#do you.. do you like a fleabag reference..

[hellfiresky]

Seeing Red: The thin line between entertainment and war

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: Introduction

Ge’tal Solus x Rex is the first clone x oc fic that I have ever made. Their relationship is rough around the edges, and very, very complicated. Ge’tal (Tal/Red) is a reckless, anarchist, exiled Mandalorian, bounty hunter with a big mouth and bigger guns. Rex, of course, is a decorated clone captain who believes in duty but can’t ignore the cracks in the system he serves. They shouldn’t work, and yet - to their own confusion - they do.

This is the story of how they met. And since I’ve posted this a while ago (the work itself is still on progress, we’re at Chapter 30 now!).

NOTE: Seeing Red takes loose inspiration from Fleabag. Yes, Tal occasionally breaks the fourth wall, and yes, there are plenty of Fleabag references sprinkled throughout the early chapters. If you’ve noticed italicised sentences floating between paragraphs, that’s her looking straight at you. Letting you in on the joke, or the existential crisis.

The full fic can be found here.

Summary: Ge'tal Solus, an exiled Mandalorian anarchist, has carved out a life in the depths of Coruscant during the tumultuous Clone Wars. Navigating the galaxy as a bounty hunter and occasional spice runner, she does whatever it takes to survive in the underworld. Despite her disdain for the forces of the Republic, Ge'tal finds herself drawn into the conflict, ironically aiding the very clones she mistrusts. In a galaxy torn by war, can she reconcile her beliefs with her actions?

Pairing: Captain Rex x Ge’tal Solus (Exiled Mandalorian bounty hunter OC) Warnings (applied to the fic as a whole): Lots of swear words, very political, contains political commentaries that mirror real life issues, graphic depictions of violence, canon typical violence, some descriptive sexual content and discussions.

Excerpts of Chapter 8, where the pair met, below the cut!

Taglist: @orangez3st @msmeredithrose

Chapter 8 (middle to end)

They reached the door to the briefing room, and just before they entered, Fives suddenly stopped, turning to face her with a mock-serious expression. “Oh, and one more thing,” he chided.

She narrowed her eyes at him, sensing where this was going. “What now?”

“Don’t flirt with him,” Fives pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the door. The smirk on his face made it clear he was only kidding, but the look in his eyes held a different intention.

Tal rolled her eyes. “I’m not gonna flirt with—”

But before she could finish her sentence, the door slid open, revealing the figure standing near the holo table, and the words died in her throat. Captain Rex.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered under her breath, eyes momentarily widening as she took in the sight of him.

He stood at the holo table, deep in conversation with Commander Fox and another clone clad in white and orangey-gold armor, clearly another high-ranking officer. His posture was all business - shoulders squared, spine straight, and every inch of him radiating authority. But it wasn’t just the way he carried himself that caught her off guard; it was his appearance. He had the same tanned skin as the rest of the clones, the same sharp features, but there was something about him that made him stand out. Maybe it was the neatly buzzed platinum blonde hair, contrasting against the deep brown of his eyes, which were currently focused intently on the holo display. His face was a study in concentration, and even in the serious atmosphere of the room, there was a calmness to him, a kind of quiet strength that seemed to anchor everyone around him. He was, in a word, striking.

The white armour, marked with the signature blue of the 501st, fit him perfectly - no visible scuffs or dents, like it was freshly polished for the occasion. Yet, it wasn’t pristine; it carried the subtle wear and tear of countless battles, a testament to the man who wore it. Rex had a presence that made you feel like everything was under control, even when the galaxy was falling apart around you.

(Her gaze flicks toward us, a silent “you seeing this?” look in her eyes)

Tal blinked, catching herself staring. This was the guy Fives was worried and seemed to always so excited about? She could see why.

Rex glanced up, his eyes meeting hers for a brief second before shifting to Fives. There was no immediate recognition on his face, just a subtle nod acknowledging their presence as they approached the table.

The room itself was a contrast to the underworld Tal was used to. It was sleek, clean, with walls lined with various displays and tactical readouts. The holo table in the centre projected a detailed map of the underworld, with multiple points of interest highlighted in red—likely the locations where they suspected CIS activity. The room buzzed with low conversations and the quiet hum of technology, the air thick with the weight of whatever mission was being planned.

She quickly noticed two other troopers in ARC armour stationed in the room. One of them was Jesse, who she remembered from that brief encounter at the deli with Fives. He cocked his chin when he saw her. Clearly, he hadn’t forgotten their last run-in.

The other trooper was a dead ringer for Fives—minus the goatee and tattoo that made the ARC stand out. It didn’t take long for her to put two and two together. This had to be his twin, Echo. His face betraying nothing as his gaze shifted between her and Rex.

Fives cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Captain Rex, Commander Fox, Commander Cody,” he greeted in what Tal thought was a noncharacteristic professional manner. “This is the operative I mentioned - the one I gathered intel on. Everything checked out with her.”

Fox looked at Tal with his usual stern expression. “We’ve met before,” he stated the obvious.

Yeah, no shit, she thought, biting back a snarky reply. The memory of their previous encounters flashed through her mind—especially that time he showed up at her apartment with the job offer. There was a familiarity in his tone, but it was always laced with the same underlying tension that always accompanied their meetings.

Cody gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. But it was Rex who stepped forward, extending a hand to her.

“Ge'tal,” Rex said simply, his voice carrying a calm authority that matched his appearance. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Tal shook his hand. “Call me Red. All good things, I hope,” she tried to sound more confident than she felt. The guy was unnervingly collected.

“Mostly,” Rex replied with a faint smile. “We appreciate you agreeing to help us with this operation.”

Tal shrugged, glancing awkwardly around the room at the holo display. “Credits are credits, right?”

Rex’s smile was quicly replaced by a scowl. “This is more than just credits, Red. The situation in the underworld is getting out of hand. We need someone who knows the terrain, the people, and the dangers better than anyone else. That’s why we’re involving you.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

Fox stepped in. “We’ll be conducting a series of covert operations across the lower levels. You’ll be working directly with Captain Rex here. He’ll brief you on the specifics.”

Did he just order Rex? So, commanders are higher than captains. Got it, Tal mentally noted. She had always thought it was the other way around. This base visit was full of new things, most of them revolving around military hierarchy. Fucking yikes. The whole concept made her skin crawl; she’d spent years running from anything resembling a chain of command, and now she was neck-deep in it.

She locked her attention back to Rex, who was already pulling up a more detailed map on the holo table. From the way he moved, and his little micro expressions - it was clear this wasn’t just another assignment for him; it was something he lived and breathed.

“Of course, he will,” she muttered under her breath, realising that this mission might be a lot more complicated and interesting than she had initially thought.

And here I was thinking I’d just shoot a few people and be done with it.

Before Rex could start the briefing, Fives stepped closer to the holo table, catching her eye. He gave her a slight smirk, then turned to his commanding officer with a professional demeanour that almost seemed at odds with the smirk that still lingered on his face.

“Sir, Jesse, Echo, and I are scheduled to depart in a few hours for Ossus,” Fives reported. Rex nodded before turning to Cody and Fox. “There are rumours of a hidden Separatist presence on Ossus. Intel suggests Count Dooku established a base there years ago, and we can’t risk the Separatists getting their hands on anything valuable. General Skywalker sent a contingent of ARC troopers to investigate the so-called ‘Ossus conspiracy,’” he paused, addressing the ARC troopers directly, “Recover what you can. Once you have proof, call in the airstrike.

Cody, standing just to the side, shook his head in frustration. “Seems like we’re always chasing ghosts with this kind of intel. Ossus might be another wild bantha chase.”

“Whether it’s ghosts or not, we can’t ignore it. The Jedi don’t take rumors about lost artifacts lightly.” Rex looked at Fives. “And neither should we.”

“Never do, sir.” Fives smirked.

Fox, who had been quietly observing the exchange, crossed his arms and spoke up. “Meanwhile, we’ve got our own mess to deal with on Coruscant. The underworld’s been heating up, and the Syndicates aren’t making it easy for the Guard to keep things under control. We’re stretched thin.”

“Which is why it’s crucial this one gets investigated before they can do more damage. I’m counting on you three - and the rest of the contingent—to get it done quickly and cleanly.” Rex sighed.

Echo straightened up. “Won’t let you down, sir.”

Tal scowled at Fives, the look on her face clearly saying, Why the fuck are you leaving me alone here with them? She wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of being stuck with a bunch of commanders whilst he went off on his mission.

“You’ll be fine,” Fives mouthed to her, flashing that damn cocky grin of his.

Tal rolled her eyes and mouthed back, “Asshole,” which only made Fives chuckle as he followed his brothers out of the room. 

She turned her attention back to the holo table, where Rex was now explaining the details of the operation. His voice was calm, steady, but there was a familiar roughness to it - this was a man who’d seen his fair share of battles and wasn’t about to let anything slip through the cracks. “Here’s the situation,” Rex began, his eyes focused on the holo display. “We’ve identified several key locations in the lower levels where we suspect CIS agents are operating. These are places with no obvious syndicate ties, which makes them harder to trace and even harder to infiltrate.”

Tal leaned in to study the map. The areas he pointed out were familiar to her - places she’d either worked in or passed through on various jobs. “And you want me to do what exactly? Sniff them out like a gundark and report back?”

Rex’s eyes met hers. “I want you to use your connections, your knowledge of the underworld, to get us the intel we need. These agents are slippery, and they’re good at covering their tracks. We need someone who knows how to navigate that world, who can get close without raising suspicion.”

“Party,” Tal said dryly.

Cody joined in, his manner carrying a diplomatic edge that reminded Tal of those troopers in the GAR propaganda commercials. Oh wait, is he that dude? “This isn’t just about gathering intel. It’s about cutting off their resources, disrupting their operations, and if necessary, taking them out. We can’t afford to let them gain any more ground.”

“You’re really pulling out all the stops, huh? I’m surprised you’re trusting this to a small-time bounty hunter like me.” Tal let out a low whistle.

Rex’s gaze softened a fraction. “Your portfolio, based on Fives’ report, says otherwise. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t believe you could do this.”

She huffed, trying to mask the flicker of surprise at his words. “Really?” The word slipped out before she could stop herself, and for a moment, her tough exterior cracked. She wasn’t in this game to make a name for herself like so many others. Bounty hunting was just another job, a means to an end. Her ex-clan had trained her well, Reaper Unit had sharpened those skills, and she was good at what she did—but she didn’t see herself as exceptional. Hearing Fives’ findings was unexpected, almost unsettling.

But she quickly pushed that thought aside, “Well, I guess your standards must be slipping, Captain.” Rex didn’t rise to the bait. “Our standards are higher than you might think. We’ve reviewed Fives’ intel thoroughly, and your track record speaks for itself. And you’re exactly the help that we need right now.” Tal leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she studied the map displayed in front of her. “So, what’s the catch? You know how things work down there. The hypothetical operations you’re asking me to target... They’re not gonna go down easy.”

“We’re aware of the risks, Red. We’re not sending you in blind. You’ll have the support you need, and we’ll be monitoring your progress closely.” Rex’s gaze didn’t waver. And to her surprise, Tal held his gaze for a moment longer than she intended. There was something about Rex that made her want to actually do this job right - maybe it was the way he looked at her like she was more than just another mercenary. “Anything else I need to know?”

“You’ll be reporting directly to Rex. He’ll be your point of contact for this operation.” Fox stepped forward, clearly having waited for the right moment to reassert himself.

So, just like what Fives said? But she couldn't help but bark at Fox, gosh, she could not stand that motherfucker. “Directly to Rex, huh? I thought I’d be dealing with one of your lackeys, Fox.” 

Fox’s jaw tightened, but before he could spit out a retort, Rex cut in smoothly. “We need this operation to run as efficiently as possible, and that means direct communication. No middlemen. That’s why I’m your point of contact.”

Rex tapped a few buttons on the holo table, bringing up a more detailed map of the Coruscant underworld and its layers, its labyrinthine network of streets and districts illuminated in shades of blue and red. Tal’s eyes scanned the map, her mind already working to decipher the patterns and potential routes, noting the various areas marked as hotspots.

"Alright," Rex began. He pointed to several key locations on the map. "The mission is simple in concept but complex in execution. We’ve identified several areas in the underworld where CIS activity has been suspected. Your task is to infiltrate these locations, gather intel on any Separatist agents, and report back. The reporting system is straightforward; you’ll have a secure channel directly to me and Commander Fox will be carbon copied. You’re expected to check in at specific intervals, as outlined in your contract. Any deviation from the schedule, and we’ll assume something’s gone wrong."

"Assume?" Tal muttered under her breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "So what, you gonna send a rescue squad if I’m late?"

"Let’s just say, we’ll have contingencies in place. But I’d prefer it if you stayed on schedule. The underworld is unpredictable enough without adding unnecessary risks."

"Yeah, I know the drill," Tal replied, her gaze still fixed on the map. 

Cody glanced up from the map, sweeping the room with his brown eyes before settling on the group.

Included.

"I’ve got to brief my men for our mission to Felucia. We’re pushing to clear out the remaining droid presence in the fungal forests there. Should be a nasty fight, but nothing the 212th can’t handle." He eyed Rex. "You know how those damn spore patches can mess with our equipment. We’ll have to stay on our toes."

"Good luck out there, Cody," Rex said, "stay safe."

With that, Cody left the room, leaving Rex, Tal, and Fox alone. Rex continued, "As for my role, I’ll be coordinating the operation from the surface. I won’t be going down with you, but I’ll be monitoring everything closely. You’ll have a support team on standby if things get too hot. But remember, we’re relying on your expertise to navigate the underworld effectively."

Tal eyed Fox, who had been listening intently. The Commander of the Coruscant Guard stepped forward, his expression hardened as he began offering his input. "We’ve already set up surveillance in the key areas, mostly droids and undercover operatives. We’ve mapped out the territories controlled by the major crime syndicates, and we’ve got intel on the safe zones—places where you can lay low if things go south."

"Safe zones? Down there? Please. That area," she pointed to a section Fox had marked, "is a front for a trafficking ring. You think that’s safe? Unless you want to be sold to the highest bidder." Tal couldn’t help but snort at that.

Fox frowned. The marshal commander of the Coruscant Guard was definitely not pleased with the correction. "We’ve had our eyes on it, and nothing’s flagged it as dangerous."

"Then your eyes need checking," Tal shot back, arms crossed. "I’ve spent more time in the underworld than you’ve spent in that shiny armour. Trust me, some of these so-called safe zones are anything but."

Rex raised a hand to diffuse the tension. "That’s why you’re here, Red. We need your expertise to avoid pitfalls like that. We’re trusting you to call the shots when you’re down there. Just make sure you’re feeding the information back to us. This mission hinges on accurate intel."

"Fine," Tal muttered, feeling a bit more validated. "But if I’m calling the shots, you better be ready to deal with how I do things."

Fox seemed ready to argue again, but Rex cut him off with a sharp glance. "We understand. But we need results. Do things your way, but remember, we’re all on the same side here."

"Same side," Tal repeated sceptically. "Right."

Rex ignored her, pointing to another section of the map. "We suspect that some of these hotspots are linked directly to the Separatists. They’ve been funnelling funds into businesses and organisations that, on the surface, look clean. But dig a little deeper, and it’s a different story. Your job is to find those connections and trace them back to the source."

Tal studied the areas he highlighted, her mind already mapping out potential routes, contacts, and risks. It wasn’t going to be easy, but then again, nothing ever was in the underworld. "I can do that," she said finally. 

Fox, still looking slightly irritated by Tal’s earlier correction, crossed his arms again. "We’ll be monitoring your progress. If you need backup, you’ll have it. But keep in mind, this isn’t just about hitting a target and moving on. We need to dismantle their network piece by piece."

"Deal," Tal shrugged. She was ready to dive into the underworld - her world - and do what she did best. But this time, with the Republic watching, things were going to get even more complicated.

Fox gave Tal a pointed look as he reminded her, “And make sure you write your reports and submit them to Rex, per contract. We’re expecting full accountability on this, Ge’tal Solus.”

Tal sighed, rolling her eyes at the mention of her actual name, nodding reluctantly. The concept of writing a formal report was about as appealing to her as following the law - both foreign and irritating. She didn’t even know where to start with something like that. Paperwork? Really?

As Fox turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back at her with that same stern expression. “And, Ge'tal, I’m serious. We’re trusting you with this. Don’t make us regret it.”

With that, he was gone, leaving an air of tension hanging in the room.

Rex turned and grabbed something from a cabinet behind him, walking over to where she stood. “Here,” he said, extending a GAR-issued datapad towards her. “This should make things easier for you. Don’t worry too much about the reports - they’re not expecting a tactical debrief from you. Just focus on gathering intel. You’re not a soldier, and we’re not asking you to be one.”

Tal took the datapad, flipping it over in her hands as if it might bite her. “An outline would be helpful. The hell do they want me to say? ‘Dear diary, today I shot some seppie-loving scumbags and didn’t get blown to bits. The end.’”

Rex couldn’t help but chuckle at that, shaking his head. “Not quite. Keep it simple. What you found, where you found it, and how it ties into the bigger picture. The more details, the better, but we’re not looking for a novel. Just enough to keep us in the loop.”

“Fox’s men have been poking around just fine a few months back. I saw them after my, apparently, infamous riot against the Corries at that dive. What changed? Did something go sideways?” Tal looked up at him.

Rex sighed, his gaze briefly shifting to the holo map before returning to her. “The situation’s escalated since then. The Separatists have tightened their grip, and the underworld’s become more unpredictable. Fox’s men can handle the topside, keep things in check up there, but down in the lower levels? It’s a different game. The Corries made their presence known, but that was a one-time show of force. Now, we need subtlety. The kind of work that can only be done by someone who knows the terrain, the people, and the way things operate down there. Make them talk.”

Tal nodded, half-listening, half-thinking. “What about the underworld cops? Wait... Are those even sentients? Or are they just droids?”

Rex raised an eyebrow at her question. He could tell her curiosity was genuine. “Mostly sentients, but there’s a mix. The underworld cops are a breed of their own - most are just as crooked as the criminals they’re supposed to be policing. The others? Overworked, underpaid, and trying to keep their heads above water in a place that’s drowning in corruption. And yeah, they’ve got some droid units, but those are mostly used for grunt work, patrols, simple enforcement. Nothing that requires real thinking or negotiation.” “Oh, if you only knew the brutality those sleemos are doing down there,” Tal muttered under her breath momentarily. 

Rex’s expression tightened. “I’ve heard stories,” he said quietly. 

Tal groaned. “Stories don’t cover the half of it, Rex. The lower you go, the more twisted it gets. Those so-called cops? They’re just as likely to break a bone as they are to take a bribe. Hell, some of them do both, depending on the day. They don’t ask questions, don’t hesitate - just follow orders, no matter how fucked up those orders are.” Tal raised her eyebrows. “Why even bother with them?”

“They have their uses,” Rex replied pragmatically. “They know the streets, and they can handle the low-level stuff that doesn’t warrant our attention. But when it comes to real threats—the kind that could tip the balance in this war—we can’t rely on them. Too many of them are bought and paid for by the syndicates or worse. And that’s where you come in.” “So, you’re the one who keeps the big picture in focus while I do the dirty work?”

“Something like that,” Rex nodded. 

The First Battle Memorial loomed in the dusky evening, its warm, bronze glow casting an eerie light across the plaza. As Rex and Tal approached, the weight of its towering presence bore down on them both-but especially Tal, reminding her of how distant her world felt from the relentless brutality of the war up here. The sheer size of the monument, towering over the two, whispered stories of the first fallen clones, a haunting presence that lingered in the air like unspoken grief. 

For once, she didn’t make a snarky comment. Instead, she fell silent, her gaze briefly lingering on the names - no, numbers - etched into the cold stone. The gravity of the war, which often felt like an abstract concept amidst the everyday survival of the lower levels, weighed heavily in the air. She’d seen death and violence in the underworld - brutal, personal, and often senseless - but this was different. It wasn’t just about survival or territory; it was a collective loss, a shared pain that resonated through the sterile halls of the base. These weren’t just casualties of war; they were brothers, identical faces with unique lives, wiped out in an endless, gruelling conflict.

For a moment, the reality of it all struck her harder than she’d expected. These clones, no, men, bred for battle, had their identities reduced to numbers - memorialised in the most impersonal way possible. Yet, the weight of their sacrifice was undeniable, something that even someone like Tal, who had long become numb to the daily grind of death in the underworld, couldn’t easily brush off.

Rex noticed her uncharacteristic silence but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he led her through the hall, making small talk as they walked. “So, how long have you been working in the underworld?” he asked.

“Too long,” Tal replied with a smirk, though her thoughts were still half-focused on the memorial they’d just passed. The smirk was her defence, a shield she threw up to keep the weight of that hall from sinking too deep. “But the deeper you go, the more clueless people are. Most of them have no idea there’s even a war happening, let alone that the Republic and Separatists are at each other’s throats. Hell, most of them have never even seen the sun.”

Rex frowned. “That’s hard to imagine. Up here, it feels like the war is everything - like it’s the only thing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a different world down there,” Tal said, shrugging. “People are just trying to get by, to survive. They don’t have time to worry about politics or who’s winning what. It’s all about the next meal, the next score, the next way to keep themselves alive. The war? It’s just noise to them. Background noise that doesn’t affect their daily life.”

Rex nodded thoughtfully, clearly taking her words to heart. “It’s easy to forget how isolated parts of the galaxy can be. We get so caught up in the fight, in the day-to-day battles, that we forget there are people who don’t even know it’s happening.”

“Or don’t care,” Tal chuckled. “Down there, it’s all about survival. The war might as well be happening in another galaxy for all they care. They’ve got their own battles to fight - against hunger, against trafficking, against the gangs, against the damn planet itself sometimes.” she paused for a moment, gazing across the numbers in front of her. 

“You should come play sometime. See for yourself,” she continued, but there was a clear intention of something deeper - maybe a challenge, maybe a dare.

Rex’s gaze flicked back to her, studying her expression for a moment. There was something in her voice that piqued his curiosity about the complex reality she lived in, one he could only glimpse from where he stood. He knew the underworld from reports, from briefings, from stories told by troopers who had ventured too far down. He went there several times, but he’d never truly experienced it - the raw, unfiltered chaos that was life on the lower levels. The way she said it, like it was all just a game, threw him off balance. He wasn’t used to thinking of the war in those terms - of survival being a twisted kind of play.

“Is that an invitation?” Rex asked.

“I wouldn’t call it an invitation, more like a warning. You might find it harder to leave once you’ve been down there. It’s not just the place—it’s the people, the way they live, the way they fight for every damn scrap. It’s addictive, in a way. You see it enough times, you start to wonder if there’s any point in trying to change it.”

Rex’s curiosity gave way to understanding. “I think I already know that feeling,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s spent too many years in the trenches of war. “Every battle, every campaign, it’s like we’re just pushing the boulder up the hill, only to watch it roll back down again. But we keep going, because... what else can we do?”

Tal glanced at him, seeing something familiar in his eyes - a kind of weariness, but also a determination that hadn’t been snuffed out yet. It was the look of someone who’d seen too much, but kept going because stopping wasn’t an option. She understood that look; she saw it in the mirror every day.

“Yeah, I get it,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “The underworld... it’s a different kind of war, but a war all the same. You survive or you don’t. And sometimes, surviving means playing the game, even when you don’t want to.”

They were both caught in their own cycles, she realised—his driven by duty, hers by the need to survive in a galaxy that seemed to care less and less about people like her.

As they neared the exit, Rex hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his tone more cautious this time. “Listen, Red, I wanted to ask you something—about you and Fives.”

“What about us?”

“I’ve heard… things,” Rex admitted, choosing his words carefully. “I just need to make sure that whatever’s going on between you two doesn’t interfere with the job.”

“You mean the part where we fuck like it’s a recreational sport? Don’t worry, Captain. I keep my work and play separate.” Tal chuckled. 

Rex shook his head. “Just making sure. Fives is a good soldier. Don’t distract him too much.”

“I know where the line is.”

“Good. Stay safe out there, Red. We’re counting on you.” he said, looking down at her with those intense brown eyes.

“Always,” she replied, and this time, she meant it.

[skamyak]

I think i got asthenia after drawing it (alt ver under the cut!)

[icewindandboringhorror]

I have a big google doc thing where I keep track of media and stuff (putting everything in loosely ranked categories), which is mostly just for my own reference so I know what tv shows I've already seen before, etc. and I never really look back through it, typically just a quick "okay, watched two movie in the past 8 months, need to quickly slap them somewhere in the lists. okay. done. save document. exit". But today I was actually reading through some of the old notes and there are like... MULTIPLE places where my comment is basically "It would have been good if it were about elves" or "I wish there was a fantasy show made in this same style" or "It's well made, but I just keep thinking about how I would like it more if everyone was an elf or was in old 1700s costumes" or etc like...... lol.... Most biased media ranking system on earth blatantly made by someone with an extremely hyperspecific range of narrow interests. It'd be like if a food reviewer only had 5 foods they actually liked, so they'd just go to a pizza place and be like "eh, the pizza was okay, but I just think it would be better if it was cereal instead. :/ ...2 out of 10"

[lichenes]

Lockjaw

Someone requested Silco x brothel worker!reader (AND I WILL WRITE IT, KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED.) but. I raise you one better. Silco in love with a brothel worker, NOT reciprocated HAHAHAHAAAAAA. I'm going fucking insane. I'm going crazy. The smut is also here... ig... I did a shit ton of research cuz my seasoned writer best friend said it was difficult to get right. Any feedback is appreciated!! CW: reader has a pseudonym (Lulu), porn with plot (AND ANGST HAHAHAHA), SW!reader, eating out (reader receiving), piv briefly mentioned, wear protection kids, fleabag reference - i couldn't help myself. wc: 639 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

Dark drapes. Burgundy carpets. Gold candleholders. You could smell the incense all around you. The cool, night air calmly was circulating and mixing with the warm feeling spreading in your chest. The room was overflowing with prestige and cachet. 

Silco was between your legs as you stared at his beautiful, bicolored eyes. You were toying with his locks as he greedily pleasured you. He couldn’t take his own eyes off of you. He was mesmerised by your squirming body, by your quiet moans and by the way you were just- almost there. 

He detached himself from you, denying you pleasure once more. You whined at the sudden loss but were eager to get even more from him and tonight, he wanted to give you it all. He hurriedly unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down his legs putting the garment neatly on the chair behind him. 

“Hi Lulu!” Said Juliette entering the break room where you were spending your last moments alone for the night. “Hi Julie, how you doin’?” She was in a good mood. “I’m doing okay! I got a massive tip from this one guy, and-” She trailed off saying how glad she was to not have taken a sick day today. You didn’t quite listen. “Lulu? I asked you a question.” You came back to your senses and answered the trivial question she presented you with. 

“So, how long are you staying?” You began answering but she interrupted you. “Oh!” She hit herself lightly on the forehead. “Silco’s coming today right? It’s Wednesday after all.” You nodded. “Looks like you’ve got quite a night in front of you.”

Your thoughts were interrupted by him getting close to your face. He was breathing heavily, yet a certain intimateness was flowing from him today. As he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue. Slight hints of expensive cigars were also there, the taste was intoxicating. 

With his lips still on your own ones, he pushed you back onto the bed and caged you in his arms. He kissed a trail down your neck and chest before he put his hands on your thighs and spread them wider- right to his liking. He pulled back for a second. “You look divine.” 

He entered you with a slight resistance and let you accommodate his size before he started moving. With each encounter he was becoming more gentle. You never mentioned it, you never even noticed it up until now. You were fearing the- worst. 

Your legs were bent at the knees, you were trembling a bit from the intrusion. You were propped up by your elbow watching him enter and exit you. You reminisced about the first time he ever showed up here. Quickly you were pulled away from your thoughts by him burying himself to the hilt. 

“Lulu you were requested.” 

“Lu- oh, Lulu.” Moaned the most powerful man in all of Zaun. 

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time.” 

He emptied himself into the rubber and stayed inside you for a moment more, relishing in the closeness. Closeness he was to lose soon enough.

The break room was empty. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you.” The silence was filled with his confession. “Clients aren’t supposed to be here.” You said, dressed only in a warm robe, keeping you from getting goosebumps. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes becoming dark, darker than any substance ever synthesised, soulless and- subdued.

He hung his head and turned his back to you, his coat in hand as he professed. “What’s keeping you here?” You didn’t answer. “Lulu.” He pleaded. “It’ll pass.” You answered. 

He walked onto the street, rain falling freely from the sky. His messed up hair was becoming wet. “I don't think it will.” He said to no one in particular.

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

[pomefioredove]

Hi, can I have a sugar cookie, #16, with chocolate drizzle?

o7

order #16, sugar with chocolate drizzle

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ it'll pass

tropes: exes to lovers characters: leona additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, post-nrc, a little bittersweet, for those thinking they wouldn't forgive him and would marry rook instead, I understand, yes this is a fleabag reference <3

That question, that bitter uncertainty that had caged itself in your chest, behind your ribs, by your heart, had not passed.

It will pass, you had said, your friends had said, even he had said it himself.

It'll pass.

And then, the question. But what if it doesn't?

What if you never forget Leona Kingscholar?

What will you do with this love, now that there's no one to give it to?

It becomes grief, and pain. Bitterness, anger, resentment, longing, desire.

It becomes a secret, it becomes a question.

But what if it doesn't?

You had, at first, slept too much; but then that reminded you of him, and you stopped sleeping altogether.

You began writing, not fiction, nor letters, but your thoughts, if only to get them on paper and out of your head.

Most days, they were nonsense. A procession of words and feelings with no meaning, nor sense, nor relationship between one another.

Bird, television, cold, knocking, tired, tired, tired...

It always ended with that.

And it always began with Why? Why, what? Why did he leave you? Why didn't you stop him? Why can't you move on? Why any of these things?

It was strange.

You were the one destined to leave. When you and Leona fell in love, in your years at Night Raven College, that threat loomed over you both.

One day, you would leave.

Leona still became yours. He was the one constant in your life, the only person you could really rely on. He cared about you, more than he'd ever admit.

Likewise, he had never said that he wanted you to stay, but you knew he did.

It didn't matter. Crowley never found a way home, or perhaps he did, and didn't tell you, but again, it didn't matter. You graduated NRC, and went to Leona.

You were happy, too.

And then he was suddenly betrothed to a duchess, to have a family he never wanted, in a position he resented, and that was that.

It'll pass.

That's all he had said when you told him you loved him.

"I love you,"

"It'll pass,"

You wanted him to stay, like he did to you.

It'll pass.

You became despondent, sleepless. You found shelter and companionship in the form of an affluent Rook Hunt, when you had no one else to call.

But he, too, must leave. For months, the villa is empty, and it's only you and your disconnected words and your paper and the night.

One day, there's a letter for you.

Not for Rook, or for the household, but for you.

It has no name, no initials, no return address. It's not signed. It's typed. It says:

French, confused, nosy, prick, soft, missing, quiet.

So on, so forth. Hundreds of those words, meaningless and senseless and yet special, precious, worthy.

You hold the letter to your heart and the ink smudges on your sweaty hands.

There's another the next day. Quiet, manners, hate, missing, windows, dark.

And one more after that.

Boring, empty, doves, missing, water, spoon.

They come, one after the other, until Rook returns at the end of the month, freckled from the sun and tired from his work.

"Ah... an admirer?" he had asked, listening to you read the letters aloud.

"They aren't from you?"

"From me? Heh. I like to think my prose is a little more cohesive, non?"

You wake the next morning to breakfast, courtesy of Rook, and a letter, courtesy of the wind.

This one only has one word on it.

Sorry.

No more come after that.

The news that Prince Leona had broken off his engagement to the wealthy duchess reaches you in your remote room, through the sharp eyes and upturned lips of a certain Rook Hunt.

Unhappy, was the word, this time.

It was bitterly poetic. Unhappy. It reminded you of something you had written, but when you went looking for that, you were met with an empty sheet of stamps, and a drawer with no paper in it.

"You must forgive me," Rook had said, "I could not bear to see you both suffer so."

The mysterious letters, your "admirer", suddenly make sense.

The next day, another letter comes. But this one is special; it's attached to a hand, that of a certain Leona Kingscholar.

This one, too, has a full sentence.

I love you too.

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 43

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Hello Friends!

Welcome to the 43rd installment of the Spreadsheet Digest! I did a lot of reading this week and I'm very excited to share it with y'all. All summaries and tags are provided by the author, unless they weren't - then I filled them in.

Want to be on the digest? Tag me in your work and I'll do my best to read it <3

Let Them See - Dave one shot by @sizzlingcloudmentality

he gets you off in front of the other guys

explicit, smut, no use of y/n, reader is ablebodied, d/s dynamics (duh), voyeurism, exhibitionism, very affectionate degradation (it's Dave, of course he calls you a slut), female masturbation, male masturbation, unprotected p in v, very affectionate possessive talk, creampie, petnames (baby), choking

This is so hot... Like... SO hot

Let Them Feel - Dave one shot by @guiltyasdave

(author's note) yesterday the lovely em @/luxurychristmaspudding posted this poll with the compelling question in a room full of p boys, who is getting you off (in front of everyone else 👀)?, which led to the lovely daphne @/sizzlingcloudmentality posting let them see (go read that asap!), which then led to me asking "hey do you mind if i continue this?" and then writing 2k words in a state that i can only describe as possessed

explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that can be grabbed, no use of y/n, dom!dave, exhibitionism, lowkey group sex tbh, rough oral sex (m receiving), fingering, degradation kink, praise kink

After reading Let Them See, I was dying for more because it was so good and then the lovely Jana gave me more and it was everything.

Eros and Psyche - Dieter series by @schnarfer

Dieter is a modern day Greek God Eros. We’re going full existential dread rom-com, actually.

Vaguely inspired by the Greek myth of Eros & Psyche, soul mates, yearning, emotional torment, drugs and alcohol references, lots of swears, slow burn, discussions of death and mental health, eventual smut. Dieter is a walking red flag. Reader is named (Psyche) but physical descriptions are minimal. Time is meaningless but also always marching on. Lots of Dieter POV. Fleabag coded.

this fic... I adore the soulmates trope as sort of a guilty pleasure, but this was beyond anything I've ever read within that trope. It's sweet, a bit sad at times, and just perfect in every way. The descriptions, the characters, the everything. Despite my rambling I feel like I'm speechless because I can't quite articulate why I think this fic is perfect. Just trust me.

Do it Like Madonna - Dieter one shot by @covetyou

Being Dieter Bravo's plus one to a party isn't always all it's cracked up to be, and sometimes, just sometimes, it puts a smile on your face anyway.

no smut. nudity. mention of Dieter Bravo's dick and balls. drug and alcohol use/refrence, improper use of party hats. cameos from Javi G, Oberyn, and Santos (all the P-Boys are there!) gn!reader

This is so fucking funny and so quintessentially Dieter. Perfection

Bloodlust - Din series by @dindjarindiaries

A daring favor from Boba Fett sends you and your long-time business partner, Din Djarin, undercover together—as a married couple.

fake marriage, fluff & angst, hurt/comfort, eventual/mild smut, sexual references, injuries & blood, canon-typical violence

this fic was adorable, and the plot was so interesting. I love their love ugh. It's just so cute and earnest and everything I needed.

Waiting Game - Din/Ez one shot by @northernbluess

din quite literally crashed into your life when you least expected it. injured and seriously stubborn, you took him in and as you tenderly nursed him to health, your bond grew in quiet shared moments. the day came when he was recovered enough to leave you, except he never did. now, you find yourself in a similar predicament, taking in another wearied stranger just as you had with din. he ensnares you, pulling you into his orbit, with his silver tongue, stolen touches, and hungry eyes—but what happens when you find out that he has seemingly charmed din too?

threesome, m/m/f, voyeur ezra, possessive din, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, unprotected anal sex, double penetration, fingering, slight dom!din, ezra is a bit of a creep at first, major canon divergence (no grogu, no cee, ezra still has his arm, etc.), choking/breathplay, biting, squirting, one (1) slap, lots of tension, panties(?), mutual pining, probably OOC, pure filth tbh. no use of y/n.

I am unhinged about this. DinEz is my favorite ship and I adore MMF threesome fics with them. This was breathtakingly good.

Thy Kingdom Cum - Ezra one shot by @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers

The new priest's arrival to your parish has you doubting your commitment to God.

Blasphemy, inaccuracies with nuns/religious inaccuracies, religious guilt, lust, desire, demonic possession, dark intentions, sexual corruption, loss of innocence, virgin reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, derogatory language, sex in a confessional, cock riding, pregnancy, mentions of prophesy, end of times, unnatural childbirth, death

Always love a good demon!Ezra, and I loved the steep fall into corruption little bird went through ugh. This was so good. The innocence of reader and the depravity of Ez was such a good contrast. I love this

Sit Back, Baby - Frankie one shot by @almostfoxglove

You've got a crush on your neighbor across the hall and finally get the chance to show him you care.

Smut (m!oral), pwp, drinking (not during smut), sorta sub!Frankie.soft,

subby frankie is forever one of my favorites. I just wanna take care of him dammit. Can't resist a good blowjob fic either. All around wonderful in every way.

Bad Idea - Javi P one shot by @murder-wife

A lil quickie on the couch never hurt anyone

fingering, unprotected PIV, panty sniffing, couch sex, the sex blanket makes an appearance! *LEAVING SOME THINGS UNTAGGED TO AVOID SPOILERS* proceed with caution, nothing dark, everyone is of age and constenting

I love everything about this. The whole premise is perfect. The plot twist??? to die for, truly.

You Can Be My Daddy - Javi P one shot by @thesummerpetrichor

Your soon to be husband leaves you at the altar, but you should have guessed since the practice seemed to run in the family. It’s hard to be upset however, when his father comes to repent for not only his own but his son’s wrong doings. Aka fiancé’s dad Javi fucking you in your wedding dress after his son ditches you at the altar.

Minimal editing, unspecified but thicc and legal age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, insane dirty talk, toxic father son relationship, reader is delulu, praise kink, petnames, sex in front of a mirror, veil pulling??, a few spanks, creampie, Javi fucks you into the mattress, unprotected P in V [don’t do it!!].

Getting left at the altar sucks, but getting fucked into the mattress by your would-be father-in-law makes it alllll better. God damn this was hot

A Litany of Lethe - Javi P one shot by @kiwisbell

Working on his father’s ranch, Javier Peña tries to leave Colombia behind. The new housekeeper reminds him how much he enjoys a challenge.

post-narcos s3 canon, slow burn, catch the much ado references and i’ll give u a cookie, second chance, enemies to lovers, i take liberties with some geography, javi suffers from foot-in-the-mouth syndrome, angsty javier, angsty reader, angsty everything, bickering, tension of all varieties, emotional constipation from both parties, chucho being wingman no. 1, discussions of past sexual relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (not against reader), implied child neglect/abuse, grovelling king javier peña, we call him grovi, implied age gap, it's been 10 years since javi left for colombia bc i said so, reader has hair, javi is a munch, oral sex (f receiving), grinding, bickering during sex, javi is not a brat tamer but he is a brat handler (thank u mya), unprotected PIV, creampie, dirty talk, fingering, pussy pronouns, lots of biting, javi vampire confirmed??

This reads like literature or poetry or some shit. I loved Javi's internal monologue so much. I loved getting inside his head like that. The smut is so worth the wait too ugh. I love a long ass one shot <3

Touch Tank - Javi P one shot by @thundermartini

Javier helps you get over a little self-confidence crisis.

it’s self indulgent porn with plot guys. smut, kissing, oral sex - f! receiving + m! receiving, shower sex, mention of piv sex, allusion to vaginal fingering, established relationship, domestic fluff, pet names, soft!javi, blue shirt javi (but picture any javi you want), a lot of feelings again, reader has hair, insecure reader (mentions of her not fitting in the lingerie she chose as she would love to but no further descriptions so you can imagine whatever you want).

Obsessed with Javi being into lingerie, first of all. I blame @iamskyereads Lie to Me for that. Secondly, this was so hot and sweet. I love how they make each other feel better. So fucking cuuuuute

Me on You - Joel one shot by @luxurychristmaspudding

after a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy.

it's smut, y'all. everything you've come to expect. respectable age gap (10 years ish), tiny bit of spanking, one (1) gentle pussy slap, lil bit of daddy kink, joel miller eats it from the back (oral (f&m)), edging, unprotected piv (do better), creampie, feelings, joel miller's whore mouth.

Joel Miller fucks and it is so unbearably hot

Lost in the Darkness - Joel one shot by softlybarnes (AO3)

Joel wants you. The only problem is you're the on the arm of one of his partners.

Angst, Abuse, Abusive Relationships (not between reader/joel), Smut, Biting, Insecurity, Self-Worth Issues, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Anxiety, Dissociation, Canon-Typical Violence, Torture, Blood and Injury, Past Sexual Assault, Character Death

Ohhhh I love this. The way they're both fucking feral ugh. It's so good.

There's a Place and Time - Joel one shot by @penvisions

Moving back to your parents house wasn't part of the plan, neither was being a thorn in your neighbor's side. but you roll with the punches, and hey, he's kinda cute when he gets huffy.

age gap (joel is mid 30's / reader is mid 20's), angst, biting words, argumentative language, joel is a lil meanie but so is reader, grief, off-screen loss, depictions of depression, comfort, mushy stuff

Joel has foot in mouth disease lmaooo. I liked the depiction of grief in this a lot. Very sweet fic with some excellent banter and even better softness.

So Much to Lose - Joel series by @auteurdelabre

Newly settled into Jackson city and forced to go on patrols with the miserable Joel Miller sets off a chain of events and encounters that have you questioning everything, including your own heart.

Enemies to Lovers, Ellie & Joel Bonding (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (The Last of Us), Dom/sub Undertones, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Shameless Smut, Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fingerfucking, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Face-Fucking, Lesbian Ellie (The Last of Us), Drama & Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Outdoor Sex, Forced Bonding, Cooking, Guitars, Love Confessions, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Trauma

The thing I really love about this fic is the way the side characters are integrated and just as important as reader and Joel. Jennifer, Luke, Ellie, Maria -- they're all important. I also love the slow transition from mean!Joel to soft!Joel, the way it isn't exactly linear, and the motivations behind his behavior. It's so rewarding to watch him open up over time UGH. So Good.

Scarlet Haze - Joel series by @katiexpunk

Life in the QZ was fairly predictable. That was, until Joel Miller showed up on your doorstep covered in blood. Since then, you've helped him more times than you can count. Now it's his turn to return the favor.

SEX POLLEN. SEX POLLEN. SEX POLLEN. Set in the TLOU universe in the Boston QZ. Buckle the fuck up for a lot of filthy, feral smut. Check chapter warnings for specifics.

GOD I love sex pollen fics. so so much. This series is unfinished but you get smut in part two and it's entirely worth it. So fucking good.

I Know You By Heart - Joel/Ezra series by @sixhours

Joel and Ellie settle into their new lives in Jackson but it's not the easiest transition. Thankfully Jackson has a counselor to help with that.

Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), canon-compliant with season 1, SMUT, gay sex, anal sex, anal fingering, blowjobs, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, angst with a happy ending, romance, alcoholic behavior, age gap (~10ish years so barely a thing)

Obsessed with this pairing. Ezra and Cee in Jackson?? I love it so much. The smut is so good... Like... SO GOOD. I love me some gay pedro boys and I love gay dads in love. HMU for more gay dads in love fics, bc I have a couple recs.

Fortnight - Lucien one shot by @pedgito

it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

Oh Lucien the pathetically sexy man that you are. This was everything I wanted it to be and more.

Prima Nocta - Marcus Acacius one shot by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

DUB CON only due to nature of prima nocta, both parties enthusiastically consent, twist on prima nocta, unspecified age gap, loss of virginity, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, dry humping, unprotected sex, unrealistic descriptions of first sexual experience, all manners of historical inaccuracies and linguistic anachronisms sorry not sorry, ignores the events of the movie so you can consider this an AU, Marcus is widowed and has a son, shall we call this bfd: Ancient Rome version lmao

This is the first Marcus Acacius fic I've read and it was fucking incredible. Def will be reading more of him from now on. UGHGHGGH this was so hot.

Cosmic Love - Marcus Acacius/Marcus Pike one shot by @kedsandtubesocks

a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

MAJOR GLADIATOR 2 SPOILERS. time travel AU, magic elements, pining & yearning, fluff but with touches of angst, implied age gap (Acacius being older than both reader & Marcus), light use of gendered language, bi!Marcus Acacius & bi!Marcus Pike, brief mention of death & existential questioning, spicy themes, smut (threesome, m!oral, one moment of spitting) M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship, no use of y/n

I love a time travel AU, it reminds me of Kate and Leopold. This fic was so cute, had just the right touch of angst, and was so hot UGH. I loved how sweet Acacius was and how down bad Pike was and just... everything really

Strawberry Sugar - Oberyn one shot by @guiltyasdave

Your boyfriend spoils you on your birthday morning. In some... unexpected ways.

explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, food play, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), ridiculous amounts of fluff

Delicious, filthy, fluffy, just wonderful, really.

Happy Reading!

[farfromstrange]

I Want To Fuck A Priest | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

PART 6 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for the priest you met at a farmer's market. Thankfully, he has a thing for you, too.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), porn without much plot, Priest!Matt, blasphemy (!!!), church setting, improper use of a priest's collar, improper use of a confessional booth, improper use of the act of confession, praise, prayer, oral afab!receiving, slight Dom!Matt, Catholic guilt, Fleabag reference, seriously if you are religious or triggered by the improper use of religion DO NOT read this!

Word Count: 2.8k

A/n: This is for those who watched Fleabag and then saw all the 'Imagine Matt as a priest' and 'Charlie Cox once played a Spanish priest' posts and thought, "Same!" when Fleabag said, "I want to fuck a priest." I see you, and I feel you. I wrote this after re-watching Fleabag one night, but I added a little poetic twist while editing because before, it was just completely plotless oral sex. While that isn't bad, I needed to add some vibes. You're welcome.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

The church bells ring as the clock strikes midnight. The night sky is void of dark clouds. In the darkness above the massive walls encasing the holy ground, the stars shine brighter than the city lights. New York City, the city that never sleeps, makes an exception for the house of God in the dead of the night, it seems.

It’s been…several years since my last confession. 

The graveyard attached to the church looks threatening in its vacancy. It’s void of human souls except for the dead ones buried there. A raven claps its wings in the distance, following the gush of wind that brushes through the trees. 

The bell rings twelve times before it stops, but the echo bounces off the stone walls and shakes the stained-glass windows, which seems to drag on for an eternity. 

The last time I confessed my sins was before my communion. I don’t know if that makes me a bad Catholic, but lately, I’ve been having sinful thoughts, and I need to get them out of the way before I collapse under the weight of them.

You considered for the longest time whether or not you should come here. Faith has been your enemy for the longest time. You don’t believe in the Catholic Church, and yet you have found your way here, in the middle of the night, when everyone should be asleep in their beds. 

This isn’t a normal night, by any means. You often lay awake at night and question your purpose in this life, but lately, you’ve been feeling like you’re drowning. Sins are subjective, and you never paid much mind to the term until now. 

The thoughts you find yourself having late at night when you’re awake and lonely are far from holy. They aren’t ideal. They make you wonder just why you are thinking this way now.

But no man has ever been like him. And the worst part about it is that wanting him alone is an unholy train of thought you should have never submitted to. 

You tried ignoring it, carrying it all by yourself, and trying to heal whatever complex you may have that could have led to this obsession in the first place, but your life has been a mess for long enough that it doesn’t even surprise you anymore, and no matter what you tried to do, you couldn’t stop fantasizing about him.

He is the reason you came to church tonight to confess your sins. But you’re not here to find your way. You’re not here to ask for guidance from God. You told yourself that the unholiness of your thoughts needs to be cured and that is why you came here—to make this situation better for yourself—but the thought is ancient; it’s the twenty-first century and you’re the kind of person who knows exactly what they want and how to get it. The truth is, you’re here to get what you want, even if it will land you in the pits of hell for all eternity. And even if it kills you.

“You don’t do this kind of thing often, do you?” the low voice asks from the other side of the confessional booth.

You shake your head. “Not at all, Father. When I went to Sunday Mass this weekend, it was my first time in a church in a very long time,” you admit to him, “and this is my first confession since I was a child. I…I’m not really a devoted Catholic, you understand. I’m merely struggling right now, and I…I am in desperate need of guidance.”

Your lip quivers. Your voice resembles a tidal wave that comes and goes as nature pleases.

He can’t see you. It’s not the curtain that is separating you and is starting to feel like worlds apart—he can’t see you. He can only hear and smell you, and that alone makes your thighs clench with need. 

Should you be doing this in a church? Should you fantasize about a man of God and want to claim him, coming to his sanctuary to tell him the truth and mess with his head? You know that it’s wrong, but the wrong thing often feels too right to stop. 

When you met him at the farmer’s market the other day, he was so endlessly kind to everyone, including yourself. He invited you to Sunday mass, and you went. You went on a walk with him afterward, and there seemed to be something there, but he couldn’t act on it because he is who he is and what he is. He made a vow. He can’t have you, no matter how badly he wants to, and one look into his unfocused hazel eyes when he took off those red glasses he always wears told you that he does want you. It led to another sleepless night among many, and now you’re here.

You’re so utterly selfish, but God, you can’t stop it. When you want something, you would do anything to get it. He makes you feel things you never felt before. It’s terrifying, but you have to allow yourself to jump into unknown waters if you want to learn how to swim.

He clears his throat, and you can hear the chair creak under his weight as he shifts. Is it possible that you’re doing the same to him that he is doing to you?

“I want to start by saying that you’re really brave,” he says. The sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. “But God offers people guidance in a symbolic sense. I can take your confession, tell you how to repent for your sins, but I can’t tell you what to do.”

You sigh. “I wish you would though.”

A chuckle passes his lips. “Why don’t you start by telling me what’s weighing you down, sweetheart, and we will go from there?”

Sweetheart. 

Yes, you think, this is your one-way ticket to hell. 

“I’ve been having thoughts,” you confess.

“Thoughts?” he asks.

“Yes. Unholy thoughts.” Your breath comes in weak puffs of air. The booth seems to cave in on you. You wish he would step out of his booth into yours and stuff his cock into your mouth. For him, you would shut up. You would do whatever he tells you to do, and you would do so gladly.

Fuck. You want to fuck a priest. 

But lucky for you, Father Matthew wants to fuck you too. He’s here, at midnight, because you were lost and he was still there—he told you he spends his nights at church sometimes because the city gets too loud for him. You couldn’t go anywhere else because any place where he isn’t doesn’t seem worth visiting.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath. You imagine him swallowing, his white collar constricting his labored airflow. You imagine him pulling at it to free himself, but he can’t. Those sinfully thick fingers of his would feel even better on your skin. 

“Unholy thoughts,” Father Matthew asks, “about whom, sweetheart?”

He’s pushing your buttons with that nickname. It’s so not professional. The lines are starting to blur.

“A man,” you tell him. 

“A man?”

“A man of God.”

The confession causes a bout of silence. You could have heard a hairpin drop. 

His chair creaks again, and his voice reminds you of an animalistic growl right before an apex predator attacks its prey. “And what unholy thoughts have you been having about this man of God?” he inquires.

Your inner walls clench around thin air. Sweat drips down your temples, and the arousal soaks your underwear. Your nipples strain against your shirt. If you grip the seat any harder, you will soon find wooden chips under your nails.

You lick your lips. “I’ve been thinking about him touching me,” you whisper. “And I want to touch him.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“And in your thoughts, does he satisfy you?”

Your answer comes promptly, “Always.”

There is not a scenario in which Father Matthew could possibly leave you unsatisfied. 

The chair creaks again. Something in the air shifts. 

Your voice is breathless and needy, and so fucking desperate when you speak into the silence, “Just tell me what to do, Father.”

“Okay,” he says. His leather shoes drag across the floor of the booth and toward the curtain that marks the exit of his side. The next word out of his mouth knocks all the air out of your lungs, “Kneel.”

You don’t even have time to question his request. Within seconds, the curtain through which you’ve stepped into the confessional booth is torn to the side, and there he is, in all of his glory, right in front of you, and his thick cock is straining against his black slacks.

You pinch yourself, but you’re not dreaming. This is real. This is what you wanted, and you weren’t imagining the mutual attraction due to delusions. He does want you, and he is about to break every rule in his book—and the lord’s book.

You sink to your knees. The only thing you can see on his face is pure, unbridled lust and the ugly truth of Catholic guilt. He must loathe himself for wanting you. 

Matt removes his glasses, revealing his beautiful eyes to you. In the dim candlelight, they appear almost black.

“What’s my sentence, Father?” you ask.

His hand brushes your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“No.” He steps into the booth and closes the curtain behind him. “Tonight, call me Matt.”

That is the last thing he says before he gets on his knees before you, and he captures your lips in a bruising kiss that is strong enough to make the angels howl.

His hand rests around your throat, feeling your pulse. He may not be able to see you with his eyes, but the way he touches you paints a perfect picture of your presence, and you feel every last ounce of his devotion. 

He explores the depth of your mouth with his tongue, tasting you, loving you. His hands feel beautifully rough against your skin, just like you imagined they would be after years of praying. He sees himself as the hands of God. A messenger. His goodness makes your heart swell and your core flood with more than unbridled arousal—this is human nature in all its emotional glory, and you no longer feel ashamed. You can’t possibly when he is holding you like this.

He exhales into your mouth—no, he breathes life into your soul. “You’re the most sinful yet purest thing I have ever laid my hands on,” Matt says.

You gasp against his luscious lips. “I wouldn’t want to make you turn your back on God, or–”

He cuts you off, “I did that when I first thought about your body on mine and coming so deep inside of you that you’ll carry me with you for days. I don’t care about God because if having him means that I can’t have you,” he says, “I don’t want him anymore.”

You swallow his words with a kiss. Turning a priest against God was never your intention, but you are not in charge of his feelings, nor will you ever be. Matt wants you badly enough to abandon religion, and you will carry that with you until the day you die. 

He lifts you back onto the edge of the wooden chair, pulling at your clothes and your undergarments. The moonlight hits his face as the cold air of the church hits your bare pussy. He looks ethereal like this, on his knees for you. His hazel eyes bore into your soul. He wears his heart on his sleeves and a collar around his neck. 

Your priest crosses his chest. He asks God for forgiveness. And then, with one gentle tug at your thighs, he buries his face in your wet cunt, and he feasts as if your sex was the last supper. As God’s disciple, he is determined to eat up every last bite offered to him. Every last drop from your cunt is his, and your lips part in a moan that echoes through the church like the bells did when it hit midnight.

“Fuck,” you cry out. 

He flattens his tongue against you, licking a long stripe over and then through your folds. He twirls the tip of his tongue over your clit, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves with such precision, your walls clench at the sheer explosion of pleasure. You have never felt anything like it. He turns something unholy into heaven, and you’re drowning in the river to the Garden of Eden.

His lips suction around your clit. The obscene squelching of your velvety walls fills the booth. It sounds deadly noisy to you. You want to cover your mouth to stop the moans from traveling, but he traps your hand with his, guiding them to his hand, telling you to guide him.  

Instead, one of your hands moves to his collar. It’s his turn to moan. You tug at the symbol of his priesthood, forcing his tongue deeper into your hole. He laps up your juices as though his life depends on it. 

“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned,” Matt murmurs against you. 

You moan again, louder this time. He is repenting for wanting to dive into your pussy until he gets swept away by the tide, but it is far too late to back out now. Your pleasure has become his priority. 

“Lord God,” he repeats, “in your goodness have mercy on me.”

The pleasure is turning into a tight knot in your lower abdomen. You can feel it consuming you and your senses. You’re floating. The light at the end of the tunnel is not so far out of reach anymore. Every suck and every lick at your folds, and every thrust of his tongue into your tight walls pushes you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

In your goodness, have mercy on me. 

He bites down lightly on your clit. Your toes curl, and his name comes out in a groan.

Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. 

Right now, you are his God. By drinking your arousal like holy water and pushing you toward an orgasm he is repenting. The symbolism makes your heels dig into his back as you buck your hips against his mouth, and when he adds one of those thick fingers, curling them up against that sweet spot inside of you, you can barely stand it anymore.

Create me in a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.

“God, Matthew!” your moan interrupts his plea for penance only briefly.

He swats your thigh. “No blasphemy when I feast at the altar,” he says. The vibration of his voice adds to the knot, tightening it, and threatening it to burst.

You’re almost there. Almost…

“Have mercy on me, a sinner,” he continues. His tongue slides between your folds once again, gathering your slit. His fingers curl upward again. He’s mixing different prayers, or maybe these are his own words, but you are not sure how much longer you can hold it. But he wants you to hold it. You don’t want to disappoint the man who is worshiping at your feet, your pussy, his altar, and you are his salvation as much as you are his saving grace.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” he prays, “I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things—but fuck, I don’t.” 

Does that mean he loves you? It is too soon to tell that, but he is devoted, and devotion can be just as sinfully sweet as the rawest feeling of love.

“Have mercy on me, God. Amen!”

His collar is starting to tear under your vice grip. 

Matt thrusts his digit into you until it disappears, and he finally decides to show the mercy he was begging for to you. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he says. 

Your thighs lock around his head as the knot breaks in two. You come, hard, and the wave tears him down with you, shooting his cum into his slacks like the good Catholic boy he is.

You let go of his collar when your orgasm has done its damage. 

“No,” he stops you. 

“No?” you ask, still breathless.

“No,” he says, lifting his head to grin at you, not like a man of God but the Devil himself. “I have not done nearly enough penance.”

As a priest, Matt is used to being on his knees until they’re bruised; until he can’t stand straight anymore, so he has to remain there, cowering before a God he more often than not does not believe in.

Before you can protest, he dives back into your endless ocean, and you have no choice but to lean back and take it. 

He is not the only one doing penance tonight, after all—you both are. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[bluedalahorse]

This is a Sara and August Appreciation Post (Favorite Non-Wilmon Overall Ship)

A post written for YRFavesFest2024, graciously hosted by @youngroyals-events. This is in response to prompt #6.

They’re so awkward. I love them.

If I learned anything from the historical example of Vasa, it’s that some ships are destined to sink. But lo, they sink so majestically that you must cherish them and build an entire museum dedicated to their cultural significance.

Such are my feelings for Sara and August. They have been my two very favorite characters in Young Royals from day one, and also they are in love? They’re both so deeply flawed, with so much chemistry, and they’re both so very lonely, that you can see why they’re drawn to one another like magnets.

Truly, I could honor saraugust in any number of ways, but I realized looking back that they were above all extremely fun to write about. So in this post, I’ve put together snippets from fics I’ve written about Sara and August, both finished/published and unfinished/unpublished, that showcase all the fun I’ve had with their dynamic over the years.

I’m going to put the fic snippets below a cut, as this post will be as long as Malte is tall. Also, as a heads up, there will be some excerpts that trend a bit naughty, but never anything explicit. Enjoy!

Terrain Boundaries Territory was the first fic I wrote for them in summer of 2021. I went into a two-week fugue state and forgot to do anything else while I worked out the story.

In TBT, Sara decides she’s going to get revenge on August for how he treated Simon. She decides she’s going to do that by dating him, finding out all his secrets, and ruining him somehow. Of course, as Sara and August get closer and more entangled, things get more complicated between them.

I used this fic to discover characterizations for Sara and August, mostly, and figured out what made them tick. It really helped me to bond with them as characters. I feel like my Simon is reasonably characterized, but the other secondary characters need… a lot of work. At this point the show was new, I was lurking, and I couldn’t even keep the character names straight. It showed.

I wrote TBT right when I got into verse novels, so it’s in verse. I also decided I was going to write Sara’s POV as a second person narrator, to put the reader uncomfortably close to what she’s thinking and feeling. These things are fun to play with in an MFA program, but they’re a bit risky for fanfiction, where a lot of fans prefer familiar tropes and writing styles. I still love that this fic reignited my passion for writing fanfiction in general.

Also there’s a Fleabag reference that no reader has found yet. Beat you to the punch, Lisa.

An excerpt:

There is a floorboard in the hallway where August’s step hesitates, a door on his left like a gap between fangs. In the evening, now sober, you return without him— stand in the threshold of the door and sniff each layer of dust, catalogue the shrouded furniture, the landscapes painted in storms of oils, the one tall harp, out of tune. Footsteps, doubling back. His shadow touches your shoulders and, This is where we found my Pappa dead. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Did he know he was being too honest? You know what that’s like.

Next excerpt comes from an unfinished, August-POV sequel to Terrain Boundaries Territory I was writing in Fall and Winter of 2021. After TBT, I was asking myself: well, how did August manage to fall in love with Sara? I could feel, instinctively, that he was going to fall in love with her, whenever season 2 of YR came around. I just wanted to work out what it would look like. I started to play with the idea that maybe he dates her to deflect any suspicion about the video, but starts to soften toward her as he realizes they have a lot of loneliness and grief in common.

In this scene, Sara’s just had a meltdown during a clash between Marieberg and Hillerska students. Sara and August are just starting to date publicly, and everyone has thoughts, including Sara’s old bullies. They’re nasty to her, and Rosh (who happens to be both Present and Intimidating) tells them off. Sara runs away, and August goes to find her.

They talk:

“So you have some friends at Marieberg.” “They’re Simon’s friends. They only like me because of Simon.” Oh. Shit. If August were a good boyfriend (which, he isn’t) and this were a real relationship (it’s not, they just need one another for appearances) he’d tell Sara I like you because of you. Maybe also I’ll always put you first. They’ve only been official for a short while, but guys have whispered bolder lies into a new girlfriend’s hair. That’s sort of how relationships work, isn’t it? Always moving too fast and lying. August wants to say that because Sara’s brushed aside the graveyard dirt that covers up an old memory: his first parents’ weekend, back when he was a gangly kid with no muscle definition and no idea how to dress himself, when he told his mamma people only like me because Erik makes them. That put a shocked expression on Mamma’s face. Then she forgot just ten minutes later, when she told August she was seeing people again. Three years and becoming prefect should have dulled August’s memories of that weekend, but now unearthed, the memories only make the present feel fake. Sara’s closed in on herself—head bowed, eyes on the ground, now ungloved hands clutching at her elbows. Inside Sara must feel cold, raw, bruised, inert. Like forgotten meat at the back of a freezer. It’s not fair that she should feel that. Not when she’s smart and detail-oriented and secretly daring. Not when she’s the sort of girl who becomes a social media heroine for rescuing cats. August is too scared of saying I like you, even as he’s counting all the reasons people should like Sara. So instead he asks, “Do you want me to hold you?” Sara nods. August follows the advice of football scarf girl and hugs Sara tight. She doesn’t tense up—it’s the first time he’s felt her relax, actually. That he’s noticed. If he’s going to pull off this fake boyfriend thing, maybe he should notice more. “You asked,” says Sara. “You’ve never asked before.” Talking into his coat, she adds, “I need somewhere to rest.” “I told you, you can always use my room.” “Somewhere to actually rest.” “I know. I understand. Come on.” He takes her hand and leads her back to the dorms.

Next, in early 2022, @heliza24 and I began publishing Heart and Homeland, our ensemble regency AU. I think to this day, we’re one of the few true ensemble fics in YR fandom that gives all five main characters roughly equal POV time, but I could be wrong about that. I intend to finish the epilogue chapters in 2025.

Anyway, I felt like I had a solid grasp on Sara and August at this point, and also I love period dramas. Do you know how exciting it was for me to write them in a troubled gothic romance situation? Sara’s the governess for Felice’s younger sisters, and August is attending Hillerska with Simon and Wilhelm while also being engaged to Felice. Felice breaks off her engagement to August though, and then after a Series Of Dramatic Events, Sara and August run off together.

The first twentysome chapters of the fic were written before season 2, and I think I did a reasonably good job predicting Sara and August’s dynamic. Also, they hooked up in a moving carriage, so I may have predicted a Bridgerton season as well, oops. Anyway, here’s a scene from the morning after that hookup, and if you’ve read far enough into the story, you know this will have tragic resonance later on:

Sara tugged the dressing gown tighter around her shoulders. August sat beside her on the bed, careful not to upset his mug. An aroma from Sara’s childhood filled the air, and she remembered how Pappa, in his better moods, used to let her grind coffee beans when he came back from his voyages. Preparing coffee for Pappa and Mamma helped Sara to feel useful, even though she had not been allowed to drink it herself. “That’s coffee, isn’t it?” Sara asked. The smell never bothered her the way it did Simon, after Pappa was arrested for smuggling it. “It is,” said August. “Her Majesty’s ban doesn’t really apply here with us. It is really only for the general public’s benefit, to help them moderate their vices.” Vices. Sara felt she had not indulged hers enough. “May I have some coffee?” “You may.” August handed Sara the mug, and Sara drank as he drawled on. “Speaking of Her Majesty, she is in good health, although of course it distressed her to learn of last night’s events. I am glad I was the one to bring her the news and reassure her of His Highness’s well-being. One needs the support of family at such dire times.” He was showing off now, speaking breezily about his connections to the monarchy, as if Sara herself hadn’t danced with the prince earlier. “Her Majesty has already implied that I should stay in town for the coming days so that I can assist Wille as he returns to the palace. I will be back and forth between here and there. You must promise not to fret too much when I’m out.” “I am capable of occupying myself, and you are quite committed to serving the realm. We will manage a few hours apart,” said Sara. A moment later she realized that he probably wanted her to say something else. Felice had explained once that boys sometimes expressed such sentiments so that girls could reassure them of their devotion. “Of course in practice, I am sure I will miss you, and that you will miss me.” Things were moving fast. Sara took a final long sip of coffee before handing the mug back to August. “Here you are.” August looked down into the mug. “You drank all of it.” “You will have to bring me more, then.” Sara smiled.

Now that we’ve had Sara and August in the historical past, let’s move on to some fic where they find one another again in the future! While I am very satisfied with their breakup at the end of season 3, and think it’s what was right for them, I sometimes imagine a possible future where they can try again and things work out for them. Why? Because I like seeing them kiss. It’s really not that deep.

Here’s something unfinished I wrote after season 3, where the Swedish people are about to vote on a referendum about whether or not they want to end the monarchy. August (who has been through a lot of character development and worked to make things up with Simon) just assumes everyone is going to vote to end the monarchy, so he’s doing everything he can to make sure the transition goes smoothly and that they can give the monarchy a good “funeral” and such. Meanwhile, Sara is working a toxic nonprofit job that takes advantage of her passion to make the world a better place. And wouldn’t you know it? They’re crossing paths:

August nods and exits out through the double doors, and just like that, Sara becomes a royal guest. Perhaps one of the last royal guests ever, if last week’s polling data means anything. She hopes no one will interview her for a documentary about it in the future. There’s a farcical moment two minutes afterward where August sticks his head back in and says he’s forgotten his sunscreen, and Sara hands him the bottle before he goes out again. It’s a brand she’s never seen before—something ridiculously expensive and high SPF. Fragrance free, too. Sara can’t help watching through the windows as August rubs the sunscreen onto the back of his neck and onto his exposed forearms. Can’t help wondering if she’d have rubbed it in for him, admonishing him like you know you burn so easily, if they’d had their summer weekends in Bjärstad during his military service like he’d wanted. Still, Sara hadn’t wanted it, then, and that thought should be enough to push herself back into fifteen minute stretches of newsletter edits and donor emails. Sara reminds herself of her bosses’ talking points: that PuzzleChildrens’ oldest donors appreciate the paper copies of the newsletter they receive each month, that the personal stories of lost children remind them where their money is going, that Sara is doing so well at communicating with people and that she shouldn’t worry too much about creating a perfect product, only one that reaches people’s hearts. She opens up a colleague’s story about a pitiable single mother in Luleå called Maja, whose eleven-year-old daughter Saga has been “stolen” by a serious disease. The colleague is older and touchy, so Sara phrases all her line edits delicately. What she really wants to type is: Don’t call meltdowns “tantrums.” Of course Saga has empathy, she loves her dog and she probably feels that very deeply. And for fuck’s sake arm flapping isn’t a “babyish gesture.” But no. She can’t respond like that. Not with the amount of money these newsletters raise, not when her older colleagues don’t know things, and she was the one hired to educate them. Sara thinks that maybe, the cotton of her sundress would be better if it were rougher. If she could run the nail of her index finger across her hip and it would hurt just enough to remind her how to communicate with people at work so they don’t think she’s a freak. Eventually Sara’s phone buzzes with an incoming text, pulling her out of her thoughts. Do you want something to drink? It’s from August. Sara looks up, and he’s still outdoors on the balcony. He glances in Sara’s direction and offers her a stiff—but not unfriendly—wave. The glass between them is impossibly clean, probably scrubbed this morning by the staff at Solliden. Sara texts back. I don’t want to trouble you too much. Are you having something? Seltzer. There’s a local brand that just launched, they do one with an elderflower and pear infusion. August makes a face at his phone (Sara’s still watching him, it’s that twisting expression his mouth sometimes makes when he’s embarrassed himself, like he’s gotten an unexpected taste of sour candy) and types a follow up. It’s less pretentious than it sounds. You can have what you want though. We’re well-stocked here. Seltzer sounds good, Sara responds. I’ll have that, thanks.

Do I have other future scenarios? Yes. One of them involves Sara and August on a road trip back to Sweden (they can’t do air travel because of a volcanic explosion in Iceland) so they can get to Wilhelm and Simon’s engagement party in time. This is a future set after August leaves the monarchy behind, but hasn’t explained to anyone why and it’s a bit of an incident. Sara is working a shitty nonprofit job in this story idea, too, since the road trip idea was sort of a 2.0 iteration of what you see above.

Anyway, when I think about them as adults, I enjoy letting them be a little bit kinky. Mostly because they both seem to have intense sensory needs and would also like figuring out the power exchanges, and also because you can have a scenario where Sara’s tried more kinks than August has, and it reverses the experience dynamic they have as teenagers. Like this:

Sara presses the brush bristles down onto August’s open palm. It’s only a little bit of extra pressure, spread out over multiple prickling points, but it sends a current up his arm and through his chest. August draws in a sharp breath. He and Sara meet eyes. They’re studying one another now, like they’ve both been hit by the realization that it’s been over ten years and they’ve tried other things with other partners. “So.” Sara smiles out of one corner of her mouth. “You like a little bit of pain?” “Maybe,” says August. “I mean, life at the palace was pretty conservative, so I didn’t get to explore much—” “Please.” Sara is the one laughing now, and there’s a mixture of affection and disdain in it that makes something in August’s stomach curl. “Royals get away with doing all kinds of kinky shit.” “Not me,” says August. “I was working all the time.” His face flushes as he realizes how embarrassing it sounds—Sara’s giving him an are you kidding me look—but there’s also something hot about it at the same time. About wanting to squirm under her gaze. “We could try something tonight,” says Sara. “if you want.” “We promised ourselves we wouldn’t.” “We said we wouldn’t touch each other. And we won’t. I’m only going to touch you with the brush. Do you want me to explain?”

Sara domming is fantastic, but I also kind of imagine saraugust as a couple with with swtichy vibes. Which is why in L’escarpolette, twentysomething Sara has a surreal sex dream about getting tied up on a swing while she’s wearing her Valentine’s ball clothes:

August kneels, and that’s when Sara knows she has him where she wants him. Or, he has her where he wants her. Whichever is the truth. August reaches for Sara’s foot—the one that hasn’t lost its ballet flat—and his eyes meet Sara’s as he slides the shoe off and sets it aside. He bends down further to kiss her ankle. A current of electricity travels up Sara’s leg. The sensation leaves Sara twitching and ticklish. August seizes the hem of her skirts and lifts. Out of the corner of Sara’s eye she glimpses the firelight down at the bottom of the hill, where the mysterious eighteenth century party frolics on. Perhaps sparks of that light glint in people’s eyes or in the lenses of their opera glasses as they swivel their gaze toward the hill… Sara’s balance falters. She tips backward. “Wait wait wait.” August lets go of Sara’s skirts and claps his hands back around her waist, steadying her before she can hit the ground. “I want to make sure you don’t fall.” He’s so earnest, and Sara still feels ticklish. She giggles, and August joins her, and for a moment they are consumed by the giddiness that comes with carrying out an odd and daring experiment in the night. But how to avoid falling? Sara follows the line of the swing’s ropes upward. Oh. Those flowering vines hanging down from the tree branches. They’re waving ever so slightly in the breeze, as if they’re trying to get her attention in secret. In her waking life, Sara sometimes imagines what it would be like to tie up a lover. Or what it would be like to ask a lover to tie her up. She’s never felt like she could ask anyone. Maybe here…

To finish off this post, let’s talk canon divergences. I once had a commenter on one of my fics say that they saw Sara and August as a case of Right Person, Wrong Timing. I can get behind this idea myself, and it’s always made me wonder what their relationship would be like when they met earlier, when August is raw from grief in his first year at Hillerska, and Sara is still experiencing bullying in public school. I’ve started a fic along those lines, and I’m hoping to finish it soon for events in January or February.

Looks like Sara and August are going to have to escape a situation together:

The boy in the closet with her is pale and slim. He twitches and groans softly. Something pinches inside Sara’s chest. Sympathy? He looks as trapped here as she is, and Sara wants to trust him. Just so she isn’t alone. She crawls over to the boy and kneels at his side. She keeps a house key in her palm just in case. His eyes flutter open halfway. “You’re awake,” Sara says. “Fuck.” He blinks. “You’re… Sara?” “Yes,” she says. It’s a relief to hear someone say her name aloud, even though he’s a stranger. “Did you hit your head when you fell?” Haltingly, the boy pushes himself up to a sitting position. “I’m… not sure.” “You should check.” He’s quite tall, Sara notices. And he’s sitting still, not checking his head like she told him to. Sara can’t tell from looking at him if he has any lumps on his head; he has thick, dark curls that hide that. She’d have to run her fingers through his hair if she was going to help him check. Will she have to? The boy hasn’t moved yet. It’s like he’s in a daze.  Sara’s fingers twitch. She’s impatient. Before she can raise her hands and look the boy over, to make sure that he’s safe, he finally shakes himself alert and moves his hands to his hair. “No lumps,” the boy says. “So I’m alright.” His eyes land on Sara. “Are you…” Sara replies with the truth. “They locked me in here for hours. We need to get out.”

Anyway. Do you see how much these two fuel me? Do you see The Vision? More fic to come on a tumblr near you!

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with Interview Magazine (2024)

Before he was known as the dashing Lord Anthony Bridgerton or Tim Laughlin, the character in Fellow Travelers for which he won a Critics Choice Award earlier this month, Jonathan Bailey caught the attention of Phoebe Waller-Bridge with his confident, self-possessed audition for her show Crashing nearly a decade ago. “You came in like a fireball,” said the Fleabag star on Zoom with Bailey, recounting how, while reading for the role of the sex-obsessed Sam, Bailey asked permission to lay his script out on the floor in front of him like a rainbow. “You had no embarrassment. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free.” In the years since, with roles in Bridgerton, the Showtime drama Fellow Travelers, and the upcoming Wicked movie adaptation, Bailey has become one of the most sought-after actors in the business, capable of generating sparks with whoever’s on screen with him. Waller-Bridge attributes this to the 35-year-old’s distinct understanding of tension. “You’re like a chemistry machine,” she gushed. “There’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.” Last week, from a hotel room at Claridge’s in London, Bailey talked to Waller-Bridge about longing, orgasms, frosted tips, nostalgia, Shakespeare, and his very first role: playing a raindrop in a stage production of Noah’s Ark.

PHOEBE WALLER-BRIDGE: Hi.

JONATHAN BAILEY: Hi.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m taking my glasses off. Now I can be real.

BAILEY: I’ve just had a gin and tonic, actually. I had a meeting and he really wanted a glass of Whispering Angel, so I was like, “Well, I’ve got to dive in.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s the time there?

BAILEY: Oh, I’m literally around the corner from you. Literally, I’ve come into Claridge’s Hotel and checked in for an hour just to have a Zoom.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Oh, god. That’s so chic. Jonny, I want all of your secrets.

BAILEY: I feel like you’ve got quite a few of them already.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I do, actually. And we’re not going to talk about any of those. But I did also get to do a little bit of research on you.

BAILEY: Oh, god. What have you got?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Jonathan Stewart Bailey, I’d like to jump straight in with the fact that the first professional job you had was playing a teardrop, or a raindrop?

BAILEY: There were teardrops, but yeah, I was playing a raindrop.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You were a crying raindrop.

BAILEY: A crying raindrop in Noah’s Ark.

WALLER-BRIDGE: And how old were you then?

BAILEY: I think I was about 5 going on 29. I was really upset because it didn’t rain. The bitch that played Noah, she forgot the cue for the rain to come. So my dance didn’t make it, but at the end of the show they allowed me to do it once everyone had applauded.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I asked you that specifically because you’ve also said that your grandmother took you to see a production of Oliver in London and that’s what changed everything.

BAILEY: Yes.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So was the raindrop before or after that? I am getting to something, I promise.

BAILEY: I think it was probably afterwards. I was really young when I went to see Oliver.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m interested because I read that seeing it made you decide you wanted to perform. Can you tell me the specific thing that made it click?

BAILEY: I’ll tell you, the most bizarre thing is that I had three seasons at the RSC under my belt by the age of nine. There was a moment where I played Prince Arthur, the kid in Shakespeare who gets his eyes gouged out and has to escape a turret. I remember doing that production and thinking I was aware of the power of words, if that makes sense. You’re so porous at that age, I think. It is such a gift, isn’t it, to be shown what iambic pentameter is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still feel passionate about Shakespeare now?

BAILEY: I do, actually. It’s my dirty, filthy habit.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Your dirty little habit. I know what you mean, though, how if you come to it quite raw, and it’s not something that you’ve had shoved down your throat at school, there is nothing more epic and spectacular.

BAILEY: And being around people who are just so committed to their vocation, whether they’re writing or creating. The smell backstage at the RSC at the Barbican was like cigarettes, stage makeup, Joe Fiennes, and hope.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s a lot of beautiful smells you’ve got going on there.

BAILEY: I know. Talk about top notes and bottom notes. I was like, “These men, these titans of theater!”

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s extraordinary that you were exposed to that kind of level of professionalism. Because you are consummately professional, and I remember that. You have this incredible ability to be completely live and spontaneous and wild at the same time as being so incredibly professional, and that’s why working with you felt totally safe. I know that I’ve got a professional actor coming today, but I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen because you still managed to keep that spontaneity and danger.

BAILEY: I suppose it’s sometimes dangerous. Today I had to do an interview. Crashing came up and I described working with you as being on the constant edge of an orgasm and also hysteria.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It did have a kind of wild, beautiful energy.

BAILEY: There’s a chemical alchemy when you get the right group of people led by the right people.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I haven’t had that in quite the same way since, where everyone has equal importance in the story. That’s the thing that feels quite rare, actually, there’s like six of you and they’re all as fucked up as each other. I remember your audition. You came in like a fireball and you already felt like you had a Sam energy. You sat in your chair, took out your script from your bag, and then you were like, “Give me a second,” and you laid out your script around you on the floor. You had no embarrassment about what you needed or in front of you. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free. And I just wonder if you’ve felt that particular type of confidence your whole life?

BAILEY: That’s a really good question. I’ve got three older sisters and I wonder if they are a structure. I’ve definitely been in environments where I don’t feel free, and then you give the worst performance of your life. What I’ve found in the last few years is that, of course, you have to adapt so quickly to work out what you need in order to be able to be free. I think if I don’t have the equivalent of that on the floor, I panic or get really scared.

WALLER-BRIDGE: There’s something about that, which is being able to play dangerously in a safe environment. I feel like that’s got so much to do with an understanding of tension, which I think you have. You’re like a chemistry machine. Obviously, with Bridgerton and then in Fellow Travelers, there’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.

BAILEY: I really think it comes from Crashing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It doesn’t come from Crashing, it comes from you. I think you’re the king of tension. I think you understand what that is.

BAILEY: I think you can give yourself butterflies, can’t you?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Is that what you’re looking for, the butterfly all the time?

BAILEY: Yeah, I’m always looking for my butterfly farm. The misty, slightly smelly greenhouse full of butterflies.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s your tummy?

BAILEY: Yeah, that’s my tummy.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Did you always dream of playing leading man roles growing up?

BAILEY: Not at all, no. I never thought I would be able to.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Why?

BAILEY: I’ve realized that I’m completely in awe of other people and performances and creative endeavors. I go to the theater and I love a performance and I’m like, “How do they do that? I can’t see the seams.” So therefore, I feel like I must be driven by that. And when something comes my way, there’s a fear that it won’t work.

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s really exciting to me is when I see palpable dynamics between characters, which you have done multiple times, like the relationship between Tim and Hawk. There’s so much opportunity for intimacy and that kind of danger. And when you get to play those sorts of roles, when you know that you can stand in front of each other and you don’t really need to do anything because it’s giving you something, it must’ve just been a joy walking into this world because it’s like a banquet of stuff to play with, right?

BAILEY: Totally, and it feels sort of vital and sexy. I do remember this one memory, which I guess I’ll share with you now. I did play and there was a tiled wall,at eye level with a mirrored border around. And there was a guy, we were into each other, and I remember just looking up in the middle of a conversation and he was looking at me in a reflection. And I was like, “This is what life is about.” Anyway, I think that it must have something to do with feeling the most alive in that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you know Esther Perel?

BAILEY: Yeah, I love Esther Perel.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So she’s written about how she believes that your next orgasm begins at the very end of your last one, which is basically our whole life just building up to our next orgasm.

BAILEY: That’s just fantastic. It’s just so positive and hopeful—

WALLER-BRIDGE: And so beautiful, isn’t it?

BAILEY: It is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Everything that you encounter in your life, every conversation that you have, is in some way building up to the next euphoric physical experience. Every single character has to have that inside them one way or another, because every human does. And I think with Fellow Travelers, because you long for them so much as an audience and you want them to have everything that they want from each other, but they’re also brutal to themselves and to each other, there is something so extraordinary seeing characters in that time portrayed in the way that you guys have portrayed them.

BAILEY: One thing that we’re all born with is the sense of longing. Longing comes before anything else, doesn’t it? Whoever you put on the wall, laminate the poster or whatever, it’s there. And actually, if you long for someone, more often than not you don’t think you are worthy of it. And that, to me, is a way into characters.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you remember your laminated poster longing person?

BAILEY: I think I had the Simpsons, which was obviously me trying to disguise myself as much as possible. Lucy Liu was a big one for me, too.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, I can see that.

BAILEY: I suppose there’s the laminated wall in my literal bedroom and then there’s the laminated wall in my gay—

WALLER-BRIDGE: Mind.

BAILEY: Who was yours?

WALLER-BRIDGE: You know what? It’s really interesting, because I was the eagle in the Rescuers Down Under. That wasn’t necessarily a sexual longing, but it was a romantic idea, that overwhelming sense of watching the Rescuers Down Under and being able to run out of the back of my house on my own, age 10, and jump onto the back of a giant eagle and he’ll fly me around. But in terms of just a hottie that I really fancied, I think it was probably Leo [DiCaprio].

BAILEY: Oh, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Are you a nostalgic person?

BAILEY: Yes, I think so. I think a lot about my younger self. I’m always like, “Guys, remember this?” It’s slightly annoying, but I’m always drawing a line between the past and now for sure.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s how you measure your life, by remembering the time that’s gone by or what 11-year-old you would think of what you were doing?

BAILEY: I think I’m probably more romantic than nostalgic, if that makes sense.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Go on.

BAILEY: Well, I just think I’ve fully committed to the idea of everything being brilliant and then I work backwards from there.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, having starred in two hit period dramas and also being a huge part of the fact that they are a hit, that’s why I wondered about what your relationship is with the past and history, and how much you actually knew about McCarthy America?

BAILEY: Oh, no. Have you got a quiz?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I actually don’t. Do you want one?

BAILEY: No, that would be the worst.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you enjoy historical novels? Do you live in the past in any way in your mind? Or you are kind of like, “We’re here and we’re moving forward?”

BAILEY: I do think I’m here and moving forward. I really struggled with history at school, I could not take in information about the past. When it came to exams, I would remember the page where things were written but I couldn’t stitch together epochs and eras and kings.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It crashes my brain, too. I have a friend, and you can say to her, “June 24th, 1999,” and she can tell you pretty much what she was up to.

BAILEY: That’s amazing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You can see her go into the diary in her mind. She has a very different wiring of her brain. But speaking of longing, are there any fictional or real life couples, gay or straight, that captured your heart over the years?

BAILEY: Oh my god, what a question. What about Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling in Blue Valentine?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I think Morticia and Gomez Addams were the most romantic couple.

BAILEY: Yeah, I see that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: They understood it. They got it all.

BAILEY: Also maybe Ryan and Marissa in The OC.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Any gay male couples that you ever looked up to or were romanced by?

BAILEY: Well unfortunately, there just weren’t that many were there growing up.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So wild.

BAILEY: But I met Matthew Rhys recently, who I just love. And I was thinking about that relationship in Brothers and Sisters. And then there was Queer as Folk. Russell, T. Davies changed the game. So many people owe so much to him just purely for visibility. There is no Tim and Hawk to a 2023 audience without Queer as Folk.

WALLER-BRIDGE: But did you feel frustrated?

BAILEY: Well, speaking of history, I was doing media studies with an amazing teacher and I decided that I was going to do my dissertation about the representations of Hutus and Tutsis and the Rwanda genocide, looking at Hotel Rwanda and Shooting Dogs. And then Brokeback Mountain came out and I was like, “Hang on, how can I possibly create a world where I can go and have a free pass to go to the cinema to watch it 10 times?” I’m really proud of my 17-year-old self, I wasn’t necessarily out, but I changed the topic to representation of homosexuality in Brokeback Mountain and I watched that film 10 times. And this amazing teacher, Dr. Brunton, who probably had an idea of what was going on, was just like, “This is brilliant, keep going, keep going.” And I think it was the best mark I ever got.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still have it?

BAILEY: It must be on a hard drive upstairs in the attic. And obviously, that completely changed me, something chemical happened there. But it’s funny, I’m not clear on memories. And I do think it’s a common thing for a lot of people, growing up and having to survive and be basically in fight or flight, there’s a murkiness to how I recall.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Of course, because you couldn’t be truly present because you weren’t being completely yourself.

BAILEY: Totally, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: When you look back and start unpacking it, do you feel overwhelmed with sympathy for how hard you were having to work as a 16-year-old, coming up with excuses to see the movie that you wanted to see?

BAILEY: Yeah. But I spent more time trying to be sympathetic towards the people that were around me who didn’t support or couldn’t help. I look back and I go, “Hell.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yes. But you are representing that and living that for so many people now. Your speech at the Critics Choice Awards the other day was so sublime and beautiful and straight from the heart. You are so electric as a human being and that is the most important thing. There aren’t many people in the world that can do that, that can stand there in front of people and speak from their heart about what it means to them to be given this opportunity. And I know that your career is just going to be the most extraordinary journey. When I first met you, I remember sitting with Josh [Cole], who was the producer on Crashing, and we were like, “If we get this guy, it’s going to be the game changer for the show.” And I know that every single person now wanting you on their project is feeling the same thing.

BAILEY: I definitely feel overwhelmed by that, but it’s lovely to hear.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Can I just ask you one question which I couldn’t remember about Crashing?

BAILEY: Yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: The frosted tips were your idea, wasn’t it?

BAILEY: I had this conversation today. I think it’s in the script. But my reference picture was Justin Timberlake in double denim.

WALLER-BRIDGE: No, I don’t think it was [in the script], because Sam’s a character that I hold closest to my heart because, in so many ways, he represents how I feel about maybe my inner life. I just love him so much, and your ability to play every single little corner of him that I dreamed of.

BAILEY: Maybe that’s the answer I was looking for when you asked if I was drawn to any romantic couples? No, it was just about wanting bleach blonde hair.

Source

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 23 - Don't Hide That Smile

some cute comforting H <3 sorry for being days late my loves

FICTOBER

Patreon

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“Y/N…. Come on.” Harry pleaded. “I think that got a smile out of you, don’t hide it away!”

It did, in fact, get a smile out of her. But the absolute fail of a costume had made her very, very upset at first.

In hindsight, Y/N knew that attempting a full costume as a first sewing project was ambitious to say the least. What was supposed to be a floor length gown ended up looking like a giant tube, the seams wonky and her poor attempt of dying the fabric last minute making the fabric look like it had been a weird bleach accident. It was the night before halloween and they’d had a check in, Harry wanting to see and Y/N bursting into tears when he’d aside to see the finished product. 

To make matters worse, she had pretended she had it all under control. To a fashion student Harry. She’d wanted to impress him, but she had made a fool out of herself and told Harry she was a phony, which he quickly reassured she wasn’t and thought it was cute she wanted to impress him. When he’d asked to see it, if maybe he could help fix it, she assured him he couldn’t, but it still didn’t help when his reaction to the dress had been a wide eyed “Oh….” 

That had sent another bout of tears, making Harry panic at now being the source of them, so he tried to mend his error. 

“I didn’t mean a bad, oh!”

“I mean, I’m shocked but I wasn’t trying to be mean!” 

“It isn’t awful, please don’t cry. 

“Babe, it’s camp… no. It’s French.”

The reference to Fleabag made her crying stop for a moment, trying not to laugh. She still felt like a failure when he gently dragged her hands off of her face and tried to wipe her tears, frowning as he really didn’t like to see Y/N upset. No one would. She looked so sad and heart wrenching when she cried, her eyes rounding and the little pout- no. 

“I-It can’t be saved, Harry. I watched project runway and i thought I could do it cheaper but-but its so hard to sew on the little machine I got and-and fabric is so, so expensive!” That was a fact Harry knew firsthand. No wonder he tries to get thrifted things so often. “I thought helping my grandma when I was younger would have paid off but no. So now I look dumb, I cried in front of you and I’ve got no costume. It’s too late to go gething now, they’re all gonna suck.” She sniffled, making his heart throb when her sad look hit him. 

He couldn’t lie- the dress was bad. Awful. He didn’t know how she overestimated or cut the length so long, or why the ruffles were sewn over each other or how the bodice was crooked, but somehow she had created an atrocity. But it was abstract, if you’d want to think of it that way- and god, he needed to to calm her down. Functionally, the dress was useless, but in a matter of art, anything could be good. 

There was no way he wouldn’t be flattered that she had done this to impress him. It was beyond cute and sweet and he just wanted to squish her cheeks and kiss her little lips but he held it together. “It’s okay, sweets. You aren’t dumb, we’re all set with the crying now, and we can find you a costume. It’s totally okay. We can match…” He tried to think of what else they could be. Their original was prince and princess, but he had to think on his toes. Looking around, he prayed for inspiration and to actually be quick on his feet sometimes- and thankfully it was answered as he looked at her muted TV. 

“Pam and Jim!” he exclaimed. “Yes- you have the things to be the cat, I can do the paper shirt thing. What do you think?” 

Y/N seemed to mull it over, sniffling again as her eyes scanned Harry’s face. That had been quick, but… “That’s a good idea.” She smiled slightly, making him sag with relief. He couldn’t handle seeing her sad. “A-are you sure, though? I know it’s a downgrade from the other costume we planned. I’m sorry.” Y/N really did feel stupid about it but it really didn’t seem like Harry minded.

“Not a big deal, baby. Promise.” His hands smoothed her hair back, smiling lightly down at her. Halloween wasn’t his thing and he had agreed to go to the costume party with her so he’d made his costume, but he was sort of relieved considering his prince outfit could get a bit hot. “All that matters is we’re going to be together and ditch Niall’s as soon as we’re ready eat our body weight in sweets. I ordered that variety bag, y’know?” 

Her eyes lit up at the mention, making her nod. “Does it have Kit-Kats?” She whispered, her grin widening when he nodded back. “Okay. It sounds good to me then.” Her face plastered to Harry’s chest, body sagging in relief. The secret was out, the embarrassment was over, and now she could finally breathe again. Although.. “When he said he was going all out for the pe party.. I just really hope Niall doesn’t get one of those fog machines inside the house. You can’t breathe with that stuff on”

“About that….” Harry hissed, pretending to wince. 

“For fucks sake. Maybe we are ditching super early.” “I’ve got no problem with that.”

[blackbloodedisabel]

DOCTOR who. Thoughts 🐮

REST IN PEACE ruby sunday I hope you return for a special or finale or something next season... you were TOOO iconic to keep.... leashing the god of death..... real hot girl shit and I wish you would come back. come back. come back. come back.

reveal that sutekh had been here the whole time made me giggle. was he watching when amy and rory were creating river. I must know. FUCK all the mysteries we didn't get an answer for (ruby making snow, mrs flood etc etc) this is my only question after the episode

mel💕💕🤩😋😋💗🥰 she's stronger than me for getting nostalgic about six's coat/cravat I would have let the fire take it

TALES OF THE TARDIS REFERENCE!! I lost my mind btw.

also russel t davis is sick and twisted for putting mrs flood in a romana coat with a missy umbrella. he deserves jail time. also is mrs flood god why is she talking about usurping god. what if she's the god of tv. would explain all the 4th wall breaks. I'm twitching

additionally is it just me who thought the woman who played claire in fleabag yk the chaffee woman who gave him the spoon was ruby's mother?? I saw the weird cloak thing the dr was wearing and heard a daughter mentioned and went🤨🤨 but no :( suppose it must be the brainrot oh well. you already heard my semi-joking god of christmas theory. why do carols start playing why is it snowing. anyway!!!

overall enjoyed the ep, ncuti gatwa was very good, everyone was very good yes very good episode I liked it very much when will the next season be out.

what did you think xx

[lastweeksshirttonight]

Did you want my notes on Strike Force Five episode one? No? TOO BAD! YOU'RE GETTING THEM!

(Heavy spoilers for episode 1 if you plan on listening soon!)

- I love the show's overall vibe and the "roles" that all of the guys play. It's definitely a free-wheeling, off the rails kind of show, where everyone is rambling over each other; the personalities involved can make or break this kind of podcast, and everyone thankfully is playing to their strengths.

Kimmel serves as the overall show runner and is seemingly the only one endeavoring to keep anything on track, which is a slightly thankless job with this group, but he's got a soundboard and all his radio experience guiding him. Colbert also leans into being the other "elder statesman", as it were, but is much easier to derail (and provides his own episode eclipsing derail I'll talk about later). Fallon is surprisingly reserved and a bit awkward - I'm not the hugest fan of Fallon, but in this podcast, that energy serves him pretty well. Kimmel introduces Seth as "the cute one" and he seems the most neutral so far, just there to ask questions and crack jokes. And John is their super sarcastic "evil teammate" who occasionally interjects to just destroy everyone. Perfect dynamics, 10/10, no notes.

- Seth qualifies his eyes as ocean blue. John says they're Gatorade blue. I don't think I've ever laughed harder at a description of someone's eyes.

- There's a point where I assume there must have been a really blunt edit, because Fallon changes the topic abruptly to having a doctorate. Otherwise, I love the image of Fallon just sitting on that revelation and WAITING, BURSTING to talk about how he has a doctorate, while everyone else talks about Kimmel getting paid summers off.

- Everyone mention multiple times that they have sponsors and are doing this show to help pay their staff during the strikes, which is lovely. This does not mean they aren't taking the piss out of their sponsors. I never thought I'd hear worse ad copy reading than I do on The Jeff Gerstmann Show (I love Jeff, don't get me wrong, but his ad copy screaming is hilariously bad), but the Casamigos ad in this is something else. John spends most of his reading time shitting on a bleeped-out competitor that he calls "not fit for human consumption", Stephen says "you're gonna wanna wipe your ass with it" and likens it to the smoothness of sheets you make love on, there's a disembodied "woo" at some point, Seth stumbles all over a few Spanish words, and Fallon delivers his lines in his awful fake French Timothee Chalamet puppet voice. It's pure chaos and I love it so much.

- Kimmel referring to "the despicable Matt Damon" made me so happy.

- John has never done a deposition. Kimmel saying "I'm surprised you're not in prison" gets lost which is sad, that's a fucking hilarious joke.

- Fallon tells an amazing story about his mom being a nun for a week. She left after being reprimanded for taking Lifesavers into the nunnery and then left. My late aunt and best friend, who was also a nun, probably would have loved Jimmy's mom, as she was always going on wine tastings and picked the order she joined entirely based on who would let her continue to drink after taking her vows. Jimmy also has a picture of his mom dressed as a nun holding a doll dressed as a nun, which is absurd and adorable.

- This leads to everyone but Seth confessing that they'd all thought about becoming priests at some point. That doesn't shock me about Stephen at all, tbf, knowing how religious he is.

- I have to shamefully admit that when John mentioned that he told his father he wanted to be a vicar, my brain went to an extremely Fleabag place and I had to rewind the podcast once I snapped out of it and realized I'd missed like 3 minutes of jokes (including a fantastic one from Seth about John having a doll of himself as a child, like Fallon's mom's nun doll).

- "Don't you want a whole new crop of relatives to visit and entertain?" "Do you wanna get cancelled?! :D" The two Jimmys everyone.

- Stephen reveals who he has everyone saved as in his phone, to prevent people from figuring out who his contacts are if his phone gets stolen. John's is Joliver, which 1) was his name as written on TDS scripts to differentiate him from Jon Stewart, and 2) as everyone points out, is a VERY easy code to crack. Don't really need Sherlock for that one.

- ONE OF US ALERT: Stephen collects weird late night shit, like a hat from The Chevy Chase Show (John literally goes "WOW") and a silk jacket from The Pat Sajak Show. I am very jealous of this collection.

- Next episode everyone will talk about first episodes. I cannot wait to hear John talk about how all over the place his first episode is.

- The big story, running joke, and completely wild admission from this episode - Stephen Colbert has a pair of Nicaraguan dictator Anastasio Somoza's pants. Fallon asks how no one outbid him, and it turns out his MOTHER had them BECAUSE SHE DATED HIM. His uncle went to LaSalle Military Academy with Somoza, and Somoza stayed with them during holiday breaks. Everyone else in the room picks up on the idea that Stephen's mom probably slept with a dictator (or as Kimmel says, "made love to a murderer"), Seth claims his mom drinks coffee out of Ferdinand Marcos' skull, and every other male figure Stephen brings up for the rest of the episode is assumed to be someone his mom slept with.

If you asked me before listening to this podcast if I thought there were going to be a pile of elevated "your mom" jokes holding it together, I would have pretty strongly said "no". Surprises at every turn in this pod.

The beginning of this story also captures John SO STRONGLY, and he wants to hear everything about it. Definite Bugle vibes there, this man will never not want to hear about weird dictator facts. He also manages to completely kill Seth by saying "Anastasio Somoza's pants, brought to you by Casamigos".

- Finally, I have already sent an email to the show asking about Planet of the Bass, to make up for my complete failure to ask at the Q&A. I got y'all, we'll get this answer some day.

[wifetomegatron]

here's to peace ( and those who get in the way of it ) ( first aid / reader )

summary : first aid has dinner with your family for the first time. first contact au pairing : first aid (idw) / gn! reader fandom : transformers idw continuity, more than meets the eye rating : m for mature due to mentions of blood and cursing, generally safe for work (sfw!) warnings : human ignorance. mentions of blood. tags : rewatched the awkward family dinner scene in fleabag and i didn't realise how much i loved it. deeply inspired by that scene, if you're it familiar with it, go have a good laugh and see it. i tried to be funny. idk if it works though.

There's a moment when you were sure that the sinking, churning feeling in your stomach would actually rise and push bile out of your mouth. That the sudden awkwardness in the air, pulled taut by the prolonged silence, will snap and cause your eyes to roll back — fainting would be a great distraction to get you and your boyfriend out of this agonizing position: a formal dinner with your family. 

You've been putting it off for weeks, declining their calls and sneakily texting your sibling back with the brightness of the screen down to zero while First Aid dozes off next to you. Eventually, he confronted you about it —  of course , he would find out. Attentive, doting, First Aid, who would scrub the apartment spotless every Sunday until no speck of dust survived, would find out. The grenade was already in your hands, the pin in your mouth like an apricot seed — and nearly sparked an argument about how you were ashamed of him. You had to calm him down and explain that it wasn't him you were ashamed of. It was the fact that your family told everyone that you were  dating a car . ( " Unfortunately, I can't turn into anything at the moment.") And to think that it's been nearly a decade since first contact, and they still couldn't find anything wrong with calling him an android. To make matters worse, they were referring to the Samsung  tablet —

" Ahem."

You were pulled out of your thoughts, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze, trying to level his vocalizer even if he was sitting as stiff as a rock next to your father. 

" Thank you, for having me here."

And like a kid who threw a rock at a sleeping hive of bees, the table buzzed to life, unapologetic to the fact that they've been staring in stunned, shameless, silence ever since you both arrived in the restaurant — which was, you glanced at your watch, fifteen minutes ago.

" Are you sick, love?" Your stepmother asked him. First Aid looked in your direction, confused until she gestured ( fingers a little too close ) to his mask.

" Oh no... this is just how I...look like."

" Well you're not at the hospital anymore," She chuckled through her teeth, smile stiff and voice so chirpy they grate your ears, " You can, you know, take it off."

" No, it's fine" You interrupted, " It's not a big deal." 

The rest of the people were looking at the menu, brow knitted and deep in thought as if they weren't just choosing whether to get the lamb shank or the vegetarian option for the starters. Cowards.

" It's a bit rude to have the shades and the mask when you're inside." She insisted.

" It's ruder to impose stupid, ignorant customs onto others."

You had to grit your teeth to get the words out. There was a brief pause, and you had to trace the seams on First Aid's arm to calm yourself, focusing on how the light bounced off his armor. And as if slinking back into her cave, retracting her claws, she swallowed the sour look on her face as it flickered back to a faux grin — nose scrunched and teeth bared.

 " Oh silly me. I do apologize."

First Aid let out a shy chuckle, " It's fine I understand —"

" I didn't mean to assume you had a mouth or eyes for that matter. Biology under all that...must be different."

Your stomach dropped. You could have sworn something lagged inside First Aid.   

" It's so lovely to have you here, darling! " Your sibling pans in your direction and smiles, trying to salvage the shattered pieces of the atmosphere, considering that your stepmom had  brutally  whacked a sledgehammer through it. The night is young. You were hopeful. You can count on them to say something reasonable —

" Considering your dating history, I just want to say that it's so refreshing to see you dating someone who's...not human! Diversity in relationships, after all, is the spice of life. Love wins."

Nevermind.

Your father cleared his throat — choked on his wine was more like it. Your sibling's partner talked over them before you could interfere: " Hear, hear! Humans are more compatible with your kind anyway. We're too emotional and fickle-minded. Dating metal must be a real upgrade from your previous relationships. They don't come with the messy, human baggage."

" That's a stereotype," You snapped, lowering your voice once a few heads turned to look, " So you're saying he's incapable of expressing his emotions? Because he's not human?" 

" Now you're just putting words into my mouth. I never said —"

" Do you need anything ?" The needy waitress interrupted, hovering around your table every ten minutes. You wiped your face with both hands. A cluster of arms flew to order drinks. The cutlery was noisy against the table. A headache formed in the back of your skull, and all you could do was anchor yourself to First Aid's palm as they massaged the small of your back. It was too much. The waitress called you twice and you lifted your head to order vodka, and then she gives you a pretty smile and accidentally asks First Aid wine or champagne.

Fuck. It was too late.

When he said no, your sibling-in-law and his disgusting, lazy excuse of a mouth were quick to joke, " What, you're not gonna offer the guy some oil?"

Immediately, at the same time, your father and First Aid placed a hand on your shoulder. Fingers and servos brushed against one another to calm you down, but it turned awkward, and your father pulled back a little too quickly, looking at the ceiling while First Aid crumbled like a wounded puppy. You want to reassure him that your old man's just socially constipated, but you feel the air rush past your lungs. The room felt hot. If there was an invisible camera, tucked away into the corner of the room, you would've stared at it for the crew to stop rolling. It's a shame that life isn't as simple. Or cheesy. And there wasn't a laughing track to wash away the discomfort suffocating everyone like waves bubbling into foam against the shore.

And that was how you ended up in the washroom scrubbing the bloodstain off your clothes. Water splashed all over the sink and onto the floors as you wiped the red pouring down your mouth, your chin, and even your neck. There was talking outside, and you held back tears, remembering the nervous phone call First Aid had with Ratchet in the evening before you had left the house. He told everyone. Your sweet, sweet boy had asked his CMO a week before about getting off early on Friday to meet your family. He told Velocity. He told Ambulon. Hell, Rodimus knew. And whether out of formality for being his previous captain or out of a severe case of 'never knowing when to mind his business', he had phoned your place and wished him luck. 

There was a knock.

" Can I come in? "

You slowly turn to your lover, nodding and finally bursting into tears. He hugged you tight, and you clenched your eyes shut, too ashamed to look at him. He was so gentle it was almost painful. Blood stained his shoulders. You know he's itching to wipe it off. Yet he stood still, steadying your shoulders with both hands. If he understood you less, you would've apologisedBut it was a wordless exchange between the two of you. Always. Only when you've stopped withering did First Aid speak.

" That went well."

You scoffed, " They're idiots."

" But you love them. And you should continue to have dinner with them. Meet them. Talk to them."

You frowned. You don't even know what's going on out there. But from the marks on First Aid's servo, he must have patched up the bleeding, bruised (hopefully not broken ) nose you had given your sibling-in-law. And knowing him, probably also helped ease your father back on his feet after you had accidentally knocked him down amid your little scuffle.

" I'll even go with."

You shook your head incredulously, " Why would you ever want to repeat this?"

" Because they apologized." His tone was soft, quiet almost as he stroked your hair, " And I'm sure, this won't happen again."

" Be realistic."

" At least it won't at least end like this. I know it."

Sometimes loving First Aid was like looking directly into the sun. You can't help but look away, eyes sore and heart bloated with hope. He pulled his mask down and kissed the discomfort away, and for a brief moment, you almost forgot that you still had people outside.

" If it makes you feel better, your stepmom apologized first."

" Really?" You pulled away from him to search his expression, mildly impressed, " And she didn't follow it up with anything?"

" Well, she did say life in the berth — erm, bed room, must be so interesting when you've got so many cables to choose from. She said it must've been a letdown for me to find out you've only got one port."

" Oh, fuck me."

[strawberry-skies-xx]

13, 20, & 22 for the fic asks! fic i choose for 22, of course, that fucked up girl <3 and the mori dazai fic w the matcha tea....both fics have me by. CHOKEHOLD

*walks in 2 days late w iced coffee* that reblog spree on your blog is bc i couldn't find the og post btw and i had the (naive) hope you didn't reblog shit at the speed i did

13. Do you prefer writing multi-chapter fics or single-part fics? Do you prefer reading multi-chapter fics or single-part fics?

i prefer reading AND writing multi-chapter fics, bc its so much fun to explore stuff. however. The Horrors. i can dream about writing a multi-chapter fic all i want but it doesnt mean ill ever finish it (rest in piece my fleabag fyozai fic that's infamous on my bsd server bc i never shut up about it. also the fyozai betrayal AU fic. pensive emoji.)

20. Which fic have you put the most work into? Which fic have you put the least work into?

you make miette search through 84 published works for this...

the fic i'd say i've done the most research on is this one (mafia Dazai training Akutagawa) but the fic i've put the most work into being really good and me liking it has to be this one. its not BSD, but its a character study of a guy from another fandom and his interest in death and passive suicidality. i spent 3 days postponing every single other obligation other than food and just sat in bed writing this. 4th day i did nothing but chores and then i didnt write anything else for a week lol

least work is hard bc i have a philosophy that i can do whatever i want forever so i Will just write something in an hour and post it with no research, all pure self-indulgence. but i'll use a fic i should have done research on: this one. i really should've planned that out better. idk if anyone still follows me for httyd or has read that fic of mine but i do plan on rewriting it someday

22. Have you used any symbolism in [insert fic]? What does it represent?

OH boy.

so. fucked-up girl fic actually doesn't Have much real symbolism, only a couple remarks on my headcanons for various things.

today he had to eat an apple whole because he could not pick up a knife-

this one is easy, referencing dazai's suicidality and the fact he is trying. just a slight reference to him actively changing/being unable to do something, and also his issues with food.

He starts targeting.

Dazai is very, very still.

Atsushi backtracks so fast that he stumbles over his words, forgetting entirely Dazai’s contradictory explanations,

little things about dazai's manipulation in everything. boy can't admit shit. he's very roundabout with admitting anything close to himself (why i hc fyodor is so good for him, because they can trade those vague references back and forth and understand each other) and a trait i assign to him is saying vulnerable things in as few words as possible. he doesn't explain stuff.

Dazai’s body aches, and he turns, walks over to his desk, sits down. His clothes constrict.

gender issues but also, as mentioned in my comment on your fic, i hc dazai just hates his body. he has to shower with the lights off sometimes, can get dressed without looking at himself once. he very much dislikes perceiving the fact he has a body.

The ADA thinks that they’re dating. Him and Yosano. 

not symbolism or a hc but this was the premise of the entire fic. the agency thinking dazai and yosano were dating when really dazai just had severe gender envy

“Zai.”

little hc! yosano specifically uses this nickname for dazai when affectionate. atsushi and kunikida don't use any actual nicknames derived from his name; chuuya uses this nickname sometimes; ranpo uses this nickname somewhere between chuuya and yosano bc ranpo is putting in the least effort to get his attention lol

The conclusion is obvious. Dazai should explain that’s not what he means, but he can’t get his mouth to work to speak honestly. 

this whole conversation was the biggest indicator of dazai being unable to elaborate/saying things in as few words as possible. he's not a pathological liar, i just think sometimes it is physically painful to have to elaborate vulnerable things verbally for him. e.g. "it's because you're a woman" and yosano having to debate the fact dazai could be going after her, dazai Knowing what kind of conclusion she'd jump to immediately As a woman, and yet he just cannot explain it further because it is vulnerability. HENCE why i like him and fyodor, because fyodor can make those kinds of connections as quick as dazai can.

"Women are really pretty~”

not a hc or symbolism but. Boy why do you talk about women so much and yet date none of them. almost actively make yourself undesirable to them. Sir. My guy. i know what you are

“There’s a word for it?”

special lil hc i have. the mafia is very open and accepting because they simply have bigger priorities than who's kissing who. mori simply does not give a shit if his agents are consorting or if his lead agent goes from a girl to a guy. he won't provide monetary support and unless it's physically disabling he won't make exceptions to rules, but if he's told that someone's pronouns have changed or whatever he'll go "cool" and change the name/pronouns in all of the system, start using them, and be done with it. his only concern is performance and as far as he cares, sex and gender are irrelevant. (on that note, harrassment isn't tolerated because why are you harrassing them for being gay when you can harrass them for the multiple enemies they didn't kill last mission. cmon now.)

this also comes with the caveat that the kids raised in the mafia aren't really educated on it. they're taught normal class subjects, e.g. math, english, etc. and they're taught mafia protocol, and they're allowed to get their own reading material, but the mafia puts in as much effort to teach them about queer people as they do to teach them about heterosexual people. (they do get sex ed tho, which is basic as ever, and which dazai is a whole menace during)

and dazai, obviously, would not really be that interested in either to read about. being brought in so young, i think he was never really taught bias against queer people, so when he had the revelation that he liked chuuya he was just kinda. oh ok. and when he has the feelings about his body that he doesn't like it, he has much bigger priorities (namely the quickest way to die) than figuring out whatever the hell that is.

so it ends up that dazai just kinda is queer and has no idea what it is. he knows he hates his body and he knows he likes chuuya, probably has some surface level knowledge of gay/bi/lesbian/etc. but otherwise no, he's never sought out specifically to figure out the terms for what he's feeling. he actually really hates perceiving himself in any way lol

He still looks like himself,

this little bit: he hates perceiving himself in any way, but he still wants to be him. he doesn't want to change his name or his reputation or whatever else, he doesn't want to be a different person. he just wants to be a dazai that he likes.

It would look wrong be inconvenient for him, and take so much effort. Just… so much. So much that he can’t handle. Managing himself is hard regularly - adding on this, whatever it is, would be biting off more than he could chew. 

there's a river called de nile-

dazai is denying the fact he thinks being a woman would look wrong because of his years of being in a masculine body like he is, hence the calluses mention. but he also is right, that he wouldn't be able to upkeep it. he has to be in a better spot/it has to be something very slow and gradual for him to be able to keep it up long enough to maintain a desirable appearance. he's sorta using it as an excuse to not do it but also he just doesn't want to put in that much effort into it.

now for the matcha fic!

Very big hc and symbolism for this fic: Dazai's ability.

it is an ability nullifier, and i stand by the idea that abilities have some kind of effect on their user and are somewhat sentient. Atsushi's tiger, for one, is not only a transformation but the shape of the ability inside him, and Kyouka's Demon Snow is a whole being as the ability itself.

so for Dazai, he described it once as an "anti-ability." which. what the hell. whump beams him.

i have the hc that Dazai's ability makes him cold because most ability users can feel their ability hummign beneath their skin. most abilities are warm, alive, and it's like a constant low electric current or adrenaline rushing through them, as omnipresent as a heartbeat or breath. just a fact of being alive is that feeling. so then: when Dazai nullifies other people's ability, they can Feel the absence of it, they can feel very empty and very cold. when Dazai is the host of that nullification ability, it's just that electric warmth reversed. an icy cold, all the time, because NLH is a black hole as opposed to a sun. (all my metaphors relate NLH more to an icy lake, but that's the dichotomy)

i don't ascribe Dazai's emptiness entirely to NLH, but i do think it contributes and that he has a complex about the relationship between his own issues with emotion, empathy, and the fact NLH lives inside him.

and that cold gets much worse whenever Dazai actually does nullify an ability depending on how strong it is/how much is being used at the time, therefore the remark about him making a science on how bad it'll affect him, and that scene about him being overwhelmed by nullifying Chuuya's ability; he miscalculated, and was caught off guard by NLH activating so strongly, esp given his injuries and physical weakness already in that moment

and another little HC: Dazai's hinted to have been in an even worse place before Mori and abilities are said to be activated from trauma. so i like to hc Dazai's ability as activating from the result of being tortured with abilities, from a deep desire to stop the torture, also in some kind of lab setting. and from there, Dazai escaped, and Mori got this very damaged child.

so then, through the matcha fic, Dazai latches onto it because the warmth of the tea chases away the cold of NLH.

another thread through this fic: Mori and Dazai's relationship. i think Mori was trying to keep Dazai alive as an asset to the mafia, and that he never... regretted? bringing him in as much as wished Dazai had never shown up at his doorstep in the first place, because Mori sees the value of his skills way too much to regret using them. but Mori also knows kids aren't supposed to do what Dazai is doing. and he also sees the emptiness in Dazai and all his general issues. so it's this very messy tangle of like. Mori can't care for him like a father because, yknow, mafia boss and Mori himself also has manipulation and control issues, but also he's much fonder of him than most others, even Chuuya. no one else would have been able to get away with all the shenanigans Dazai inflicts on him (that kid bullies mori so hard. it's very comical). Mori is simultaneously training him and raising him in a life-or-death environment for them both and it's so messy.

“I’ll make us all some hot tea!” Atsushi raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “Are you sure you won’t… burn the Agency down, Dazai?”

little note here: i think dazai curates an image of incompetency specifically because of his competency in the mafia. obviously everyone there knows he's actually competent, but he hides just how competent he is. partially to get up to his own shenanigans hiding his mafia connections and whatever else, but also partially because he doesn't want to be known as something like the demon prodigy again.

when it's serious, they know he can hold his own (prison arc) but otherwise. he is faking so much incompetency.

“I’ll make a deal - if you manage to make matcha tea as well as I do, I can get you your own expensive set for the holidays~”

ok listen. listen. the slap that dazai gave atsushi lives rent free in my mind because of the moment of hesitation just before it. everyone villainizes dazai for slapping atsushi while entirely ignoring the brief hesitation just before it.

dazai was both trained (as an agent) and raised (as a teenager) by mori. and oda was not a very good dad either. he doesn't have the best role model, for one. but he's also very self-aware when he's older and i think he can separate "father" mori and "mafia boss" mori in his actions. he knows when mori was trying to raise him and he knows when mori was trying to train him.

now. now guess what dazai is to atsushi. a trainer. and dazai is still taking the place of someone older and more experienced teaching atsushi not only combat skills but also life skills/growing-up skills. and we all saw how dazai got with akutagawa; that was an environment conducive to that kind of treatment, where that was being encouraged.

now the agency doesn't condone physical violence and dazai knows that. and he is very clearly trying to be a good person like oda asked him to. so, with that moment of hesitation, he clearly did not want to slap atsushi. but someone else's post words this better: he got complacent at the agency, forgot mori's ruthlessness, and with the threat against atsushi and release of Q he remembered he couldn't be so complacent and began to slip back into the old mafia thinking as a way to survive.

and with atsushi breaking down and not listening to him, the agency threatened by mori and Q, a threat that made even dazai flinch, i hc he got overwhelmed, knew there was one method that got guaranteed results, knew the agency didn't condone it, but was overwhelmed enough that he just. lashed out in a way he knew guaranteed would work, and would get atsushi to listen to him.

so . very long rant just to say that i think dazai is fighting, a bit, to balance his experience of being trained-and-raised, with him training-and-raising atsushi, but he knows the difference clearly between the two and so he'll cherrypick actions like the deal mori made with the matcha tea.

deep breath. it's been like an hour and a half. jfc. anyway there's your answers hsfdbhsdf i have many many thoughts on dazai

ty for asking!

[buddieisgoingcanon25]

Oliver saying Eddie reacts different to the break up news gay panic??? Dare I say last season Eddie’s plot was vertigo and this one’s gonna be fleabag like Ryan only follow people when they do more than one episode and Gavin the hot priest that is actually called BRYAN very smart the name of the actor who plays Josh canon gay and also close to Ryan anyways Gavin even follows Oliver I just think we could really get that bathena scene callback where Bobby asks Athena to come to church with him or we can easily get Eddie going to that coffee a lot with the priest and just talking to him helps him and so Buck one day follows him and meets the hot priest I mean father Bryan

You could be onto something anon. Although I’m not sure of what the “fleabag” reference means? I don’t watch that show.

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 37

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Welcome to my bi-weekly fic rec list! This is everything I read in the last two weeks. It's... a lot. I did March Fic Madness and also just was generally in a reading mood so there's like 40 fics here. They're in alphabetical order by boy.

All info provided by the author unless it was blank, in which case I filled it in.

Constellations in his eyes

Dave York one shot by @janaispunk

Your fiancé stands you up on your birthday. Dave doesn’t.

infidelity, shitty boyfriend, angst, fluff, kissing, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n

What Love Means

Dave York one shot by @ravensmadreads

Dave has a panic attack and you help him through it

So David is probably ooc (but this version of him is my comfort character sorry), description of a panic attack, mentions of canon violence, and like the barest hint at smut.

The Mess of Us

Dave York one shot by @ravensmadreads

I gave david york my heart and then proceeded to bash it with a sledgehammer - forgive me :p this is the same universe as What Love Means

vague smut, lots of angst (i mean i tried), almost entirely canon compliant, vague-ish attempt at smut, mild cursing, insane use of italics.

The One

Dieter one shot by @schnarfer

If one thing had been different, would everything be different today?

Bit of emotional torment, drink and drugs references, Dieter POV, happy ending? Always Fleabag coded.

Purple Haze

Dieter one shot by @schnarfer

that boy put a spell on you

1960’s London Dieter Bravo AU, heavy on the British slang, explicit alcohol and drug references, reader is a model but no physical descriptions, outfit descriptions, swearing, sort of enemies to lovers if you squint, smut; protected PIV, light bondage, reader is in control and Dieter is a subby puddle, pet names (angel, doll, darling), light dirty talk, playful slaps. Just a note we’re always very Fleabag coded here.

House Arrest

Dieter one shot by @rulexofxnines

Dieter stays over at your place out of desperation. Things get out of hand so you take control of the situation.

forced proximity, only one bed, a goat

The Howler Monkey

Dieter one shot by @covetyou

You got him here, he was safely tucked away upstairs and everything was going, mostly, according to plan. So, who the fuck is screaming?

no smut but some nudity, implied drug use/addiction, little bit silly, mildly angsty, performance anxiety, screaming, Dieter Bravo's soft cock. basically mild hurt/comfort/fluff with my usual bit of silliness.

Vampire!Dieter

Dieter one shot by @chronically-ghosted

Interview with a vampire, gatsby style

flirting, a bit of blood, maybe dubcon due to The Thrall but i think it's safe to say we all want It from vampire!dieter, unbeta-ed because i needed to write something or someone was going to die

Brick House

Dieter one shot by @nerdieforpedro

Dieter buys a house for you and the baby

mention of past drug use, fertility issues, mention of sperm donation and clinics, false pretenses, Dieter might be a bit obsessed or a lot

Stay sexy and don't get murdered

Dieter one shot by @chronically-ghosted

Trapped behind a secret wall to hide from a murderer, the close proximity forces you and Dieter to confront feelings you rather bury underneath your case to prove your favorite neighbor didn’t commit suicide.

brief moments of tv-appropiate terror, arguing, mentions of suicide, mentions of death/murder, but more importantly: smut (like half of this is smut), oral (f!receiving), dieter’s bare ass nearly catching on fire, too many feelings for something that started as a crack fic idea

Fare Well

Dieter one shot by @nerdieforpedro

Dieter has been working so hard. He still has an issue that might be because of his mind. What can he do about it? Do anything else.

unhealthy coping, sexual dysfunction, sex work, teasing, pet names, sexual activity (actual and implied I think? I should know. 🙃)

A poor plan to confess

Dieter one shot by @nerdieforpedro

Dieter is doing his best to stay sober. You have a large part in his plans. They aren’t well thought out.

Dieter being a bit rude, porn use, mention of masturbation, teasing, improper toy use?, very bad communication, some mentions of sexual activities and acts, Nerdie is unsure of what she wrote

Conversation Pit

Dieter one shot @thosewickedlovelies

You’re viewing a mansion with Dieter, and it has a conversation pit. Does he have the discipline to keep his hands to himself?

friends with benefits, SMUT: Dieter’s favorite dom appears 👀 could it be someone we know?; mmf threesome, piv sex, semipublic sex but don’t worry, edging (m receiving), references to sex work

Lush

Din one shot by @the-scandalorian

Mando makes regular visits to the healing baths.

touch-starved Din; reader is blindfolded; smut

Immortal By Design

Din one shot by @beskarandblasters

Din Djarin picks up a mysterious job at the Bounty Hunter’s Guild from a high paying client that specifically requested him. Once he tracks down the bounty, he discovers two things— you tracking the bounty for different reasons entirely and a lot more than he bargained for.

reader is able-bodied, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), no Grogu in this universe, possession, cursed object, dark!Din, monsterfucking (I think), Din has heightened capabilities, dub con/noncon, restraints, reader gets captured, oral sex (M and F receiving), rough oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, mir’sheb = smart ass, character death, no use of y/n

Enchanted to Meet You

Din one shot by @beskarandblasters

You’re a senator for the New Republic and tonight you’re forced to attend the New Republic Gala. Senator Xiono won’t leave you alone but that in turn leads you to meet Mando, a security guard at the event. And that leaves you wonderstruck.

Reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, reader has consumed alcohol, creepy guy at the gala, fingering, semi public sex, vaginal sex, pull out method, pet names (cyar’ika, mesh’la), no use of y/n

I don't mind bleeding

Din one shot by @quicksilvermad

You and the Mandalorian have a mutually beneficial relationship—he pays your rent and you feed him when he needs fresh blood.

vampire!Din, blood, PIV sex, biting, sex work, second person POV, AFAB Reader, one instance of "good girl", aftercare

Bound

Din one shot by @frannyzooey

It’s your thighs he’s bound this time — not your hands for a change.

smut, bondage, AU

Hello to the Green

Ezra one shot by @the-blind-assassin-12

Down a ship, a crew, and a working air filter, and suffering from a rapidly worsening infection, Ezra makes one last ditch effort to get home. And he hopes it’s enough.

language, angst, injury and illness, death

Paint With Me

Frankie one shot by @bitchesuntitled

You have a crush on the dad of your daughter’s best friend.

Sexual innuendos and cursing

Right on Cue

Frankie one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

The quiet bartender lends you a hand after you've closed up for the night.

reader is able-bodied but otherwise undescribed. Oral sex f receiving, protected PIV, that's pretty much it. this is just PWP

Door Number Three

Javi G drabble by @morallyinept

Javi shows you what he keeps behind that mirrored door

Character talk alludes to sexy things.

Dámelo

Javi P one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

You want more. Javi wants to give it to you. You just have to give him something first.

mutual masturbation, vaginal fingering, aftercare. reader is able-bodied but otherwise undescribed.

Dress Up Joel

Joel series @covetyou

when a mysterious stranger breaks into your house, and keeps breaking into your house, he gives you the fright, and the ride, of your life. Welcome to your seasonal encounters with one Mr. Joel Miller.

sex toys, dress up, festive/seasonal shenanigans, no use of Y/N, see individual fics for additional warnings

He Knows

Joel/Tommy one shot by @psychedelic-ink

Joel knows you have a little thing for his younger brother so decides to indulge you for your birthday.

gonna state this very clearly: joel gets cucked by tommy and watches, everyone is consenting and it's discussed beforehand, piv, dirty talk, possessive!joel, daddy kink, size kink, established relationship between joel and reader, jealousy, some brotherly rivalry, facial, mild degradation kink, creampie

Does Your Mother Know

Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

Joel finds a pretty young thing on the beach to spend some time with on his vacation.

reader is able-bodied, reader wears a bikini & a dress, no outbreak AU, ambiguous beach location, both reader and Joel consume alcohol, age gap (20 years), oral sex (F and M receiving), semi public sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is on birth control, pet names (sweetheart, baby), no use of y/n

Tear You Apart

Joel one shot by @mermaidgirl30

Joel comes for you late at night. He always does. Always stalks, chases, and prowls after you like a starving wolf. And when he catches you, he devours you, feeds on you like the animal he is. Will you run and hide or will you give into the temptation that calls you in the forest?

Dark themes, Little red riding hood references, dark! Joel, Joel is a menace, oral, fingering, choking, unprotected P in V, cream pie, filthy smut, degrading actions, not really violent but lots of dark themes, manipulation, rough sex, dirty talk, Joel calls reader little lamb, possessive Joel, feral! Joel, post outbreak! Joel, controlling Joel, dom! Joel, submissive reader, Joel x fem! reader, Joel is in his late 40’s and reader is in her late 20’s

inhale, exhale

Joel one shot by @sp00kymulderr

This world is not made for intimacy and both of you know it.

Fingering, mentions of sex, smoking (both reader and Joel), canon typical violence mentions, needy!Joel, fear of intimacy. Barely edited as usual.

One Day at a Time

Joel series by @sixhours

Joel becomes a dad. Again

soft!Joel, no really super soft!Joel, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Joel is a sap, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff

mine

Joel one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

You encounter a frightening beast in the forest after getting separated from your group. Instead of killing you, he spares your life - the first of many surprises from this mysterious creature.

it's Joel Miller as a humanoid monster beast creature with a massive cock idk what you want me to say, creative liberties with anatomy and bodily fluids, they're soulmates because I wrote this so of course they are, monster!Joel can talk a little but it wouldn't kill him to watch a few episodes of Reading Rainbow or do some alphabet flash cards tbh, one curious use of an aquifer as a metaphor

Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To

Joel one shot by @freelancearsonist

Joel finds a familiar face while out on a smuggling run.

Rated PG for pure angst, one single kiss, and references to Joel's self-inflicted gun wound/self harm

Ahórcame, Papí

Joel/Frankie/Ezra one shot by @marisferasiop

After he gives a recovering addict a job (and subsequently falls head over heels for him), Joel and Frankie have a sweet, fulfilling relationship as Daddy and little exploring their kinks. Then, they meet Ezra at a leather club, another damaged vet with his own issues and kinks. They take him home, and he never really leaves.

Daddy Kink, Daddy/littles, pup kink, Breathplay (hands on throats), Orgasm Denial, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Control "Training", Light BDSM, Aftercare, Soft Dom Joel, vers Ezra, Bottom Frankie Morales, Oral Sex, Cockwarming, AnalSex, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Breeding Kink, Heat/rut kink, PTSD mention (vets), gags, fingering, choking, cum eating, prostate milking, fucking machine mention, the elusive "sissygasm"

On the Verge of a Usual Mistake

Lucien/Dieter two shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

You've been avoiding your exes Dieter Bravo and Lucien Flores all night at this event, but you're forced to come to terms with how things ended in both relationships when they seek to right their wrongs.

this is truly just porn with minimal plot (I'm so proud of myself lol), Dieter and Lucien are messy exes, threesome activities, Twister but with genitalia, Daddy and Papi kinks

In shades of gray and candlelight

Marcus P one shot by @freelancearsonist

Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.

artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily

headshots

Marcus P series by @secretelephanttattoo

You're a photographer and you get a job working for the FBI, taking corporate headshots. On your first day, you run into a handsome Special Agent. The series follows their relationship.

Fluff. Smut. PIV. Romance. Flirting. So much kissing. Non-stop nuzzling. Tiny bit of angst. Marcus in his plaid shirts. Marcus on a motorbike. Skiing. A cameo. Sex talker Marcus.

The Infinity Cube

Marcus P/Various series by @littlemisspascal

When you play with a strange cube, you’re transported out of your current reality with your boyfriend Marcus into brand new ones starring alternate versions of your boyfriend who look and act entirely different every time. With each encounter, you start to wonder if you’ll ever make it back to your real universe?

language, fluff, angst

12:32 PM

Marcus M one shot by @dancingtotuyo

Marcus likes to think he's moved on with life.

Grief, loss of a spouse (Wife), fluff

Given a name

Oberyn/Ellaria one shot by @missredherring

"This would be your greatest indulgence?" He asks, the edges of his beautiful mouth curling into a pleased grin. / How like a man to inflate his importance. It’s a pity that he isn’t wrong. / This will be my greatest selfishness.

Angst. Mentions of canon character deaths. Allusions to Greek mythology cos I'm a nerd. Reader chooses a name for herself.

Innocence need not tremble

Pero one shot by @brandyllyn

"I told you I don’t know how to fuck a maiden."

smut. PiV. starts rough. but gets better.

Cherry Wine

Whiskey one shot by @julesonrecord

Your marriage to your high school sweetheart has been hell for a long time, but when Jack discovers your awful secret, it all comes pouring out like a wine stain on the carpet. What do you find in the dregs?

MDNI; DDDNE; hurt people hurting people, domestic violence (verbal, physical, off stage neglect), there's a mention of human urine omg I'm truly horrified that survived the editing process, off stage drug use as a coping mechanism, alcoholism, infidelity, grief due to miscarriage/child loss, oblique suicidal ideations ("you should have killed me"); explicit smut; dirty talk; piv; fingering; possessive!Jack; emotional resolution?