchen with an attractive man you once shared a first kiss with, now that tension could be cut with a knife. 

Time passes as you two continue to silently bake, you wish the teasing had not ended so abruptly because now you are coming up with all the best comebacks, figures…

Turning your head over your shoulder, you watch Steve cut up the chocolate bricks in fine flakes. His large hands are coated in chocolate, and watching his muscles tense and move with the quick movements of the knife is mouthwatering… 

Steve turns to look at you and gives you a soft smile. Quickly, you move your eyes to the cookie mix you're putting together, trying to seem like you are totally not staring at him, imagining how sweet his chocolate-coated fingers would be in your mouth. Rolling your eyes and taking a deep breath, you try to ground yourself in reality for a moment; you're in your parent's kitchen with your brother's best friend; this is not the time to be thinking horny thoughts.  

While lost in your internal struggle, you feel a large hand placed on your hip; The hand is gripping tightly making warmth instantly shooting tingles down your spine. Looking up, you see Steve reaching for a bowl that is very conveniently placed in the cabinet above you. His cologne invades your senses, and you can't be too mad about it. Also, the subtle way he's pushing and leaning on you is making his crotch rub against your ass, either he knows exactly what he's doing or doesn't care to give you any personal space. You imagine it's the latter. 

Once he's retrieved the bowl his breath is fanning against your ear, and his velvet voice numbs your mind to mush: " Sorry, Scout. I needed to grab a bowl." Oh, he's toying with you. 

Finding your grip on reality, you take your bowl of cookies and push yourself out of Steve's sexy radiance. "Next time, ask, huh?" 

You move over to the mixer and start mixing up the dough. You hear Steve clear his throat over the mixture. Looking over your shoulder again, you see his broad frame diligently mixing the filling over the stove. You hate how much you enjoy looking at him and his cute butt…

"Are you worried I'm messing up the mixing?" he calls over his shoulder. You quickly turn around and add the chocolate chips to the fluffy dough.

"Like I said... foolproof, I'm not worried." You say, trying to sound confident.

"So there's another reason why you're staring at me this whole time?" Does he have eyes in the back of his head!?

"I wasn't-"

"Don't even try it," Steve warns as he finally pours the chocolate mix into the pie crust and puts it in the oven to bake. Finally, he turns to face you, Crossing his massive arms in front of him. "I've felt your eyes on me this whole time." 

Shit... Returning to your mixer, you do your old faithful tactic when you don’t want to answer a question, “I don’t know what you're talking about.” 

You hear a groan thinking you have won but then there's a small sigh, "I know you're mad at me..." 

That makes you pause. Mad at him? Were you mad at him? Part of you was for awhile but when you really think about it now you're more confused than anything. You take a deep breath and finally say the one thing you had thought about most after that kiss. 

"You don't just kiss someone and then run away you know." 

You finally turn and see that you have Steves full attention, he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly trying to gather his thoughts.

"I know." he finally gets out.

"Then why did you-"

"I kissed you at the wrong time..." That throws you for a loop. Steve's blush makes the tips of his ears bright red as he continues." You were... lonely and sad..." 

It's your turn to interrupt, "Steve Rogers, did you pity kiss me?" 

Steve's eyes widen as he quickly reaches for you but holds off, "No! No, it was a real kiss... for me, it was a real kiss."

"What do you mean? That kiss felt real to me, I mean, it was my first kiss..." 

You feel yourself wanting to put up your guard but before you can you feel Steve's hands gently sliding up and down your arms before moving to your shoulders carefully brushing away your hair, "I want it to be better. To be right.” Steve's blue eyes look so softly down at you and you feel ensnared all over again. You lean in, and it feels all so familiar. When his hand comes to your cheek and his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, “When I kiss you again, you will know what I mean..." 

God, you want him to kiss you again,

”When?” You question. 

Steve leans in, his breath fanning over your lips, “How else will I know if you taste as sweet as you did that night..” 

You feel like you're melting as you close your eyes, the memories of his tongue tasting like peppermint making you crave it now. You rise to your tiptoes as Steve's arms curl around you,  but before you can do anything, the oven's timer is going off. 

Both of you jump before frantically looking for the oven mitts, running into each other as you reach for the oven. Finally, you two get the stove open and pull the pan out at the same time. It's so frantic and excessive you both can't help but laugh as you hold the pie.

"What are you two doing?" The sudden voice of bucky practically scares the crap out of you. 

Steve looks at his friend then just cocks his head, “Baking, obviously.” 

Bucky, ever clueless, just shakes his head as he puts bags of groceries away, you can not believe you almost kissed him again! And almost got caught. You take the pie and place it down to get cooled off. As you turn you run into your mother who is looking at you confused, you think for a moment she's trying to read your mind but then she places her cold hands to your cheeks. 

“Steve, what did you do to my girl? She looks flushed?” 

Steve just chuckles as he helps with the groceries, “I think she was standing too close to the oven, making her get hot.” 

You give him an unamused look, he knows what made you hat and it wasn't a damn oven. 

Hours later, long after you and Steve had finished the desserts, after sitting with your Mom and watching the same Christmas movies you did every year (though this year you might have been distracted…) and going to bed, you find that you're still tossing and turning thinking about Steve; what does he mean when he kisses you again… is he going to? You almost did, but then your family walked in… Will he have the chance? And what does he mean you taste sweet!

2am, and you're still thinking about him; years later, he can still rile you up and keep you second-guessing. Just is not fair, damn hot people…

Not seeing any end to your torment, you decide it's time for the perfect late-night medicine: a sweet treat. Making your way down to the kitchen as quietly as possible, you find the Christmas-themed Tupperware stashing the cookies and take one. The sweetest is only a temporary relief to your racing mind, however. Further trying to distract yourself, you open the fridge, checking the pie, making sure it's still intact, and it is. 

When you close the fridge, you lazily look around the dimly lit room till you see Steve in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing sweatpants and no shirt. Seriously, universe… 

"Looks like Bucky is right; you are the pie thief." 

"I was just checking on it, not eating it." 

Steve steps into the kitchen, takes a seat at the table, and gets himself a cookie as well. You decide to join in, your minds already filled with him. What's the harm? 

"Couldn't sleep?" 

"I thought I heard a pie theft." he taunts, making you chuckle, but it dies off quickly, and that same tension starts piling up again. 

"I was up thinking about you," Steve suddenly admits, "Thinking back on that night…" 

"The night you ran off with my first kiss?" You say it more bitterly than you meant it, but Steve doesn't seem to flinch. 

"I had thought of kissing you a long time before then," he confesses, warming your cheeks. 

"Why didn't you?" 

Steve doesn't look at you while he shrugs his mind on the past, "One, there's an unspoken rule about best friends, sisters, and… I didn't feel good enough, scrawny punk kissing a beautiful, kind girl like you. Thought you would have been modified. Then at the dance when we danced together… you called me perfect. Girls would have never thought to say that, but you did, and I just couldn't help it. When I kissed you, I knew it was wrong, and then I ran, which was even more messed up."  

Steve ends his confession by turning to you with a smile, "I screwed it up," 

You two sit silently, looking out the window into the dark, snowing night, "If you messed it up, why come back?" 

"I was hoping for a second chance, but… when I saw how mad you were and when we interrupted it… it kinda brought me back to reality, shook me and my plan up…" 

Tilting your head, you look at him confused, "Your plan?" 

You see, Steve blushes, "Charm you, and I hope I get to do it right this time…" 

Your laugh was involuntary. You couldn't believe that after all this time, he wanted a do-over. Steve Rogers, you are the biggest dork, and you love it. He looked embarrassed at you, laughing at his confession, but then you stood from your chair and reached down towards him. "Well? How are you going to charm me sitting down? This is your last chance, Steve. Don't blow it."

Steve grabs your hand, standing to his towering height, "What's the first step in the plan, Steve? I'll let you lead."  

"First…" Steve steps closer, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck and his hands to hide purchase on your fuzzy pajama bottom hips. "We sway just like that night." 

The two of you start to sway in that same slow dance, and though there is no music, you both know which one is playing in your mind as you move in perfect rhythm. Your hands move from his soft hair to slide down to his chest, where you feel his heart racing through his bare chest. He watches you intently before carefully bringing you to press against his warm body. You can no longer tuck your head into his neck, so you lean into his chest. Steve pauses, and you feel him bring his hand to your cheek, having you look up at him. 

"Second, I will tell you how I think you're the prettiest, funniest, kindest girl I've ever met and how, for years, I have thought of you." 

You bite your lip as you look into his blue eyes, which reflect the colors of the Christmas lights. "When's the part where you kiss me?" you say, a tad breathless. 

He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, looking at their flushed color, "That's step three after I ask…" 

"Steve, kiss me before I lose my mind and pummel you." 

That was the exact invitation Steve was waiting for because the next thing you know, he's leaning down and kissing your lips slowly. His hands cupped your cheeks before sliding back down to your waist, his mouth carefully guiding you. It's just as sweet and warm as the first time, but now, with how he moves his lips gently with yours, you can tell he's practiced. Rising your toes, you wrap your hands around his neck and swipe your tongue against his lips, begging for them to part. Once they do, you slip your tongue to taste his. A slight grunt leaves his throat as his hands tighten -Yeah, you learned some things last time. 

Steve slides his hands down your body to find purchase on your ass, giving a squeeze and forcing a moan from you in the process before he lifts you up and places you on the contour. Breaking the kiss, he looks at your red face, catching your breath, "taste sweet.." he mumbles before tilting your head up to leave open-mouth kisses on your neck. 

The feeling of his burning tongue swiping at your sensitive skin has you tightening your thighs to try to ease your aching clit that's begging to feel him closer. As he's licking and marking your skin with reckless abandonment, your hands are pawing and tugging at his soft hair. Holding on to dear life, his head goes lower and lower, passing your collarbone. This must be that real kiss he talked about before. 

Your wandering hands meet the prominent bulge pressed against your leg; softly touching the hardness makes Steve pause as he softly moans into your neck. 

"Steve.." His lips kiss your neck slowly as he spreads your thighs, moving in between them. 

"Yes, baby… what do you want? Anything you want..." he says into your skin, making you shiver as his lips caress your sweet spot. 

You feel his bulge finally press against your covered cunt, and you can't help but gasp, "I want to feel you…" you finally tremble out as you move your hips slowly over him, grinding on his cock. 

Steve watches you in awe for a moment before he's repositioning himself and rocking his hips so the nip nudges your clothed clit over and over. Part of you think this might be a delicious dream; there is no way you're actually dry-humping with Steve on your kitchen table in your parent's house, is there? But when his fat tip teases your clit again, making your toes curl, you know this is a dream, this is real, and you don't care. You need him now. 

You're about to shimmy out of your bottoms and pull Steves down as well,  but the sound creaking of the stairs has you both snapping back to reality. The reality is your hands are about to pull down your pants while Steve has a huge tending boner, and you're on the kitchen table; if caught, there is no explaining that one. So quickly, you're hopping off the table and eagerly pulling Steve to hide in the kitchen's pantry with you. Safely hidden, you and Steve peer through the panty's louvered door to see who is ruining your late-night treat. 

Tiptoeing through the kitchen, you see your father making his way to grab a fork and then going to the fridge. Unbelievable. You owe Bucky an apology.

"That sneaky little—" Before you can finish whispering, you feel Steve wrapping his arms around you, his length pushing against you. Turning around carefully, you face him. Only the light streaming in illuminates his face, and you can just see that affection filling his eyes. 

Steve gently kisses your lips again, finding them way too easy in the dim dark. His hands curl around your waist, and his head rests in the crook of your neck. His warm breath makes you melt all too quickly. 

"Scout, I've liked you for so long…" he says into your neck. 

Cuddling him closer, you're about to confess your feelings, those feelings that you had from the moment you met him. Then, the pantry door opens, and you meet your father's shocked expression. His daughter is hiding in the pantry with tousled hair, and her brother's best friend, who is shirtless, is embracing each other. Not a great look…

Eyes going wide as you push yourself away from Steve, trying to fix your hair. Steve clears his throat awkwardly, turning his back towards your father, trying in vain to hide his prevalent bulge. Starting to fumble out an excuse, you're stuttering and panicking for an explanation, but your father is slowly shutting the door before you can even get out a syllable.   

You stare at the Shut door in shock. "He's so going to blab to my mother," you groan.

Back in the darkness, you feel Steve wrapping his arms around you. "Would that be so bad? She has been hinting about us getting together."

"Bucky is going to kick your ass."

Steve kisses your neck again, quickly learning where to tease you with his soft lips. "That's fine if you agree. Come out with me for New Year's." Turning, you press your cheek to his chest, cuddling closer. 

"Can we go dancing?

Steve Chuckles as he kisses your head and holds you tighter, says, "We can do whatever you want. I want to make up for lost time."

"Better late than never."

[beingatoaster]

Re: how you skip a section and keep on writing: you determine enough about the skipped section's progression to know what the next point will be, and then start at that next point, without sorting out the exact details of that progression. E.g., for the aforementioned WIP, I have a written section where two characters wrap up a date they went on together and agree on the date for the next one, a scene break, a couple notes in the style of the OP about what scenes I want in the week in between, another scene break, and then I start back to writing in full narrative form about the second date.

...I was starting to describe it vaguely but hey, you will recognize the fandom, so:

As if setting that plan was a cue, Diluc starts to clean up the remains of the picnic, and Jean leans in to help him. He takes the two boxes the skewers had come in and carefully divides all the food out between them, handing one to Jean before tucking the other into his basket, and rises to offer Jean his hand. She lets him help her up. Together, comfortably discussing their tortoises, they head back to Mondstadt. *** [her evening with Barbara! maybe could lead to the 'keep Barbara from coming along' later on] [Kaeya is doing things to try and make the situation up to her, which Jean can tell he's doing and wants him to stop -- second Kaeya scene, with him taking work, moves here] *** On her next day off, Jean rises with a refreshing sense of anticipation. She picks through her civilian wardrobe for something practical for the trek down Drunkard's Gorge and wrangling tortoises. Even if it has to be practical clothing, though, it's nice to plan for this trip without automatically donning her uniform.

Now, those notes in the middle aren't clear here because I already know what tensions I'm pushing with these scenes (the main plot is Jean dating Diluc out of hanahaki-based obligation; Barbara is oblivious and happy for her, while Kaeya talked Jean into doing this but is now very guilty about it) and thus I don't need to describe them in more detail to myself. But I know what they are, I know what they're doing, and I don't need to know the exact wording of the dialogue or the exact actions taken in them right now to move on with the main-focus relationship, which is Jean and Diluc and the slow-motion train crash that is occurring between them.

And because said slow-motion train crash is the main driver of the plot, I can skip the side-character scenes for now because as long as I know what they're doing in the larger scheme of things (adding friction to the wheels such that individual cars on this train are beginning to tilt under the pressure), I can go back and fill in the exact details later. The Barbara scene needs to have her induce guilt in Jean about the lie. The Kaeya scene needs to emphasize that their relationship is under strain, leading later to Jean not being willing to trust him with a future plot development. I can write the guilt and the reluctance into later scenes knowing that in the second draft, they'll have a basis.

(I would bet every single example in OP's work is not a "I have no idea what goes here," it's a "I know that X needs to be here for Y reasons," but the note, like my notes, is just a placeholder in the text for that line/scene's actual story-function as they have it in their head.)

Also, a smaller within-scene example that works the same way:

"Thank you," Jean says again, less formally, a tightness in her throat. She hesitates there, not sure what else to say, what else she *can* say without further thinning the line she has to walk. Diluc solves the problem for her. "You'll have to handle the clean-up personally to be sure it's done right," he says, and that sounds irritable, this time, but at least his irritation isn't at her. "I'll do a final sweep for any stragglers. I expect managing other Knights' incompetence will take you the rest of the night." [some transition that DOESN'T include negging the Knights, that makes her think of the flower and/or how they're focused on the same goals] "Wait," Jean says, as he turns away.

I can figure out the exact dialogue I want to put there later--what matters is knowing what it does to move the story forward. Since I know what effect it will have, I was able to carry on with that scene and into the next one it effects without getting bogged down in the exact verbiage, which wasn't coming to mind at the moment.

So I guess the point is, you can leave blanks to fill in later as long as you know what those blanks do. Scenes/moments in a story are links in a chain, and you can always temporarily loop some baling twine in to connect lengths of a chain together until you have time to go to the store and buy a replacement, but that doesn't mean you aren't continuing the chain. I still think of myself as writing this story in order! It's just got a lot of baling twine in it right now because if I stop to go to the store while counting links, I will lose all forward momentum and won't continue on down the chain.

...Which is, to be clearer, why I'm suggesting trying this for motivation problems. The moment I hit friction when I'm writing a first draft, my motivation starts to die. On the other hand, once I have a finished first draft (by which I mean, still with these notes and unwritten bits scattered through, but with all the main scenes written and a solid ending), going back and writing those bits is not "friction" but "enrichment." Which may also prove true for you.

Or it may not! Your approach to writing is fine if it's working for you! Or if the reason it's not working for you is because something completely different is tripping you up and you need to troubleshoot from that direction. I'm just talking on and on about my approach because it's the only thing I know that works for me, and also I love navel-gazing. XD;; Hopefully you can find something that works for you!

me: yeah I'm pretty close to finishing this fic

the fic:

[itslikesearcingforsomething]

i also want to mention that we don’t have mike’s pov in the past two seasons, we have no idea what he feels and washing his character to el’s homophonic boyfriend is not the right answer. i understand why people ship mileven, in the end it’s a canon couple, but to turn blind on so many clues and writing choices is crazy work. honestly, there’s no way that byler won’t be endgame, that somehow mileven has a potential to be a real relationship. they didn’t even have any scenes with tension like jancy, jopper and you guessed it, byler did. it’s so clear that this is just a children relationship. ofc mike loves el, but platonically. everything points out to that.

[meo-eiru]

Do you have any tips on starting a VN is really wanna make one but have no idea how to actually start I have a few ideas but the writing and planning out is what overwhelms me and starting things is always a struggle how did start the process on your VN?

Well I'm no pro by any means so take everything I say with a grain of salt. I'm sure everyone has a style they find more productive but I'll talk about how I personally go about it as an artist who prefers drawing over writing (I'll be using the stuff I made for a now scrapped vn idea)

I usually like to draw a simple storyboard to get a gist of exactly where I'm planning to start and the story I have in my head. It's a very simple and quick step and don't be afraid to make some changes on the first version you drew.

For example here I have the start of the story and the 3 endings with the main diversion of the story line.

Then once I'm done with that I make a more detailed and longer storyboard of the actual game. I decide exactly where the options appear and where they lead to. This one is important, I usually go back to check what I decided on quite often, don't think "oh I can remember this no problem", you probably won't. Write down notes.

Once that's done I basically dive into writing the actual script, while following the story line I had decided on beforehand.

Visual novels are quite easy to code but they are very dialogue heavy, and dialogue writing is very different from writing normally. You can't just go "he said she said", you need them to come directly from the character. Don't be afraid to spend as much time here as you need.

As I said I'm not a pro, for example Sel is a writer and not an artist and I know she just immediately starts with the script after some planning, writes an overall script and adds in more details every time she goes over them.

There are no strict rules to making vns, there isn't a schedule you're forced to follow. See what feels easier to start with and go from there

[suzukiblu]

So like, I don’t actually remember where I first saw the concept of soulmates getting access to each other’s superpowers but I very much needed to write something about it. Especially because that thought gave me some thoughts about how certain characters' origins/powers have gotten retconned, and welllll . . . We'll just call this WIP behind the cut here "soulmate superpowers".

The real problem with the marked increase in the global population of superpowered individuals both on Earth and in reality in general is what happens when they meet their soulmates. And the problem also depends, depending on the kind of soulmate. With romantic and platonic soulmates, the problem only happens on and off, which is much more manageable. 

Familial soulmates, though . . . for those the problem isn’t just “sometimes”, and therefore isn’t quite as “manageable”. 

Cadmus didn’t really tell Experiment Thirteen much about how soulmates worked, though, so when the full Kryptonian powerset only kicked in after the Kid met the real, original Superman for the first time . . . 

Well. He hadn’t known that was something he maybe should’ve thought a little more about, at the time.

.

.

.

“Wait up,” Serling Roquette says, staring down blankly at her tablet. She’s sixteen and crazy-weird and brand-new to Cadmus and showed up in wild clothes to apparently run the genetics department now that they’re under new management. Or something like that, Superboy guesses. He only signed on about five minutes before Roquette did, but she asked for a DNA sample to compare to his previous on-file samples and, like, cross-reference with them or whatever, he doesn’t know, he kinda stopped understanding what she was talking about by that point. “You’re supposed to have Kryptonian DNA in your setup?” 

“. . . uh,” Superboy says, because what kind of question is that? “Yeah? Like, no shit, doc, I didn’t get heat vision and ice breath from the human half.” 

Admittedly he is terrible with both of them, but he does have them. He just kinda avoids using them, is all. He fucks enough shit up with his TTK as it is; he doesn’t need to add frost damage and burny melty destruction on top of that. 

He’s thought about asking Superman for tips on ‘em a couple times, but he always feels real stupid when he does. Like, what kind of an even-only-half Kryptonian is he, if he can’t figure that shit out on his own? Superman did. And hell, even that asshole Henshaw did, and that prick isn’t even actually Kryptonian, he just– 

“This is human DNA, youngblood,” Roquette says, looking up at him. “Like, literally all human DNA. Real heavily augmented human DNA, we're talking ultra-crush gravity here, but like–you know, like somebody tried to forge the artist’s signature, but they didn’t actually think to use the right pen?” 

“What?” Superboy says blankly. 

“Do people not actually ever look at your DNA?” Roquette says. “Is that not a thing? You’re a clone, how are people not ever actually looking at your DNA?” 

“People look at it all the time,” Superboy says, still thrown off by what it sounds like she’s saying. That’s–he’s not–what is she saying? 

“Are they, like, mad stupid, then?” Roquette asks skeptically, wrinkling her nose and raising an eyebrow. “It’s literally the wrong pen. It’s the wrong ink. It’s not even a pen!” 

“I have literally no idea what you’re sayin’, Doc,” Superboy says, staring blankly at her. 

“I’m saying you’re about as Kryptonian as a human can get, which is literally zero point zero percent,” Roquette replies frankly, half-waving her tablet at him. “Whoever built you–” 

“Mostly Dabney Donovan, unfortunately,” Superboy says. 

“–okay, well, is Dabney Donovan as much of a lying shithead as I’ve always heard?” Roquette asks, waving her tablet at him again. “Because the data supports him being a lying shithead. He twisted your genes through a Kryptonian-shaped mold, maybe, but they’re still human genes. Fully and totally and like, seriously, does no one ever look at your DNA?” 

“I’m just human?” Superboy says blankly. “I–no I’m not! I have Kryptonian powers!” 

“Yeah, about that,” Roquette says. “No you don’t.” 

“What?” he says. She flips her tablet to face him; stabs a brightly-manicured nail emphatically at a bunch of figures and graphs he can’t understand at all. 

“You don’t have a single superpower except for tactile telekinesis,” she replies, frank and matter-of-fact. “None nada nothing and zip zilch zero. Genetically speaking, you are a highly-specialized highly-flexible telekinetic, but that’s it. That’s all you got in the playbook, youngblood."

Superboy stares at her. She keeps holding her tablet up like he’s gonna just suddenly magically understand what all the figures and graphs on it mean. 

“What?” he repeats, and feels like a fucking idiot about it. 

“When did you get the Kryptonian powers?” Roquette asks. “Like, did you come straight out the cloning solution with those, or . . . ?” 

“I didn’t get any yellow sun in development,” Superboy says, feeling–disconnected, sort of, and a little numb. What does–that doesn’t–he’s Superman’s clone. Like, only halfway, but– 

If he’s not Superman’s clone . . . is he just made out of that piece of shit Westfield, if . . . ? 

“Okay,” Roquette says. “So did you get the powers soon as you hit daylight, then?” 

“No,” he says. “I didn’t–not until–” 

When did they start kicking in? It took a few weeks or so, he knows. Maybe . . . maybe a little bit longer? It was– 

“Did it happen before you met Big Blue, or after?” Roquette asks real pointedly, and Superboy thinks he stops thinking, maybe. Just–everything in his head disappears all at once, and his mind goes totally blank, and . . . and he . . . 

“I’m not–I–” he tries to say, and doesn’t even know what he is trying to say. 

“Yeah,” Roquette says. “Like I said. You don’t have Kryptonian powers. You’ve got your soulmate’s powers.” 

Superboy stares at her for one more second, then bolts out of the lab without another word.

[wardensantoineandevka]

I won't get around to writing a properly developed post on it, but speaking generally and assuming broad good faith, I personally think the anachronism in Veilguard is fine. I know it's a deeply held bit of style for a lot of people, and many hold the directive about no anachronism as important to things feeling properly Dragon Age.

Personally, I never felt it THAT important. I roll my eyes at nitpicking about historically accurate costuming too, and I pause to wonder what IS "anachronism" in fantasy. I think a lot of the style of the games leaned so hard on it that, in some places, it was a substituting this rule in place of developing stronger individual style or voice. I love this series, but I don't feel like characters (notably once you got past core cast), locations, etc. always and consistently had a strong sense of voice, both in terms of diction but also in visual direction. I feel like even the music gets this a little bit, since Veilguard feels more musically interesting to me than many of the prior tracks because, I think, the soundtrack is allowed to feel a little less like vaguely European medieval heroic fantasy.

There's always been anachronism, but I think the strict reliance on adhering to a particular conception of what A Fantasy Story looks and sounds like really hampered, at least for me, the development of style identity. Veilguard's voice and style broke from that in a way that did feel successfully more specific and striking for the story and characters it's trying to dress. I think being released from this directive does—because there's no longer what we bring ourselves to the table from our familiarity with the genre and pattern recognition—however, magnify flaws in how Bioware always has treated the setting as just the backdrop against which these dramas play out. But that's outside the scope of my thoughts here. I'll just summarize that with: that's a consistent Bioware problem, and I don't think it's inherently wrong to approach worldbuilding as merely dressing the set for your story, though perhaps that isn't always the most successful approach here and I know many fans are very invested in the setting itself and its development, so that would put us all at cross purposes.

Don't get me wrong. There IS a place for that sort of directive, a rule against things that scan too modern. But then, I think for it to work, you have to have a very firm idea of your own voice, of your individual style and direction working with that directive, and frankly, I don't think Bioware EVER really had a super strong grasp of it here.

I do think the character design especially, character voice, and visual identity suffered SO much in many earlier instances because of this directive. Meanwhile, I think it's interesting and striking to have things like, for example, Neve clearly drawing from film noir and how that informs how I approach and think about her as a character and how appropriate it feels that Lucanis and Illario end on the stage of an opera house. I feel like being released from having to worry about anachronism has, for me, produced some of the strongest instances of style and voice in the series in a long time.

And I know a lot of people feel the OPPOSITE, which is a matter of personal experience and taste, but for my own, it always felt like the series was weighed down by a notion of needing to properly emulate The Genre. (We've all looked at the infamous browns and muds of Origins, a game I am fond of. This is why it looks and sounds like that, in my opinion.) This fear of being too anachronistic or too modern often left the series not really feeling, to me, like it's really had a firm sense or idea of what its style or voice was, of what made it sound or look like itself, because it was always afraid of being too modern while also feeling afraid to not look enough like a heroic epic fantasy.

I think getting rid of that and no longer fearing it has done a lot for developing a stronger voice with a look, sound, and feel for Veilguard that feels more specific and conveys story and character so much better and more confidently. Because, in the end, that's supposed to be what this is all in service of: conveying character and story. I feel like Veilguard, in being released from this restriction, has developed a stronger voice with which to do it.

[winchesterwild78]

Broken pt 1

Master List

Characters: Jensen x Reader (wife)

Warnings: Angst, Infertility issues, Language

A/N:  Idea given to me by @cheekygirl2309. This one is a little different than what I usually write. It has angst, lots of angst to start, and infertility issues. It's going to be a short series.

Minors DNI 18+

I stood at the sink in our shared bathroom waiting and staring at the test on the counter. Another month has come and gone, another month of trying to conceive. The timer went off and with shaky hands I looked at the test, negative. My heart broke. 

Jensen and I had been trying for months to get pregnant and nothing we did was working. Frustration was beginning to take over and overshadow the possibility of being a parent. 

Jensen sat on our bed, phone in hand and leg bouncing. I walked out of the bathroom and he looked up at me, “Well?” I shook my head no. He let out a frustrated sigh and ran his hands through his hair and down his face. 

“Jens, I’m.” He lifted his hand and cut me off. I felt a pang of sadness fill my chest and a lump form in my throat. 

“Just don’t, please. Don’t say how sorry you are. It’s not your fucking fault. Maybe we should just stop trying.” Tears pricked my eyes at the harshness of his words.

“You don’t mean that, Jensen. Please, we can keep trying, we can go to the doctor and see what’s going on. Please, don’t give up on this.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m leaving for Toronto in a few days.” I spun my head and looked at him, “What?! I thought you were home for a while.” 

“Well I guess not. We were called back for reshoots.” 

“Damnit, Jensen! This is why I can’t get pregnant. You’re never fucking home. Between filming and your convention schedule you’re not home long enough.” 

“Y/N, don’t start! I have obligations to the people I work for and with, and to my fans. You knew what you signed up for when we got married.” 

“I didn’t sign up to be alone all the time, and obligations!? What about your obligations to me, to us, our marriage? Does that mean so little to you?” 

“Fuck! I’m not going to spend the next few days arguing with you.” Jensen growled and grabbed his suitcase. 

I stood in disbelief. The tears that pricked my eyes were now falling, and my chest felt like it had a massive hole in it. 

I stood watching him pack and load up his suitcase without saying a word. As he passed by me he looked at me briefly but then looked away. No words were spoken. 

Jensen carried his suitcase downstairs while he was on the phone. He was booking a plane to leave tonight. An audible sob left my lips. 

“Jensen, are you really leaving tonight?” Without looking up he said, “Yes.” 

“Jens, please don’t do this. Please stay here. We need to figure this out.” 

Jensen’s phone went off. He looked at it and stood up, grabbing his suitcase, “I have to go. Goodbye, Y/N.” I swallowed hard. I usually drive him to the airport.

Before I could respond he was out the door, no hug, no kiss goodbye. I let out a loud sob and collapsed to the floor. He left. 

My world spiraled around me. The harsh words we spoke to each other replayed in my head. Did he really just walk out, did I lose him?

Jensen’s POV

I climbed in the Uber and headed towards the airport. My harsh words replayed in my head. The hurt on her face with another negative test and again when I left. The Uber driver was nice, making small talk, and I tried to be polite. 

My world was crumbling and I plastered a smile on my face and ran away from the problem. I’m a fucking coward. We wanted a baby, and I can’t even give her that. 

She’s right, I leave her alone too much. How can I expect to get her pregnant when I’m only home for a week at most. 

Reader’s POV

I cried, harder than I had in awhile. It felt almost therapeutic. I stood up, locked the door and crawled into bed. I grabbed Jensen’s pillow. The faint smell of his shampoo and cologne lingered on the pillow. 

I missed him so much it hurt. Was this argument the one that broke us? Will we be able to fix this and move forward?

I looked at my phone, hoping for a text, but I had nothing. He left. Left without hugging me or kissing me. He left early so he didn’t have to deal with this argument. He was done. Done with me, with trying for a baby, done with our marriage. 

I decided to send him a text. I had to lay it out there for him so he knew exactly where I stood. 

Me: I don’t know if you’ll read this, or if you even care, but I had to send this so you knew what I was feeling and where I stand. Jensen, I love you. I’ve always loved you and I always will. If you don’t want me, us anymore I get it. I just want to know. You left me tonight. No kiss, no hug. Just a cold shoulder and not so much as a goodbye. I deserve better than that. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten pregnant yet. I don’t know why I’m not, but I was willing to keep trying. I know every time the test comes back negative it hurts, but this hurts worse. 

Jensen, we made a commitment to each other and I still believe in it. I’m okay with putting trying to have a baby on hold, but I’m not okay with putting us on hold. I hope you have a safe flight, and I truly hope you still believe in us enough to fight for us. I know I do. Please call me or message me back. I love you, Jens, today, tomorrow, forever. 

I sat my phone down and curled in a ball. Sleep slowly washing over me. 

Jensen’s POV

I sat in the back of the SUV taking me to the apartment I had rented for filming. Shit, I forgot to turn my phone back on. 

As soon as I turned it on a message came through from Y/N. Arriving at the apartment I grabbed my bags and walked into my place. 

Pulling out my phone I read the texts. Tears pricked my eyes. I let out a frustrated sigh, and ran my hands down my face. 

I fucked up big time. This was one of the first tests in our marriage and I ran like a coward. No wonder she thinks I want out of our marriage. 

I looked at the time and realized it was really late. She was probably asleep but I didn’t want to just text her. I took a deep breath and called her.

“Hello” she answered groggily. 

“Hey, sweetheart. I got your text.” 

“Jens, oh. I’m so glad you’re okay. Baby I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t easy on you. You were right, I did, do know what I signed up for with your schedule and your job. I let my frustration get the better of me.”

“No, I’m sorry, Y/N. I left you alone in this, and ran like a coward. You have every right to feel the way you do. Hell, I feel lonely too, and I’m surrounded by people. I can’t imagine how you feel. Baby I don’t want to stop trying for a baby. I love you so much and I still want us and a baby. I am so sorry I spoke to you the way I did and left you instead of working through this. Say the word and I’ll fly back home tonight. I don’t care about the shoot, you’re more important to me. Our marriage is more important than the shoot.” 

“Jensen, I don’t want you to fly home. You have to stay and go to work. How about I fly to you in the next day or two? I’ll take some time off work and come to Toronto.”

“That would be amazing, sweetheart. I can book the ticket and let you know. Oh sweetheart, I am so sorry. I wish I could hold you right now.”

“Jens, I do too. I’m sorry too. Promise me we won’t do this again. If we get into an argument or have any disagreement we will talk it out. Stay and talk it out.” 

“I swear, Y/N. I’ll never run off again. I love you too much to throw this away.” 

“Good, because you’re stuck with me Ackles.” He chuckled, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I yawned and so did he. “Jens, I hate to cut this short, but I’m really tired. Thank you for calling me baby. That means so much to me. I love you, baby.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll let you get some sleep. I love you, darlin’. Good night, Y/N.” “I love you too, Jens, good night.” 

We hung up and I placed my phone on the bedside table. I smiled, pulled Jensen’s pillow to me and fell asleep. Feeling a bit better. 

I fell asleep, my heart lighter than it was before, knowing we were both willing to fight to save our marriage. 

My last thought before I fell asleep was, Now that Jensen and I have made the commitment to always keep communication open, what else could go wrong?

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.  

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@spnaquakindgdom

[tadcthelostcityofatlantisblog]

🌊WELCOME TO THE DEPTHS OF THE LOST CITY OF ATLANTIS!...🌊

...Don't you drown just yet.

WHAT IS THIS AU ALL ABOUT?

So, it's a TADC AU where C&A is a research team that aims to find the lost world of Atlantis, with some VERY sketchy stuff happening along the way. Pomni, who just got recruited into the team, goes off alongside Ragatha, Jax, Gangle, Zooble, and Kinger to adventure in the depths of the seas! Only to eventually end up STUCK in Atlantis after a total collision force with its underwater caverns, with no way to get back up without running out of oxygen. Caine (Atlantis' guardian) was originally SUPPOSED to have a good eye on the city he was meant to protect... only to have no other option but to send off the crew into small expeditions in hopes of getting them out one day

Each of the expeditions Caine puts them is an ocean-version of the already existing canon adventures, for example;

The Candy Kingdom from episode 2 is a coral reef, the haunted mansion from episode 3 is a sunken ship, and Spudsy's from episode 4 is a seafood restaurant instead of a fast-food one!

By the way, forgot to mention! The only canon ship on this AU is Kinger x Queenie, and yet it DOESN'T MEAN that whatever ships that I or even YOU do are not welcome. I'm a multishipper so- GO COMPLETELY WILD WITH IT, I WANNA SEE SHIP ART FROM LEFT AND RIGHT! As long as it's nothing between Pomni and Kinger... yuck.

Also no NSFW, please. Thank you.

CHARACTERS!

Belle's NOTE

🩷⭐Credits to @paper-fowl for both the abstraction designs and the profile's background @spyderlondon for the profile's writing, and both for lending such big hands in helping me make this AU possible! SERIOUSLY! I had so much fun making all of this, even when I originally had such low hopes of completing as much as I did with your guy's help. Truthfully, thank you two and the Showtime server for listening to my ideas! You guys are amazing! 🩷⭐

[crunchystarz]

haiii I love your writing and esp your self aware au!

Do you think you can do one for your au with Riddle and mc where mc basically fusses over him (trying to do all the chores before and after work so he doesn’t have to even though he has nothing better to do, double checking for his needs/wants a lot) all the time like they’re trying desperately to keep a house plant alive even though he’s more than fine?? (If that makes ANY sense 😭)

thanks a bunch, take your time!🖤

Xo, Manny

"Take a break"

Self-aware!Riddle Rosehearts x GN!Reader

Cw- Reader honestly just overworking the self, fluff, oneshot

Word count: 1446

A/N: HII imma be so honest I hope I did this req right if not I beg your biggest pardon 🙂‍↔️(fancy voice), also while this is technically a yandere au this one is just Riddle getting reader prioritize their needs so, either way enjoy!

Riddle Rosehearts was always your favorite twisted wonderland character. Even so you never expected or could have prepared for him to not only gain Self-awareness but also become a real person.

Since he's started living with you, you felt the need to monitor him almost like a toddler. You're always cooking and cleaning for him , despite his constant protests. Yeah he can do everything himself he's fully capable but a part of you is so afraid that he'll break or something if you don't.

You would wake up early in the morning just to make sure everything was tidy and Riddle would have breakfast when he eventually woke from his slumber. You would always clean up after him even if he told you he was going to once he was finished.

You made sure he'd get sleep or drink enough water. Which would be fine if you yourself did the same. You're always so worried about if he's getting enough of something or if there was anything he wanted, yet when it came to you, you'd completely brush them off.

You stumbled through the door late at night. Riddle watched observantly from the couch, closing the book he was reading. His gray eyes followed you as you went to set the bags you held in your hands on the island surface.

“You're home rather late [Name] “ He spoke as he stood up, slowly making his way over to you. You just yawned and stretched out your stiff body. You could just feel his gaze on you.

“Yeah sorry they had me working late— yawn , you need anything? I could make you some dinner if you hadn't already or I could run you a bath” you responded trying to stay upbeat despite your clearly tired appearance.

Riddle shook his head. “No not at all you should sleep “ he spoke sternly, crossing his arms. You let out a tired giggle.

“Yeah yeah I will, after I finish cleaning up the kitchen — speaking of did you eat and drink today?”

The red head let out a sigh. You'd constantly worry about him, he was completely capable of taking care of himself, he wasn't a small child anymore and despite not being completely familiar with this world he wasn't stupid either.

“Yes, I did but from the looks of this you clearly haven't, ” You snickered a bit before shaking your head.

“Oh you worry too much, I've just had a busy night I'm fine” You replied, walking over to the other side of the island just to be stopped. You lazily tilted your head as Riddle held your wrist firmly.

“I already cleaned the kitchen while you were away” The house warden said, before gently guiding you away with a hand on your back.

“Great, I'll make us something to eat” you said, letting out a yawn. Riddle sighed before leaning you over to the couch.

“You shall do no such thing, now sit” He commanded, his voice stern. You blinked , but continued to sit anyway, not wanting to see what would happen if you didn't. The idea of him using his signature crosses your sleep deprived mind and it makes you shiver despite him ever using it on you since he got here.

“Riddle I'm fine I promise I just need to—”

“To what Collapse of exhaustion?” Riddle cut you off, his voice was pointed and full of authority. Much more serious than before “You're overworking yourself again, I'm more than capable of taking care of everything so just relax” he continued, expression softening at your tired state.

You groaned and laid back against the couch cushions. You felt a little guilty. He was the one teleported into a different world. You should be the one taking care of him and all his needs, not the other way around.

Riddle moved around the kitchen with ease. You watched as the red head got on his tippy toes to grab one of your mugs from the cabinets. You wanted to tell him you could do it for him but you just knew he'd protest. You slumped into the couch more.

He was quick to take the kettle off the stove once it started to hiss softly. He carefully poured the hot water into the cup. Riddle was observant and made sure to add just the right amount of sweetness. It had to be perfect. Once satisfied he set the tea down to go find the cookies he had made earlier.

He had a lot of time to spend when you were gone after all. He made his way way over to you, gray eyes watched as you perked up at the sight of the sweets.

“You didn't have to rea—”

“Don't start “ The house warden cut you off. He handed you the cup, carefully so you wouldn't burn your hands. He placed the cookies on the coffee table before sighing.

“You seriously work yourself to exhaustion and still proceeded to worry about me, it's foolish if you ask me” Riddle said, placing his hands on his hips. You looked down at the warm liquid in your mug thinking for the right words.

“It's just, I'm supposed to take care of you , I owe you that at least you know… “ you mumbled before taking a sip of the tea.

“You owe me nothing, I am not a child who needs to be protected, I am not fragile and neither are you however “ He pauses for a moment looking down at you. “You can become fragile if you do not upkeep yourself “

You opened your mouth to respond;to protest, but Riddle held up a hand to stop you.

“I am not ungrateful,” he spoke out, his voice softening yet still stern.“I appreciate everything you’ve done since I arrived here.You’ve given me a home, patience, and care that I could never have expected. But…” He hesitated, his gray eyes searching your face for a moment before he continued. “...You can’t give all of that to me at the expense of yourself.”

You blinked at him, a little stunned by the depth of his words. “Listen I’m not—”

“You are,” Riddle interrupted firmly, leaning slightly closer. “You work late, come home, and immediately worry about whether I’ve eaten or rested, yet you neglect your own needs. Do you think I don’t notice? I’ve seen you skipping meals, staying up far too late cleaning, and leaving your own tasks undone to take care of mine.”

You frowned, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. If you could you'd sink into the couch cushions even more. “I know that, Riddle. I just… It feels like if I don’t do these things, I’m failing you somehow.”

His eyes widened for a second before shaking his head. “No, no how could you be failing me? If anything you're failing yourself”

You hesitated, your tongue poking at your cheek as you toyed with the mug in your hands. "I'm not failing myself," you tried weakly, though the exhaustion in your voice betrayed you. Riddle let out a long sigh, running a hand through his vibrant red hair.

“You are," he countered, his voice lowering. "And if you won't take the necessary steps to care for yourself, then I will ensure it happens."

Your breath caught in your throat "You don't have to do that, Riddle," you said, "You're supposed to be my guest, not my caretaker."

Riddle's lips twitched, his frown somehow deepened more for a split second. A look of…disappointment? "A guest? Is that how you still see me?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. "I mean… I guess. I don’t know how else to describe this situation. All I know is I don't want you to go back to being under that pressure like you did back at home”

His mind went blank for a second. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “[Name]” he started softly. You watched him as he looked away with red cheeks. After a moment he continued.

“Like I've stated before you've helped me in ways I couldn't imagine you don't need to push yourself just for my sake I can help I am a house warden after all, I care for you…a lot so do not tangle yourself in with my needs if you are not to take care of your own…please”

You wanted to protest but the words laid flat on your tongue. You could just nod in defeat as you rested your mug on the coffee table. Riddle smiled slightly before clearing his throat and putting back a stern face—blush still clear on his face.

“Good now I shall go run you a bath, then you shall get some much needed rest” The house warden said taking your now empty cup and plate into the kitchen.

When was the last time you felt cared for like this? All you knew was that it made your heart swell. Riddle Rosehearts was always your favorite..

MASTERLIST

[rowanisawriter]

2024 —my year in writing

last year, i wrote more than i ever have like literally in my whole life. this year i beat my record by about 200k words. i am writing A LOT and it’s all because of you.

yes, you, reading this now. anyone who kudos’d or commented or liked or reblogged anything i wrote, and followed me here and on ao3, and ranted in my dms and added me to servers. you, reading the weird things i write, the things i can only write and only i can write, seeing it and liking it and coming back again and again for more. thank you :)

so here’s my 2024 summary:

words written: 358,963

fics published: 74

my favorite fics:

real world (stardew valley) - a story about parenthood and roads not taken. genuinely the most important story to me, a diary entry as much as fanfic

pilgrimage (bg3) - a story about two people without a past as they work toward an even more uncertain future. i also have no past because of a strange upbringing so this story is kinda personal to me even though it’s about a cleric and a vampire

novel (hades) - a story about looking for adventure and finding love and family instead. i had so much fun writing this and posted weekly without pre-writing which was a challenge but it all worked out

patchwork self (datv) - a story about finding pieces of your brother in yourself. i wrote a lot of structured fic this year and i think this one flowed the easiest and was the most precise in how it delivered the message i was trying to get across, also it’s gen which i never write

my most written pairing: thanzag with 11 stories! not surprising since ive spent most of the year humiliating myself over thanatos

my most used tags: romance, introspection, character study

what i learned: i learned above all to trust myself! this year i wrote and completed three multi chapter fics that i didn’t prewrite and posted week by week until it was done. i’ve never been able to do that before but this year i just did it and didn’t overthink it, and i trusted that i could finish the stories and i did lol i can do anything i think i just have to trust myself a little

what i want to write next year: i would like very much to write something original, i have a loose idea so i just need to sit down and write so my goal is really small and simple, hopefully i don’t let myself down

[movingmusically]

Author’s Note:

This is probably as close as I’ll ever get to writing Feyd, I thought I’d use this request as my opening. Pairing is Austin x actress!girlfriend.

Word Count: 9,032

Masterlist

Feyd’s Darling

You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, taking a steadying breath as you step into the sleek black SUV waiting to take you to the studio. The small cameo you’ve agreed to shoot today isn’t like the roles you’re used to. You’ve built your career playing complicated, deeply layered characters that demand weeks of preparation. But this? This was something entirely different.

You weren’t here for the role itself. Playing one of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s Harpies—a voiceless, eerie presence in a pivotal scene—wasn’t what had drawn you to the set of Dune: Part 2. No, you’d agreed to this for one reason.

Austin.

It had been months since you’d last seen him. Between his rigorous training and rehearsals for Dune and your own shooting schedule overseas, time together had become scarce. You’d been surviving on stolen moments over FaceTime—late-night conversations where he’d look impossibly tired but still manage to make you laugh, and texts exchanged in the middle of the night when one of you was just waking up, and the other was finally going to sleep.

But today, for the first time in what felt like forever, you’d get to see him. In person.

The thought makes you smile as the car weaves through traffic. Austin had been dropping hints about how much work he’d put into the role—his training regimen, the diet, the months of preparation to embody Feyd. He’d downplayed it, of course, but you could hear the pride in his voice.

You’d also seen glimpses of the transformation in those FaceTime calls—the way his posture had straightened, the sharper angles of his jaw, the quiet intensity that crept into his eyes when he talked about the character. He’d joked about being “a total monk” while preparing for the role, but you knew how much it meant to him. And now, you were about to see the results of that hard work up close.

You glance down at your phone, re-reading his last message for what feels like the hundredth time:

Can’t wait to see you, Harpy. Don’t let me distract you too much. ;)

The nickname makes you laugh softly. It had started as a joke after Denis Villeneuve—Denis Villeneuve!—had suggested you for the cameo. You’d almost turned it down because of scheduling conflicts, but the idea of working with Austin on something this big, even for just one scene, had been impossible to resist.

You catch your reflection in the car window and smooth your hair. It’s not every day you step onto a set like this—not as yourself, at least. This wasn’t your project. This was his. You weren’t here to command the spotlight. You were here to be a part of something bigger. And for once, you didn’t mind.

As the SUV pulls up to the studio gates, your heart flutters. The driver rolls through security, and you sit up a little straighter, anticipation thrumming through you. It’s ridiculous, you think. You’ve been with Austin for years. You’ve shared countless moments more intimate than this. And yet, the thought of seeing him here, in his element, makes your pulse race.

The car slows to a stop, and you push your sunglasses up into your hair before stepping out. The familiar scent of a busy set—dry, metallic air tinged with the faint smell of latex—hits you immediately. Around you, assistants dart back and forth with costumes and props, crew members shout directions over the hum of machinery, and towering set pieces loom in the distance like alien monoliths.

Your eyes scan the chaos, searching for him. And then, you see him.

Austin.

He’s walking across the lot in a dark hoodie and sweatpants, the hood down, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he talks with an assistant. Even from a distance, you can feel the quiet confidence in his stride, the subtle shift in him that had started months ago when he first began preparing for this role.

As if sensing your gaze, he glances up—and freezes.

The grin that spreads across his face is immediate and infectious. He starts toward you, his pace quickening until he’s practically jogging, weaving around crew members and equipment.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm and familiar, tinged with the kind of relief that only months of separation can bring.

“Hey yourself,” you reply, grinning as he reaches you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

The first thing you notice is the heat of him, the way his body feels solid, firm against yours. It’s not just the closeness you’d missed—it’s the way he’s changed. His chest is broader, his arms stronger, and you can feel the sheer strength of him as he holds you like he doesn’t want to let go.

Before you can say anything else, he dips his head, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft and sweet but lingers just enough to make your heart race.

“You made it,” he murmurs, his forehead resting lightly against yours as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Of course I did,” you reply, your hands resting on his chest as you take him in. Up close, the subtle changes in him are even more obvious—the sharper lines of his jaw, the faint shadows under his eyes that speak to how hard he’s been working. “You look…”

“Different?” he finishes with a crooked grin.

You laugh. “Yeah. Different.” Your hands slide down to his arms, squeezing gently. “Have you been hiding these from me, or did this just happen overnight?”

His laugh is low and bashful, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s been a lot of work, but… it’s been worth it. Honestly, I’ve enjoyed it more than I thought I would.”

You smile, your hands still resting on his arms. “That’s because you don’t know how to do anything halfway. You’ve been obsessed with this since day one.”

One of the assistants calls his name, gesturing toward the makeup trailer. Austin glances over, then back at you, his hand lingering on your waist.

“I gotta go,” he says, his voice tinged with regret. “But we’ll talk later, yeah? Between takes.”

You nod, smiling. “Go. I’ll see you on set, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.”

He groans, backing away with a grin. “Stop with the titles. I don’t need an even bigger ego.”

As he disappears into the trailer, you let out a slow breath, your heart still fluttering. It’s only the beginning of the day, but already, you can feel it—it’s going to be one you’ll never forget.

After Austin heads off, you’re guided toward the makeup trailer by a friendly assistant. It’s bustling with activity, prosthetic pieces laid out like delicate artefacts on metal trays, airbrush machines hissing softly in the background. You take it all in with quiet fascination. As seasoned as you are in the industry, it never stops being surreal to see these massive productions come to life.

A makeup artist greets you with a warm smile. “Right on time. We’ve got everything set up for you.” You nod, slipping into the chair they gesture toward.

The makeup process takes far longer than you anticipated. You sit patiently as the team works around you, transforming every inch of your face and head into something alien and terrifying.

It starts with the bald cap—a delicate, almost surgical process that requires precise glue application and hours of smoothing to make it seamless. One artist carefully stretches the material over your hairline while another paints and blends until it looks like your skin. The sensation is strange and a little claustrophobic, but you’ve been through similar transformations before. You know the end result will be worth it.

“How’s it looking?” you ask, glancing in the mirror halfway through.

“Still human,” the lead artist jokes, not even pausing as they work. “But don’t worry, we’ll fix that soon.”

After the bald cap is finished, they move on to your skin. Airbrushes hum softly as they pale your complexion, giving it an unnatural, ghostly tone. Every inch of you, from your jawline to the exposed parts of your arms and shoulders, is meticulously blended to match.

Then come the details—the black, predatory contacts that make your irises look soulless, and the finishing touch: the black dental inserts.

The assistant holding them out gives you an apologetic smile. “These are going to feel weird, but you’ll get used to them.”

You slide the inserts into your mouth, testing the fit. The sharp metallic taste is immediate, and you can’t help but grimace when you flash a grin at the mirror. Your teeth are pitch black, turning your smile into something sinister.

“Yikes,” you mutter, leaning closer to inspect. “I look like I crawled out of someone’s nightmare.”

“Perfect,” the makeup artist says with a grin. “That’s exactly what we’re going for.”

The final piece is the costume, which you’re guided into with the help of the wardrobe team. The sleek black leather clings to your body like a second skin, the high collar and sharp lines giving you a distinctly otherworldly edge. It’s tight—so tight that even breathing feels measured—but the effect is undeniable.

When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the full-length mirror, it almost doesn’t feel real. You tilt your head, trying to reconcile the figure staring back at you with the person who stepped into the trailer hours ago.

“You ready?” one of the wardrobe assistants asks, adjusting a strap on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say softly, taking one last look before turning to the door. “Let’s do this.”

The set is already alive with activity when you step out. The metallic hum of machinery mixes with the low murmur of voices, and the air is heavy with the scent of paint and latex. Crew members move purposefully around towering Harkonnen set pieces, their dark, industrial design making the atmosphere feel even more claustrophobic.

You clutch the edges of your robe closer to your body, the leather of your Harpy costume beneath sticking uncomfortably to your skin. The tightness of the ensemble, the black teeth, the bald cap—it’s all doing its job a little too well. You already feel like a stranger in your own skin, which you suppose is the point.

“Looking good, Harpy,” one of the crew members quips as they pass by, giving you an approving nod.

You smile politely, but your attention is drawn to the massive table at the centre of the room. This will be the focal point of the scene—a dark, sinister slab surrounded by smaller props that look like they belong in an alien torture chamber. A few assistants bustle around it, carefully setting up what appears to be ceremonial knives and goblets.

Before you can take another step, you hear the sound of a door opening behind you. The quiet hum of the set is broken as someone steps inside, and you know, even before you turn around, that it’s him.

“Austin’s here!” one of the assistants announces, and the energy in the room shifts slightly as everyone turns to greet him.

You turn, and there he is.

He’s wearing a simple black robe that hangs open just enough to hint at the body beneath. The bald cap, perfectly blended, makes his already sharp features look even more defined, and his posture—straight, confident, almost regal—is unmistakably Feyd.

But it’s his eyes that catch you. Even as he exchanges pleasantries with the crew, his gaze finds yours, and for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the room.

He crosses the set toward you, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, well,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “If it isn’t my favourite pet.”

You smirk, crossing your arms over your chest. “Nice robe. You make that look work for you?”

He chuckles, glancing down at himself. “You tell me.” His grin widens, his eyes sweeping over you in your full Harpy transformation. “You look… amazing. Creepy, but amazing.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, tilting your head toward him. “I think you’ve got me beat in the creepy department.”

“Good,” he says, his tone playful but carrying just a hint of Feyd’s menace. “I wouldn’t want anyone stealing my spotlight.”

“Trust me,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “No one’s stealing anything from you.”

Before either of you can say more, a familiar voice calls out across the room.

“Ah, there’s my pair of troublemakers!”

You both turn to see Denis Villeneuve striding toward you, his expression warm but sharp, as if he’s already calculating how to squeeze the perfect shot from the scene.

“Troublemakers?” Austin echoes, smirking. “I’m on my best behaviour, Denis. You know that.”

Denis laughs, shaking his head. “Your best behaviour is still dangerous, my friend.” He turns to you, his eyes flicking over your costume with an approving nod. “And you—fantastic. Exactly what we needed.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling. “This whole setup is incredible. The design, the atmosphere… it’s amazing to see it all come together.”

Denis waves a hand as if to brush off the compliment, but the pride in his expression is unmistakable. “It’s a team effort,” he says before glancing between you and Austin. “And now it’s your turn to make it sing. Are you two ready?”

Austin glances at you, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Oh, we’re ready,” he says, his tone low and confident.

Denis nods, clapping his hands once to signal to the crew. “Good. Let’s get everyone into position.”

You’re positioned on the dark, slightly raised mattress in the centre of the set, flanked by the other Harpies. The leather of your costume creaks faintly as you shift into place, finding a pose that feels both regal and predatory. A prop goblet filled with thick, inky liquid rests lightly in your hand, and your black teeth glint as you test the angle of your jaw under the harsh studio lights.

Denis steps forward, adjusting the camera’s angle slightly. “Alright,” he says, his tone calm but authoritative, “we’ll start from the top. Harpies, I need you to feel utterly intoxicated. You’re watching him not as a man, but as a god. And Feyd…” He glances at Austin, who is standing at the centre of the room in his robe, his expression unreadable. “You own this space. No hesitation, no weakness.”

Austin nods, his face hardening as he prepares to shed himself and fully step into Feyd. A makeup assistant approaches, slipping off his robe, and suddenly, the set seems to fall into a collective hush.

He stands there, bare-chested, as the attendants begin applying the jet-black mud to his torso with precise, almost reverent strokes. The paint clings to the hard lines of his muscles, accentuating the strength and sinew he’s worked so hard to build.

Your breath catches slightly, but not just because of how striking he looks—though it’s impossible to ignore. It’s the way he holds himself, every inch of him embodying Feyd as though the character has seeped into his bones. You’ve always known how hard he works, how deeply he commits to every role, but seeing it up close like this… it’s something else entirely.

Every glance, every subtle movement of his body is deliberate, calculated. Even in stillness, he exudes an intensity that fills the room. You can’t help but admire how completely he’s transformed—not just physically, but mentally.

This isn’t Austin anymore. This is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, a creature of cruelty and cunning. Watching him, you realise there’s no trace of the man you know and love in the sharp smirk curling his lips, in the deadly precision with which he handles the blade. It’s almost unsettling, but it only deepens your awe.

“Focus,” you remind yourself, forcing your expression to remain neutral as you slip back into character.

“Action!” Denis calls, his voice ringing out across the set.

Austin moves into place, his bare feet stepping purposefully on the metallic floor. The attendants surround him, their movements graceful but subservient as they smear more mud onto his skin. His gaze is sharp, scanning the room with an almost predatory detachment, before landing on the three of you—his Harpies.

His lips curl into a smirk that’s equal parts seductive and cruel.

“Would you like some fresh meat, my darlings?” he purrs, his voice low and velvety, with just enough menace to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “Lungs? A liver? What would you like? I hear they are big today.”

You and the other Harpies exchange subtle glances, your eyes gleaming with an almost feral hunger as you raise your goblets to your lips. The movement is slow, deliberate, meant to convey intoxication rather than haste. You let the thick liquid slide down your throat, suppressing the urge to gag at the bitter taste of the fake drink.

The tension in the room builds as the Weapons Master enters, grovelling before Feyd as he presents the blades. Austin steps forward, taking the white dagger in his hand and running the blade along his tongue in a move so smooth, so unnervingly casual, that even you feel a chill crawl up your spine.

You know this moment is calculated—designed to unsettle—but it’s so flawlessly executed that you forget for a second you’re on a set. You’re not just watching Austin act; you’re witnessing the culmination of months of effort. The discipline, the preparation, the way he’s pushed himself to inhabit this character—it all hits you at once, and you feel a swell of pride so intense it almost distracts you.

But it’s more than pride. It’s a magnetic pull, an overwhelming need to keep watching him. His body, honed to perfection, moves with a deadly grace that makes it impossible to look away. Every muscle, every sharp edge of his frame, tells a story of sacrifice and dedication.

The scene continues, building to the moment when Feyd turns his attention to the attendants. With brutal efficiency, he slices into the first, testing the blade with disturbing ease. As the actress crumples to the ground, clutching her neck, your job is to remain impassive, watching with a detached sort of curiosity.

When he stabs the second attendant in the ribs, over and over, you feel the weight of the scene—the cruelty, the coldness—but it’s tempered by your knowledge of the man behind it. He’s brilliant, you think, your chest tightening. Brilliant, disciplined, and utterly unstoppable.

“Cut!” Denis calls suddenly, and the spell breaks.

The room shifts as people spring into action, assistants rushing forward to reset the props and help the actors reset their positions. Austin steps back, his features softening as he glances at Denis for feedback.

“That was good,” Denis says, stepping forward. “But I want more menace from Feyd. The cruelty is there, but the charm—it’s a little too subtle. Remember, these people worship you. They want to fear you. And Harpies…” He turns to the three of you with a thoughtful smile. “I love the stillness, but I think we can push the intoxication further. Let’s see a little more… hunger.”

You nod, adjusting your position slightly as you exchange a glance with the other actresses.

By the time the cameras roll again, the atmosphere on set feels electric. Austin’s movements are sharper now, his command of the space absolute. Every glance, every shift of his body exudes dominance and danger, and as he delivers his line—

“Would you like some fresh meat, my darlings?”

—you feel a shiver run down your spine, not from fear, but from awe at how fully he’s become Feyd.

The scene flows seamlessly this time. Feyd’s smirk is perfectly calculated, the brutality of his actions balanced by the charisma in his tone. When he stabs the second attendant, the room feels charged, the energy thick and tangible.

As the third attendant trembles, Feyd tilts his head, his expression almost curious as he murmurs, “A notch off balance.”

The Weapons Master visibly quakes, and as Feyd delivers the final, cutting line—“It’s the tip. Should be sharper. See?”—you feel the perfect synchronisation of every element in the room, from the lighting to the acting to the unspoken tension that hangs in the air.

“Cut!” Denis calls, and this time, the applause is immediate.

As the crew begins to clear the set, you stay frozen in place for a moment, your goblet still clutched loosely in your hand. Your heart is pounding, your breaths shallow, and not because of the scene itself. It’s because of him.

Austin moves off to the side, brushing some of the remaining mud from his chest, and you can’t take your eyes off him. The sharp lines of his muscles, the powerful way he moves, the way his body looks like it’s been sculpted out of marble—it all leaves you breathless. But it’s more than that.

It’s the way he’s able to command a room, to hold everyone’s attention with nothing more than a glance or a shift of his tone. It’s the discipline you know he’s poured into this role, the months of preparation that have transformed him into something unrecognisable, yet still him.

You swallow hard, a heat spreading through your chest as you watch him joke quietly with one of the assistants, his easy smile making him seem so at ease despite the weight of the scene he’s just performed.

You feel something deeper than admiration bloom in your chest—something heavier, something that sends your pulse racing as your eyes linger on the curve of his shoulders, the taut muscles of his back.

He glances at you suddenly, catching you staring, and his lips quirk into a subtle, knowing smirk. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes—the flicker of heat, the way they sweep over you briefly—says enough.

The tension coils tighter, a silent promise that you’ll deal with this later, when there’s no one else around.

“Alright,” Denis says, cutting through your thoughts. “Let’s move on to the close-ups. Take five while we reset!”

Austin walks toward you, his smile softening as he steps closer. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you with those impossibly sharp eyes, his chest still streaked with remnants of black paint.

“You’re staring, Harpy,” he murmurs, his voice low enough to make your breath catch. His smirk deepens as he stands over you, his shadow falling across your body sprawled on the mattress. “Should I be flattered?”

You tilt your head, forcing yourself to stay in character just a little longer. “What can I say? You do make a rather commanding figure.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, somewhere between Feyd’s menace and Austin’s genuine amusement. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering on the gleaming leather of your costume, the sharp lines of your body pressed into the dark mattress. His eyes darken slightly, a flicker of heat passing through them, and the tension between you tightens like a wire.

“Funny,” he says, leaning down until his face is level with yours, his voice dropping into something velvety and teasing. “I was about to say the same thing about you. My perfect little pet.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you forget about the dozen or so crew members moving around the set, the cameras, the fact that you’re supposed to be preparing for the next take. It’s just him, towering over you, his voice dripping with that intoxicating mix of Feyd’s menace and Austin’s natural warmth.

“Careful,” you manage to reply, your voice softer than you intended. “You’re going to make me forget which one of us is supposed to be worshipping the other.”

He chuckles, and the sound sends a shiver through you. His fingers brush lightly against the edge of your goblet, his touch deliberate, teasing. “Oh, don’t worry. There’s plenty of time for that later.” His words are a promise, quiet enough that only you can hear them.

Your heart races, your pulse thrumming in your ears as he straightens up, his expression smoothing back into Feyd’s calculated coolness. He lingers for a moment longer, his gaze locking with yours, and then he steps away, moving toward the crew without another word.

You let out a slow, shaky breath, gripping the goblet in your hands as you try to steady yourself. It’s ridiculous, you think, how easily he can undo you with just a few words, a look, a slight shift in tone. But that’s Austin—and right now, it’s Feyd.

You glance toward him as he speaks with Denis, gesturing toward the set pieces with a calm authority that only enhances his commanding presence. He’s in his element, and watching him like this—completely focused, utterly confident—you feel that familiar rush of pride and admiration, mingled with something much deeper.

“Places for close-ups!” someone calls, and the noise of the set begins to rise again as everyone scrambles to reset. You shift on the mattress, falling back into your predatory pose, but your mind is still on him.

The tension between you now feels electric, and you know, without a doubt, that this isn’t over. It’s only a matter of time before you’re alone, and that thought is enough to send a thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

For now, you tell yourself, you’ll keep it together. You’re a professional, after all. But as the cameras start rolling again, and Austin steps back into place, you can’t help but let your gaze linger on him just a second too long.

“Cut! That’s a wrap for this scene,” Denis calls out, his voice cutting through the hum of the set. “Fantastic work, everyone.”

The relief on set is palpable as the crew begins dismantling the setup for the next scene. The assistants start clearing props while Denis reviews the playback with the camera operators. You stay seated on the mattress for a moment, stretching your legs out and rolling your neck, trying to shake off the stiffness that comes with hours of holding predatory poses.

Austin approaches, still partially smeared with remnants of the black mud. He wipes at his chest absently with a towel handed to him by an assistant, though it does little to remove the dark streaks. Despite the intensity of the scene, he’s grinning, that boyish charm slipping through the cracks of Feyd’s menace.

“Not bad for a bunch of creepy Harpies,” he says, glancing between you and the other actresses. His voice is light, but his gaze lingers on you, softening slightly.

“Not bad for a sadistic na-Baron either,” you reply, smirking up at him as you shift on the mattress. “I think Denis might actually keep you around.”

Austin huffs a laugh, reaching up to scratch at the edge of his bald cap. “High praise. Should I be flattered?”

Before you can reply, Denis himself appears, his expression a mix of satisfaction and his usual sharp focus. “Austin, you were brilliant,” he says, gesturing animatedly. “The menace, the presence—it’s exactly what we needed. You owned the scene.”

Austin grins, brushing a hand over the back of his neck. “Thanks, Denis. Means a lot.”

Denis turns to you, his gaze appraising but warm. “And you…” He points at you, nodding in approval. “Exactly what I wanted from the Harpies. Controlled, predatory, but magnetic. You brought a presence to the scene that elevated everything.”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling as you push yourself up from the mattress. “This whole setup made it easy to slip into character. I mean, how could I not be terrifying in this costume?”

Denis chuckles, glancing briefly at your leather ensemble. “True. But it’s more than the costume. You both brought something special to this. This scene—it’s going to stand out. I can feel it.”

You glance at Austin, catching the flicker of pride in his eyes as Denis continues. For a moment, it feels like the three of you are the only ones in the room, the noise of the crew fading into the background.

“Well,” Denis says, clapping Austin on the shoulder before turning to you with a nod, “you’ve earned your break. Go get out of those costumes, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

You’re back in the makeup trailer, sitting side by side with Austin as the team carefully removes the layers of prosthetics, paint, and black inserts. The atmosphere in the trailer is quieter now, a calm after the storm of filming.

You lean back in your chair, closing your eyes as the lead makeup artist gently peels the bald cap from your scalp. “I’ll never get used to how weird this feels,” you mutter, earning a chuckle from Austin beside you.

“Think of it as a free facial,” he jokes, his voice lighter now that the day’s intensity is behind him.

You turn your head slightly to glance at him, watching as one of the assistants wipes away the remnants of the black mud from his chest. Even out of character, there’s something commanding about the way he carries himself, something magnetic that keeps your eyes locked on him.

“You still have paint in the cracks of your abs,” you tease, pointing at the streaks the assistant is struggling to remove.

He looks down, grinning. “Occupational hazard. I’ll just tell people it’s part of my skincare routine.”

You laugh, shaking your head as the assistant works on removing the black contacts from your eyes. Once they’re gone, his familiar blue gaze locks onto yours, and the soft warmth there makes your heart skip.

“You looked amazing out there,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, meant just for you.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” you reply, smiling as your cheeks heat under his gaze.

He leans back in his chair, his grin lazy. “Not bad, huh? That’s all I get after transforming into a sadistic space lord?”

You shrug playfully, tilting your head. “Well, I guess I’ll give you some bonus points for the tongue-on-blade move. Very creepy.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with something more. “Creepy was the goal.”

The makeup artist interrupts with a laugh. “Alright, you two, stop flirting, or we’ll never get this done.”

You and Austin share a conspiratorial look, but you stay quiet, letting the team finish the process. It’s not until the last remnants of paint and prosthetics are gone that you finally feel like yourself again, though the tight leather of your costume reminds you the day isn’t over yet.

By the time you’re both out of makeup and back in your casual clothes, the set has mostly cleared out. The towering Harkonnen structures seem less menacing now under the dimmed studio lights, and the hum of activity has died down to a quiet murmur.

Austin waits for you by the door, his hoodie pulled back over his head, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder. “Ready to get out of here?” he asks, his voice low, his smile soft and inviting.

“Absolutely,” you reply, stepping up beside him. The weight of the day seems to lift as you fall into step together, the tension from earlier still humming faintly between you.

The night air is cool as you step outside, the city lights casting a soft glow over the lot. Austin’s hand brushes against yours, a subtle, fleeting touch that sends a thrill through you. He glances down at you, his smirk returning.

“Crazy day,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

“Crazy,” you agree, tilting your head to look up at him. “But worth it.”

He nods, his expression softening as his hand finally finds yours, his fingers curling around yours with an easy familiarity. “Thanks for being here,” he says quietly. “It meant a lot. Having you on set, seeing you there…”

You squeeze his hand, your voice warm. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Watching you work like that… it’s inspiring, Austin. You were incredible today.”

His smile is small but genuine, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as you walk side by side. “Hearing that from you… means everything,” he murmurs. “I mean, I know I put the work in, but seeing you out there, knowing you were watching… it made me want to give it everything.”

You glance up at him, the raw honesty in his voice making your chest tighten. You stop walking, tugging his hand slightly to make him pause. The lot is quiet now, only the faint hum of distant conversations and the occasional clatter of equipment breaking the silence.

“You always give it everything,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “That’s one of the things I love most about you. You don’t know how to do anything halfway.”

His lips curve into a small, almost shy smile, his free hand coming up to rest lightly on your waist. “I guess I just want to be someone you’re proud of.”

You take a step closer, letting your hand rest on his chest, where you can feel the steady beat of his heart. “You already are.”

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The tension from earlier lingers in the air, but now it feels softer, warmer—less like a coiled spring and more like a quiet promise. His eyes search yours, and you can see the weight of the day melting away, replaced by something tender and unspoken.

Austin holds your gaze for a long moment before he exhales softly, the tension easing into something quieter. He leans in to press a kiss to your forehead—simple, gentle, and lingering—before murmuring, “Let’s get out of here.”

You nod, your chest tight, and fall back into step beside him as the two of you walk toward the waiting car. The driver holds the door open, and Austin gestures for you to climb in first before sliding in after you. The interior of the car is warm and quiet, a sharp contrast to the cool night air, and as the door shuts, it feels like the rest of the world finally falls away.

The city blurs by outside the window, the lights streaking like lazy stars. For the first few minutes, neither of you says anything—there’s no need to fill the silence. Austin shifts beside you, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, thumb tracing soft circles through your jeans. It’s an absent, familiar touch, but it still sends warmth pooling in your chest, spreading outward.

“You okay?” he asks softly, breaking the silence. His voice is low, rougher around the edges after the long day.

“Yeah, just thinking,” you reply, turning your head to look at him. “About how much I missed this. Missed you.”

He lifts his hand from your thigh to lace his fingers with yours, bringing your joined hands up to his lips. “I missed you too,” he admits, squeezing your hand. “More than I even realised.”

The car slows as it approaches the building where Austin’s been staying during filming—an unassuming apartment building tucked away from the busier parts of the city. Austin thanks the driver quietly before stepping out, reaching back to offer you his hand.

“Come on,” he says, the faint smirk tugging at his lips softening the invitation.

You take his hand, following him out of the car and into the cool night air. The building is silent as you step inside, your footsteps echoing faintly off the marble floors. Austin leads you to the elevator, his hand never leaving yours, and the moment the doors slide shut, you both exhale at the same time, as though you’ve been holding your breath all day.

The quiet hum of the elevator fills the space as you step inside, the doors sliding shut with a soft hiss. Austin presses the button for his floor, leaning back against the wall, his hood pushed back, revealing his now-messy hair and the faint shadows still clinging to his jaw. One hand is in his pocket and the other still holding yours.

Neither of you speaks for a moment. The silence isn’t awkward—it’s heavy in a way that makes your pulse quicken, like you’re both aware of the tension but neither of you wants to break it just yet.

You lean back against the opposite wall, your fingers still tangled loosely with his. Austin’s eyes flick over you, lingering for a beat too long, and when your gaze meets his, you catch the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” you ask softly, your voice breaking the silence.

His head tilts slightly, his blue eyes sharp and steady on you. “Nothing,” he murmurs, though there’s something knowing in his tone. “Just looking.”

You roll your eyes to cover the way your heart stutters, a teasing edge creeping into your voice. “Well, stop it. It’s weird.”

He grins, slow and lazy, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few easy steps. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you, close enough that the warmth of him wraps around you like a blanket.

“Stop looking at you?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost playful, but there’s an edge to it that makes your breath hitch. “Not a chance.”

Your back presses against the cool wall of the elevator as he raises a hand to rest it lightly against your hip, his thumb brushing just under the hem of your sweatshirt. It’s the gentlest touch, but it sends heat curling through you, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” he continues softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thought I’d return the favour.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the words catch in your throat when his free hand rises to brush a strand of hair back from your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek. The touch is feather-light, but it’s enough to unravel you completely.

Your voice is barely more than a whisper when you finally speak. “Austin…”

Whatever you were going to say gets swallowed as he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, like he’s savouring every second of it. He tilts his head just slightly, deepening it, and his hands slip to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s nothing between you but the hum of the elevator and the thrum of your heartbeat.

It’s not rushed, but it’s not gentle either—there’s a quiet hunger in the way he kisses you, as if the tension that’s been building between you all day is finally snapping, and neither of you wants to stop.

When he pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you’re both breathing a little harder, your hands clinging to the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you steady.

Before either of you can say anything, the elevator dings softly, the sound startling in the quiet, and the doors slide open behind him. Austin sighs, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he pulls back just enough to glance over his shoulder. “Perfect timing.”

You huff a breathless laugh, trying to collect yourself as he steps back, his hand slipping into yours again. “Saved by the bell.”

“More like delayed,” he mutters, his voice low and teasing as he leads you out of the elevator. You feel his thumb brush over your knuckles as you walk side by side down the quiet hallway, the tension from earlier still humming faintly between you, simmering just beneath the surface.

Austin pauses in front of his door, glancing back at you with that lopsided grin that’s both infuriating and impossible to resist. “You coming in, or are you still thinking about the elevator?”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Just unlock the door, Butler.”

He chuckles softly, turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open, stepping aside so you can walk in first. The apartment is quiet, the faint hum of the city outside muffled by thick walls and drawn curtains. It’s lived-in but simple—warm lights, a couch with a throw casually tossed over the back, and a few stray scripts scattered on the table.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you barely take two steps inside before you feel his presence behind you, his hands slipping onto your waist, warm and steady. Your breath catches as he pulls you back against him, his chest pressed to your spine.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, “I’ve been trying to keep it together all day.”

You turn slightly, just enough to catch his gaze over your shoulder, his eyes darker now, the usual softness replaced by something heavier—something you’d felt building between you since the elevator. “I noticed,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, your pulse racing.

Austin doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else. He turns you to face him in one fluid movement, his hands still firm on your waist as he backs you up slowly until you hit the door. The soft thud reverberates through you, and you’re caged there—him in front of you, the door at your back, and every inch of space between you evaporated.

You look up at him, your breath uneven, your hands instinctively clutching at the front of his hoodie. “Austin—”

“I know,” he cuts you off softly, his forehead brushing against yours as his hands slide from your waist up to cradle your face, thumbs sweeping across your cheekbones. “I missed you too.”

There’s no hesitation this time. He leans in and kisses you, and it’s nothing like the kiss in the elevator. This one is deeper, hungrier, months of separation and stolen glances crashing together all at once. His lips move against yours with a desperate kind of urgency, like he’s trying to make up for every moment you’ve been apart.

You melt into him, your arms winding around his neck as you pull him closer, your fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He groans softly against your mouth, the sound low and rough, and it sends heat pooling deep in your stomach.

Austin presses you more firmly against the door, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping them tightly as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear. When he breaks the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear, you let out a soft gasp, tilting your head back to give him more access.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. “Missed you.”

“Me too,” you manage to breathe out, your heart pounding as you tug him back up to kiss you again, your body arching into his. There’s nothing careful or hesitant about the way he kisses you now. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming, and you don’t care about the door pressing into your back or how your clothes feel stifling when his body is so close to yours.

One of his hands moves beneath the hem of your sweatshirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin, and you shiver at the contact, the heat of his touch searing through you. “You’ve been driving me crazy all day,” he murmurs between kisses, his lips ghosting over yours. “Lying there, looking at me like that…”

You can’t help but smile, breathless, as your fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel him—all of him. “I couldn’t help it. You looked…”

“Hmm?” he hums, his smirk pressing into the corner of your mouth as he pulls back just enough to yank his hoodie and t-shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. “Go on. I looked what?”

Your words falter as you take him in, your gaze sweeping over the broad lines of his chest, the hard planes of muscle you’d only been able to admire from afar earlier. Your hands move instinctively to his skin, splaying out over his chest, your thumbs brushing along the ridges of his abs. He’s warm and solid beneath your touch, and for a moment, you forget how to form words.

His smirk softens into something warmer as he watches you, his hands returning to your waist, his thumbs dipping just beneath the waistband of your jeans. “Speechless?” he teases, his voice low, his lips brushing your temple.

You let out a shaky breath, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Just… appreciating the view.”

Austin chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest, and he dips his head to kiss you again—slower this time, but no less intense. It’s softer now, more deliberate, like he’s taking his time to memorise every brush of your lips against his.

The warmth of his hands grounds you as he starts guiding you away from the door, walking you backward through the dimly lit apartment, his body close enough that every step feels like a challenge to keep moving. When the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, he pauses just long enough to look at you—really look at you—his blue eyes dark, filled with something that makes your pulse stumble.

You reach for him, your hands curling around his shoulders as you pull him closer, but he doesn’t move right away. Instead, he lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing along your jaw with an unexpected gentleness. The contrast between the quiet intensity in his eyes and the raw need lingering in every other part of him leaves you breathless.

“You’re really here,” he murmurs, almost like he’s saying it to himself.

The emotion in his voice twists something in your chest, and you reach up to thread your fingers into his hair, pulling him down to kiss you again—this time harder, like you’re trying to answer every unspoken word in the way your mouth moves against his.

Austin doesn’t hesitate now. His hands slide beneath your sweatshirt, pushing it up as his lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake. You tug at the hem of his sweatpants as the two of you fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, laughter slipping out between the kisses, only to be swallowed up again as the tension finally snaps, pulling you under.

Austin’s weight presses you into the mattress as your bodies fit together like they were always meant to. His lips never leave your skin, moving from the hollow of your throat to the curve of your shoulder as he pushes your sweatshirt higher, exposing inch after inch of your bare skin to the cool air before removing it completely.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice rough and breathless, like he’s barely holding himself together. His hands trace your waist, sliding over your hips with a reverence that sends a shiver through you. It’s not just the way he touches you—it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to memorise every part of you after so much time apart.

“Too many clothes,” you manage to whisper, tugging at the hem of his sweatpants again. The desperation in your voice makes him grin, low and knowing, as he leans back just enough to peel the offending fabric down his hips, leaving him bare. Your gaze drifts lower, and heat flares across your cheeks when you take in the hard, heavy length of him, already straining with need.

“Your turn,” he says, his tone low and teasing as his fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans. He drags them down slowly, watching every inch of your skin as it’s revealed, his eyes dark and hungry. When you’re finally bare beneath him, he takes a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over your body like he doesn’t know where to start.

“You’ve been driving me insane all day,” he mutters, his voice gravelly as he shifts back over you, his body settling between your thighs. “Watching you on set like that, knowing I couldn’t touch you…”

His hands skim up your sides, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below your ribs, and you gasp softly, your back arching instinctively. Austin catches the sound with his lips, kissing you deeply as his hips press against yours, his arousal hot and heavy where you’re already aching for him.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dark and commanding but still tinged with that familiar warmth that’s all him.

“You,” you breathe, your hands sliding up his back, feeling the hard planes of muscle ripple beneath your touch. “I just want you.”

That’s all he needs to hear. Austin dips his head to kiss you again, slower this time, like he’s savouring the taste of you. His hands roam your body with purpose, mapping every curve, every sensitive spot, until you’re trembling beneath him, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.

When his hand slips between your thighs, his touch is gentle at first, teasing, as his fingers brush over your slick heat. “So wet,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice rough and low. “You’ve been like this all day, haven’t you?”

You bite back a whimper, your hips rocking against his hand as he presses a finger into you, slow and deliberate. “Austin—please.”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he kisses his way down your neck. “I missed hearing you like this,” he murmurs, adding a second finger, his pace steady but relentless as he works you open. “Missed feeling you like this.”

Your body arches, heat pooling low in your stomach as the tension builds, and you grip his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin. “I need you,” you gasp, your voice breaking as his thumb brushes over your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. “Now, Austin. Please.”

He groans softly, pulling his hand away to position himself between your thighs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He hesitates for just a moment, his eyes searching yours, dark and tender all at once. “You okay?”

You nod, your breath catching as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I’m perfect.”

That’s all the permission he needs. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he sinks into you, filling you completely. A gasp tears from your throat, and Austin groans, his forehead dropping to yours as he stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice rough and strained. “You feel… so fucking good.”

You tighten your legs around him, urging him to move, and he doesn’t hesitate this time. He pulls back slowly before thrusting into you again, setting a rhythm that’s deep and deliberate, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

Your hands cling to him, your nails dragging down his back as he moves inside you, his pace quickening as the tension builds between you. “Austin,” you gasp, his name a broken whisper as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need as his hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. “I’ve got you, baby.”

The pressure coils tighter and tighter inside you, your body trembling beneath him as his movements grow more urgent, more desperate. His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and pressing in tight, deliberate circles that make you cry out, your back arching off the bed.

“Let go for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, his lips brushing against your ear. “I want to feel you, baby. Come for me.”

His words push you over the edge. The coil inside you snaps, and pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and shaking as your body clenches around him. Austin groans, his pace faltering as he follows you over the edge, his release spilling into you as he buries himself deep, his body trembling above yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Your heart is still racing as Austin collapses against you, careful not to put his full weight on you as he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his breaths coming hard and fast.

“You okay?” he murmurs, after a while, lifting his head just enough to look at you, his blue eyes soft and searching.

You smile, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “More than okay.”

Austin grins, brushing a strand of hair away from your face as he leans in to kiss you again, slower this time, his lips warm and gentle against yours. “Feels like forever,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with quiet sincerity. “Having you here… it’s everything.”

You smile against his mouth, your heart swelling. “I know the feeling.”

Eventually, he rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you’re curled against his chest, his arm draped securely around you. The exhaustion of the day finally starts to settle in, but the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear keep you grounded, safe.

“Don’t let me fall asleep yet,” Austin murmurs sleepily, his fingers tracing absent patterns along your back. “I don’t want to waste a second of this.”

You smile against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “I’ll wake you if you do.”

But as his breathing evens out and his hold on you relaxes, you don’t have the heart to keep your promise. For the first time in months, you’re both exactly where you’re meant to be, and you’re not going anywhere.