#i just want to read these fics what do you mean i have to write them first 💀

[delilahsturniolo]

— ♡ just like magic . . . c.s

in which . . . you and your co-worker chris manifest taking things a little further in the office

warnings . . . smut, kinda public, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral, (fem!recieving) teasing.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

POSITIONS WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #4

mornings at the office shouldn’t feel this charged.

you’re supposed to walk in, check your emails, sip your coffee, and mind your business. but ever since chris transferred to your floor three months ago, mornings have felt… different. you notice the way his eyes track you when you pass by his desk. how he pretends not to stare, but always does. how he always seems to appear right behind you in the break room. too close. too warm.

he makes mundane things feel dangerous, like dropping a pen or leaning over a shared printer. his laugh is low and addictive, and his cologne clings to your thoughts hours after he’s left the room. and he knows it, too. smug bastard.

today, you walk into the office feeling untouchable. glossed lips, sharp heels, blouse buttoned just one notch lower than usual. you don’t dress for anyone but yourself, but it is fun knowing chris will see you. you’re barely settled at your desk when a message pings.

from: chris s.

black looks good on you. but it’d look even better on my floor.

your lips twitch.

to: chris s.

keep dreaming. you couldn’t handle it.

you glance up. he’s already watching you from across the office, one brow raised, mouth curved in that cocky, slow-motion smirk. you roll your eyes, but the way your thighs press together under the desk betrays you. meetings drag. you can feel his stare like fingertips tracing your skin. every time you speak, he watches your mouth. and when he speaks, it’s always with double meanings. everyone else is oblivious, but between you and chris, the tension is so thick you could tear it in half.

by lunch, you need air. and he knows it.

you find him waiting by the elevator, already holding the door for you like he knew you’d follow. no words, just heat. the ride down is silent. heavy. charged. then he speaks, voice low and wicked.“conference room c’s empty.” you arch a brow. “so?” he leans closer. “so i’m gonna lose my mind if i don’t fuck you soon.”

your breath stutters. his hand brushes your lower back, guiding you out of the elevator with way too much confidence. he pushes the door to the conference room open, checks it, locks it. it’s quiet. sterile. wrong. but the second the door clicks, his hands are on you.

your back hits the wall, and his mouth crashes into yours like he’s been starving. he tastes like coffee and sin, and you moan before you can stop yourself. his hands are everywhere, your waist, your hips, sliding beneath your blouse with no hesitation. “been thinking about this all week,” he breathes, lips brushing your jaw, “you teasing me in meetings, crossing your legs like that—fuck.”

you tug at his tie, yank him closer. he groans and drops to his knees, hands gripping your thighs like he owns them. he pushes your skirt up, muttering a string of curses when he sees what you’re wearing underneath. “you wore this on purpose,” he growls. “maybe,” you smirk.

“brat.”

his mouth shuts you up fast.

your fingers tangle in his hair as his tongue works you open, patient but filthy, every movement laced with need. you bite your lip to stay quiet, but he knows what he’s doing, knows how to make you unravel. you’re clenching around nothing, grinding against his face as he sucked on your clit relentlessly, completely undone. he looks up at you, lips shiny, pupils blown wide.

“say it,” he whispers. “say you want me.”

“chris—”

“say it.”

you cave.

“i want you. now.”

he’s on you in seconds, undoing his belt, pulling you onto the table. he doesn’t bother undressing fully, just pushes your clothes aside like he’s too desperate to wait. and then he’s inside you, deep and perfect, his name falling from your lips like prayer. fuck, if anyone caught you, you’d both be fired, you stifled your moans and buried your head in his chest.

you move in sync, like you’ve done this a hundred times in your dreams. his mouth on your neck, your nails down his back, your moans muffled against his shoulder. it’s reckless. stupid. so fucking good. “you’re mine,” he groans into your ear, his thrusts continuing, you held him by his black tie. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you pant, clinging to him as you fall apart. “fuck, chris—i’m yours.”after, he presses a kiss to your collarbone, soft and possessive. “back to work?” he murmurs, smug as hell.

you laugh breathlessly. “you’re a menace.” he grins. “but you love it.” you slide off the table, adjust your clothes, and smooth your hair. outside, the office hums on, clueless. you look at him and smirk. “same time tomorrow?” he winks. “you know it.”

you both manifested this after all.

© delilahsturniolo

[moon-fics]

Run Hot

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: The heating in the tower has broken in the middle of winter. This leaves everyone trying to find warmth any way possible.

A/n: I can't write angst anymore. I love comfort fics with Bob. He doesn't deserve pain.

This had to be a punishment or some sort of payback from Valentina. There's no way a fully operational and multimillion-dollar tower suddenly lost heating in the middle of winter. It's freezing, and the number of windows that cover half the building isn't helping.

You walk into the main room, where a fireplace is displayed on one of the screens. Almost no one is there due to how cold it is. The only people around are Alexei and Bob, who are sitting on opposite sides of the room.

Alexei is using alcohol to fight the cold. He's sitting on one of the couches with a bottle of vodka next to him. You don't try to disturb him as he watches his phone screen and laughs to himself.

That leaves you with Bob, who is reading a book near one of the windows. He's created some sort of nook in the corner to relax. There's a large bean bag that he hoards along with blankets and a pile of books. Ever since he settled into the tower, he's been reading wellness books.

"Anything interesting?" You ask while crouching next to him. You don't encroach on his space. "I haven't read a wellness book in years." You admit.

He looks up from his book with a subtle smile. He doesn't close it, but he leaves his thumb in the middle of the crease. You don't understand how he can sit this close to the window and not be shivering. He actually looks rather warm.

"It's mostly on how to create positively," He explains with a shrug. You won't ask further because that sounds like someone only he'd be interested in. "Hey, where did everyone go?" He asks while glancing around. You're astounded by how oblivious and unaware he is.

"It's like 5 degrees in here. Everyone is in their rooms under the covers," You say with amusement. "Did you not notice?"

"No, not really. I mean, I'm pretty comfortable with the temperature. It's actually nice." He scratches his neck. You can't stop yourself from glaring at him and feeling a bit jealous. Of course, the guy with god-like powers doesn't get cold either. "I usually run hot, so not having to prevent myself from sweating is pleasant."

"I hate you." You grumble while moving to sit on the floor. Your legs are aching from crouching, and you don't want to end the conversation here. "I hope the heat turns back on and you sweat through all your clothes." You tease.

"You can just sit closer to me," He suggests while patting the bean bag. There's enough room for both of you, so you don't hesitate to climb on. The moment you do, you can feel his warmth. He's practically radiating it.

It's not enough to keep you from shivering, but it's better than nothing. You glance down at his book and read a short passage. He's too far into it for you to understand what is being told, but you continue to read anyway.

"I could read it to you," He places the book on his knee for you to get a better look. You honestly doubt you'd be able to absorb the words he'd be saying. "If not, you could pick a book from my pile and read with me." His offer is sweet. He wants to include you in his activity and space. The only other person he's offered that to is Yelena, and she usually doesn't take up on reading.

"I don't mind just looking out the window," You say. You glance out the window to see the snow falling over the city. From this high up, you can see the rooftops that are blanketed in snow. The people below are leaving trails on the sidewalk.

After a few minutes, you can sense yourself growing tired. Even as you force yourself to follow snowflakes as they fall, you can sense it. You can't stop your head from lulling a few times, nearly hitting Bob's shoulder.

After the fifth time, he shuts his book and places it down on the floor. "You can use me as a pillow. I'm not going to... You know." He gestures to his head, and it makes you smile. Out of everyone on the team, you fear Bob the least. "I've got it under control for the most part." He says in a quieter voice.

"Yeah, but you're busy reading. I don't want to disturb that." You say. You rub your face to stay awake. The feeling of your cold hand against your cheeks gives you a tiny boost of energy.

"Just use me as a pillow!" He says a bit louder. Bob is never one to shy away from physical touch. If it's gentle, he'll happily accept it. So, you let out a groan and do something you'll probably regret later. You swing your legs over his and position yourself against his chest.

There's a moment of silence where you debate standing up and rushing to your room. Before you can suck up your dignity his arms wrap around you. His body is like a furnace that prevents you from running.

You go to look up at him, but he quickly places his head on yours. You force your eyes to roll up as high as they can. You can barely see his face, but there's no mistaking the redness of his cheeks. You also notice his hand reaching for his book again. He opens it but fidgets with the page instead of reading it.

"All good?" You ask. He clears his throat and nods his head as best he can without hitting yours.

"A- all good," He confirms. He can't hide the rasp in his voice or how his words escape him. It's like seeing him in the vault all over again, meek and nervous. "Just, uhm, just trying to read." He lifts his book slightly to show proof.

With his confirmation, you shut your eyes. Except you don't sleep. You're listening to his heartbeat and how fast it is when his hand begins playing with a strand of your hair. It's light, and he avoids pulling on it.

"Bob?" You whisper. He lets out a hum in response as his eyes scan the page. "Do you want a better strand?" You ask in a joking tone. His fingers let go of your hair, and you're disappointed. You enjoyed the feeling of his hand twirling the small strand.

"N-no, sorry. I didn't realize..." He mumbles. "I'll leave it alone."

"You don't have to. I wasn't complaining." You assure him. You take his free hand and lift it back to your hair. You're about to let go when his grip tightens around yours. His rough palms slide against yours, and when you don't pull away, he lowers them.

"Then is, uhm, this ok?" He asks with hope in his voice. Although you're feeding off his warmth, you can now feel your body producing its own. Your face burns, and you're so glad he can't see it right now.

"Perfectly fine." You say while trying to hide any signs of being flustered.

You stay like that for a while, and eventually you do fall asleep. Unbeknownst to you, so does he. This gives Ava and Walker a great opportunity to snap a photo for later. Just to save in their 'We Knew It' album.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Can i request some cregan, like reader having her first time with him?

A/N: i know you said *HAVING her first time, but im not in a smut mood. I AM IN A CREGAN MOOD THO. this has been holed up here for a while now, so anon, if ur reading this, sorry no smut but I hope you like fluff. edit: the fic died and now im sad so the fic is sad pls i hate hormones

Frosty Lips

As a girl, you never imagined you would one day be wed to the to the Warden of the North. As a grown woman, you can't imagine ever being in the arms of another.

Cregan Stark x Reader | 500> | cw: fem!reader, fluff, smitten!Cregan, domestic life, typos, etc.

Tagging: @aneurins-barnard because her gif is LICHRALY the reason why I wanna write at all EVERYONE SAY thank you eli. also @arabellasleopardcoat HI!!!! LOOK ITS CREGAN!

Cregan rubs your bare shoulder and kisses the spot that connects to your collar. He rubs your arm, adjusting the blanket on you.

It was late, and he knew it. From the way the sun shone from out the window, he figured it was possibly noonday already.

He slowly pulls away from you and for the fourth time, you pull him back into your chest, groaning in disapproval.

He sighs.

You rub your cool hands down his bare back and he rubs his nose into your neck as a response, mumbling, "we must wake, my heart."

He feels your head shake. A sighs yet again, though devoid of any actual frustration; his eyes were brimming with endearment and amusement as he watches you pretend to sleep.

He speaks your name, meaning to sound vaguely threatening.

You frown and crawl atop him, "no."

"Gods be good," he mutters, clenching his teeth as you kiss his jaw. It was a losing battle, there was no way he was going to push you off, not when you were so warm and wanting.

"Must we rouse?" you mutter, "aren't I owed more time with my lord?"

Cregan's breath hitches.

You snake your arms around him, "we've just had our wedding night."

"Aye," he strokes your hair, "and I want for nothing more than to stay in your arms."

"..."

"..."

"... but?"

Cregan grunts, "but..." he rubs your back, "Winterfell will not stand without its ward."

You lift your head up.

The pouty frown you give him pokes a hole into his heart. It was not just a showy frown to get him to stay a little longer, you looked troubled. He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, "what's wrong?"

Taken off-guard by his question, you mask your expression with a pantomime of your original pout, "the ward of Winterfell does not warm my bed..." you nuzzle your face into his neck, "my husband does."

Cregan sighs as he clutches your head. He murmurs against a kiss on your hairline, "if you are worried the ward of Winterfell would forget about his wife, you are sorely mistaken."

A beat passes.

He rubs your shoulder as you draw aimless shapes on his skin.

"And what if the Lady of Winterfell does not do her duties well?"

He shifts to see your face.

"What if she makes a mess of everything she wishes to help with?"

Your glassy eyes make his brows furrow. He takes your hand and kisses it, "then I would be glad to have a lady who wishes to help me at all."

Your lip wobbles.

"And I would stop gifting her sweeties because she no longer deserve them."

You snort and slap his chest.

He smiles, glad the jest wipes the rueful look upon your face. He kisses the top of your head, "come, my bride. Let us make a mess of things together."

[orellazalonia]

Mischief and Alpine, Matchmaker Extraordinaires

Summary: One quiet morning between you and Bucky, the matchmaking schemes of your cats finally pay off. The smugness and victory of their successes evident almost each time you and Bucky are together now. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: And here lies the Finale so to speak. It was more so to wrap up the story of the second part. However, I don’t mind writing smaller fics or updates of our favorite feline matchmakers. Thank you to @kissingkillercriminals and @mysweetbucky and everyone else who has read this mini series so far! Happy reading!!! ♡

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist | Prequel | Sequel

The plot was thickening. Mischief had started to show up at the most inconvenient moments, trying to nudge you closer to Bucky just when there was a hint of quiet tension in the air. Alpine had taken to sitting at the foot of your bed on some nights, watching over you with an oddly protective gaze that seemed more deliberate than before.

It was only when you woke up from a movie marathon on the couch one morning with Bucky beside you that their matchmaking days might finally be over. Mischief jumped into your lap and Alpine quietly walked over to his side.

“Alright, you two…” You muttered, rubbing your eyes. Mischief purred smugly. Alpine, with her quiet wisdom, gave you a single, slow blink.

Bucky sat up, rubbing his face. “I think they’re getting impatient.”

“Impatient.” You echoed before asking carefully, “Impatient about…?”

Bucky shifted, his hand brushing yours for a moment before he drew it back. “We’ve been dancing around this for a while now. I mean… you know what I’m talking about, right?”

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, but you didn’t have the chance to respond before Mischief leaped off your lap and sauntered to the window, eyes sharp, tail flicking in time with her calculated movements.

You glanced at Alpine. She was staring at you, piercing eyes that seemed to say, This is the moment. Do it.

You looked back at Bucky. He was already watching you, that soft vulnerability in his eyes that always seemed to come out when the world wasn’t trying to tear him apart. But this… this was different. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the steady rhythm of the rain outside, or the fact that Mischief was sprawled on the windowsill like a queen, watching her hard work finally pay off.

And Alpine? She was sitting directly between you and Bucky, tail curled neatly around her paws, like she was guarding some invisible line that neither of you could cross unless you finally admitted it.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” Bucky murmured, breaking the silence. His voice had a quiet rasp, but there was a warmth in it, like he was giving you space to speak or not speak, depending on how you wanted to handle it.

“I…” You took a breath. Your palms felt a little sweaty. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

You’d meant to sound casual, but the words came out soft, unsure. Mischief gave a low, disapproving meow from the windowsill, like she was scolding you for not being more forward.

Bucky’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “You know exactly what I mean.”

For a long beat, you stared at each other. Mischief’s tail twitched, as if encouraging Bucky to take that last step. Alpine was silent, but her intense gaze never wavered. She wasn’t going to let either of you back out of this.

“Bucky…Are you sure-” You began, but before you could continue, Mischief jumped back into your lap, purring loudly and dramatically, her head nudging against your chin in that way she did when she was trying to make you act. You weren’t sure if she was pushing you or just enjoying the chaos. Either way, she was going to make sure this moment didn’t pass.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky said, laughing softly as Mischief settled against you, almost as if she were physically forcing you to confront him. He moved closer, gently brushing your hair from your face.

“I don’t know how much more I can take of these two trying to play Cupid for us,” He admitted, his voice a little rougher than before.

“I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I don’t notice it either,” You said, your heart racing.

You know all the quiet tenderness between you two that had been building for weeks. The soft touches, the shared silences, the way Mischief and Alpine always seemed to be around whenever there was a moment of uncertainty.

“I care about you,” Bucky said, his voice low, steady. “More than I thought I would. I just… didn’t know how to say it.”

You swallowed, meeting his gaze. The rain outside intensified, but inside, the world felt quieter, like all the noise of the outside world had vanished, leaving only the two of you finally on the same page.

“I’ve just been scared. I didn’t want to lose what we had. I think I’ve been waiting for you to say it,” You admitted quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

And just like that, the moment shifted. Mischief purred louder, now with what almost felt like approval, while Alpine gave a single, soft, contented meow.

“Guess we owe them one,” You murmured, glancing down at the two cats, who seemed to share some silent victory.

“Maybe,” Bucky agreed, his smile spreading. “But you know… I’m not sure they’ll let us have much of a private moment after this.”

Alpine tilted her head, as if agreeing with Bucky’s prediction. Mischief hopped into Bucky’s lap with the most satisfied expression, as if to claim her victory.

“Well,” You said with a half-laugh, your fingers tracing the outline of Bucky’s hand. “Maybe it won’t be such a bad thing as long as you’re here.”

“Always,” Bucky said, his voice soft, before gently leaning in and brushing his lips against yours.

And as the rain drummed against the windows, Mischief and Alpine curled up together, as though they’d known all along how this would end and they were content, their work here done. For now.

Later that day, after the soft glow of the moment had faded, you found yourself alone in your room, the hum of the Tower around you. Mischief was curled up on the windowsill, her tail twitching ever so slightly, while Alpine lounged at the foot of your bed, looking almost smug in her perfect little furball form. You could feel their eyes on you, and despite everything, the quiet weight of their gaze made you feel like they knew something you didn’t.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at them for a moment, trying to fight the overwhelming urge to laugh at the situation. You knew what they had done. You knew exactly what they had been up to.

And now, it was time to talk about it.

“You two,” You began, your voice teasing but filled with an underlying sense of gentle disbelief. Mischief flicked an ear, but didn’t budge. Alpine, of course, kept her eyes closed like the queen she was, but you could feel the amusement radiating off her like a warmth in the room.

The silence stretched for a moment before you sighed and crossed your arms. “So. This whole ‘matchmaking’ thing. You’re really proud of yourselves, aren’t you?”

Mischief’s ears twitched, but she didn’t flinch. Alpine opened one eye, her head raising just enough to show she was paying attention.

“Come on,” You repeated, shaking your head. “You’re not exactly that subtle. You’ve been pushing us together all along.”

A purring sound emanated from Mischief, low and rumbling. Alpine’s tail flicked, and she gave a single, satisfied meow.

You blinked, the words you had been thinking all day finally clicking into place. “You knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

The answer was a soft, almost imperceptible meow from Alpine. Mischief stretched out lazily, rolling onto her back as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She already knew you were hopelessly in love with Bucky. You disregarded her advice before after all.

“Well, that’s just great,” You muttered, letting out a short laugh. “You’re both as bad as each other. I don’t know whether to thank you, or-“ You paused, realizing what you had just walked into. “Wait, are you pleased with yourselves?”

Alpine gave a low, almost triumphant purr. Mischief, for once, seemed unbothered by your tone. The two of them exchanged a glance before Mischief padded closer, her purr deepening as she nuzzled your leg. Alpine hopped up to sit beside her, looking at you with those wise, knowing eyes.

You really think we were just helping you?

Alpine’s voice echoed clearly in your mind, steady and gentle, like a quiet whisper.

We’ve seen you two dance around it long enough. Someone had to give you a little nudge.

Mischief’s voice came next, sounding smug but affectionate. Someone had to push things along. You two were taking too long to figure it out, and…

She stretched out in a luxurious way, ‘speaking’ in one of the most haughty tones you’ve ever heard from her, We don’t have time for slow burns.

You shook your head, half in disbelief and half in gratitude. “So, this was really was some grand scheme of yours? I’m not sure whether to be impressed or insulted.”

Alpine blinked slowly, her gaze unwavering.

There is no harm in helping destiny along.

She licked her paw lazily, as if nothing had happened.

The two of you were already meant to be. We just sped things up a bit.

Mischief, as usual, seemed to be more direct. It's simple. You like each other. He’s a good guy. You’re surprisingly good together. You just needed encouragement.

You stared at them for a long moment, your heart still racing with the unexpected shift of events. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You two are unbelievable.”

There was a pause, and then Mischief nuzzled her head into your hand, looking up at you with eyes that were almost… too proud.

It’s not just about you, She said with a flick of her tail. We look out for our people. And we think… you're good for each other.

Alpine added with a soft meow, We’ve been waiting for you both to catch up.

You let out a soft, affectionate sigh. There was no denying it. Mischief and Alpine had orchestrated it all, played their roles, and had succeeded where no one else had, helping you and Bucky find your way to each other.

“Well,” You said, crouching down to pet both of them. “I guess you two aren’t so bad.” You paused, eyes narrowing playfully. “But don’t ever pull that stunt again, alright?”

Both cats tilted their heads as though they didn’t quite understand the question, but the gleam in their eyes told you everything you needed to know. Mischief purred softly, and Alpine blinked slowly, as if to say, Of course we will. But only if you need it.

“Alright,” You muttered, leaning back against the bed. “I guess I owe you both. But you’d better not make a habit of this.”

Mischief’s tail flicked in amusement, and Alpine simply curled up beside her, content. You could feel their satisfaction radiating off them. They were pleased. More than pleased, in fact. They had done what they set out to do and they had done it perfectly. (Or so they liked to think.)

As the evening unfolded, you could hear Mischief’s soft purring and Alpine’s contented meows in your mind as a comforting background to your thoughts.

But no matter how ridiculous or obvious their methods were, it was official: Mischief and Alpine had succeeded in their little operation. And somehow, you were glad they had.

-

The Tower had felt different for the past few weeks. The moments between you and Bucky were no longer filled with lingering tension. Instead, there was an easy comfort, like two puzzle pieces that had finally clicked into place.

You found yourselves seeking each other out more often. Sometimes it was just for small moments like when you’d bump into him in the hallway and catch the familiar glint of warmth in his eyes. Or when you’d sit next to him on the couch after a long day, the silence between you not uncomfortable, but companionable. Mischief and Alpine’s matchmaking had worked, and now, you both were navigating the early stages of this new territory with a mix of cautious hope and nervous excitement.

And the cats, oh the cats continued to observe, as if they were silently proud of themselves. Mischief still had that knowing, almost smug look every time she’d saunter past you and Bucky, like she knew exactly how much closer the two of you had gotten.

But it wasn’t just the cats noticing. The rest of the Avengers were starting to pick up on the change, too.

It was Steve who first pointed it out, his usual lightheartedness tinged with amusement. “You two are… different. More together lately.” He smiled, glancing between you and Bucky. “It’s a good thing, though. You’re both happier.”

You and Bucky exchanged a look. It had been an unspoken agreement, the way your relationship had blossomed slowly, carefully, but surely. There was no rush, and no one else had been more patient than Bucky, often waiting for you to make the first moves. It was always the little things with him, like him checking in on you after a mission, his hand finding yours in quiet moments, or the way his gaze softened every time your eyes met.

“Guess we are,” You murmured, your voice a little more relaxed than it used to be. You couldn’t deny that something had shifted. You could feel it in the way he smiled at you when he caught you looking at him. How he’d wrap an arm around you when the team gathered for briefings or dinners, holding you close in a way that felt both natural and necessary.

Bucky chuckled, his hand brushing against yours. “Yeah. I’ve… uh, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.” His voice was a little quieter now, more vulnerable. “I guess… I wasn’t sure how to take the next step. But now, with you here… I think we’re both past all the hesitations.”

And just like that, everything fell into place. The weight of all the past struggles, the doubts, and fears that had kept you both in limbo, melted away. With each passing day, you saw Bucky for who he truly was: the soldier who had fought countless battles, yes, but also the man who had learned to love and heal, someone who had found a home in you.

Later that evening, as the team gathered for a late dinner in the common area, it felt as though the world around you had slowed down, the noise fading into the background. There was something undeniably special in the way Bucky looked at you, how his gaze lingered a little longer than before.

When he reached for your hand under the table, you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers intertwined, and the simple touch was a quiet affirmation of everything that had shifted between you two.

Mischief, ever the observer, hopped up on the table in front of you, her fur sleek and pristine. Alpine, now regularly spending time with both of you, sat beside her, her eyes flicking from you to Bucky as though in approval.

“Alright, alright,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair with a mischievous grin. “We all see it. The cat’s out of the bag, no pun intended.” He nodded toward Mischief, who was now watching Bucky with a level of interest that could only mean she was approving. “You two are… a thing, aren’t you?”

You felt a slight blush rise to your cheeks, but Bucky just chuckled softly, squeezing your hand. “Yeah. Guess so.” He gave you a small smile, one that had become second nature, but it still made your heart skip a beat.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “About time,” she teased, but there was a warmth in her voice. “It’s nice to see you two so happy.”

It wasn’t just the team noticing. It was everyone who saw you and Bucky together, there was an undeniable sense of calm and happiness that seemed to radiate off you both. You had learned to open up to him, and in turn, he’d let you in. And now, there was nothing to hide between you anymore.

That night, when the Tower was quiet again and the rest of the team retired to their rooms, you found yourself with Bucky on the balcony, gazing at the city lights below. The air was cool, the soft hum of the city in the distance adding a peaceful rhythm to the moment.

Bucky leaned against the railing, his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “You know,” He murmured, “I never thought I’d get here.”

“Here?” You asked, your voice soft.

“Yeah,” His voice quieter now, his breath warm against your ear. “With someone who… makes me feel like it’s okay to be me. Not the soldier. Not a monster. Just me.”

You turned toward him, your heart swelling. “You are you, Bucky. The person who’s been through hell and back, and you’ve still got the strength to love.”

He smiled, his hand gently caressing your cheek. “And you’re the one who helped me realize that. You make me better, you know that?”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. For the first time in a long time, you felt whole. With him. With Bucky. And with the unexpected help of two very clever, very determined cats.

“You make me better too,” You whispered.

And when you kissed him softly at first, then with a growing intensity, you knew that the road ahead was uncertain, but as long as you walked it together, everything would be alright.

[askoverkill]

for someone who's technically writing a More Angst and Whump au for isat you sure dont seem to be having too much fun. with the whole "all violence needs to have a good reason" and this whole aura of sensitivity. not a critisism!!! its ur au u can do whatever u want. i just think its weird???

// not quite sure if i'm understanding you correctly.

// i think i know what post(s) you're referring to, about how i said there's a responsibility to how one writes violence, but i'm not up for digging it out so i'd rather just talk about this freshly so apologies if that causes any misunderstandings. also, just for the sake of clarity because i've been misunderstood before, i am replying completely neutrally with no ill intent.

// anyway, i personally believe that writing violence means you have a responsibility in how you depict it. regardless if you're aware or not, all writing is a form of communication and you have the power to try to make what you say have meaning.

// Specifically, when writing children or any marginalized group, you need to be aware of how you're doing that. is it needed? is it exploitive? was it purely shock value or was it sexism or something else? i think this is an important discussion to have, just like, in general. your answer to this question and my answer will vary on this for different situations. and that's a good thing! that's what's art is all about, discussion.

// and as for this story itself, my intent in writing is to make this story a distraction from my worsening depression. i haven't been shy about this. it's a vent fic. i'm making siffrin suffer because it feels good, and seeing him overcome or fail to is cathartic. despite the intentions of the fic being that, I do also intend to tell a good story and explore the world building and ultimately make it a fun journey for anyone reading. it can be both. (at least i hope it can be. how well i handle things is always going to be up to interpretation. all i can do is try my best.)

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED DOING THE PARENT AU BUT THEIR KID COMING OUT AS TRANSGENDER🏳️‍⚧️???LOVE UR FICS BTW THEYRE SO GOOD🫶🫶

(ABSOLUTELY ALSO THANK YOUUU SO MUCH

Honestly before reading my fics—i know there are transphobic jerks. And I definitely know that coming out as trans to literally anyone its not always going to be met with understanding and care (which fucking sucks!) because Honestly trans people in general should have someone who understands and cares. I know there are going to be people who don't agree with how I write the boys in this specific scenario but to me specifically I believe these dorks wouldnt really be bothered over trans people i mean they are literally in new York (pretty sure they've seen shit) with all that said enjoy!

Epilogue Bill Dickey – When his kid comes out as transgender

When your kid first tells Bill?

It’s not a scene. There’s no big argument. He’s in the middle of a rant about “how Hollywood's killing the genre with A24-core trauma-bait garbage,” when your kid says it—quiet, maybe nervous, maybe not. Just a plain sentence:

> “Dad… I’m not your daughter. I’m your son.”

Bill blinks. Squints. Sets down his paper plate of pizza.

> “...Okay.”

That’s it.

No fireworks. No tantrum. No “you’re confused” lecture. Just “okay,” and a scratch of his scruffy beard.

> “You still do the dishes? Then I don’t give a shit. Just don’t change your name to ‘Anakin’ or some dumb crap.”

That’s his way of trying. And for a while, it feels like enough. He messes up pronouns sometimes. He forgets. But there’s no hate in it. He buys his son a thrift-store Spider-Man hoodie without a word. Doesn’t bat an eye when you cut his hair. Even argues with the school over the bathroom thing—clumsily, loudly, but with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer:

> “If my kid can recite Klingon, he can pee wherever he wants, okay? You wanna fight about it, Principal Palpatine?”

But then—

One day, he comes home. Blood on his lip. Scrape on his cheek. Shoulders hunched. Won’t meet your eyes.

Bill sees red.

> “What happened.”

Your son tries to brush it off. “It’s nothing. Just some guys at lunch. They said I wasn’t—real.”

That’s when Bill goes quiet. Like truly quiet.

Not in defeat. In rage.

> “What’d you say?”

Your son repeats it. Voice cracking this time.

> “They said I’m just pretending. That I’m still—still a girl.”

Bill stands up, slow and dangerous.

> “Gimme names.”

> “Dad—”

> “Names. First and last. If they have a Facebook I’m gonna flame ‘these fuckin jerk offs”

You put a hand on his arm. “Bill, stop.”

But he’s shaking. Not because he’s mad someone touched his kid—but because for once, he doesn’t know what to say. This isn’t a forum flame war. This isn’t a fandom grudge match. This is real, and his kid’s standing there, bleeding, trying not to cry, and Bill realizes:

He wasn’t doing enough.

Not really.

So he takes a breath. Sits down. Doesn’t lecture. Doesn’t yell.

He just slowly opens his arms.

Your son hesitates—then folds into them, and Bill holds on like he’s gripping onto the last save file in a corrupted game.

> “Listen to me,” he says, rough. “You’re my kid. You’re a pain in my ass. And you’re real. Anyone says otherwise? They answer to me. Got it?”

Your son nods into his shoulder.

> “Good. Now c’mon. Let’s go buy you a new hoodie. One that doesn’t smell like Doritos and trauma. And after that, I’m teaching you how to throw a punch.”

> “You said I couldn’t hit people.”

> “Yeah, well. I also said Firefly was overrated. People change.”

‐--

Epilogue Pete DiNunzio – When Anthony comes out as a trans girl

Pete’s halfway through folding laundry—badly—grumbling about how socks keep disappearing and why the hell does one hoodie have three sleeves? You and him had just had a brief spat about his refusal to read the laundry tags ("I know how cotton works, babe!") and now he's cooling off with busy hands and loud music.

That’s when Anthony—quiet, nervous, wearing a hoodie two sizes too big—walks in and just… stands there.

Pete glances over.

> “Hey. You need somethin’?”

Anthony fidgets. Eyes on the floor.

> “Can we talk?”

The laundry gets dropped instantly. Pete’s always on full-alert when it comes to his kid.

> “Yeah. Yeah, c’mere. What’s goin’ on?”

Anthony hesitates. Then:

> “I’m… I’m not a boy, Dad.”

Pete just blinks.

> “Okay. So what are you then?”

> “I’m a girl. My name is Lily.”

It’s so quiet for a beat, you could hear a sock fall.

Pete looks at her—really looks. At the way her hands tremble. The way she won't meet his eyes. Like she’s expecting him to yell. Like she’s braced for disappointment.

And all that attitude Pete wears like armor? It just drops.

He walks over slowly, lowering his voice in that way he only does when something matters.

> “Lily, huh?”

She nods.

> “You scared I wasn’t gonna be okay with it?”

Another nod.

Pete doesn’t ask why. He just pulls her into the biggest, firmest hug.

> “Well that’s stupid. Because I love you, no matter what. You hear me? You could come in here and tell me you’re actually a werewolf and I’d still be your Dad. I'd just buy you more meat.”

Lily laughs. It cracks mid-sob.

Pete holds her tighter.

> “Hey, you know what else? Lily’s a beautiful name. Suits you.”

He ruffles her hair gently.

> “You’re brave, y’know that? Takes guts. And you don’t ever gotta be scared to tell me stuff like this. You’re my kid. My girl. Nothin’ changes that.”

Then, after a pause, trying real hard to keep it casual:

> “You wanna go out and get donuts later? We can get your favorite and, uh… maybe hit the thrift store? If you wanna look at different clothes or whateva. No pressure.”

Lily lights up a little. You can tell she wasn’t expecting this.

> “You’d really do that?”

Pete gives her a look like she just asked if the sky’s blue.

> “Are you kiddin’? I’d wear a tutu in Times Square if it made you smile.”

> “…Can I paint your nails?”

Pete groans with mock offense.

Lily grins through her tears. Pete wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of her head, gruff but full of warmth.

> “Love you, principessa.”

And he means it—with every ounce of that stubborn, foul-mouthed, fiercely loyal heart.

And one night, while Lily's asleep on the couch, Pete gently folds up that old blue baby blanket she used to wear as a cape—and tucks it away in a box. Doesn’t throw it out.

He just saves it.

Not because he misses who Lily used to be.

But because every version of his kid is worth loving.

---

Josh levy – When his daughter comes out as a trans man

Josh is pacing in the kitchen, ranting about the latest ridiculous plot hole in a sci-fi show nobody asked him to watch again. You’re doing dishes, half-listening, until your kid—quiet, tired-eyed, hoodie swallowed around his frame—stands in the doorway and clears his throat.

Josh freezes mid-rant.

> “You okay, peanut?”

(He still calls him that, even though he’s fourteen and taller than Josh now.)

Your son takes a shaky breath.

> “Dad, I need to tell you something. And I don’t want you to yell.”

Josh's spine straightens, face suddenly serious.

> “I’m not gonna yell. I swear.”

Another breath.

> “I’m not a girl. I’m a boy. My name’s Eli.”

Josh doesn’t answer right away.

He just… stares. Processing. His brow twitches the way it does when his brain short-circuits from too many emotions at once. Confusion. Shock. Guilt. And then—pain. Because why the hell was his kid scared to tell him?

> “Wait—wait. So... you’re a boy? You’re my son?”

Eli nods, looking at the floor, bracing for something ugly.

Josh swears under his breath. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands and paces.

> “Jesus. I didn’t see it. I didn’t see it. How long have you felt like this?”

> “Forever. I just… didn’t know how to say it. I was scared you’d get mad. Or say I was making it up.”

Josh turns to him, eyes glassy, voice cracking with rawness he doesn’t show often.

> “Mad? Mad?! Eli—Eli, I’m not mad. I’m pissed at myself. You think I care if my kid’s a boy, a girl, or a freakin’ alien hybrid with a lightsaber?! You could tell me you wanna live on Mars and I’d be there with a damn helmet on.”

> “But you always talk about, like… genetics. And how people ruin the science in everything—”

> “Yeah, in fiction! You think I care about chromosomes more than I care about you?”

Josh runs a hand through his hair. He’s rambling now.

> “You’re my kid. You’re Eli. You’re my son. And I swear on every signed Boba Fett figure in my room—I will figure this out. I will screw up. I’ll say the wrong thing. But I’ll learn, okay? Because nothing matters more than you. You’re not a phase. You’re you. And I love you.”

Eli wipes his eyes, sniffling.

> “Even if I don’t look like what you expected?”

Josh snorts.

> “Kid, I didn’t expect anything. I thought you’d end up a hacker who lives off SpaghettiOs. But this? This I can handle.”

A beat.

> “…Can I call you 'kiddo' still, or is that lame?”

Eli laughs—a real one this time.

> “Kiddo’s fine.”

Josh pulls him into a fierce hug, whispering into his hair.

> “I got you, kiddo. Always.”

Then, with a sniff and a sudden shift to humor to keep from crying again:

> “Now if anyone at school gives you crap, I will show up in full Federation uniform and quote Spock until their souls leave their bodies.”

Eli chuckles. Josh kisses the top of his head.

> “Welcome home, son.”

---

Jerry – When his child comes out as a trans man

It’s a quiet, golden afternoon. The sun’s pouring in through the windows, making everything feel peaceful. Jerry’s at the kitchen table, humming softly to himself as he mixes up something strange—probably some kind of potion for the garden or one of his magical projects. You can tell he’s in his element, lost in a world of fantasy, but when his daughter walks in, her eyes soft and a little unsure, the mood shifts.

She hesitates in the doorway, looking like she's carrying the weight of a thousand secrets.

Jerry looks up, his smile never wavering.

> “Ah, my brave adventurer! What brings you to my kingdom this fine afternoon?”

She blinks, a little taken aback by the whimsical tone, but it’s a relief. Jerry’s never made things feel heavy, always keeping them light. Her nervousness melts just a little.

> “Dad, can we talk?”

Jerry stands up, immediately sensing something deeper in his voice. He walks over and gives her a gentle touch on the shoulder.

> “Of course, my child. Always. What’s troubling you?”

Nathan takes a deep breath.

> “I’m not a girl, Dad. I’m a boy. My name’s Nathan.”

Jerry’s hands freeze for a second, his eyes widening just slightly. But then, he exhales, calm and thoughtful, as though he’s been expecting this, like it was always a part of the magic that makes Nathan…Nathan

> “Nathan, huh?”

Nathan looks down at the floor, bracing himself for Jerry’s reaction. Jerry places his hands on his son’s shoulders, guiding him gently to sit at the kitchen table. He sits across from him, their eyes meeting. A soft smile tugs at Jerry’s lips.

> “That’s a beautiful name. I knew there was something extraordinary about you. Like a hidden spell that’s been waiting to be cast.”

Nathan’s brow furrows.

> “But… what about all the other stuff? Will you still love me?”

Jerry smiles wider, his eyes soft and warm. His voice drops to a gentle whisper, almost as if he’s sharing a secret.

> “Oh, my brave son… my heart is a house full of love, and it has always had a room just for you. No magic, no potion, no curse could ever change that.”

He takes Nathan’s hand in his own, holding it with tenderness.

> “You are exactly who you are supposed to be. And you will always be enough. In fact, I think you’re even more magical now. More real. Like you’ve shed an old skin and are ready to be something... new.”

Nathan's eyes are welling up now, and Jerry doesn’t shy away from it. He just leans in, wrapping his arms around his son in a soft, almost ethereal embrace.

> “I’m so proud of you, Nathan. I know this can be hard, but I promise you, together, we’ll make this journey. And I will make sure you feel safe in my kingdom, always.”

Nathan sniffles, feeling a weight he didn’t realize he’d been carrying finally start to lift.

> “You’re not disappointed?”

Jerry chuckles softly, brushing a few stray locks of hair out of Nathan’s face.

> “Mad? No. Disappointed? Never. You’re my son, Nathan. Always have been, always will be. And if you ever feel lost, just remember: there’s a whole world of adventures out there, and you’ve got the heart of a hero.”

Nathan finally cracks a smile, and Jerry beams.

> “Now, do you want to see the garden? I’m working on a little something special. I’ve got a potion brewing that might just turn the garden into a fairy wonderland.”

Nathan nods, wiping his eyes.

> “That sounds amazing.”

> “Of course it does,” Jerry says with a wink, “It’s my magic, after all.”

---

[janiehellion]

Not to be dramatic, but this comment on AO3 actually made me tear up in the best way possible. I did respond to it already, but I still feel like nothing I say could do justice to how much it really means to me. (Keeping their username hidden due to privacy and out of respect.)

And I know... I don't usually post randomly like this, but writing fanfiction—especially in a fandom like The Walking Dead, where so many writers are ridiculously talented, writers like Krys, Murda, Taylor, and so many more, but especially those that I follow and got the incredible chance to interact with so far.

Yes, there are writers who put out works way faster than I ever could and ever did in years—it can be really isolating. (If this is the right word... I don't know how to explain it better.) Especially when you write slowly, when you're anxious as shit, or when your fics simply don't get much reach or interaction because they're just... too damn long.

(My current draft for a requested one-shot is over 30K, and I'm trying to shorten it simply because I know that most don't wanna read that many words regarding a Daryl Dixon x Reader fic. My drafts just keep getting longer, so no wonder I barely even post, and I do wanna apologize for that.)

Anyway, I'm one of those writers who rereads their own fanfics over and over again, and constantly hearing that little voice telling me, "This isn't good enough. It's just bad. Delete it." Like, all the time. I overthink every line and every word. So I end up trying everything to make a fic at least okay to read… and then doubting whether the plot even makes sense or if it sounds the way I want it to. Especially when writing for characters like Daryl, Rick, Negan, or Shane—these kinda characters that have been written so incredibly well by so many others, those who are able to put it all in fewer words than I do.

But then someone, a stranger, leaves a comment like this.

They didn't just say "Great fic!" (which I also appreciate so deeply, don't get me wrong,) but they saw the exact things I try so hard to do: tone, emotion, clarity, and consistency. They said my writing was inspirational. They literally bookmarked it as a reference for what they want to achieve. As someone with English as their first language, no less. And, as you can see, they said I should be less hard on myself.

Do you understand how healing that is to read?

I still can't believe it's real. This is just insane to me. It makes all the hours of obsessing over every damn draft feel seen and heard.

To the person who wrote this: thank you. You are one of the few humans that encourage me to keep writing. Same with the other authors I got to know through Tumblr, AO3, and Wattpad so far.

I just never would've thought that sometimes, a stranger somewhere on this planet, this world, would remind me of how much I love writing at exactly the right time. You never know what someone might go through offline, and I absolutely needed this. This is why feedback matters.

[presidenthades]

Fandom PSA: Fanworks Permission Statements and why you should make one if you’re a fic writer!

At some point, most of us fanfic writers have probably thought, “I wish someone would make fanart/podfic/fanvid/translation/etc. about my fanfic.”

For this to happen, first there must be a reader who enjoys the fic enough that they feel compelled to make a derivative fanwork. This is a necessary condition—but not a sufficient one!

Most of the time, this potential podficcer or translator will also seek permission from the fic writer to make their derivative fanwork. As a writer, you might think, “Of course I’ll give permission! Why wouldn’t I? I would LOVE to have a podfic/translation/whatever.”

However, this fact is not actually obvious to others. Some writers don’t want people to make derivative works based on their writing. Some writers have certain conditions that they require. The podficcer/translator/whoever has no idea of knowing what these conditions are unless they:

ask the writer for permission, or

can find the writer’s permission statement.

You might think, “Option A sounds simple. If someone is interested, they can just ask me for permission, and I’ll tell them any conditions I might have.”

Well…that might be simple for you, but it isn’t as simple for the person approaching you.

Consider the POV of a hypothetical podficcer. They read your fic. They love it! They want to make a podfic of it! But when they check the notes on your fic and your AO3 profile, they find nothing indicating whether you would even be receptive to a podfic.

They have several options, depending on what means of communication you have made available:

Comment directly on the fic asking for permission to make a podfic. Wait and hope that you respond quickly enough that the podficcer still has the requisite enthusiasm to record the podfic. (Enthusiasm can wane the longer they wait.)

Send you a message on another website, like Tumblr or Reddit, assuming that you’ve shared your username somewhere easily accessible on AO3/the fanfic website. Again, wait and hope that you respond quickly enough.

Decide they would rather not bother with the hassle of waiting and hoping, so they move on to another fanfic whose writer DOES have a permission statement.

If the podficcer had known upfront that you would be OK with a podfic, they could have just recorded the podfic ASAP while they were at the height of their enthusiasm. If the podficcer reallyyyy loves your fic, they might be willing to do Option A/B and wait anyway. But sometimes, Option C is just simpler, especially if there are other fics that the podficcer is interested in recording.

Hopefully you are now thinking, “A permission statement makes sense, so I can maximize the odds that someone will make a podfic/translation/etc. But how do I write a permission statement? What do I include? Does it have to be a blanket permission statement, or can I add conditions?”

There are resources that can help you! One that I’ve seen recommended is this Fanworks Permission Statement Builder, which helps you create a personalized permission statement in just a few steps. You can edit the output with whatever additional conditions you might have. There is also a Directory of Fanwork Creators with Permission Statements if you want to consult it for examples or other resources. I have a permission statement on my AO3 profile.

You should, of course, be comfortable with your permission statement. If you would not be comfortable with a blanket permission statement, then include the conditions that you would like to request/require.

Keep in mind that more conditions/obstacles might lower someone’s enthusiasm to make a derivative work. For example, let’s say a podficcer is deliberating which of two fics they want to record.

Fic 1: The writer has a blanket permission statement on their AO3 profile allowing fanworks like podfics. They just ask that the podficcer use the “Inspired By” feature upon posting on AO3. The podfic can be posted elsewhere, but the writer would like for it to also be posted on AO3.

Fic 2: The writer has a permission statement on their AO3 profile which requires that the podficcer reach out beforehand to explicitly confirm permission to record whatever fic the podficcer is interested in. The podfic can ONLY be posted on AO3 and cannot be posted anywhere else.

Based on what I’ve heard from several podficcers, if all other things are equal, they would prefer Fic 1 over Fic 2. Fic 1’s permission statement is straightforward: just make sure to appropriately credit the original writer, and post the podfic on AO3.

Fic 2 is more complicated. The podficcer has to take the extra step of reaching out to the writer, with no guarantee that the writer will respond promptly. The waiting time means that the podficcer might lose the spark of inspiration for “spontaneous podding,” as one person called it.

Also, the requirement to only post on AO3 can be confusing. AO3 cannot host audio files. The podficcer must host the audio file elsewhere, and then they link to that file when they publish on AO3. Does the writer understand the difference between hosting and posting? Will the podficcer need to clarify what the writer intends? This also means that if the podficcer wants to post on another website, they no longer have that option.

If the podficcer has to jump through several hoops to record Fic 2, they might just move on to a simpler option, like Fic 1.

This does not mean that you, the writer, must write a blanket permission statement! As stated above, you should make sure you’re comfortable with your own permission statement. Include all the conditions that you would be satisfied with. Just keep in mind what the potential artist/podficcer/translator/etc. might be considering on their end.

As an example of a multivoice collaborative podfic, check out MG101: Intro to Other Magics, a Merlin x HOTD crossover that I helped create!

If this post inspires you to make your own permission statement, please let me know! I am participating in a podfic event called Voiceteam 2025, and I get bonus points for every person whom I inspire to make a permission statement. 😊 You can just let me know in a reblog, comment, or DM whether you’ve made a permission statement.

[theyluvlyss]

i saw your post on needing more creativity (to word it briefly) in remmick/sinners fanfics and IM HERE TO SUPPLY!! im thinking of making a new account should i do it???

𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 !!!

per my last couple of posts, I would LOVE some requests to start piling up. I wanna see more ideas and thoughts for me to work with (and fangirl about🥴✋🏽-).

and as far as you making an account goes, anon, I ofc encourage you do it if it will make you happy - legit, the whole reason I started this blog was because I wanted my own space to write, say, request, post, etc. whatever tf I want, so you'll never get a 'no' from me when trying to do the same😌🫶🏽.

reminder to all, though !! to reiterate/add to some of my boundaries when it comes to sinners requests specifically !! ...

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

I know I have and am usually/typically willing to write taboo topics when it comes to other fandoms, but sinners (to me, in my personal opinion) is a lot more sacred and special, so there's certain changes i'm making/abiding by apart from my usual/normal rules out of both respect and just the simple fact that it's just gonna be strict 'round this bitch, like, idk what to tell you lmao.

- NO moore twins incest or stepcest, i'm not doing it.

- no weird "sammick" bullshit, this is not a sammick ship friendly blog, don't interact, follow, or request things regarding that ship towards me, you'll be blockt with a QUICKNESS.

- I do welcome think, theory, and thirst pieces in my ask inbox, but be aware each of those topics will be kept separate from one another. time and place rules; don't bring up think piece material in the comments of an imagine I worked hard on that has nothing to do with the nuances of the movie and it's themes - and vice versa - don't start thirsting under posts I may make regarding how I view the characters and their role/purpose and whatnot.

- i'm not at all opposed to age gaps, but i'm not doing anything illegal, so don't even go there. but yeah, again, this is vampire media/content - age gaps are a large chunk of the appeal and if you don't like that, then maybe you're not ready to engage in vamp content, idk😭🤷🏽‍♀️.

- unless written or requested otherwise, reader will always be assumed 20+ years old, black/black-coded, and southern. and when it comes to requesting otherwise, plz be clear with your intentions on why, and don't be weird - like seriously, if I see something I don't like, it's not getting written and I will put you on blast, I don't have patience whatsoever for nonsense, so don't start😭🙏🏽.

- i'm a bit picky when it comes to plots, fair warning (i'll try not to let it be an issue tho lol no worries) - especially modern au's, so don't expect a whole lot of those unless you want some of my more "awkward" writing (for lack of a better word) lmao.

- I will write for...

elias "stack" moore

elijah "smoke" moore

sammie "preacher boy" moore

remmick

bo chow

- I shouldn't even have to say this, but NO, I will not be doing any kkk members x reader, kkk dynamic work, kkk NOTHING. I don't even have the words to explain the disgust and anger that it brings me to even think about it, i'm fighting for my life not to say nothing violent and out of pocket rn-...

- be aware that I don't have an official masterlist yet, so stay tuned for when that gets uploaded, because when it does, that means the very first of any sinners related fics of mine has been completed and added :D !!

- and last but not least, basic fanfic/account etiquette...

don't like what I write? don't read it.

don't like me or my content? block me.

questions? just ask, and be respectful.

and finally, if you leave any type of negativity on my page, you'll be dealt with accordingly.

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

anyways, that's all for now. thanks for reading this and for all of the strong engagement, love, and support I've received so far on the topic of sinners fanfic, it's really jarring in a good way after being kind of a dead account for a while😭🙏🏽. I hope I can deliver what y'all want/are expecting💕.

byeeee /ᐠ^˕^マ !!!

[delilahsturniolo]

— ♡ motive . . . m.s

in which . . . you and matt meet at a party and go back to his apartment, just expecting him to be another player and nothing more, come to find out theres something real behind his motive.

warnings . . . smut, a bit of angst, oral, (fem!recieving) dry humping, kissing, use of pet names.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

POSITIONS WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #3

you don’t do this kind of thing.

you don’t let boys with soft lips and prettier eyes talk their way past your carefully constructed boundaries. you don’t fall for sweet words whispered in the back of dimly lit parties. you especially don’t fall for guys like him. the ones who flirt like it’s a sport and smile like they’ve already won. but then matt walks in with that crooked smirk and careless confidence, and suddenly, you’re rewriting your rules.

he finds you nursing a drink on the balcony, the bass from inside pulsing through the walls like a heartbeat. his voice is lazy when he says, “figured you’d be out here.”

“figured you’d be inside,” you shoot back, not even looking at him. you feel him come closer, his presence like gravity, tugging at your spine. “what, and miss you trying to play hard to get?”

you roll your eyes. “who said i’m playing?” his laugh is low and close to your ear now, warm and teasing. “you do know that just makes me want you more, right?” you finally glance at him, take in the way his curls fall across his forehead, the way his shirt clings to his chest like it was made for him. he’s too good-looking for his own good. for your good.

“you want me, huh?” you tilt your head. “why?” he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he looks at you like he’s trying to undress your intentions, your doubts, your game. “is this a trick question?”

“depends. are you just trying to get laid?” his eyebrows lift, caught somewhere between amused and impressed. “what if i am?” you blink, not expecting him to be that honest. it’s…refreshing, kind of. frustrating, too. because you don’t want to like how his honesty turns you on.

“then you’ll need a better pitch than that,” you murmur. he steps in closer, not touching, but almost. “i could give you a better pitch,” he says, voice dipping, “but i’d rather show you.” you exhale slowly, trying to ignore the heat curling low in your stomach. you want to know what his motive is. you want to believe it’s more than just one night, that he’s not like the rest. but even if it is just one night, you’re starting to think you wouldn’t mind.

“you always this forward?” you ask. he leans down, lips brushing your ear. “only when i really want something.” and god help you, you want him, too. so, you follow him to his car, trusting your gut. he begins driving once you buckle your seatbelt, his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly lopsided.

when you get there, his apartment is clean, dimly lit, music playing low from some playlist that sounds suspiciously curated. he tosses his keys on the counter like he’s done this a hundred times before, but there’s something different about the way he watches you tonight, like he’s trying to memorize you. “you nervous?” he asks, stepping closer.

“should i be?”

he grins. “depends on what you think is gonna happen.” you cross your arms, ignoring how your body buzzes with anticipation. “why don’t you tell me what you think is gonna happen, matt?” his eyes darken. “i think you came here wondering if i was just another player.”

“and?”

“and i think you already know i am.” he pauses, hands sliding up your waist. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t want you just as much as you want me.” his fingers dig in, pulling you closer until your chest is flush with his. his breath is hot against your cheek. “we don’t have to lie to each other. not tonight.” his honesty cuts through the haze in your head like a match to gasoline.

so you kiss him. and it’s electric.

his hands are everywhere. your hips, your back, threading through your hair. he tastes like mint and sin, and he kisses like he’s trying to make you forget every boy who came before him. you pull his shirt over his head, fingers trailing over the lean lines of his torso, your breath catching when he whispers your name like it’s something sacred. his mouth traces the column of your neck, teeth grazing skin just enough to make you gasp. he doesn’t ask for permission, he knows you want this, but he still waits for that look in your eyes. the one that says yes.

you give it to him without hesitation. he backs you into his bedroom, lips never leaving yours, his hands teasing the hem of your top. when he pulls it off, he stares for a second too long, like he can’t believe you’re real. “beautiful,” he mutters, almost to himself.

you shove him down onto the bed, straddling his lap with a wicked smile. “still think this is just about sex?” his eyes gleam. “i’m starting to think it might be more.” you begin to grind against him slowly, watching him unravel beneath your hands. he’s all breathless groans and hushed curses, every nerve lit up like a fuse. “shit baby..” matt groans, looking up at you as you moved your hips, feeling his erection through his jeans. you were in nothing but a bra and your soaked panties.

“what? gettin’ tired already?” matt chuckled, grabbing you and flipping you both over so he was now on top. matt spread your thighs, leaning down and tugging your panties off with his teeth, slowly sliding them down and off your ankles. “gonna show you m’not playing around when i say i want you.” matt mumbled, he was gonna show you his motive.

you moaned as matt flicked his tongue against your clit, slowly and teasingly lapping his tongue around your wetness. he pressed a kiss to your clit, making you jolt. he was taking his time with you, and he was going to make this unforgettable. he continued to hold your legs open, getting lost in your slick, his lips were coated with your wetness. he brought his thumb over, stroking your clit a few times. and that was all it took the make you come undone. “fuck, oh my gosh—“ you cried out, cumming on matt’s tongue. he collapsed on the bed next to you, giving you some breathing room.

after, tangled in his sheets, bodies slick with sweat and breath still uneven, you find yourself tracing patterns across his chest. he’s quiet, but not in that usual post-hookup way. he’s looking at you like he’s still figuring you out. like he’s not ready to let you go yet. “so,” you murmur, “was that all part of the plan?” he laughs, lazy and satisfied. “if it was, it worked.”

“but what was the plan? just sleep with me once and ghost me after?” he frowns slightly, then leans in to kiss your shoulder. “honestly? i didn’t have a plan. i just knew i wanted you.” you tilt your head. “and now?” he brushes your hair back, his touch unexpectedly soft. “now i think i might want more.” you stare at him for a beat, heart thudding. “you sure you’re not just saying that?”

he laughs again, pulling you closer. “maybe. or maybe you’re just different.” you rest your head against his chest, letting the silence stretch. you don’t know what this is, or where it’s going, but for once, you don’t feel the need to ask. not tonight. tonight, you’re okay with not knowing the motive. you just know it feels good.

© delilahsturniolo

[nevertheless-moving]

So You Just Killed Palpatine

In Which, Much To Obi-Wan Kenobi's Surprise, While Dealing With The Consequences of One's Own Action's Can Be A Lot, It Isn't Always Entirely A Bad Thing

originally inspired by this and this from anon and husborth Part One, Part Two, Part Three ... Part Fo ... uh ... there's memes somewhere... Anyway Here's Part Five:

Obi-Wan blinked awake, head cloudy and body heavy, as if under unusually high gravity. But no, there was the all-too-recognizable ceiling of the temple healing halls, its mosaic ceiling drifting in lazy, clockwise circles.

What did I do this time? Wait, there was something I had to tell the rest of the Jedi...something important...

Oh dear, he was on the good painkillers, wasn't he?

“Obi-Wan?” someone familiar asked, voice and force presence ringing with a startling jab of hope.

“Bant?” he tried to reply, only to be met with burning pain in his throat. The only thing he managed to get out was an unintelligible coughing fit which pulled sharply at his gut.

“Take it easy!” she urged, moving into his blurry line of sight. “You’ve had extensive abdominal surgery, and your throat was — was crushed rather severely — it’s going to take more time for the grafts to heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chastened, before cautiously starting the process of pushing himself up in bed, Bant hovering nervously all the while. The effort made his muscles ache and the room spin faster, but things settled down once he was sitting up.

He looked around, sagging in relief at a small oily handprint on one of the otherwise sterile visitor chairs. Anakin had been here recently, and was in good enough health to be tinkering. Good, that was good. That was important.

He suddenly realized half his vision was obscured and sluggishly raised a hand to his face, only to find heavy cloth.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t able to save your eye,” Bant said softly. “Once you’re a little more healed we can discuss artificial or bioengineered replacement options.”

She plucked a cup off a counter overcrowded with a dizzying array of flowers. “Here, drink some of this if you’re feeling up to it, it’ll make talking a little easier.”

Obi-Wan accepted the drink, only to feel it slide out of numb hands. Bant gently closed her hands around his, helping to guide the drink to his lips. He grimaced at the taste.

“Bacta infused water,” she apologized. “You’re going to be drinking bacta infused liquids for some time, I’m afraid.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over him and Bant set the cup down as Obi-Wan sagged.

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

“Anakin’s fine, he’s completely safe,” Bant said with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. “He’ll be annoyed to know he missed you waking up, he very much wanted to be there.”

Obi-Wan was going to say something else, but sleep dragged him under first.

//

Obi-Wan opened his eyes — his eye — to the sight of Quinlan Vos scowling over a datapad. The dark spot on the left side of his vision was more noticeable than before. What the kriff did I do to myself?

He shifted, irritated at how lethargically his body responded. The pad fell to the ground with a clatter as Quinlan lurched towards the bed.

“Obi-Wan! Hold on, let me — you’re supposed to have the water before you try to talk.”

Quinlan helped hold up a cup and straw so Obi-Wan could take several short sips of the unpleasantly viscous and vaguely pineapple flavored water.

“How are you feeling?” Quinlan asked, hovering with uncharacteristic anxiousness.

Obi-Wan paused to think. “Weak,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been...”

Guilt flashed over Vos’s face. “You were in and out of Bacta tanks and surgery for a full two weeks. And then another week in an induced coma. And then another week in a self-healing trance. You had...a lot of internal injuries. I’m so sorry Obi-Wan—this is all my fault.”

Obi-Wan stared at Quinlan blankly for a moment. His face helped the memories to start trickling in.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Yes — you knocked on my door... you said... Vos... please just... just tell me if I hallucinated anything — did I try to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?"

"I'd say you succeeded," Quinlan replied, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

"Did I — did we think he was a pedophile, only—”

He had to pause, throat burning as he fought a coughing fit. He swallowed more disgustingly flavored water before finishing the thought.

“—only to discover that he was in fact not sexually grooming Anakin, but was doing a number of other terrible things? And did he... did he — did he electrocute me...”

Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off and he took several more sips, throat filled with an uncomfortable fizzing sensation.

Quinlan nodded, wincing. “I mean parts of that you know better than me but yeah, that matches with what I understand.”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan finished the cup, mulling it over.

Quinlan Vos muttered something under his breath that Obi-Wan couldn't quite make out, but the word "dramatic" almost definitely featured.

Grey crept in around the corners of his vision, then black.

//

When he opened his eyes — his eye, he'd have to get used to that — next, he was greeted by a convenient and increasingly familiar cup at his bedside, as well as Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly reached for the water, clutching it in both hands and taking a long drink.

Spurred on by the sight of the Master of the Order, he also reached for the urgent thought from earlier, wanting to get it out before he slipped back under —

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

The corners of Mace’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, Knight Kenobi," he said. "We’re aware of that now. You’ve proved it to be the case quite publicly. And ended the threat with remarkable... thoroughness.”

Obi-Wan head fell back. “A Sith Lord... the Chancellor!” he said in amazement. He was relieved to find his throat only barely twinging at his outburst.

“It truly stretches the imagination,” Mace agreed tolerantly.

“You’re telling me!” Obi-Wan took another long drink, head spinning.

Master Windu smoothed a crease from his robe before saying, with extreme delicacy, “I don't wish to pressure you into speaking before you've healed... but I admit, we’ve all been wondering how exactly you knew.”

"He force choked me and electrocuted me with Sith Lightning. Lighting! I thought that was a myth!” He drained the cup, hands shaking slightly.

“Yes,” Mace said quietly. “The healers were amazed you survived so long... let alone had the strength to fight back with such strength. We’re all extremely grateful to the Force for keeping you alive long enough for us to reach you.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to feel grateful later, but his mental space was a bit of a mess at the moment, and he wasn't entirely certain he had filed it away correctly.

Master Windu sighed. “We would have been there sooner but I’m afraid none of us had any idea that you were going to confront a Sith.” A twinge of reproach crept into Windu's voice, but Obi-Wan set it aside along with the gratitude, to be examined at some later date. Ideally when his head felt less full of bantha wool.

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

“Well you figured it out before the Council at least,” Mace replied, not without humor.

He couldn't help but snort. “Yes, because he shot lightning at me. I mean the force choking happened first but... lightning. Lightning!”

Lines formed between Master Windu's brows as he looked down at him. “As much as it pains me, I understand the risk assessment in not telling the High Council about a Sith Chancellor of the Republic, and goading a public fight was probably the best political move possible. But why start the confrontation so privately? It seemed rather — apologies, we can debrief on that when you're rested. I presume you were trying to get a confession about the droid and clone armies?”

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

The lines on Master Windu’s face deepened. “The... Kamonian clone army — the clones of Jango Fett...”

Obi-Wan’s eyes got wider. “Jango Fett—you mean Galidrean Jango Fett? The Jedi Killer? Palpatine made a clone army of him?”

Mace was silent for a long while, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly concerning puzzle. Obi-Wan chewed on the straw, mind wandering to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Master Windu for a refill. As unpleasant as the flavor was, the fizzing did make his throat feel better.

“Knight Kenobi...” Mace finally said, speaking very slowly. “Do you remember why Chancellor Palpatine attacked you? The soul healers were quite certain the Sith Lord didn’t breach your inner shields but I think you might be suffering from some memory loss...”

His left eye itched; he resisted the urge to reach for it. Obi-Wan sank further into the cushions behind him, trying to think. Were there gaps in his memory? No, as usual, it all seemed a fairly clear path from Quinlan Vos knocking on his door to Obi-Wan ending up unconscious in the healing halls.

“Why Palpatine starting attacking?" he mused. "I suppose he wasn't going to just dance around forever — force, when he dodged my blaster shot, I simply could not understand how — it all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew I was pinned against the wall by a Dark —”

“Stop,” Master Windu ordered, raising his hand. He took a deep breath, radiating calm into the force.

“Do you remember what Palpatine said immediately before you shot him?” he asked patiently.

Obi-Wan shifted, feeling a pang of awkwardness as he muttered the answer guiltily under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“He said, ah, ‘you’re a Jedi’ and ‘you can’t kill an unarmed man.’”

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan fidgeted with the straw. He was starting to feel that perhaps his thoughts were even less clear than he had assumed them to be, and he was not handling this conversation particularly well.

Windu took another deep breath, radiating slightly less calm then before.

“Knight Kenobi. Why did you shoot the Chancellor of the Republic?”

“...I was trying to kill him,” Obi-Wan said, looking down.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

“Well—ah—it actually turns out that I had misunderstood...I mean it had certainly seemed like...but he wasn’t actually...doing exactly what I thought...”

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

It occurred to Obi-Wan for the first time, that, considering his plan of running away and becoming a bounty hunter was no longer possible nor, perhaps necessary, he could have misrepresented some of the timeline of events vis a vis sith slaying. Or better yet, pretended to have memory loss.

In his defense, the whole experience had been extremely unnerving! For all that weeks had clearly elapsed for everyone else, Obi-Wan was still processing Chancellor Palpatine shooting lightning out of his fingers.

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, and he sank into it with relief, recognizing now the sickly sweet painkillers pulsing through his blood, clouding his thoughts and pulling him under.

//

Unfortunately, Mace Windu was still there when he woke up. Kriff.

He opened his mouth to try and backtrack, but Windu raised his hand, cutting off any poorly thought out explanations.

Master Windu took a deep breath, radiating very little calm by this point.

“Let me get this clear. Nod if yes, shake your head if no, did you go into the Chancellor’s office with the intent to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Did you know he was a Sith before you went into his office?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Did you suspect he was a Sith?" Mace asked, slightly desperate.

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

“Before you went into the Chancellor’s office, were you aware that he was working with the Kaminoians to commission a clone army?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

“Did you know he was working with the trade federation to commission a droid army?”

Another no.

“Did you suspect anything about these armies? Anything about a larger plot to destabilize the Republic? Destroy the Jedi? Become Emperor?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at each question, eyes widening with shock.

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

“Knight Kenobi...” he asked with a pained expression. “Did you... attempt to assassinate the Chancellor of the republic for personal reasons born out of some sort of misunderstanding? Only to inadvertently save the Republic?”

“I mean once I found out that he was a Sith... I of course changed tactics... and personal is a bit... but... that... Well. More or less sums the situation up, yes.”

Mace WIndu stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, who wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. He didn't entirely trust his ability to explain things well at the moment, and ultimately decided to err on the side of silence.

Obi-Wan vaguely wished he could slip into sleep, but was fairly sure that it would be rude and possibly obvious to do twice in one conversation. His throat itched and he considered once again asking for more water, ultimately deciding against it.

Minutes passed, Master Windu staring blankly at the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, while Obi-Wan's mind started to wander.

Who on earth had been paying to feed a clone army? How was Quinlan doing at getting Anakin to brush his teeth? Am I going to prison? Ohh that’s why the force was so insistent on killing Palpatine. Maybe that would help explain things to Master Windu? Though 'the force told me to' is  generally not considered a good excuse, in of itself, for acts of violence...though this is a rather unique situation...

Eventually Master Plo walked in, letting out a pleased noise.

“There he is! The Hero of the Republic!”

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Obi-Wan asked weakly, when it became clear Master Windu wasn’t ready to address everything wrong with that.

“Oh! Your drink is empty! Mace, Vokara was very clear with her instructions!” Master Plo scolded.

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

Plo-Koon snatched the cup, filling it up from a pitcher across the room and talking boisterously. “Well, the public is throwing around a lot of titles, but since you already had Sith Slayer...”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said faintly, accepting the terrible water and drinking it for lack of anything better to do.

Plo-Koon patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I’m afraid to tell you it’s going to be very difficult for you to dodge commendations for your actions. Now that you’re awake you’re going to be faced with quite a backlog of requests for ceremonies and interviews—”

Obi-Wan choked. “Ceremonies?” he repeated in a higher pitch. He snuck a look at Master Windu. His eyes were closed, though he didn't appear to be meditating.

That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, ceremonies," Plo-Koon said with far too much relish. "Turns out there are quite a lot of old traditions on the books regarding —"

Master Healer Vokara Che entered the room at brisk pace. “I thought I heard voices — I will remind you that before he is the ‘Sith Slayer Returned’ or ‘The True Chosen One’ or any such nonsense he is first and foremost my patient.”

She gave a sharp look to both Council Members. Plo-Koon nodded contritely while Master Windu continued to not say or do anything.

“The — no, no Anakin’s the chosen one —" Obi-Wan sputtered. "Anakin’s the reason — people aren’t actually calling me that, right?” he asked, drugs doing an admirable job at suppressing the panic he was fairly sure he was going to feel later. The device in Master Che's hand beeped faintly in answer.

“That and more, young Kenobi,” another familiar voice suddenly added, below his field of vision. “To collect your honors, expect to survive, you did not, mmn?”

“Master Yoda! No, I—I really didn’t expect... any honors... at most I was hoping that people would understand...” Obi-Wan protested weakly, shooting Windu a beseeching look which yet again failed to garner a response.

Che rolled her eyes, flipping a lek behind her somewhat sarcastically as she attached a glowing device to his chest. "Of course you didn't."

He barely refrained from wincing as several needles bit into him.

“Perhaps we would have had a better chance of understanding had you left us any of your evidence,” Master Koon chided gently.

“Put together the pieces we did, in our time,” Yoda added, hopping up on the nightstand to affectionately poke his shoulder.

Obi-Wan leaned back, feeling increasingly light-headed.

“Your vitals look good, all things considered,” Master Che said, sounding smug. “You should be back to getting into trouble in a year or so.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head in her direction, aghast. “A year?!”

“Busy, you will be, if work you wish. A seat, open there is for you. Comfortable chair, good company, important duties.”

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

The healer scowled. “You were bleeding heavily into more or less all your major organs, including your brain. Really, it would be faster for me to list organs that weren't damaged. The fact that you recovered at all is only because Master Gallia conducted ill-advised on-scene amateur healing—"

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

"—ill-advised, but successfully non-self-detrimental amateur healing, and I’m a miracle worker, and, credit where credit is due, you’re a stubborn bastard; not to mention your padawan has far too much energy to throw around — you really should consider enrolling him some healer’s courses—”

“Is he alright?” Obi-Wan asked, more urgently.

“He’s fine,” Master Plo reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine except for you. He just tired himself out a few times, but Knight Vos has been keeping a close eye on him, and Anakin understands that the best thing at this point is to let you heal under your own power."

“Can I see him?” he asked. His voice was growing hoarse despite the dutifully refilled cup.

Vokara’s face softened. “Of course. He’ll be stopping by after class, in another hour or so. He’s been very punctual.”

“Master Windu? Alright are you? Silent, you have been.” Mace flinched upon being prodded with a stick. He opened his eyes, pinning Knight Kenobi with a steely gaze. Obi-Wan shrunk back, but Windu just sighed.

“You...” he trailed off. He stood up slowly, as if the movement pained him.

"I —" he said authoritatively, quieting the room. "—am taking a sabbatical. Call me when—” Windu gestured vaguely. “—you all sort out this mess.”

He walked out.

A long moment passed. “What did you tell him?” Master Plo finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"Ah..." Obi-Wan paused, limbs heavy with fatigue. "Well — you see— " He closed his eyes, feeling slightly cowardly as he did so.

//

When he opened them again, the light hadn't shifted nearly as much as other inbetweens, and his bandages hadn't been changed. Master Plo was still there, speaking quietly with Yoda.

Shit.

"Not too long that time," Vokara said, pleased. "I've lowered the dose on some of your medications, it should make it easier to stay awake."

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

"Young Kenobi." Plo-Koon moved closer. "I dislike pressuring you in your current state, but... Master Windu appears to have left the temple. We were wondering..."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. His mind was, at last, starting to catch up with mouth. “He asked me... some questions. About how I came to suspect Palpatine," Obi-Wan said carefully. "It would appear I may have forgotten some details. About the evidence...Master Windu was — distressed regarding what I did and did not recall."

Vokara nodded. "Memory loss is completely understandable with the type of injuries you recieved."

"Alright, it is, if remember everything, you cannot," Yoda added kindly. "Our own investigations, ongoing are."

"So if I, ah, can't quite remember everything that led up to our fight," Obi-Wan asked, feeling guilty, but force, that blank look in Master Windu's eyes. "I mean I definitely remember the force willing me to decisively seek his end — really it was unusually loud about it," he added hastily. "If that helps."

Yoda nodded slowly. "This reason, understand we do. But, present to the public, perhaps not a good idea would be."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I think — I'm not certain but I believe Quinlan Vos may have helped me collect some evidence..."

"Said as much, he did. Wait to confer with you, he wanted."

Obi-Wan sagged backwards with relief. "Yes. Yes! We had security concerns... Palpatine was so highly placed..." he trailed off.

"Considering Sifo-Dyas's and Count Dooku's entanglement in all this I can hardly blame you for hesitating to reach out to the council," Plo-Koon said, exhaustion audible even through his vocoder.

Obi-Wan choked on his spit; the following coughing fit was soon rewarded with a fresh bacta drink from Vokara.

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

"Perhaps after I speak with him I'll be able to better assist with the current investigations," he offered hoarsely after recovering.

"Of course," Plo-Koon said gently. "Again, we apologize for interrogating you so early into your recovery but you really can't imagine the public and political scrutiny we've all been under —" He hesitated. "Master Windu was joking about taking a sabbatical right now, was he not?" he asked, sounding strained. "I know he's been under a lot of pressure, but surely you having memory issues couldn't—"

He was thankfully interrupted by the sound of small feet moving rapidly and a gangly body launching itself at highspeeds through the doorway.

Vokara just managed to snag the back of Anakin's robes before he crashed into Obi-Wan's medbed.

"Padawan Skywalker," she said, voice tight. "I believe I have mentioned the numerous injuries your master is recovering from and the need for —"

"Care in my movements," he said sheepishly. "Apologies, master, thank you."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of his dangling student.

"Obi-Wan." His padawan's eyes immediately started filling with tears.

Obi-Wan reached out instinctively. "Oh, Anakin."

"Give you a moment, we will," Yoda said, hobbling out, as Vokara sighed, then gently placed his pupil on the floor.

"Of course," Plo-Koon agreed. "Take all the time you need." He hurried to catch up with Yoda. Obi-Wan heard him begin to say, "Mace can't actually be leaving us to deal with this clusterfu—'' Then the door closed, and Anakin was weeping at his bedside.

"Shh," Obi-Wan said, tugging his padawan up, ignoring the protestations of his abdomen. "There, there, it will be alright."

Anakin crawled up, movements ginger and uncertain around Obi-Wan's numerous injuries. Together, they somehow managed to shift Obi-Wan enough for Anakin to fit beside him. His padawan shook with suppressed sobs, and parts of him were almost certainly hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan ran one hand through Anakin's hair, the other hand gently resting where he could reach without twisting too much, probably an elbow, though the boy was pointy enough these days that he couldn't be sure. If Obi-Wan was also shaking, well. There was reason enough.

"Sheev," Anakin finally said, oozing misery and an overwhelming tangle of other unpleasant emotions into the force.

"...I know he was your friend—" Obi-Wan said, after what was hopefully not too long a pause. This was another conversation that probably wouldn't be helped by painkillers.

"But he wasn't, really." Anakin curled up, even more miserable. "I know. I should let go."

The side of Obi-Wan's head throbbed. On second thought, painkillers were the way to go here. "That's not what I meant," he said. "He was a friend to you. He's gone now. Because of me, your master. And... I'm sure you've found out a lot while I've been asleep. I can't imagine a single padawan learner who wouldn't be struggling with their emotions right now. I'm struggling."

"I'm angry," Anakin said into his side. "Master, I'm so full of anger."

"You think I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin hiccuped a sob. "I'm angry at everyone."

"It's alright, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed. "You'll work through it in time. I'll be here to help, whenever you want. Even when I'm the one you're angry with."

Anakin sobbed another minute, force presence roiling, before finally pulling himself in with a deep breath, and wiping his nose on the sheets. "You looked so cool when you were angry," he mumbled into Obi-Wan's side.

"Oh force," Obi-Wan groaned. "Of course there was holofootage. Of course you watched."

"Are you... still angry?" Anakin asked.

Fuck.

Obi-Wan tried to think of the right answer for a padawan learner. His head throbbed again.

"Honestly? Right now I'm mostly just tired. I feel like I was run over by a pack of bantha. It's never a good idea to try and deal with large emotional gnarls while you're this exhausted, remember that my young padawan."

"You've been asleep for years," Anakin whined. "How are you still tired?"

"Years?" he asked, amused.

"At least three," Anakin huffed, curling up against him.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair in peaceful silence for a moment.

"...Did you really smash in his skull with a metal chair to protect me?"

"I would do a lot of things to protect you," he confessed. "I'm sorry Anakin — I should have talked with you when I grew concerned with his behavior. I felt at the time I had to act swiftly, but I worry I only caused you more pain."

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

"Can you teach me how to choke people with my ankles like that?" he sniffled.

Obi-Wan groaned internally. "Of course, as a Jedi, violence—" 

"Violence is our last resort," Anakin interrupted. "Right, yeah —but if it is needed—"

"—Such as when someone," Obi-Wan said over him. "After careful consideration, is found to be both politically insulated and positioned to commit great further harm—"

"Actually, I think you, the person who killed my trusted friend, lecturing me on why he was ultra especially irredeemably evil is traumatizing, even more traumatizing than all those holo compilations of you —"

"Oh force above, of course there's — oh. Oh no — please don't tell me—"

"The latest Jizz music," Anakin said, far too gleeful.

Obi-Wan groaned. Unfortunately, the extra movement in his chest triggered an admittedly ghastly sounding coughing fit and Anakin immediately lost the small edge of grace he had managed to cultivate during their back and forth.

"Master?" he asked urgently. "Master — hold on — I'll go get—"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan rasped. "Any more of that —"

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

Such a good boy, he thought affectionately, watching him pour and carry over a glass with the same care others might have when handling molten gold.

Obi-Wan drank with a reciprocal amount of delicacy, knowing his padawan was watching falcon-eyed for any wasted drops.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation a little later," Obi-Wan said, once his airways calmed down.

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

"Of course," Anakin said, subdued, but he crawled back into bed readily enough when Obi-Wan patted it.

“Really, though —” Obi-Wan started to say, feeling it was duty to try and wrap up the lesson, but he was fortunately cut off before he was forced to figure out exactly what that lesson was.

“It’s alright,” Anakin chimed comfortingly. “We have time to talk about it, master. Can’t you tell?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan replied, fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

“The force clears,” Anakin said, voice sonorous. “The dark retreats.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s eyes started falling closed. “That’s nice.”

“So we have time. To figure out the rest.”

 “Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His padawan curled against him, force presence like ocean waves rocking him to sleep.

“The force says it’s going to be alright,” Anakin whispered, wonderingly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Obi-Wan smiled, then once again slipped back to sleep.

[kngstrnz]

Sorry for the sudden reblog OP, especially because we aren't mutuals, but I couldn't help myself upong reading Anon.

Anon, I understand how you feel. I actually used to struggle with that sense of "paranoia". Funnily enough (and this might help ease some of your worries, maybe?), I had this feeling of not being enough for the fandom by writing in ENGLISH and not my first language which is Spanish.

I am a small writer. Always have been since I created my AO3 account and used to go by another username and wrote a bunch of misawa fics before deleting all my works and rebranding myself. But that's not so important here. Thing is, even if you were to write in English for that "wider reach", chances are you still won't be able to stand on the same pedestal as the "Big Writers" and you know something, anon? I think that is more than okay.

Anon, I apologize if this may come of as rude, but the reality is (and this applies to anything and EVERYONE, really) that not everyone will like what you write and that's okay! That's why there's a lot to choose from!! But, the most important thing here is to not give up. I was close to just... never writing again. But that's the thing for all of us writers, even when we don't want to, we always end up going back to writing.

I know it can be hard and even when you write in that "popular language", the spotlight might never shine on you. But don't be discourage, because when you feel like no one is looking that's when we feel the most free. Anon, I say this because it happened to me, but you WILL eventually find someone who loves your writing so much, they will let you know in every chapter and in every new story you make how amazing your performance is.

Don't look at that empty seats. Look at the one espectator that is seeing you for who you are and clapping and cheering for you. All you need is to be patient. And it may take years (I have been writing since 2011 and just last year, I found that someone and it wasn't until this year that we started talking in private). But you know what they say, you can't rush perfection!

Just because you aren't "big enough", doesn't mean your writing is bad. Though, if you want to try and translating your fics in english, I do encourage it if you want to!! It hasn't been long since I started translating my own fics in my native language and to tell you the truth anon, I have more fun writing in Spanish than English because I can add my own country's idioms amd phrases that make me laugh and that's all it matters at the end of the day. For your writing to be for one reader and one reader only: yourself.

I don't know if this is the right place to vent this, but since this is a writing/fandom blog, I'll give it a try. Apologies in advance if my message feels out of the place.

So... has anyone, like me, ever felt "unwanted" by their fandom?

Context: I write for a small fandom (1,500 works on AO3), and I write there from the beginning and foundation (4 years). The thing is: I don't write in English, I write and post in my first language, so my audience was always been very restricted, even if there were (and still are!) a couple of kind souls who translate with Google my stories and read it. I am the most prolific writer in this fandom. And that's a fact: counting the numbers of words published, I am the one who has written more in the whole section. Despite all of this, I have never gotten the chance to become a "fandom big" because of the language barrier. That's okay, I can survive, and I still write every day to update my ongoing longs. Anyway, since this fandom is very small, we are also thirsty for content. Every time an artist posts a single fan art on Tumblr (good or bad or mid) everyone flocks and reblog, putting nice tags and kind words of support. Every time I update a fic (I'm the only one writing regularly)... radio silence. I know they don't own me anything. And it's okay if they don't want to try to engage with my writing, but still... it breaks my heart. It's like I'm invisible. And what's worse... when people talk about our fandom stories on Tumblr they always refer to old fics, to authors who didn't update their stories in years... it's always like they are excluding me on purpose. And I don't know why. When I try to engage, to leave a nice comment on a fic or on a piece of art... they don't even acknowledge me. They always act super enthusiastic when an artist makes a new drawing... but when I put a new chapter, a new story... nothing.

And what's worst: when a "fandom king" makes a post about a headcanon or something... it's always something that goes against something I've written in one of my stories. As they're trying to say: "Don't read those stories. What the author is trying to say is just rubbish. Don't even acknowledge them. "

I don't even know if I'm just being paranoid because I have always been ostracized as a kid and even in my teen years... so it's like a curse I can't wash off myself, and I see people pushing me aside because I'm still suffering from this.

Sorry for the vent... I just would like to hear another voice about my situation. I don't have friends, and even when I try to make "fandom friends", well... I'm not so lucky, as you can see.

Thank you if you would like to read my message. I send a big hug to anyone who is suffering from this kind of issue.

anon, I fully believe this is a language barrier thing. you can’t expect people to engage with you when they can’t engage with something that’s, I assume, in language they don’t understand. and don’t get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with writing in other languages that aren’t English. but the thing is that you can’t expect people to engage with something that’s not in the language they know, it’s… just not possible. because even if they want to, they just don’t understand what the work even is about.

and Google translate is actually shit when it comes to actually translating. you only get what the text is about (and even then there’s still a 50/50 chance the translation will be off completely) but not the actual feeling, something that can only be translated by humans and not robots, that’s why most people don’t use google translate to help read fics or books in languages they don’t understand. I also know when most people search for a fic to read, they only search for their language and filter out fics that aren’t in their language altogether. so that’s why. I don’t think they’re trying to exclude you, I just think that it’s impossible for them to engage with your works. and I want to make it clear that I am in no way saying you should only write in English, all I’m saying is if your works are in languages that (some) people don’t speak, then they’re not gonna be able to read your works because google translate sucks at translating and if they don’t even have a glimpse of what the works are about, they’re not gonna bother trying to translate them in the first place.

again, this isn’t to say “oh you should write in English” or “works that are written in English are better” at all. write in the language you’re most comfortable with because at the end of the day you should be writing for you. just, you know, don’t get discouraged if people can’t engage with your works.

[elizakai]

do you guys ever have multiple projects or tasks you need to finish and have been putting off but the demotivation/depressive wave hits like a truck whenever you think about it? so you either can’t work on anything else out of stress, or you work on everything else out of a need to justify your own inability to do the original task?

ANYONE??? SOBBBBBB

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

I’m the anon who sent you that ask about Sonic and Shadow’s relationship in the Chronic Sonic au. If your post saying you ignore long asks was directed at me, can you please just… post the latest version without answering? I would prefer to save it to my likes and maybe have other fans read my thoughts.

thank you

Well no, it wasn’t just directed at you, there are a couple long asks in my inbox (some of which are positive and very beloved and i cherish, Dopambles I’m looking at you <3). But you’ve sent your ask twice now and this one too so I’ll answer this one. I don’t really want to make this a big long thing, but I also don’t really wanna leave ya hanging when this seems so important to you so lets do this (everyone else can ignore this if ya want I’m going long-winded through everything.)

So, reasons i don’t like to respond to or even post long asks sometimes lets do this [cracks knuckles]

1. I don’t like posting things onto my blog that I haven’t checked over first. I struggle a lot in reading and comprehending long asks. I don’t know why, it’s weird, okay. Let’s leave it at that. I’m not gonna blindly post walls of texts to my blog without checking them over first, because I want to make sure I’m filtering asks so nothing harmful gets posted to my blog. You’d be surprised at how whack a lot of anons can get. Not to say your ask was whack, but I also am struggling to read it so it’s hard to say for sure! It’s not due to the nature of your ask, it is simply because my brain be like dat.

2. Sometimes, I just don’t like having to scroll through walls of texts that aren’t my own to get to my latest posts. I get a lot of asks as it is. I do love answering them, but when they get long, the amount of time it takes to scroll through em makes it hard to refer back to my previous posts and is just is not intuitive or fun when interacting with my own blog, which leads me to my next point

3. This is my space. My blog is by me for me. I choose to post and share to interact and have fun with other people but at the end of the day this blog is my space. I did not create it for anyone other than me. I welcome the people who find joy in my stories here, but this remains my space. If i was being paid for this it’d be different, I’d absolutely curate and change things to make it a better and easier experience for those that i charged to be here, but like… I’m not being paid for this? And to ask me to do what you want in my space so that you can have the experience you want is… i dunno it sounds a little entitled. (I’m not saying that you ARE entitled, only that it sounds like it to me personally.) Contacting me even after I expressed my difficulty in answering asks to try and convince me to post it for your sake is a little rude. I’m not a professional creator, I’m not a person with fans, I’m just a random dude trying to have a good time with other people on a dumpster-fire website. I’m not a creator trying to make sure everyone else is having a good time. This is what i do in my free time to relax and—

4. —being a moderator for other peoples hc’s and conversations is not personally relaxing to me. My blog is not a public confessions blog and I am not a public message board. I am honoured when people share their personal stories and how what I doodle has helped them feel seen and that things will be okay, but I’m not a place for other people to come say what they want to each other, I’m a person, not a message board. How other people use Tumblr is up to them, however, I am not going to change how I use tumblr so that you can have a better experience when it will make the experience worse for me.

5. If i answer asks, I don’t draw. And I like drawing. If I’m posting asks (even without answering them) and stressing about being the middle man in conversations that I will have to regulate to make sure conversations stay kind, that takes a lot of time and energy and I got so incredibly burnt out when i tried to do that. So i stopped. And I will not be starting up again simply so you can have a good time, because I will have a bad one. And this is my space to not have a bad time. If something stresses me out, I will not do it here, it is as simple as that. I have my whole irl to be stressed about.

These are some of the reasons I don’t like to post long asks. I have notified you that I struggle to read, I don’t understand why you continue pushing. I have amazing anon’s who send wonderful long asks who have been kind and considerate with me about my struggles reading and processing. They continue to send their wonderful asks and have assured me it’s okay if I never post them. I am confused as to why you cannot seem to respect my decision as well.

The final reason regarding my hesitance in posting your ask in particular is simply that your hc was not accurate to how I was aiming to portray the characters in the current timeline. You are more than welcome to hc and speculate, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, but I cannot simply post it without answering it like you suggest because I would need to clarify that it’s not true. When I used to do that, people would start to misinterpret my au’s and it stressed me out. It takes hours for me to write up responses to things sometimes because I want to make sure I’m being kind and thoughtful and accurate. I am honoured that you shared something personal but what you wrote is simply not where the characters are at right now. It could be them in the future, but it is still early in the au so that kind of resentment hasn’t set in yet. Shadow is hurting because he’s taking the brunt of Sonic’s negativity but he is resigned to it because for him nothing else matters as long as Sonic stays alive, even if he has to be the person Sonic hates in all this and that is heavy. He’s angry at him when he does not take care of himself, but he is not resentful. Sonic struggles with being a burden on all of his friends, not just Shadow. The way you described the relationship was closer to how Tails and Sonic interact than Shadow and Sonic and even then, there’s more going on that I just don’t have the time or energy to really walk through. And besides, I want to save that energy to draw out things later.

As i shared with another commenter who asked something similar, I can absolutely DM you your ask back if you want to save it. However I don’t understand why you need me to post it to save it your likes if you simply want to save it. You have your own blog you can post it to. Why does it need to be on my blog? Why do I have to do extra work so you can have an easier time to do what you want? I am very grateful for your interaction and love of my comic, and I understand it’s frustrating when people make things harder for you to have a good time, but that’s exactly what you’re doing to me by asking me to change how I use tumblr to suit your wants instead of what is easiest for me. I am not a public service you pay for. I am a person, a full time student with family issues, struggling siblings that I’m trying to help, a person who is struggling myself. I have a limited amount of energy in a day, I get tired quickly. If i want to continue to find joy in drawing I have to set boundaries. You may not always know why someone does something, I guarantee there is more here that I will not share because it is personal. Sometimes you just have to be okay with not knowing, you have to be okay not understanding, and you have to be okay without an explanation that makes sense to you. All you need to do is understand that often times there is a reason people behave the way they do. It’s not a reflection on you or their opinion of you, it is simply many other factors at play that lead to such an outcome.

I sincerely hope this did not offend you, I am not angry with you, nor do I wish for any of this to be taken as scolding or upset you. If it has come across that way, I apologize. I am sorry I am not in a state to give you what you want, and I’m thankful for your patience with me in reading through this and I hope it is enough to at least paint a little bit of a picture as to why I will not be posting your ask. It’s unfortunate that I ended up spending hours addressing this anyway both to you and to another commenter—the very thing I wanted to avoid—but I value you as a person and did not want to leave you feeling negatively if I could change that. I hope this does not affect your enjoyment or experience with how you were having fun with my au, and if it does I am deeply regretful. However, I do have to set boundaries and make sure I’m doing okay or there would be no AU at all. Thanks for your understanding and I hope you have a day as kind as you are.

[luvo27]

Sometimes i will get very in my head about my fics and my characterization but i comfort myself with the knowledge that even if it’s bad at least I’m adding to the population of fic centered around women’s angst

[kiwi-luminaryofthestars]

04/26/2025 Progress Update:

TLDR: Draft is done baby!!!! Close to 3K drafted today, we’re at a little less than 37K for the chapter draft

Fuck YES 😁😁😁 Draft for ch 6 is done!! Luckily I was correct in thinking section 5 wouldn’t need a ton more fleshing out, since it’s almost entirely dialogue.

I’m gonna probably not look at this at all the rest of the night, then use tomorrow to go over the draft again, make sure it’s all looking good (tho I did do a lot of that this morning, it’s mostly section 4 and 5 that I need to go over again). Then it’ll be time for editing!!!

I’m unsure how long editing will take. I’m aiming for it to be done by next weekend, since I have more time while in this small break from school, but no promises. Beta will also likely take a bit of time, considering this is… enormous 🤣 (Beta still was cool with beta-ing tho so I’m happy about that!! Though I am very open with them that uhhh if this is too much don’t feel pressured to do it, cuz I totally get that 😅)

I’ll probably use the time while it’s being beta’d to actually finish the komahina week thing(s) I’ve been drafting. So certainly a late komahina week submission from Kiwi, but I’ll still try to get some done!

I hope you all have such a lovely night. I’m gonna relax the rest of the evening, play some poker (of course 🤣)