#i'd completely forgotten about this fic tbh

[vibratingskull]

Hiiii I love your fics so much that I'm genuinely suffering from Yandere Thrawn Brainrot 😭 can I pretty please request Yandere Thrawn x fem reader where the reader is just accepting of his behaviour? like maybe she's a rebel who has been just abandoned by her friends so she just gives in because actually the attention he gives is really nice when she behaves or maybe she's one of the emperors daughters who is always kind of forgotten about in comparison to her sisters so Thrawns attitude isn't a red flag for her because he treats her so nice and has never once sidelined her or forgotten anything about her! I just think it's an interesting idea to play with like I'm sure Yandere Thrawn would be ecstatic to have a partner who doesn't bat an eye to his behaviour and soaks it up desperately, even the brothel fic you made could fit with Yandere Thrawn (look at how bad the brainrot is LMAOOOOO) ofc I'd have to request some smut in it like maybe he eats her out on his command chair 🤭 (that's all I can think about since the last Yandere thrawn AU you just posted haha make it as crazy as you want it to be tbh I love giving you full reign over this your smut is like high quality wine for me at this point!) Anyways! Before I get completely off track and send you a whole essay of ideas I just wanna say that I cheered when I saw your requests open and you don't have to write this idea or if you prefer to tweak it then that's absolutely fine! I hope you're doing amazing and I'm looking forward to your beautiful creations!!!

Yandere Thrawn is best boy, you cannot change my mind! He can be a murderous psycho or a complete puppy if you play your cards well. Aaaaaaaw thank you dear ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I'm really happy you like my silly stuffs, even the smutty ones (i'm so not confident about those), it will be a 2 parters !

ThrawnxF!reader

Tags: Yandere behavior (duh), possessive, painting, meet cute

You sigh, sitting alone at the table. You make your drinks twirl in your glass, silently observing the ballroom. Your hand supporting your chin you look at the couples dancing, the lively discussions around the room, the laughs and smiles, the kisses exchanged behind closed doors, and the champagne flowing freely. 

You catch one of your sisters dancing with a suitor, a metal and gaz magnate infinitely rich, they have been glued to one another during the entire party. You turn your head to see another one leading a political discussion with her natural charm, they all laugh at her witty comebacks and believe every word she speaks like gospel. You turn again to see your third sister on the stage, singing softly a beautiful melody, admired by the rest of the audience. 

And then there is you... 

The fourth. 

The last one. 

You do not have the charisma, the talent, or the political gene to rival any of your sisters. No one knows what to do with you. Everyone planned a beautiful future for all your three sisters to make the Empire shine brighter but you? Nobody has any idea. All your professors searched for a secret talent, a hidden jewel, hoping you are simply a late bloomer. 

But nothing came. 

Oh, you tried. You tried so hard! Spending sleepless nights working on your studies to at least hope for a well-made brain. But you are so average, both in looks and intellect. Nothing shines about you, nothing is worth noting. 

You sigh and finish your drink. 

Your only little quirk is your paintings. That’s the only thing distinguishing you from your sisters, you not failing art class. It is quite fondly regarded when you’re five but when you’re an adult princess of the Empire you need other qualities and skills than a good brush move. 

You just wanted to go to art school and live simply, not that overdramatic life wrapped in politics and secrecy. You wish not for the power and the riches, they bring you too much headaches. You want to leave the Palace, find a small apartment, get a cat, and for everyone to forget your existence and leave you in peace. 

But no... Not a chance. 

This very party is a shining example. It is officially a diplomatic meeting between high political top hats but the true goal of your father is to show off his daughters in the hope you find a future husband, wealthy and powerful, and then marry you off. 

Nothing more. Nothing less. 

You are a prop to your father’s politics. Good to lure a man and his funds into the imperial bank. 

And right now you are failing spectacularly. Now that you mind per se, but the man you call father and emperor will inevitably learn about that and you don’t want to anger him. You still value your life. 

You sigh again mentally preparing yourself to stand up and try to “seduce” men, feeling a headache rising, when- 

“Will you allow me to join you?” A rich deep voice makes you turn your head. 

Grand Admiral Thrawn, a hand on the back of the other chair of your table, is looking at you with a small grin and sparkling eyes. 

“Oh...” You can only say, surprised for him to spawn out of nowhere, “I mean yes! Of course Grand Admiral.” 

“Thank you, your majesty.” He bows his head. 

He elegantly sits down next to you. Even his manners are impeccable, full of grace and dexterity. You feel so slow and clumsy next to him. You see his long, delicate fingers hovering over the canapes before choosing one and lifting it to his mouth to bite into it.  

Maker, even Military officers are more dignified than you... You subconsciously straighten your back to at least match the energy he brings to the table, trying not to appear too sluggish.  

You know this man for being the first and only alien to have reached the Grand Admiral rank, which is really impressive, you will give him that. He always struck you as a balanced and polite man. He revealed himself as an art enjoyer on your first meeting and very nicely proposed himself as a model for male anatomy. You accepted and you meet every other month when he comes back from his campaigns. He lets you draw and paint his body in silence for long hours before coming to take a look and give you advice from time to time. 

And then he leaves. And that’s the end of that. 

Or it is the end of your relationship because he seems to roam around the residency aisle of the palace a lot. Numerous times you caught the back of his head disappearing behind a corner when you left your studio after a long painting session. You have no idea what he comes here for in the residency wing of the Palace, nothing interesting for a Grand Admiral around here. 

As a matter of fact, you do have an idea why he comes to this part of the Palace, you suspect he comes to visit one of your sisters regularly. And he must be seriously enamored for risking the wrath of the Emperor! You don’t even want to imagine his reaction if he discovered the Alien got access to one of his dear eldest! 

You just hope the sister in question takes her precautions to not get caught. 

That would also be a huge waste for the Grand Admiral, if an alien such as him managed to reach this rank it means he must be terribly good at what he does! Not that the Emperor shares any tactical info with you, his daughters, it is a simple observation. And he looks rather dashing too... Your vain side would be devastated to learn such a handsome man would be executed, that would be such a loss for the Galaxy you nod to yourself. 

You remain silent, observing the guests and your sisters shining in their dresses and jewelry. They are so radiant, you think with envy. Typically the type of women a man as handsome as the Grand Admiral would pursue, they are in the same league. 

Contrary to you. 

You start feeling a tingle at the back of your neck and you turn your head to discover Grand Admiral Thrawn silently looking in your direction smiling softly. You spin your head again to see what he might be watching with such tenderness in his red gaze, only to see... 

Nothing?  

You frown. 

“It is you I am looking at.” Thrawn’s deep voice rises again, with a touch of controlled amusement. 

You turn back to him with an embarrassed smile. 

“Oh, I just thought you saw... Nothing.” 

He tilts his head slightly. 

“What did you think I saw?” 

“I don’t know, something interesting.” You take your glass to your lips to sip, feeling your throat going dry. 

“But I am looking at something interesting. The most interesting person in this room.” 

Oh okay. 

You know where this is going, you know that sweet sugary tone. 

“What do you want Grand Admiral?” You put your glass back with a clank, “What demand do you want me to ask my father?” 

He cocks his head again, squinting like he didn’t understand your question. 

“I have no demand to ask your father.” 

“Of course you don’t.” You snort. 

They always do that. Come with a sweet voice and a compliment and then beg you to interfere with your father in their favor. 

You are no political genius but you recognize a freeloader when you meet one! 

“You always come to me! You think I am the weakest and easiest to manipulate for your benefit, you come with doe eyes and then ask outrageous demands, in the hope of gaining political powers. Well, I am sorry, go knock on another door!" You speak irritated but low to not start any drama. 

Vice Admiral Thrawn blinks at you. He shakes his head, trying to disarm the situation. 

"I assure you, Your Majesty, I did not come to ask any political favors of any kind.” He reiterates softly, “I simply saw you, so beautifully dressed and dolled up and could not help but come to you.” 

You sniff with disdain. Lies. If he doesn’t want political favors from your father then he wants access again to one of your sister's beds, another classic you had to deal with!  

“I am sorry Grand Admiral.�� You say coldly, “I have nothing to give you.” 

His smile widens and you hear a low chuckle. 

“But on the contrary, it is me who wants to give you something, Your Majesty.”   

You look at him suspiciously as he takes something from his pocket. He puts a little box hermetically sealed in front of you. You tentatively take it and open the lid to discover a colorful powder in a tangerine shade. 

You look at him mouth agape and mute with surprise. 

“I heard you needed this shade to finish your latest painting.” He says softly, “I traveled the galaxy and found this powder made from local seashells in an isolated world. I saw it and knew I needed to get it for you.” 

This shade... 

Is the exact one you need, down to a t. 

“How... How did you...?” 

“That is not important, Your Majesty  I know how much you care about this painting and wanted to help you.” 

This painting, you saw it in your dreams. 

It was a flash of a faded memory of your dead mother, smiling at you before the sunset. Long, long ago... 

This powder is the perfect shade for her eyes... 

“Oh dear Maker...” You start sobbing, hiding your mouth behind your hand. 

“Your Majesty?” Grand Admiral Thrawn asks, “Are you all right?” 

You nod, wiping any tear that might have rolled down your cheek, getting back control over your sobs. 

“Yes... Yes. Thank you Grand Admiral, this is a very thoughtful gift.” You smile at him. 

Now you feel dumb to have given him the cold shoulder. 

But how did he know about that painting? You don’t remember talking about it to anyone? You specifically hid it behind a sheet. 

“You are welcome, Your Majesty. It is my pleasure.” 

His hand furtively reaches yours and caresses your finger with the tips of his own. You let him do it. You don’t know why. It is simply not unpleasant... 

“I just thought... I’m going to sound stupid, bear with me, I thought you wanted to use me to get close to my sisters.” You chuckle embarrassed, “It is a bit stupid...” 

“Why would I want to get close to your sisters when you are here?” He asks. 

“Because... I am just me.” You shrug like it is evident, “Nobody knows what to do with me.” 

“I have plenty of ideas of what we could do together.” He whispers, taking your hand gently to kiss it, his red eyes looking brazenly at you. 

You feel heat spreading on your cheeks. 

“Vice Admiral!” You choke “How dare... We are in the middle of a ballroom!” You chastise him. 

“We can leave anytime you desire...” He licks your knuckles with the tip of his warm tongue, looking insolently at you. 

You feel yourself melting into a puddle at that gaze on you. So many unchaste images cross his read shining eyes while devoring you. You feel stripped naked before him. You gulp and turn your head away, you cannot hold his gaze, you feel like you’re about to combust. 

He chuckles and kisses your hand again. 

“I am merely joking, Your Majesty. I know you cannot simply fool around with any man. But maybe  you will allow me this dance?” He stands up, still holding your hand but awaits your response. 

You gingerly look at him. Dear Maker, he is so tall... 

He looks at you with a small smile, gently squeezing your hand. 

“I... Can allow one dance.” You concede. 

“You are so generous with me, Your Majesty. I thank you.”  

He helps you stand and guides you to the dancefloor, his warm hand on your lower back. He spins toward you and grabs your hand, pressing your two bodies together. 

“Hold on to me, Your Majesty.” He says sensually. 

And he makes you spin and twirl on the dancefloor, holding you so close you can feel his high body warmth through your clothes. He is a very, very good dancer you realize.  

The dance starts normal and modest as it should be but it slowly dissolves into... something else.  

You can feel his large hands roaming your entire body, playing with the straps of your dress, raising the hem of your dress to touch your naked thigh, he grabs the pin and frees your hair in your back, he grabs your hips to press them against his in a sultry move, almost grabbing your butt... 

It feels like he is making love to you, fully clothed and in public. You fail to put a stop to it and protect your modesty, he is just so good at it that you blindly follow him, losing track of time. 

You gulp, losing your breath as he makes your head spin dangerously. He never once stops looking at you, devouring you with his shiny rubies, hunger lying deep in them. 

You are breathless, straps down your shoulders, your skirt high on your thighs and your legs trembling terribly, threatening to give out under you if Grand Admiral Thrawn wasn't holding you firmly against his tall body. 

“Gra.. Grand Admiral...” You can only say. 

“Is there a problem, Your Majesty? We are simply dancing, like I promised we would only do.” 

“This is not a dance! This is...” You try to get angry at him but your beating heart only pumps blood to your cheeks even more. 

“You did not stop me once.” He tilts his head, “If you said no I would have stopped immediately.” 

“Someone could see us! Someone-” 

“There are a lot of people around us. They hide you perfectly, no one will ever know. You can let go entirely, let me guide you...” He whispers sultrily in your ear.  

His hand on your back slowly caresses his way down towards your butt and his hand on your leg slowly brushes his way up towards your crotch. 

This... This is so indecent! 

So scandalous! 

So obscene! 

So... 

You should slap him across the face and ditch him there but you want more of it. You feel fire starts in your loin, slowly spreading in your veins, coursing through your entire body.  

Quite unexpectedly he lets you go. You look at him without understanding, he grins and kisses your hand gallantly again. 

“Have a nice evening, Your Majesty. Thank you for this... Delicious moment. I will see you for our next modeling session.” He rolls his ‘R’ like a purr and leaves. 

Did he... 

Is he the one who ditched you? At the height of the tension? When you were about to say ‘yes’ to him? You remain standing still in the middle of the dancefloor, mouth agape, breathless, hair and dress in a mess. You walk back to your seat, your legs wobbly at every step. 

You feel played. 

How dares he come around to set you on fire and just leave you, arms dangling, craving for so much more?! Such a ... Tease! You readjust your dress modestly, making sure none of your sisters saw anything of this... Outrageous display. None of them are looking in your direction, they are fully focused on their friends or songs. 

You sigh, feeling like an idiot. Typically a thing that wouldn’t have happened to your sisters, they would have either put a stop to it or enchanted him so much that he would have dropped to his knees, begging for more of them. 

You're the only one dunce enough to get played like that. 

But... You cannot help but like it. It felt good to be someone’s center of the universe, even for two fleeting minutes, feeling his daring hands exploring your body so... immodestly. No man ever treated you like that, even less a man so handsome... 

You shake your head. Stop that! It is blind lust speaking. 

Your eyes lay down on the little box. You reopen it, to be sure of its content. Exactly the pigment you needed, the exact shade and vibrance...  

How did he know? 

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

The first time he saw you was during an Imperial ceremony, from far away. The youngest of all the daughters, dressed in gold, pearls, and Orichalc. He was still a simple commodore back then, without as much power to himself. He was from very far away, not able to discern the features of your face, but it was clear from your body language and posture you didn’t want to be here. 

Like himself. 

Pryce was unavailable, a rarity for a shark like her to miss a political event like that, but she pressed him to go, to form alliances with as many senators as possible. How on the Warrior’s Blue Csilla was he supposed to do that? He is surrounded by sharks and snakes ready to eat each other for their selfish benefits, something so beyond him he simply forgets this is actually a thing people do instead of worrying for the good of the many... 

Saying he was terrified would be false, but saying he was comfortable would be a lie.  

It takes a lot to make him uncomfortable, but politicians always do the trick.  

So in a weird way, he felt kinship towards you. He knew nothing about you, he was not even sure of your rank at that very moment, but like him, you wished you weren't there at that moment. 

The massive difference was that he was anonymously sitting in the grandstand while you were on the big stage, to be looked at and admired like a pretty doll by everyone else. How uncomfortable it must feel... He felt sorry for you. 

Despite your discomfort, you accomplished your duties with grace, obeying your role. It was commendable of you.  

“Who are those young ladies on the side of the stage?” He leaned towards his sit neighbor. 

“Do you live under a rock? They are the Emperor’s daughters, the Imperial princesses.” He got chastised. 

He nodded thankfully and returned to his silent observation of the ceremony. 

It was not so long in retrospect, but isolated on this stage it must have felt like an eternity for you. 

After the ceremony was the real challenge for him, for two hours he had to remain comfortably seated in silence to observe a stage, now he was truly meant to go out of his way and meet politicians.  

He had to take refuge to the buffet or the corners of the room more than one time. Why can’t he read and anticipate politicians’ maneuvers? Why was he so blind to this type of warfare? After a new uncomfortable discussion that ended up with him pissing off his interlocutor because they couldn’t meet eyes to eye he caught a cozy area, almost hidden behind heavy curtains with sofas and a fountain, isolated from the rest of the busy party. He entered, hoping to find some peace and quiet but he found a young woman here, dressed in gold, pearl, and Orichalc. 

“Your Majesty.”Thrawn bowed respectfully, “I did not want to disturb your peace, I will leave.” He immediately excused himself and turned to go away 

When... 

“You may stay, sir.” You simply responded, not even looking up from your drink twirling in your glass. “I do not mind...” 

“I thank you, Your Majesty.” He bowed again and took a seat. 

Not on the same sofa as you, it would be terribly improper to impose his presence on a woman like that. He chose one a little removed from you to leave you in peace. 

He was gathering his thoughts, but you kept catching his eyes, something about you was...interesting him. And he didn’t know what, nor the true nature of his interest in you. 

“What?” You asked out of the blue, “You keep giving me side glance, you never saw a woman before?” 

“My apologies, Your Majesty. It was impolite of me” 

“Yes, it is. My father killed men for less than that.” You added acidic. 

Something in your tone and demeanor... Like a heavy lassitude, like you were crushed by something. But what? 

“I will keep it in mind, then. Thank you for the warning, Your Majesty.” 

You sniffed with disdain before looking back down to your drink. 

“So it’s you....” You finally added after several minutes of silence, “the Navy’s favorite pet.” 

He turned back his gaze to you, squinting. 

“The Navy’s pet?” He repeated politely. 

“The only alien in the Navy, and a Commodore at that. You pissed off a lot of people, my congratulations.” 

He was not able to judge if you were sincere or sarcastic. 

“I do my best to do my job. But some people never seem satisfied, I cannot do anything more to content them, I am afraid.” He humbly admits. 

“Like me.” You let out with a little voice. 

You did not say more and he did not pryied. 

“Why are you not enjoying the party, Your Majesty?” He asked, curious, “Your sisters are getting their fill.” 

You snarled in response. 

“If you came here to flaunt my dear sisters in my face you can leave, sir.” 

“My apologies, Princess. I was simply curious why a young adult would not enjoy such a party.” He explained. 

You turned your head and for the first time your gazes crossed. 

“What about you? You do not seem the type to enjoy parties either.” 

“My young years are behind me.” 

You frowned. 

“Are they?” 

Well technically he is still considered rather young for Chiss standards with their longer lifespan but for humans, he is middle-aged. But you don’t know that. 

“I am over 45.” He informed you. 

The way your beautiful human eyes rounded up in surprise was quite delectable. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“I am not.” 

“You barely look 35.” You responded astonished. 

He came to understand it was a compliment on his physical appearance. Something he was not used to. 

“I thank you, your Majesty. You look ravishing yourself.” 

He stopped dead. Was ‘ravishing’ too much? How do you respond politely to a woman appreciating your physical appearance, and what is the proper and polite response when that woman is an Imperial Princess? 

You gauged him up and down before exploding laughing. 

Not one of those overly musical and false laughs of politicians and freeloaders, a true, pure, and sincere fit of laughter. Something coming directly from the heart. 

Something fresh. 

He remained still, not knowing how to react. Your laugh was quite pleasant to hear, and the smile you tried to hide behind your hand enhanced your features gracefully.  

“Oh Maker.” You breathe to calm down, “You are quite funny, sir!” 

He failed to see what was funny in his response but he was not starting to question a Princess. You sighed deeply, still shaken by the remnants of your laugh. At least you were smiling now, that heavy sentiment hovering over you seemed to have disappeared. At least for now. 

“Thank you, your Majesty.” He diplomatically responded. 

“So tell me truly, why did you come hiding here?” You asked, a bit more lively. 

This time he was the one looking down at his drink for a fleeting moment. 

“Politics... Evade me entirely.” He finally reveals. 

“Same.” 

He looked at you curiously. 

“But you are a Princess of the Empire.” 

“That doesn’t mean I can lead. I dislike politics. I prefer my studio.”  

A studio? The type he is hoping for? 

“What type of studio?”  

“Oh ... Just.” You gave him a side glance and lowered your gaze, embarrassed “No. You will find it stupid.” 

“I will not judge, Your Majesty.” He solemnly declared. 

“I ... Paint. A little...”You revealed, fidgeting your fingers. 

His heart jumped and all of his social anxiety and restraints lifted up like a cloud. You paint? It’s marvelous news! He loves paintings, why not tell him sooner? 

“This is not stupid, Your Majesty. Art is a very noble and respectable hobby, I am a humble art enjoyer myself.” He explained calmly, keeping his growing enthusiasm on a leash. “Would you have pictures of your work to show me by any chance?” He daringly asked 

You looked at him absolutely horrified.  

Please, do not look at him like that...It displeases him, even though he doesn’t quite know why. 

He likes it when women are comfortable with him, it is gratifying to be perceived as a protector. He wants you to feel relaxed around him. 

Especially you 

For some unknown reasons... 

“I... No!” You hurriedly responded. 

He tilted his head. He wanted to see some of your work. It is so important for artists to be seen and perceived for them to flourish in their talents. 

He just wanted to give you a positive boost... But you denied him. 

“I understand.” He responded, a bit disappointed to have lost this opportunity to speak about art. 

You looked at him, embarrassed before rising on your feet to close the curtain entirely, giving the little salon a cozy and very intimate atmosphere. You took out your imager of your little purse and approached him shyly, suddenly self-conscious. 

He looked at you approaching with an impassible expression, but hope constricted his heart. 

“Do you promise to not mock me?” You asked like you weren't an Imperial Princess with significant powers. 

No. At this very instant you were a shy, but hopeful young artist, ready to expose herself intimately to a fellow art enjoyed, pressing your imager against your chest.  

You were taking a leap of faith... 

And he was ready to catch you in his arms. 

“I never mock an artist, Your Majesty.” He declared with all the serious in the world. 

You gulped and sat down next to him, handing him the imager with a slightly trembling hand. 

“This is not very good...” You warned him. 

Who cares? If you are a beginning artist with a low level he will be more than happy to give you references and art currents to study to help you in your art journey. 

But you were actually really good with a brush. No need to get all shy about it, you should be proud of your paintings! 

You studied a lot of subjects and tried a lot of different techniques and materials, your style could be soft and appeasing with pastel colors, bold and brash with vibrant brush strokes, or gloomy and eerie, creating a haunting atmosphere. 

But no matter how different your paintings might be there was one very clear constant for him. 

Your innate good and soft nature. 

Not in a fragile or virginal way, no. But something bright, shining like a real sun, luminous, warm, inescapable, and unstoppable... 

How could you be Emperor Palpatine’s daughter? 

How was that possible? 

He silently observed your work under your worried gaze, awaiting his judgment. It is clear you hid this part of yourself from everyone else, and maybe he was the very first person who took interest in your hobby, the very first one you let gaze upon yourself so intimately like that... 

Because it was very intimate, he knew it. He stripped your soul naked before him and he ogled without any shame, taking as many details as he could. 

And he very much liked what he saw. 

Where were gentle souls like yours in the galaxy? They appeared so rare and he would very much appreciate one in his life. A friend honest and deeply good by nature... 

That sounds terribly enticing to him. 

He knew nobody on Coruscant, spending his entire leaves in art galleries. But maybe now he could visit them with a nice company at his arm? Simple rendezvous filled with passionate discussions about art, speaking and debating a subject until you both lose your voices and only look into each other eyes to continue the discussion. 

That sounds terribly nice... 

But you are a Princess and him a Commodore. How would that work? He was not even sure he had the right to be in the same room as you.  

But the idea was just so nice... An art partner, being friends with an actual artist, getting to witness the intricate process of creating a masterpiece.  

That is just so alluring to him... 

“So?” you asked with a short breath. 

“This is high-quality work, Princess. You have an undeniable talent and obviously worked really hard to get to this level.” He praised, “I can only encourage you to continue.” 

“You think... I could live on my brush one day?” You inquired, hope lying in your voice. 

“It is a real possibility, I can see it happening.” He nodded with a tight encouraging smile. 

“... Thank you.” You let him knew, “I...” 

You seemed to be about to say something else but suddenly jumped on your feet, the heat signals of your face through the roof. 

“I need to go! Good evening Sir!” And like that you left him, speechless, still holding your precious imager. 

Maybe the tension of showing your art to someone else for the first time was too much for you. This was quite endearing and he let out a little chuckle amused. 

He resumed his art exploration on your imager, he will find a way to send it back to you. 

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

He didn’t sent it back. 

He kept it, he has it every day in his inner pocket, close to his heart. He rummages through it when he can, seeing you through the pictures, getting to know you through each paint stroke.  

He innocently thought about you two becoming art friends to satisfy his knowledge cravings, but instead, he developed an... interesting bound with you. 

Without your knowledge.  

He tried several times to come to see you at your art studio to give it back, only to remain at the door, silently spying on you painting through the cracked door. 

He wished not to disturb the holy inspiration flow so precious to artists. He would break your entire rhythm if he knocked at the door and stopped you. 

How could he dare disturb the process of art? Especially yours? So he remained at the door for long hours until you decided to exit the room or he heard someone come by. 

When you weren’t here he forced the door open to tidy up the place and look at your last pieces. 

But one day you were simply preparing yourself to paint so he entered. Unannounced, unwanted he walked in like he owned the place. You didn’t see him at first, focusing on your flimsy sheets when you raised back on your feet to discover him observing your latest piece with attention, his hand holding his chin, appreciating every detail. 

“Oh dear Maker!” You jumped back. 

He turned his head to you with a tight smile. 

“My apologies, Princess.” He said not at all sorry. 

“What are you doing here?!” You asked in some sort of panick. 

“Your father requested my presence today, and I had hoped to be able to catch you paint.” He mundanely explained it like it was evidence. 

“And why is that?” You asked suspiciously, hiding some sketches behind you. 

“My apologies Princess, I got ahead of myself. I have something belonging to you and wanted to give back.” 

He took out the small imager of his pocket to hand it to you. He already has several copies and backups of all your art. 

“My imager!” You shouted, relieved. “Where did you get it?” 

“You actually gave it to me years ago when I was still a Commodore.” He explains gently. 

You took the imager back and looked in the gallery, with an elated smile.  

“I don’t think I ever caught your name, Mister.” You raise back your clear gaze at him. 

Of course, you knew his name, he was the only alien of the fleet, surely his name traveled the corridors of the Palace and he knew it. But Politeness and etiquette demanded you asked. 

And you are a very polite woman. 

He put his right hand on his heart and bowed to you. 

“I am Vice Admiral Thrawn. I am delighted to meet you again, Your Majesty.” 

You elegantly bowed back. 

“I am (Y/n) (L/n).” 

“Are you not a Palpatine?” Thrawn tilted his head. 

You bite your lower lips, like you spoke too much. 

“I... Prefer to identify with  my mother’s name.” You explain. 

“It is a very beautiful name, it suits you marvelously.” He reassured you, “Do you mind if I remain for your next session? I long to observe an artist in their element.” 

“Oh well...” You spin your head towards the holo clock on the wall and all of your glee seems to melt, your smile disappearing, “I am afraid there won’t be a session today... Yet again.” 

Thrawn squinted. 

“Is there a problem, your Majesty?” 

“No its...” You sighed deeply, “Another model ditched me apparently. He should have been here an hour ago...” 

“If you allow me, your Majesty, I can replace him if you wish.” Thrawn proposed immediately. 

“I...” You purse your lips, thinking “I usually book models for three to four hours, are you sure you have that time?” 

“I do today.” He answered politely, hiding his enthusiasm, “By a splendid hasard I have nothing booked for the rest of the day. I can model for you as long as you need.” 

He very carefully planned today’s agenda to have his afternoon and evening free after his visit to the Emperor. It will postpone some operations on the Chimaera, but nothing he cannot catch up on, he made sure of it. 

You hesitated, your gaze traveling from Thrawn’s stern face to your flimsy sheets. 

It is the fifth model ditching you. 

The fifth Thrawn got rid off.  

Cleanly. 

Discreetly. 

When he entered your studio in your absence he got the occasion to detail your work and picked up on your... attraction, towards those young men. 

Something that infuriated him greatly, even though he wasn’t sure why. He never felt like that before, longing for your presence, to get to know you better and well. This is a very new sentiment to him, he desires to be with you, to listen to you talk, to help you, to just be here in the same room as you. You could be silent and still, sitting on a pedestal and he would sit and look at you with all his attention, trying to pierce your secrets. 

Why are you doing that to him? Where does this deep sentiment of covetousness come from? Right now he just wants to grab your hand and flee away from the Imperial Palace with you, take the first shuttle and take off for the never-ending universe, take you far away from that man you call father and Emperor for you both to live free. 

He always feels so cold all day long, but in your vicinity, everything warms up, the ice melts, and the sun dares from its rays on his flesh, bringing him back to life and waking him up from a long coma. Laying his gaze on you he feels like opening his eyes for the first time and taking his first breath. 

Is that... Love? 

Did Cupid finally hit him with an arrow after ignoring him all his life? 

He quite likes how that sounds. 

He wants more. So, so much more... 

But for now, he looked at you hesitating, patient, with a tight polite smile of someone only desiring to help. 

“Well... If it isn’t too much trouble for you, I would appreciate it. What about a portrait to start?” 

“But of course, Your Majesty. I am here to serve.” He bowed his head again deeply pleased that his plan worked. 

He cannot help but wonder, how do you see him? Is he handsome or repulsive to your eyes? Is he powerful or weak? 

He will soon know it through your primary sketches... 

------- 

“What are you thinking about Grand Admiral Thrawn?” You call him back to reality 

Thrawn blinks, realizing he is posing for you once again in your studio. It is quite rare that he lets his memories take the forefront of his mind but his mind drifted off observing you painting him like that. 

You took great care to not look at him in the eyes since that party and he is greatly pleased by the turmoil he stirred within you. Today again you cannot look in his direction without your face’s heat signals rising. 

How delectable... 

You draped a long fabric on him and gave him a staff to hold, ordering his pose, and started to paint. Holding the pose is hard but that only pushes him to appreciate art even more. He feels your focused gaze skimming his skin, detailing his muscles, observing the crooks and crannies of his flesh, taking in the different shades of blue of his skin. 

He feels his heart accelerating with your eyes traveling his naked form. 

He never exposed himself in such a way to anybody before. 

It is so intimate. 

So erotic... 

He feels great under your gaze, he feels... Empowered. Like he could become what he was always meant to be under your brush, that through your gaze he truly could realize himself. He feels his chest puffing up with pride and satisfaction. That surge of warmth spreading in his chest and heart when your eyes skim his skin feels so soft and right... 

“You truly have mesmerizing eyes, I hope I will be able to do them justice...” You say almost to yourself, fully focused on your sketch. 

“We could do a series of portraits after, you could study them in detail.” He proposes. 

“Thank you Grand Admiral.” You smile. 

“Please, call me Thrawn, Your Majesty. I am a simple man at your art service in this room.” 

“Then call me (Y/n).” You decide, “Let’s just be a man and a woman for this afternoon.” 

“I simply cannot, Your Majesty. You are an Imperial Princess, I cannot address you with such familiarity.” He counters. 

Who is he to address you so casually? He will not strip you down of your titles and grandeur.  

You pout, visibly displeased by his response. 

“All right...” You say very disappointed. 

He clenches his jaw, conscious of his misstep. 

“If you truly desire it, I will address you as you wish (Y/n).” He responds softly. 

But in his mind he will keep using your titles, they suit you so well. 

You nodd enthusiastically, relieved by his new response. 

“Do you want to take a look?” You ask. 

He descends from the pedestal and passes on a gown to modestly cover himself, but he doesn’t close it, coming to admire your genius on the canvas, discovering himself through your own eyes. 

You take a picture with your imager that he gave back, adding it to your collection. His heart sprints at the view of the imager in a very Pavlovian response. 

He had... other uses for your imager. 

He will never admit it, not even under torture, but... He furiously masturbated several times using your art collection on the imager. He has no rational explanation for it. One day he was terribly bothered, to his utmost inconvenience, and hoped that some nice paintings could distract him. 

But instead  

He just got such a clear picture of you, of your good nature, of your amazingly sweet personality that he became hard like wood, worsening the situation. He found a self-portrait of yourself, looking straight back at him with such a clear and assured gaze... And he just lost it. 

He fisted himself, entranced by those expressive eyes looking brazenly at him. 

He never came so hard before, his entire body struck by lightning, setting fire to his very soul. He was left breathless and disoriented, his large chest rising up and down rapidly, your impudent gaze fixing him intently. 

The high was so high the descent was devastating, leaving him craving more of you, by any means necessary... 

That’s when he decided to enter your studio for the first time. 

Thrawn discovers the canvas. 

He discovers himself slouching regally on a throne like he is presiding over a tedious political case and is about to give his royal judgment. 

You remain a step behind, fidgeting your fingers. 

“What do you think?” You ask a bit worried. 

An idea flashes in his mind, a bad idea, but oh so delicious... 

“Technically very interesting and avant-garde. But there is something...” He teases sadistically. 

“Something? What? What is wrong? What did I do wrong?” You immediately panick. 

“Are you familiar with male anatomy?” He asks, falsely investigating. 

Of course, you are familiar with it, he saw you paint it plenty of times. 

“Yes! I am!” You protest. 

“Let’s see...” He gently takes your hands to place them on his large pecs. 

Your eyes round up in surprise and your breath is caught in your throat. 

“Feel the muscles, how they are built in the body.” He casually instructs while he takes your hands for a jaunt on his body, caressing himself with your soft palms. 

“Hum... Grand Admiral?” You try. 

“Feel where they start and end, where they cross paths and attach to the bones.” He slowly pushes your hands down his abdominals. 

You audibly gasp as he directs your hands on his naked body. While your body heat skyrockets in your embarrassment and confusion, he revels in the softness of your touch and the freshness of your hands on his thick skin. 

Your touch is delightful. Delicate and tender. He has all the pain in the world to not moan in bliss... 

He presses your palms on his abdominals, pushing them farther and farther south. 

“It is very important you understand how the muscles twist and bend.” He lectures you like you didn’t already know that. 

“Grand Admiral...” You press him more and more embarassed. 

He takes a step forward and you take a step back. 

He takes another one and you do the same. 

He finally blocks you against the desk where you keep all your colors and pigments. You jolt when your back hits the wooden table, caged between his half-naked body and the furniture. He stops your hands on his groin region, right above his cock.  

He looks at your flustered face intently, how you evade his gaze and your heat signals are the worst he ever saw. He refrains from licking your face as he so desperately wants to. 

Your sex is irradiating a warm light to his infrared vision, well awake and demanding attention. He takes great pride in the reaction of your body to his daring advances, but you also appear tense. 

“Feel how my male body is different from your female body, feel it deeply... within you...” He whispers, looming forward to press his forehead against yours to look at your eluding gaze. He pulls your hands to wrap your arms around his waist as his own hands come to seize your hips, slightly slipping them under your corseted top to caress your smooth human skin. 

You cannot help the gasp escaping you, shocked to your core but indubitably... interested. Curious and craving for more. 

Still, the uneasy feeling remains in the pearl of your eyes. 

He presses your hips together and rolls his pelvis, delighting himself in your hot and bothered reaction. Your hands are trembling and sweaty but they hold on his lower back. You slowly and timidly raise your gaze to meet his, mouth agape and with a short breath. 

You gulp as he smiles, satisfied.  

Are you a virgin? Will he be your first? 

His heart pumps harder! 

You first... But more importantly your last! 

He lowers himself with a satisfied grin, but right before he is about to kiss you, he suddenly grabs your ass to lift you up and put you on the table, making you yelp in surprise. His hands lift your skirt to caress your round thighs, dividing them open to slide between them swiftly. 

His blood is beating furiously, his hands caressing and exploring your gorgeous body eagerly, mentally pesting against those useless clothes hiding your naked perfection to his burning rubies. You let out a weak moan between precocious fear and irrefutable excitement. 

Your hands circle his shoulders and you dig your nails into his blue flesh, to his utmost pleasure, pulling you tighter towards you. 

Everything comes to a halt as you look into each other eyes with heavy breathing.  

He wants you. 

He craves you. 

And he will have you! 

In one way or another, you will be his and his alone.  

He will rip you out of your father’s claws and build you a life of comfort and love.  He will hold you close and tight, showering you with adoration every day, worshipping at your feet. 

Thrawn taunts you with his lips, hovering them over your parted mouth, making your throat go dry with anticipation. He teases you with a kiss on the tip of your nose, before letting out a low growl as your gazes meet, you cannot help but moisten your plump lips with your tongue with a short breath.  

Thrawn hand seizes your lower back to pull you close and tight against him, his second hand embracing the back of your skull to pull you ever so slightly closer to his tempting grin. 

You look at each other in a suspended moment, listening to each other heavy heartbeat, feeling the sheer tension in the room before Thrawn lowers himself with the intent to kiss you. 

“Please... Do not hurt me...” You ask with a voice so low and feeble he barely hears you, tears in your eyes. 

He stops his motion. 

Why would- 

“Sorry for my late arrival Princess, I-” 

A man enters the studio unannounced, absolutely ruining the moment. You yelp in surprise, pulling on your skirt to cover your bare legs while Thrawn merely turns his upper body towards the intruder to shoot him with his glare, making no effort to cover his modesty. 

The man is clearly embarrassed to have walked in during an intimate moment, but Thrawn wants him more than embarrassed. He wants him repentant and desperate.  

“I am sorry, Sir.” You jump off the table, flustered, pushing your hair behind your ear to put up a front, “Thrawn, I present you Sir Hatway, a curator of an art gallery I invited to judge my art.” You gesture towards the impudent. 

The man clearly doesn't know what to do with himself in front of a naked Chiss. 

“Sir Hatway, this is Vice Admiral Thrawn of the Imperial Navy and one of my favorite model.” 

Thrawn heart speeds up at the compliment, but outside he is still shooting down Hatway, frowning, displeased. 

“Should I... Wait outside, Princess?” The impolite man asks. 

‘Yes he should!’ Thrawn thinks, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“No! No...” You hurriedly respond, “It is all right, you didn’t interrupt anything. We can look at my paintings now.” 

Thrawn gaze slides to you. 

What do you mean ‘didn’t interrupt anything’? He wants to ask impudently.  

He chastises himself. You are an imperial Princess. You cannot just fool around with anyone like that without consequences from your father, you must preserve your reputation. 

The insolent nods unsure, still uneasy, before turning towards Thrawn with a smile he surely hoped to be affable, but honestly is just pathetic. He takes a step forward with his hand extended. 

“Please to meet you Grand Admiral Thrawn.” 

Thrawn consciously takes his time to gauge him up and down from all his height, straightening his back to look at him with all the smugness his rank conferred him. He finally took the man’s hand to shake it. 

“The pleasure is mine, Sir Hatway.” Thrawn tightens his grip until the man winces in pain, “You will obviously not say a word of what you saw.” He asks, deadly cold. 

“N-no, sir. I saw nothing and know nothing...” He pitifully responds 

“Good...” The Chiss nods, venomous. 

“You can go, Grand Admiral.” You say, fidgeting your fingers, still visibly agitated, “We are done for today.” 

“If you allow me, Your Majesty. I am interested to witness your audition.” 

“I...” You bite your lower lips again, thinking, “All right.” You concede. 

When Thrawn exits the changing room in his pristine white uniform, Sir Hatway is no longer the pitiful man who entered the studio. He stands proudly before your paintings, detailing them and judging them imperially. 

You remain a bit behind, full of apprehension and hope. Like the day you showed Thrawn your imager. 

“This is not very good to be honest with you, Your Majesty. This is amateurish at best, and I am being generous.” 

Thrawn stops dead in his tracks. Did he hear right? 

“But I...” You try. 

“It will not be possible I am afraid. You should abandon painting entirely, this is not a world for a fragile flower like you...” 

Thrawn takes a single glance at the painting you are presenting right now. 

Your dear mother’s portrait. 

You spend long hours on this one, pouring your tears and blood in the paint to bring it to life and honor that woman. 

And that... Uncultured fool rejects it?! Calls it amateurish?! Thrawn never saw such passion in a portrait in a long long time! 

He heard enough. 

He walks to the man with three long strides, catching both of your attention. 

“Sir. I will invite you to take back your words immediately.” He said very coldly, camping in front of the fool, towering over him with all his height. 

“Who do you think you are to teach my job?!” The impudent retorted, any traces of the former shy man long gone. 

“Who do you think YOU are?! Is your heart so dry to be so blind before such a shining jewel, before such explicit talent, before such an evident masterpiece? I can not let you say such things.” 

The man looks at Thrawn afraid and confused but sticks to his guns. 

“No! It is my job to evaluate artists that wish to enter our art gallery and she doesn’t have the level expected.” 

“Can you not see she is ahead of her time? That she is avant-garde in so many aspects? I pity your gallery Sir, we must only find mediocrity inside.” 

“Are you insulting me?!”  

“You insulted her first.”  

“Grand admiral please...” You try to calm them both 

Thrawn raises his hand to sush you. 

“She has no talents, and no future in the art world. I am doing her a favor by telling her early.” He bites. 

Thrawn feels about to punch this man. 

Instead, he takes a step back and takes out his pair of gloves from his pocket, and throws them at the impudent’s face. 

“I will protect her honor, I challenge you sir.” 

“What?! No! This is getting ridiculous, stop-” You try to interject again. 

“Fine! Whenever you damn please Alien!” The fool retorts. 

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay, @obbicrystaleo, @germie2037 @davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @leo4242564

[corviiids]

8, 18, 23, and all the other numbers you haven't answered yet

ooohoho really enabling me there thank you very much. answered 23 in the last one! i wont do all of them or this'll get super long but ill put a few more under the cut!!

8. if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

tbh ive been contemplating a silly oneshot sequel to as you like it but i do have to actually finish the damn thing before i even think about that so ill leave it there.

18. if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

im actually notoriously bad at killing my darlings so i didn't think i'd have that many deleted scenes, but i did find a few older versions of the makoto&ren scene in chapter 6 of as you like it that i had completely forgotten about. looking back on these i actually still like them

v1.0 of the grounding sequence ren goes through after his nightmares. i think i cut this because it was too long and didn't flow well in context, but im sort of fond of it in isolation:

this was from an alternate version of the scene altogether, where they go to harajuku instead of inokashira so ren can find some featherman merch futaba wanted. i dont like this version as much as the final but i am fond of the extremely long spiralled potato:

then a completely unrelated ren/akc date that i cut because it wasn't doing any work and i didn't think it was fun enough to be kept in:

...

a few more answers for fun (1-5)

writer asks

the last sentence you wrote

i cant remember which line i actually last wrote so here's the last line in current wip

He laughs again. In the silence where Ren tries to re-examine his own complexes, Akechi draws ahead on the wall.

2. a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

ren! i think he's fun because he's the player character and the protags are generally designed to be pretty malleable (or personalityless if you're feeling uncharitable... or wrong) so obviously there's a temptation to just make him whatever your story needs him to be, but i think he's a really tempting and interesting opportunity to really get your claws into a guy who has a personality but refuses to show it and have that be one of his character traits. he's so adaptable to every situation but there are so many moments where his stubbornness and inner values shine through in his limited dialogue, so the challenge becomes like, how do you deduce the rest of a character's hidden personality based on the little they show you? how do you unpack someone whose character is that he wants to be whoever you want him to be? what's going on in his mind? how do you understand him and fill in the gaps in a way that's consistent with what he does in canon when he gives you so little to work with? this is an irresistible challenge to me so he just lives in my brain. he's not even renting he owns the place and he doesnt have a mortgage

3. how you feel about your current WIP

i think palacefic is the project that ignites the most personal passion and excitement in me so im really so excited to finish writing it so i can share it and also so i can read it instead of reading my own chickenscratch notes and think about how excited i am to write it

4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

i keep coming back to circle this idea of postcanon akeshu and how they navigate a relationship (word used free of connotation) where they are constantly circling each other and obviously cant do without each other but also like. are so codependent and not at all functional enough to really have a normal romantic relationship or even friendship. i wrote like a short scene of this which i put on twitter a while back i might actually post it here. and i also started a short fic just to get some thoughts down but never had any plans for how to continue it

5. first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

im self conscious about how much of this has been about palacefic, so have a line from my death note longfic instead (i cheated this is like the tenth paragraph because the first paragraph is introductory and none of the lines make sense in isolation or they're too spoilery)

Well, when you eliminate the impossible.

[astonmartingf]

Hello, Hello! Really big fan of your works. I'm obssessed with the YBOM series, everytime you upload an update I consumed it right away. sorry for the long message I just wanna praise you for your amazing skills

but anyway, I wanna ask whats your writing flows? like, how do you start writting your stories - especially the series one. Do you make an outline of the story until finish, do you just go with the flow or ? I'm starting to write as hobby but I'm not very consistent with it... Like how do you manage to be so consistent with writing while studying at the same time it blows my mind. again, sorry for the long ask 😭😭😭😭 im quite the yapper

first of all thank you so much for sending this, it's making me emotional. i'm glad you're enjoying YBOM <3

second i love asks like this!!!!! i'm very open and like to share my writing process and i have compiled a few examples of how my personal writing flows— and hopefully i can answer all your questions, the response is also fairly lengthy because i too am a yapper 🫡 and like the milestone name suggests there's a lot of personal lore here, anyways enjoy 👍

first how or where do i start? honestly despite me writing regularly i'm a mix of a vibe or mood writer and song titles!!! the ideas usually come early in the morning when i wake up or a thought before i go to sleep. most of the time these come to me during class hours and i write them instead whether it be in my phone or a notebook, or when i'm studying and i listen to a song and it randomly inspires me.

for the series, let's take doab since it's completed, the inspiration came from listening to the same some from patd! and it reignited something in my head and went from there

here are some original notes from drafting the series:

some things go and some things stay. the first two ideas at the start usually stay, and as the story goes i take liberties in changing the plot depending on how i think the driver or how i characterized the reader will react or respond to the situation in hand, so their decisions play a good part.

in greedy for example it was supposed to be a fwb to lovers with seb, but i scrapped the initial draft because it wasn't giving the way i envisioned. another factor is how i characterize the reader / yn because i struggle writing mean characters, and greedy was hard because i didn't want to write a mean character, i'd like to think i tried.

for my ongoing dilf series, it's definitely better because i've learned to pace myself (i definitely have not, but we're getting there)

for the case of ybom i thought of the initial plot and tbh ybom was just supposed to be a co-parenting fluff with reconciliation fic but as i wrote it, i began thinking of the reason as to why alonso and reader did what they did and we begin seeing the flesh of their characters

like the cliffhangers are on purpose, because i too have to stop and think what would be appropriate to push the plot forward, i realized that the ybom plot is all in my head

surprisingly it's shocking how i haven't forgotten about some ideas because i just write them directly and i haven't really written anything premeditated about it, except for the ending. here is the only page i wrote about ybom and it's mixed with other wips

one thing i realized while writing YBOM is to focus on a chapter at a time, but also to ensure that the small things the characters are doing will lead to a bigger picture. i have written a lot in the past and for different fandoms and even some original work, but i have never finished a single series in my name

the first series i finished writing ever was doab, and it was an epiphany for me, because i proved to myself that i could do it, and i could dedicate the amount of time i did, ever since i started writing in third grade, to have completed doab was a big feat for me

there's really only one story wherein i thought hard for the plot which is rlr, which is also why the updates are slow because this is my baby, and i have thought about this for so long, even though i'm not updating or talking about it, it's usually the one i keep making changes to

for the consistency— instead of focusing on consistently writing, my go-to is to take breaks consistently. writing to me is my break from studies and when i have time i usually write in my notes, a lot of the written parts in doab and ybom are written while waiting for the teachers, and in between lab work

also reading! when i'm in a slump i usually read other fics here, atm i'm reading: let me be your lighter @/nostappen and pancakes @/saintescuderia at idk if it's good to read when you're in a writing slump but i get inspired reading and think about what i will write next when i get the time.

being patient to yourself— some times you write a lot and some times you're barely writing and that's fine. it took me a while to learn that so now i'd like to think i'm better at managing my own expectations and choosing to stop when i no longer have the capacity to write.

and lastly to enjoy the process of it all— write what you want to write and have fun with it. not just writing but find a supportive community, i enjoy writing and sharing my silly little posts and talking to people here.

hopefully this has some semblance of understanding, and i made my point across with how i thought it would be conveyed? uhmm yeah, i hope you enjoy, this is vv lengthy actually now....

[marley-manson]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Thank you! 💖 Apparently I have nine fics posted now, so I guess my top five out of those are:

Army Style (mash gen) I'm super pleased that I was able to finish it and I overall enjoyed writing it since I got to utilize all my gay history reading and write a lot of gay jokes and dark humour, and I think it largely works.

War Bonds (mash gen) Also fun to write because I got to exorcize a lot of my feelings about the differences between early and late Mash and play with a loopy overtired Hawkeye pov. Also funny story, one of my friends mentioned in a comment that it gave her dark fairytale vibes, and then fairly recently I saw a saved doc of mine from when I first got into Mash that was just a brief concept for a mash fic: 'love as eldrich horror.' I'd completely forgotten I'd had that idea lol, but I think I ended up lowkey writing it anyway with this fic.

Under the Influence (mash hawk/frank) idk I set out to write funny sex and I think I was successful.

Refraction (berserk guts/griffith) Gets extra points for being the first thing I posted, but also I just like the concept tbh. Guts and Griffith's post-eclipse 'happily' ever after the only way I think it could go. I'm not super enthused about the prose, but I like my sense of theme enough to compensate lol.

The Line of Duty (due south, fraser/ray v) Gets extra points for being due south lol, but despite writing most of it in 2014 I do think it holds up, and writing Ray's voice is very fun.

[steddie-island]

20 Questions for writers

I was tagged by @runninriot over 2 months ago Thank you friend 😘🥰

I've done one before but I like answering these types of questions so I'm doing it again.

No pressure tagging @wynnyfryd @stervrucht @wormdebut @mugloversonly @augustjustice

Pressure tagging @v3llichor who saw this over my shoulder and said "I wanna fill one out!" 😂😘😘

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

37, all but 1 of which were posted between October of last year and now. Which I'm really proud of. 🥹 The only other fic I'd written and posted was for Frasier back in 2020.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

63,421!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I write Stranger Things mostly, but I've written Good Omens, Frasier, and Destiel (I haven't written for them in a loooong time though.)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Just Because We Get Around (Part 1 of my Fuck his dad series. Steve is Dustin's dad, Eddie is Dustin's college friend, they fuck nasty and then there are feelings. It's silly and cheesy and I still love it even if I think about renaming it at least once a week. 😂)

Mutually Beneficial (Written for this art by @2jihiir0 😌 There may be a part 2 coming if I can ever get Inspired to work on it again WE'LL SEE!)

With Extra Nuts (Eddie sees Steve in his Scoops uniform, they fuck nasty in the back room about it.)

Dustin's Dad (Has Got Me Down Bad (Part 2 of Fuck his dad, wherein Dustin finds out. 😌)

Vixen (Steve wears lingerie to a Christmas party. He and Eddie fuck nasty about it when they get home. There's a pattern here. 😂)

5. Do you respond to comments?

It definitely takes me some time sometimes but I try to! Even the ones that are just like, hearts or a laugh emoji. They took their time to not only read my fic but to leave a comment and I want them to know that I appreciate it. 🥹

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

I had an answer here but I had completely forgotten about A rush kinda like the old times (I still cross your mind). It's Stommy, with Tommy reaching out to (fem) Steve after he gets engaged. There's lots of reminiscing but it's bittersweet because Tommy's clearly not happy, and Stevie isn't going to give him what he wants.

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

I have a transfem Steve series (Wallpaper, Long Haul, Candles) that gave me so much joy to write. I don't really write unhappy endings (IDK maybe that'll change but I kind of doubt it. to quote T Swift, "I'm just too soft for all of it.") but these three just. I'm really proud of them. Part one is Stevie coming out to Robin, part 2 is Eddie, and then part 3 is Stevie getting dicked down a happy ending to her birthday. I was nervous to write these, because I'm not trans. None of it is from Stevie's POV, it's from the POV of the people who love her. And that's what I wanted to show. A beautiful trans woman who had been through so much hell before life decided to throw gender stuff at her, getting to come out, getting to be herself, and getting so much love and support from the people around her. 🥹🥹🥹🥹

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully no (knock on wood)!

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

All kinds? We have monster fucking and some good ol' sapphic steddie semi-hate fucking and some Steve playing Billy Loomis (with the softest fucking aftercare in the world, tbh). 15 of the fics I've posted are explicit (it feels like there should be more but I think that just means they're all in WIP purgatory, who knows when/ if they'll see the light of day).

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have one I've been working on for months that's a Marmalade/ Baron x Eddie fic but I also haven't touched it in months. 😅

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of (knock on wood again).

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so but that'd be cool!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not one that's been posted yet but I actually have two written with my spouse that we're going to upload eventually!

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

I love Steddie, I've found so much community here, but I would be remiss to not acknowledge the fact that Destiel had such a strong hold on me for years. I've made so many friends because of it, I literally met my spouse writing it.

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

I honestly don't know. I'm intending on finishing the ones I have started but my WIP folder is kind of daunting so. Who knows?

16. What are your writing strengths?

Even though I don't write it often I think my angst is pretty good. I've also been told that I make things feel very alive, and that's something I try hard to do, too (and am glad that I can do, I've only been writing for over half of my life even if I'm only just now posting it! 😅)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes. I struggle SO HARD with action scenes. It's something I'm working on, something I've been working on for a while, but I feel like my pacing is way off and needs a lot of work.

I also can't write slow burn to save my fucking life. I just want them to get to smoochin' already!

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

I would do it but I would want to be so careful and not have a scenario where I translate it as one thing and someone comes along and says "she said he smells like dirty socks and liver" or something. 😂

19. First fandom you wrote for?

That I posted, Frasier. First fandom that I started writing for in general was Spn!

20. Favorite fic you've written?

This is the same answer I gave last time but I think it has to be Don't go where I can't follow, which was I think my 2nd Steddie fic? It's under 1,000 words but it's the one I've reread the most. There's lots of hurt/comfort packed into those 990 words. It was written as a kinktober prompt, written in an hour and posted in the middle of the night and IDK. I just really love it.

[dreamedge]

AO3 tag game :3

shout-out to @ragecndybars for the tag! <3 I got to think a lot about some older fics and also the deep, eternal impact CC has has on my soul, so I'm emotional rn lol.

How many works do you have on AO3?

21! Which is, a lot more than I thought tbh. I've been writing these long, long fics for so many years now that I've sort of forgotten about all the little ones I've managed in between. And even the long ones add up after a while. Though, I did only import a small selection of my fics from ff.net, so the back catalogue of stuff I've actually written is way longer. ... That's fine, some of that stuff can stay buried lol.

Even at 21 though... *Looks at my shoebox of story ideas and outlines* Its... its still not enough. Its, its just no where close to even making a dent in everything I want to write eventually.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

650,444. I'm pretty sure at least half of that is entirely in CC, and another quarter is in can i bleed. Which, tbh I'm not sure how I feel about that lol. Deeply introspective fics, my passion, my talent, my beloathed. Some part of me does miss simply writting 5k chapters and calling it done for a week. Not all of me though.

How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

Only 10! That number probably isn't going to grow much either. I tend to gravitate towards bigger projects these days rather than simple oneshots or even like, 5 chapter long stuff, so I tend to go all in on a small number of fandoms instead of spreading my attention around, even though I want to.

Cardcaptor Sakura

Digimon

Dragon Age Inquisition

Percy Jackson

Persona 3

Power Rangers RPM

RWBY

Teen Wolf

Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle

BNHA

Top five fics by kudos:

A Most Precious Thing (Tsubasa): tbh this being number one is an absolute surprise, though I'm very happy about it. According to AO3, this was published almost 10 years ago, will be 10 years exactly in just a few weeks, but people still regularly give it kudos and comments. It was a complete experiment, style wise; I'd never written anything like it before, I've written one thing like it since, and I'm just so thankful that people loved it so much despite the inexperience behind it.

Of the Woods (Teen Wolf/CCS): This being so high up is not a surprise, and I'm annoyed about it. Mostly bc I know its only so high up bc its for such a big fandom, written during said fandom's height. I think its probably one of the fic I've soured the most on since I wrote it; its just not that great.

Crests Corrupted (Digimon) : Oh, here it is. My masterpiece. Maybe its weird to say that of the fic that's only 3rd, but it truly is, and to see a fic I have put so much of myself into being even this high and this appreciated means so much to me.

can i bleed within your love (Persona 3) : Hi! I don't have much to say about this one, only that I'm so happy with the sheer outpouring of love this has gotten, and I can't wait to finish it.

True Feelings Chocolate (Digimon) : Oh, um, I sort of forgot about you. What are you doing here? ...This is awkward, I really didn't expect this to do so well. Its just a silly little fic I wrote for valentine's one year. I'm glad it did well?

Do you respond to comments?

I try! I don't succeed a lot of the time; generally I'm very tired after posting a chapter and then its been like two weeks and responding feels awkward. Also I tend to ramble, if you haven't noticed yet, some sometimes I'll just close out of responding to avoid any chance of me accidentally spoiling or saying something I shouldn't. I'm... working on it.

What’s the fic with the angstiest ending you’ve ever written?

Oh that's easy. Its the RWBY one, Your Love on Your Sleeve and Your Pain Buried Deep. I don't tend to write angsty fics, I like happy endings, I think this is the only one I've ever written and I'm glad to keep it that way.

Do you write crossovers?

I've written one before, the TW one that's up there. I generally tend to prefer fusions over straight up crossovers; I've gotten several P3 fusions planned, a PJ fusion, the bnha fic I wrote is a fusion. I just, I love fusions. I greatly prefer writing them over cross-overs generally.

Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

Once or twice, but that was ages ago and I've mostly blocked it from my memory. The fandoms I'm in now have been full of such lovely people, I've been really lucky.

Do you write smut?

Smut, as in the fic happens to have a sex scene? Not typically, but I'm not against doing so when the need calls. Smut, as in the entire point of the fic in the sex scene? No. I'm actually very bad at it. I'll do it if I must but I find even writing kiss scenes awkward, let alone everything else. I will gladly leave it to people much better at their craft them I am.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

To the best of my knowledge? No I don't think so.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've had people offer? I don't know if they ever did or even if, in my general ineptitude when it comes to responding to people, I actually agreed they could.

Hey, if anyone wants to translate my works, feel free!

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

... Hey, thats not fair.

Hmmm, well, after much thinking I'm gonna go with Kurogane/Fai from TRC. Other ships may currently have their hooks in my brain, but kurofai is a big comfort to me still, I really love them. And lets be honest. Ain't no one doing it like those two.

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

I have, its not posted anywhere, and technically I've barely started writing it, its almost entirely outline rn, but I do have a p3 fantasy au thats just... fucking massive. Its a huge project just from the outline i have, long even in comparison to CC, so long that I doubt I'd ever finish it to the point where I've barely started it.

What are your writing strengths?

Combat. I write a damn good fight scene and I know it. I take a lot of pride in that. I also tend to have a pretty solid grasp of pacing on an overall level for longer fics. Per chapter pacing gets a bit more eh, but the overall pacing of arcs and stuff for my longer fics, I generally know what I'm doing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I never know when to shut the fuck up! This is a problem I've known I've had for years. I just let characters go on these long, internal monologues, which is only acceptable because I also write deeply introspective fics. However, it tends to slow chapters down a lot and after a bit, characters repeat themselves and its a problem.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I'm incapable bc I'm monolingual but I've always loved fics that use other languages! Maybe I can do that some day lol.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Yknow, if I dug far far far back in my ff.net account it would probably be Naruto? I think. My memory is fuzzy and I'm not actually going to go look. However, thats the first one I posted.

The *very* first fic i ever wrote, I have a very clear memory of for some reason. It was a FFX2/Series of Unfortunate Events crossover, I was in the fourth grade, I thought it was the coolest thing. Hm, memories.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written so far?

I actually have two answers for this, which, I know is against the spirit and rule of the question BUT. Too bad.

One is A Most Precious Thing, bc it was such an experience to write. Despite being 10 years old I still love it. It was, as I said above, an utter experiment. It is written entirely in 2nd person, which is not actually a choice? I made? Um, I tried, very hard in the beginning, to write in in my standard 3rd, and it didn't work. The story actively refused to be written as such and I kept ending up back in 2nd. And at some point I just gave up and wrote the rest of it as such. And it taught me, so much, about point of view and how that relates to emotional distance, and really, but trusting myself with my writing, that even if I can't say why this is happening, somewhere deep down there is a reason to it and I should trust that. As a writer who takes my craft very seriously, this one has a soft spot in my heart bc of all of that.

However, Crests Corrupted owns a piece of my soul that I will never get back. It is my thesis, my masterpiece, It has defined years of my life, I have poured hundreds of thousands of words into it, I have given it so much of my heart and my pain. It has redefined how I approach writing, it has shaped, totally, the style in which I write today. Even years from now, even years after I finally finish it whenever that is, I don't think I will ever be truly free of it. It is my favorite. How can't it be?

[birchbow]

I got a couple questions on clown church! So first, who does scutwork on a church ship? We've heard mention of kin in the kitchens, but who's taking out the trash, mopping floors, fixing gapers, etc? Is there a duty rota, or are there kin that see it as a holy calling? Secondly...what do the faithful picture the afterlife to be? A Dark Carnival, sure, but are they watching, laughing at the castes who laughed at them in life? Or do they get to perform if they did a good enough job in life?

I'm incapable of being brief so I'm just gonna readmore this for the sake of everybody's dashes! Sorry I ramble so much. U///U

RE: the dirty work, that is a great question and one I wish had occurred to me much earlier in the writing process tbh haha! Complete transparency: my first instinct is to say very beleagured midbloods and very disposable and unlucky lowbloods. If I'd thought about it sooner, I would have given that some setup! But it didn't occur to me, which does definitely make it seem like it's being done by the purplebloods on-ship. Shared dirty work is a nice thought, but also definitely doesn't seem very trollish.

Not a deal-breaker--possibly the church just isn't very trollish about this, like they aren't very trollish about the concept of community! But honestly, I feel like the more workable explanation is just the ignorance or lack of investment on the part of our POV characters. Church highbloods have a certain amount of kinship that's super alien to the other trolls, but they're not even universally cooperative with each other, let alone with other blood colors, and Gamzee is definitely not exempt from that now that he's socialized into a larger group of trolls.

All this to say; If I was a lowblood in charge of cleaning a ship full of murder clowns, I would have a LOT of incentive to fade into the background and only come out when I had to, and also to quickly avoid any sight or sound of any clowns who did happen to be up. And if I was Gamzee, who is now a sober trained soldier who's been much "better" socialized RE: his place in society, I would probably not take note of the coming and going of those lowbloods, unless they were dumb enough to somehow get right in front of me and interact. So I would say probably unlucky cleaning staff from warmer colors of blood. :T Someday maybe I'll go back and back-edit a dropped mention or two of them in there, we'll see.

-

RE: the Dark Carnival, that's not actually part of the religion I've given as much thought to, so I'll weave some fuckin story fabric here and now I suppose lol. normally I do this in my head with my hands on the keyboard staring into space so I'll try to trim the thought process down.

I guess my concept of it would be...any troll could be part of the carnival, but the goal for the faithful would be the audience, or for exemplary kin, as ringmasters and acts, but always in charge or control for the watchers' amusement. Whereas lowbloods and seadwellers would be paint and bloodsport and literal cannon fodder, etc. And selling the hotdogs and shit probably I guess lol. I haven't gone back to see what details, if any, I've put into the fic; there's definitely mention made of "your ticket" as a reference to like, your salvation, your way into the proverbial carnival.

Gamzee also says to one of the members of the CoF that they "took their ticket in their hands and tore" and curses UU essentially "i hope you're forgotten and your soul freezes alone forever in The Great Black Empty" so that all implies to me that I've implied to y'all that kin who had that implicit chance at salvation and did something blasphemous or heretical can lock themselves out of any kind of carnival at all, even as tortured circus acts, and are damned to just like, oblivion.

...Which makes sense to me, considering I also put in a mention that Gamzee would hate to be the last one of his faith left alive, because there would be nobody to commend his soul, with the implication that there wouldn't be any salvation or afterlife for him if they didn't. Which positions oblivion and forgottenness as the ultimate punishment. I dropped that in there as a reference to canon, the idea that he'd "run from death forever" if he was the last one left alive, but also it's an interesting data point theologically haha.

[jadeile-writes]

Fanfic Progress Update 157

It's Saturday, so you get updated on the fic writing. Happy Holidays, btw; over here we celebrate it tomorrow rather than on 25th, so I'm almost free from this hassle. Stay tuned for a sneak-peek for A Sign that you're important at the bottom of this post!

Current WIPs:

A Sign that you're important (previously named I'm Signing in the Drain)

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog, movieverse

Summary: One month upon his assigment as Doctor Robotnik's assitant, Agent Stone is told to learn sign language. He doesn't know why, and isn't suicidal enough to ask, so he simply rolls with it. Turns out, it's not just a whimsy of the eccentric doctor, even though that doesn't stop the doctor from utilizing it like one.

Progress: The first chapter was posted on 21st of December. The second chapter will be posted on 28th of December aka next Thursday. Chapter 3 is finished. Chapter 4 has been started. This fic will most likely have five chapters, maybe six if I get epilogue-happy or smth.

Let's hope I can get an adequate amount of writing for this one done despite the Christmas hassle, cause I really don't want to panic-write the last two chapters on the week of posting them. ...I say, like I don't have three weeks to write chapter 4 at this point. But listen, I'm also making eyes at a next idea I have in a little list of ideas, like juggling two fics isn't enough. Tho in my defense, Lab Life is quietly writing itself in the background and doesn't count, especially if I can manage to queue up another fic after this one (I'd really prefer if Lab Life was fully written before I post any of it, because then I'd have lots of time to get started on the sequel while it keeps the readers fed). I'm gonna be so fucked when Hazbin Hotel airs and I might end up double-fandoming :D

-----

Life at the laboratory (previously known as SBLF, which, btw, was actually just short of StoBotnik LongFic, lol)

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog, movieverse

Summary (temporary):

Wanted: a yesman who is capable of operating an espresso machine, has at least a higher IQ than your average amoeba, and is willing to put work before having a personal life, or indeed a life, period. The extra in your pathetic paycheck is good, but the strain in your psyche will make up for the positives. Forfeit your basic human rights and apply today if this sounds like you. 

Maybe it said something about Agent Stone - and probably not good things - that the poster in the cafeteria's pin board piqued his interest more than any of his official assignments had for a good long while. 

Dr. Robotnik, huh?

Progress: This one will be part one of a two-parter longfic, the first part probably... 10-ish chapters? It's a bit hard to estimate at this point, so the number is subject to change - will probably end up increased tbh. My weekly writing hour (as in, a specific hour when I sit down and write, no excuses [other than not being home]) is devoted to this fic.

I have the first four chapters completely written now. Chapter 5 is halfway done. I also have two halfway written chapters that don't yet know their exact placement within the fic (they're scenes that will be slotted in to wherever they feel natural, once we get Stone settled in.)

-----  

Other WIPs I’m not currently working on but intend to get back to Someday™:

PoE Drabbles (Pillars of Eternity)

DC Drabbles (Justice League)

Diaphanous Relations (Forgotten Realms, R.A. Salvatore’s books)

Rolling with it (Zelda: BotW)

Hah, our afterlife is the most hilarious bushwa, dearest! (Hazbin Hotel)

-----

That’s it for the WIPs! Here’s the promised sneak-peek into A Sign that you're important (Note: the text may end up slightly different in the fic itself due to more editing happening before publishing). Enjoy!

As far as meetings went, Stone was usually patient and attentive. This time, however, he was certainly in agreement with the doctor that this particular meeting was honestly boring and pointless, and it wasn’t just Robotnik’s “hating meetings” -thing. The only reason the two of them had to be attending at all was because Robotnik had a presentation of his own to add to the collection that was happening right then, which meant that nothing the other people said was actually relevant to their jobs or worth listening to – they were just waiting for their turn. There was nothing interesting going on, and it was made worse by the people presenting their points doing it in the least interesting way they could and droning on and on and on about their projects.

Stone was, quite frankly, contemplating the merits of pretending to get a phone call and leaving the room to take it and then simply not coming back after. The only reason he didn’t was because the doctor would murder him for leaving him to suffer alone. The torture that came first would make this bore of a gathering seem like a cakewalk in comparison, and then end with his mother grieving for her dead son. It was probably better for his career prospects to stay. Or he could take the window instead, this was the seventh floor, it’d be a swift end and he’d avoid the torture part…

His morbid ways of self-amusement were interrupted when the doctor – sitting on his right – suddenly moved. More precisely, his hands un-steepled themselves from the table and started forming words.

-----

That’s it this time. See you next Saturday!

Links:

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[selchwife]

i found the fic i was looking for. i'm surprised at how well it holds up after three years tbh...

anyway, it was an attempt i made to adapt the events of maerchen into a fic And also put my self insert in there and it was gay. i don't really remember my plans for it, but my self insert was the man elisabeth was supposed to marry, and he ALSO didn't want to get married so he ran away from home. and he was able to meet up with maer bc he could see ghosts.

i'm kind of suprised at my characterization of maer here! like, i think it suits maer well enough in terms of how he behaves canonically, it's just that bc of DID stuff i tend to view him differently now. i am loath to say this but he really comes across a bit emet-selchish in terms of being fairly sarcastic and kind of condescending. i also definitely see why when i decided to base the composer on him around the same time the composer ended up like that except, like, less charming about it. i'd completely forgotten i have a type...

anyway this excerpt is getting me

MEAN!!!!! MAKING JOKES AT MY EXPENSE

[theartofbeinganerd]

So...I was hoping to have another prompt finished by today, but I only have a lot of half-started ones. However! I was going back through some older fics the other day, and happened across this one, which was written roughly two years ago (and is also the first time I ever wrote about Evelyn!), so I figured I’d share this instead.

(Ao3)

-

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Fitz,” Jemma hissed under her breath, sending an apologetic look toward Coulson, who had paused in his briefing to turn toward them with an arched eyebrow.

Fitz shot an incredulous look at her, then glanced back toward Coulson with sharply narrowed eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. “Jemma’s been out of the field for months, sir. You can’t possibly want to send her out now, of all times!” To complete his statement, he gestured harshly toward Jemma’s bulging stomach, just nine days out from her due date now.

“Fitz,” Jemma repeated, though her tone was now soothing as she laid a comforting hand on his arm. “Shh, it’s alright.”

“Simmons will be perfectly safe on the Zephyr,” Coulson reminded him, his voice calm in the face of Fitz’s anger, though his eyebrow was still raised at the outburst. “No harm will come to her, or your daughter, I promise. But, we need Simmons out in the field; I’m afraid that it’s necessary at this time.”

Fitz opened his mouth, seemingly about to argue their orders yet again, but then May stepped forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t let her out of my sight,” she promised him solemnly.

Frowning, Fitz glanced between May’s unwavering expression and Jemma’s comforting smile. After a moment, he let out a long sigh and gave a sharp nod. “Alright. Alright, fine. But you will stay on the Zephyr, Jem, okay?”

Jemma rolled her eyes at that, heaving a sigh at her husband’s chronic over-protectiveness. “Yes, alright.” With that settled, she turned back to Coulson, who looked vaguely amused but was clearly more than ready to finish the briefing. “Sorry sir, continue.”

“Thank you.” Coulson cleared his throat, then turned back to the large screen in his office, on which there was an infrared map of the warehouse suspected to contain the tech and weapons of all kinds that had been stolen from various labs and agencies around the globe and then stashed by AIM. There wasn’t much they could tell by the map, other than that there was something inside it giving off a lot of heat. “We’re unclear as to the security surrounding the warehouse and what to expect once we’re inside. That’s what we need Fitz for, taking point with Daisy on the entry, leading the rest of the team inside, while Simmons runs back-end from the Zephyr.” He paused then, glancing around at the gathered team soberly. “This is our chance to deal a crushing blow to AIM, so let’s not waste it.”

After the briefing finished, it was little time before they were on the Zephyr and departing for the site of the warehouse. Fitz was quiet for most of the trip, obviously brooding, and it was a few minutes before touchdown that Jemma finally pulled him aside, lowering her voice to assure him, “I’ll be fine, Fitz. I’m quite capable of protecting myself, and I’ll have May with me. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Fitz still didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue either, and Jemma accepted that as the closest thing she’d get to an agreement. “Just…be careful, okay?”

“I could say the same thing,” Jemma shot back, finding both of his hands with hers and linking their fingers together. “You will be careful, won’t you? I’d hate to have to defy science and find a way to resurrect you only to kill you myself for leaving me to raise your grumpy Scottish spawn alone.”

“Ah, quite a bother that would be, hmm?” Fitz gave a low chuckle, leaning in to press a loving kiss to her forehead. “I wouldn’t dream of causing you such an inconvenience.”

“Good.” Jemma tilted her chin up to catch his lips with her own, murmuring into their kiss, “I love you.”

Fitz gave her hands a squeeze, dropping a few more pecks on her lips before he replied, “I love you, Jemma.” Gently releasing her hands, he then placed his own on her stomach, dropping to his knees before her so that he could plant an affectionate kiss to where she housed their daughter. “And I love you, sweetheart.”

“Awww.”

They both glanced up at Daisy’s coo, finding her standing nearby with her hands clasped beneath her chin.

“You guys are too adorable for words,” she added with a beaming grin. She reached out, grasping Fitz’s arm and tugging him up to his feet. “Come on Daddy, we’ve got to get going.”

“Don’t ever call me that,” Fitz replied with a grimace, shaking off Daisy’s grip on his arm. He turned back to Jemma, giving her a warm smile as he told her, “I’ll see you soon, Jem.” And with that, he, Daisy, and Mack headed off of the cloaked Zephyr and to the nearby warehouse.

As Jemma watched him leave, she felt her stomach seem to twist itself up in knots, and she fought down the sudden and desperate desire to get him to stay. She shook it off, trying to get her heart rate back to a normal rhythm as she took her seat at the center console, running a cursory glance over it to make sure everything was turned on and working. She felt a presence behind her, just over her shoulder, and glanced back to find May standing behind her with her arms crossed, her gaze trained on the screen. Flicking on the comms, Jemma asked the team, “Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Simmons!” Daisy chirped in confirmation.

“We can hear you, Jemma,” Fitz added, and even though it had been mere moments since they’d parted, the sound of his voice sent a wash of calm over her.

“So,” Daisy started, her tone entirely too casual, “Have you decided to name your daughter after me yet? Because I mean it’s a pretty obvious choice, if you ask me.”

“We’re not naming her after you,” Fitz replied in exasperation, “You’re already her godmother, Daisy.”

“We’re going to name her after Fitz’s grandmother,” Jemma put in helpfully as she kept an eye on their heat signatures, getting closer and closer to the warehouse. They’d only come to the decision recently, but it had made the most sense; other than his mum, Fitz’s beloved grandmother had been his only family, and they’d always been quite close. Unfortunately, she’d died not long before Fitz had left for the Academy, so Jemma had never gotten the chance to meet her, but every time he told a story about her, it was easy to see how dearly he’d loved her.

“What’s –” Daisy started, but was cut off abruptly by May.

“Cut the chatter,” she said sharply, and Jemma winced a bit guiltily, shooting a worried glance over her shoulder, but May wasn’t looking at her. “You’re approaching the target.”

It was quiet for a moment, then Fitz said lowly, “We’re going in,” and Jemma’s heart leapt into her throat.

Things were calm and simple at first, with Fitz easily bypassing security, with some help from Daisy, and Mack’s familiar rumble could be heard over the comms, sharing his suspicions about it being “too damn quiet”. The team had just reached the main room of the warehouse when Fitz prompted lowly, “Jemma?”

“Yes?” Jemma replied quickly, leaning closer to the screen, as though that would somehow bring them closer.

“Are we seeing what I think we’re seeing?” Just then, the feed from Fitz’s phone went live on the screen, and Jemma squinted through the dark to see –

“You need to get out of there,” she said hurriedly, her eyes growing wider the longer she stared in horror at the very dangerous chemical bomb that had gone missing from a research and development lab the previous week – and the blinking light that told her it was armed.

“Shit,” Fitz mumbled under his breath. “Are they tryin’ to blow this place to kingdom come?”

“We have to shut it down!” Daisy hissed into the comm, and in Fitz’s video feed, Jemma could see her getting closer.

“No!” Jemma cried, struggling up out of her seat, but there wasn’t anything she could do from the Zephyr.

“It’s still gonna go off, Jemma, and people could get hurt,” Fitz reminded her reasonably, but Jemma didn’t want to be reasonable while her husband was in very real danger. “I need your help to talk me through shutting it down.”

“No!” she repeated, shaking her head. She didn’t want him any closer to it; she just wanted him back on the Zephyr and in her arms, where she knew that he was safe and whole and not in any danger of getting blown to pieces.

“Simmons,” May murmured from behind her, placing a placating hand on her shoulder. “The sooner Fitz shuts it down, the sooner they can get the hell out.”

Jemma darted a desperate glance at May, but her expression was firm and unwavering, and it helped to soothe Jemma’s emotions, thrown completely out-of-whack by her pregnancy hormones. “Right. Right.” Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the image of the bomb on the screen. “Okay Fitz, here’s what you do first.”

She was nearly finished helping him to disarm it when Mack could be heard shouting, “Take cover!” followed by the sound of guns going off and bullets pinging off of metal.

Much to her disconcertion, Fitz didn’t listen, and continued to work on the bomb, although his hands did begin to move more quickly. “Fitz!” Daisy cried at him, “Get the hell down!”

“Almost done,” Fitz mumbled, and had Jemma been able to find her breath, let alone her voice, in that moment, she’d have shouted at her incredibly foolish husband herself. When the armed light went off, they both breathed simultaneous sighs of relief, and Jemma calmed down a bit.

Then, it all went to hell.

Fitz could be heard crying out in pain over the comms, just before they cut out at the same moment that his video feed did, and they were blind.

Frantically, Jemma tapped at the controls, desperately trying to get it back up and working. “Fitz? Fitz?!” But, there was nothing except static, and it was getting hard to breathe. They’d walked right into a trap. They’d walked right into a trap, and Fitz was hurt god knew how badly, and she had no clue what was going on or how to help. Unless…

Quickly, she whirled to face May, who was gazing at the blank screen in an expression that was as close to fear as she got, though her brows were lowered in fierce anger.

“May,” she begged, grasping the older woman’s arm and bringing her eyes to her pleading face, “Please, you need to go help them, you need to help him.”

For a moment, May looked tempted, glancing toward the exit of the Zephyr, but then she shook her head. “No. No, I’m not leaving you unprotected, Simmons.”

“They’re the ones that need protection!” Jemma reminded her, and at any other time she would’ve winced at how shrill her voice came out, but it was the least of her worries at the moment.

“No,” May repeated, her tone final and quite terrifying. “Simmons –”

She was cut off by the crack of gun being fired, and Jemma gasped when the screen behind her shattered. She whipped around to find a few AIM agents that must’ve snuck onto the Zephyr firing at them from around the corner, and she quickly raised her arms to wrap around her stomach, a meager attempt to protect her baby.

May pulled a gun from the back of her waistband, and despite the situation, Jemma felt a flash of surprise to find that she was already carrying a gun, given her constant mantra of, “if I need a gun, I’ll take one”. “Get down, Simmons!” she snapped, raising the gun with one hand and shoving Jemma down and behind her with the other. She returned the gunfire, and Jemma heard a shout of pain or two from the men before she was being yanked back to her feet and led by May further into the Zephyr, where they’d have more cover.

They ended up in the medical supply room, where May (quite politely, all things considered) shoved Jemma behind a desk and following behind to give herself cover. Jemma curled up around her stomach, wincing at the tumultuous feeling in it making her quite nauseated. “It’s alright, love,” she whispered to her baby, rubbing a hand over her rounded belly soothingly. “Calm down, it’s alright.”

May shot her a concerned look, and seemed about to ask something, but then a glass container on the counter in front of them shattered, and she forgot all about it, leaning around the desk to return the fire. Jemma squeezed her eyes shut, breathing through the pain now flaring out from her stomach to her back, as she listened to the battle raging around her.

Some indefinable amount of time later, May rose from her spot beside her, and Jemma’s eyes sprung open. She watched as May carefully scanned the room, peering out into the hall before stepping out of the room. A moment later, she returned, tucking her gun back into her waistband. “All clear,” she declared as she squatted back down beside Jemma. “Are you alright, Simmons?”

The pain had receded from her lower body, only to return a few moments later, and Jemma could feel sweat breaking along her hairline as she leaned back heavily against the desk. “No,” she moaned, cupping her stomach and shaking her head. “Fitz is… I need Fitz. I need my husband.”

“Jemma, come on, stay with me,” May commanded, gripping Jemma’s shoulder tightly enough to force her gaze back to her. “Are you in labor?”

A sob built in her throat, and Jemma pressed her lips tight together as she nodded her head rapidly. When the contraction she’d been experiencing ended, she let out a gust of air, sagging a bit in relief. But, it was short-lived, as a moment later she told May, verging on hyperventilating, “I need Fitz, I can’t…I won’t do this without him and he…he could be hurt or…or worse and I…I can’t, May, I can’t –”

“Shhh,” May interrupted, lifting her hand from Jemma’s shoulder to brush her hair back from her sweaty forehead. “Fitz is fine, Jemma. He’ll be here. You’ve got time.” With a frown, she lifted her head, glancing around, then reached down to help Jemma up. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

With May’s support, Jemma made it to the containment pod, which held the only vaguely comfortable bed on the plane. Even as she talked Jemma through the (thank god, still quite far apart) contractions slowly increasing in pain, she kept an eye through the window of the pod, ever vigilant for anyone else intending to kill them.

It’d been roughly an hour, just as Jemma was descending into an all-out panic, when May stiffened and hurried out of the pod, calling out over her shoulder for Jemma to, “Stay calm, Simmons”, which did anything but make her feel calm.

If she hadn’t currently been feeling as though her entire lower body was being torn in half, Jemma would’ve sat up to glance through the window to find whatever it was that had May on alert. As it was, though, all she could do was grip the mattress and clench her teeth tight together as she breathed through the pain.

Mid-contraction, she heard footsteps moving toward the open door of the pod, and she forced her eyes open to make sure that it was May and not another armed AIM agent – not that she could do much to protect herself at the moment.

However, it was neither.

Jemma sucked in a surprised breath when she saw Fitz, being half-carried by Mack, who gestured to her and said pointedly, “See Fitz, she’s alright.”

“Jemma,” Fitz sighed in relief, looking more than a little exhausted as he leaned heavily on Mack. His face was dirt-streaked and covered in blood and sweat, and he was pressing his free hand to a spot low on his abdomen that seemed to be leaking blood out through his fingers.

“What –” Jemma’s demand to know what the hell had happened was cut off by an intense flare of pain in her back, and she let out a pained moan as she curled in on herself in a vain attempt to protect herself from the sharp ache in her womb.

“Whoa Turbo –” As Mack’s surprised exclamation was reaching her ears, she felt someone sit down heavily beside her on the bed, followed by clumsy fingers brushing back the strands of hair sticking to her sweaty cheeks.

Cracking open her eyes, she found Fitz gazing down at her in worry through his own pain bowing his mouth. “Fitz,” she groaned, trying for a fierce glare, but it never quite finished forming. At least, it didn’t until the contraction had finally ended and she could focus her full attention on it. “You absolute, self-sacrificing fool, you need medical!”

“No, I need to be with you,” Fitz argued, shaking his head fiercely, though he grimaced and pressed his hand a bit tighter to his wound. “You need me –”

“What I need is for you to not be bleeding out when I give birth to our daughter, Fitz,” Jemma shot back, though she softened it by reaching up to caress his cheek. “The sooner you get yourself fixed up, the sooner you can glue yourself to my side, alright?” When Fitz grudgingly nodded in response, she went on, “Was it a graze, a clean in and out, or is it still inside you?”

Fitz made a face, glaring down at his side, but it was Mack that spoke up from the doorway, “No exit wound, and the angle was off for a graze.”

Jemma’s brow furrowed in worry, and she mentally ran over their options before nodding sharply. “Alright, we’re going to need a med-kit, some towels, and a bowl of clean water.” Turning to Mack, who had been about to dart off to retrieve said items, she asked, “Mack, how squeamish are you?”

He paused, half-turning back to glance at Jemma in confusion. But, when he seemed to understand, he groaned, “Oh hell no.”

“Sorry,” she replied, though her tone was a bit sharper than she’d been intending as she shifted to try and sit up, only to cause a brief but sharp ache in her lower body. Through the pain and swatting away Fitz’s attempts to aid her, she hissed out, “I’d do it myself if my body wasn’t preparing to eject a small human being from it.”

Mack grimaced at her description, but nodded in acknowledgement, then rushed off to get the requested supplies. He’d been gone only a moment when May returned, looking quite unhappy. “Where’s Mack? They did something to cut the power in the Zephyr, and I can’t get flight systems online.”

Fitz almost seemed to make a move to stand, but Jemma reached out and clasped the front of his shirt, yanking him back down. He looked upset, but seemed to recognize that he was no help in his current condition, and explained to May a bit guiltily, “Jemma’s enlisted him to help stitch me up.”

May’s sharp eyes darted down to his wound, covered by his hand, now dripping blood onto the once sterling white sheets of the bed. Concern flickered in her eyes for a moment, then she was bringing her gaze back up to meet Fitz’s as she replied, “I’ll send Daisy – I need Mack to get this plane in the air.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared.

A few minutes later, not long after Jemma’s most recent contraction had ended, Daisy arrived, carrying the items Jemma had asked of Mack. “May said I’m playing doctor’s assistant,” she explained, setting the armload down on the ground by the bed. Making a face, she asked hesitantly, “I’m not…delivering your baby, right?”

“We’ve got at least a few more hours before we have to worry about that,” Jemma assured her. “For now, you’re going to remove the bullet in Fitz’s abdomen and stitch him up.”

“I’m…what?” Daisy gaped up at them in disbelief, her wide eyes shooting from Fitz’s bloody wound to the med-kit beside her. “Jemma, you’re joking, right?”

“I can hardly do it myself, Daisy!” Jemma reminded her a bit impatiently. “I’m going to talk you through it, but we need to work fast.”

Daisy still looked terrified and unsure, but she quickly nodded, spreading out a few towels and helping Fitz down onto them, then Jemma down to kneel beside them. She looked near tears as she pulled off his jacket and shirt and he groaned and writhed with pain, constant apologies flying from her lips. Clearly trying to make light of the situation, even as she sniffled, she teased, “No wonder you got pregnant, Jem.”

“I’m bloody bleeding to death, and you’re sexually harassing me?” Fitz groused, but the heat behind his words was lost to the pain seizing his voice.

Jemma offered Daisy a small, encouraging smile and she reached out to clasp Fitz’s hand supportively, then she took a deep breath and began instructing her. Throughout the next half hour, Jemma became likely one of the only women – if not the only woman – ever to aid in performing a surgery while experiencing contractions, and she knew that once this was all over, she’d be quite proud of herself. It was certainly one for the history books, and was sure to be quite entertaining to their daughter someday – when she was old enough to hear such a story.

Once Fitz was all stitched up and mostly cleaned of the blood, covered by a fresh shirt, Daisy helped him into a chair beside Jemma’s bed, but Jemma had refused to return to bed just yet, wanting to stretch her legs a bit. She had tried to insist that he take pain medication, but he’d resisted, firmly stating that he wanted to be clear-headed and one-hundred percent present when she delivered their baby girl.

Time simultaneously seemed to speed by and slow to crawl after that, as Daisy was called to help Mack in his efforts to fix the Zephyr’s flight systems, and Jemma’s contractions drew steadily closer and closer. By her estimation, she had to be at least five to six centimeters dilated by now – it was all happening much quicker than she’d planned for in the months leading up to her due date. However, in all her planning, she hadn’t accounted for the stress of the mission and being shot at.

Luckily, she managed a bit of sleep between contractions, and felt just a bit more rested and relaxed when she woke up. However, then May was arriving at the door to the pod, her expression grim. “We’re grounded for right now, Simmons. Whatever they did, it was thorough. Coulson’s sending an extraction team, but –”

“It’ll be sometime before they arrive,” Jemma surmised with a sigh, even as she nodded in understanding. “So this is happening here.”

“I won’t let anything happen to either of you,” May promised, stepping further into the room to stand beside the bed next to Fitz’s chair. “Everything’s going to be alright, Jemma.”

Even though Jemma was quite sure that May had never delivered a baby before, she believed her, nodding gratefully and giving her a warm smile in response. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” May insisted, shaking her head, and before Jemma could correct her, she’d disappeared once more.

Sometime later, when things were really getting intense in Jemma’s uterus and Fitz had probably lost all feeling in his right hand (though she couldn’t quite tell, given that his encouraging words hadn’t ceased in the slightest), May reappeared in the pod, arms laden with gloves, scissors, and fresh towels. The clothing covering her bottom half had long since been removed, and without hesitation, May moved the blanket lying over Jemma’s legs to check her progress. “Looks as though we’re about ready,” she informed Jemma, even though she’d already guessed that she was almost there.

“Okay,” Jemma breathed, closing her eyes and dropping her head back against the pillow.

Fitz leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead, murmuring against her skin, “You’re doing fantastic, Jemma. You’ve got nothing to worry about; you’re going to excel at this like you do everything else. You’re amazing, love.” With a tired smile, Jemma turned her head to nuzzle her nose against his, pressing a grateful kiss to his lips.

Once the pushing began, Jemma lost any and all track of time as her world narrowed down to getting her baby safely out and pain. She tried incredibly hard to focus on the former, while Fitz ended up getting the brunt of the latter as she squeezed his hand and crushed his fingers, but he took it all in stride. The next time that Jemma became aware of anything other than push push push, it was due to the sight of their baby, their daughter, for the first time as she entered the world, helped along by May.

Time sped up from there, and before she knew it, Jemma was holding her wailing baby girl to her chest. She was wrapped in a towel and had already had a cursory onceover by May, the umbilical cord having been snipped by a teary-eyed Fitz. With shaking hands, Jemma cradled her daughter closer, ignoring the tears rolling down her cheeks as she cooed, “Oh my darling, oh my precious baby girl, look at you. So beautiful. My darling Evelyn.” As soon as the name passed her lips, she knew that they’d chosen correctly – it fit their little girl perfectly.

“God, she’s perfect,” Fitz whispered, reaching out with a similarly trembling hand to cradle her much tinier one between his fingers. “She’s incredible.” Even though she heard him grunt in pain as he leaned over, he dropped a loving kiss to the top of Evelyn’s head.

She appeared to be calmed, and rather confused as well, by their voices, as her crying had ceased and she wiggled around a bit before blinking open her eyes. They were blue, like all other newborns, but Jemma could tell instantly that hers weren’t going to change. With a watery gasp, she glanced up from Evelyn’s blue eyes into their matching pair in her father’s face. “She has your eyes,” she murmured, feeling a fresh wave of tears spill over onto her cheeks.

“And your everything else,” Fitz pointed out teasingly, though he seemed a bit choked up as well at the sight of their daughter with his eyes. With a grin, he leaned in to meet Jemma’s lips with his, murmuring against them, “I love you, Jemma.”

“I love you,” she replied instantly, pressing another couple of kisses against his lips before pulling back to beam at him.

At some point, May had disappeared, likely to give their little family a bit of time alone together, but Jemma was just about to ask Fitz for her so that she could thank her when she felt Evelyn fussing against her.

Peering down at Evelyn in surprise, Jemma gave a disbelieving laugh at finding that she was already rooting. “Hasn’t even been in the world for a full ten minutes and she’s already hungry; she’s definitely your daughter, Fitz.”

Fitz grinned proudly, puffing out his chest as he replied, “Got all my best qualities, she did. That’s my girl.”

Jemma rolled her eyes at him, though the effect was ruined somewhat by her smile as shrugged out of her shirt and bra with a little help from Fitz. After a couple tries, Evelyn managed to latch on, and Jemma smiled triumphantly. “See, we’ve got this, haven’t we sweetheart?” Absently, she stroked Evelyn’s back as their daughter enthusiastically fed. Suddenly, something occurred to her, and she glanced up at Fitz with wide eyes. “Did someone check the time? Oh, we’ve got to know what to put on the birth certificate, and she’ll no doubt want to know someday and –”

“It was 12:19, Jem,” Fitz hastened to answer her before she could get anymore worked up. “I made sure to check, ‘cause I knew you’d freak out if I didn’t.”

“Well of course I would,” Jemma huffed in response. “It’s important.” Given the time they’d left the base, it was obviously just past midnight, rather than noon, which meant that it was the next day, and that meant… “Oh my god.” She blinked a couple times as she realized what the date was, and the fact that just yesterday morning, she’d been discussing birthday plans for Fitz for the following day with Daisy, and that could only imply one thing. “That means…”

Fitz chuckled, clearly having already come to the same conclusion. He nodded at Evelyn, still suckling away, and answered the unspoken question. “Yes Jemma, Evie and I share more than an apparent love of your breasts.”

Jemma took another moment to soak in the information, then she smiled softly at him and murmured, “Happy Birthday, Fitz.”

He returned the smile, reaching out to rest a hand over Jemma’s on Evelyn’s back as he replied quietly, “I think it’s my best one yet.”

-

It wasn’t much longer before extraction arrived with the necessary equipment to fix the Zephyr, and much to Fitz’s annoyance, he was drafted to help due to being the one to actually design the plane. During that time, Daisy came to visit Jemma and Evelyn, excited to meet her goddaughter, and she was closely followed by Coulson, who had arrived with the extraction team and tried to hide the way that he got choked up as he held Evelyn for the first time. They both eventually left to give Jemma some time alone with her daughter, though it wasn’t long before May was sticking her head in the door to let her know they’d be taking off soon.

Before May could disappear again, though, Jemma stopped her, calling out, “Wait, May!” She paused, turning back to face Jemma with an arched eyebrow. “I…I wanted to thank you for…well, for protecting us, and of course, for making sure that she arrived safely.”

“It was nothing,” May repeated, brushing off Jemma’s gratitude easily. She seemed about to leave once more, but stayed when Jemma called out to her again.

A bit hesitantly, Jemma offered, “You… Would you like to hold her?” She held the now sleeping Evelyn out slightly toward May, and saw her glance in the direction of the cockpit before she nodded, stepping further into the room and taking the offered bundle.

Effortlessly, her arms settled into the correct position to cradle Evelyn, and she gazed silently down at her for a very long moment. In the quiet, Jemma settled back into the mattress, a wave of exhaustion crashing over her now that she no longer had her newborn to distract her from it. She was about to give in to the temptation to close her aching eyes for a little bit when she heard May admit so lowly that she almost didn’t hear, “She’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a granddaughter.”

Jemma’s eyes flew open in disbelief, and even taken aback as she was by the closed-off May admitting something so personal, she still cried in indignation on May’s behalf, “You’re not old enough to be a grandmother!”

The tiniest of smiles flickered across May’s face, and it appeared to be the only response Jemma was going to receive, as a moment later, she handed Evelyn back to her and left the pod once more without a word.

With a small smile of her own, Jemma informed the oblivious Evelyn, “That’s May, my darling. You’re so very fortunate to know her, because as I’m sure you’ll learn, she’s one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met. Plus, I think she has a bit of a soft spot for you, which you’ll also learn is quite rare. But, your daddy and I are lucky as well, because we’ll never have to worry about your safety as long as May’s around to keep you safe. There’s no one we’d trust more.” As an end to her statement, she dropped a little kiss onto Evelyn’s tiny forehead, her warm smile still in place.

And, little did she know, there was a similar smile forming on May’s lips just outside the containment pod as she swiftly wiped away the single tear that had escaped down her cheek. She lingered a moment longer, then allowed her smile to drop into her normal non-expression as she went to check on the progress of the repairs. However, even if no one could tell from the outside, on the inside she was still feeling warm and light and so very fortunate for the family she’d never dared to hope for after Bahrain – but that didn’t matter, because they’d found her anyway, and forced their way right into her heart no matter how high her walls and how much distance she’d tried to put between herself and them.

Now, however, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[saturatedsinset]

SPEAKING of "face reinvention", I'm going to need all the feels about the part that destroys me every time:

Wonders when exactly in Dean’s life he’s arrived. Refrains from asking, for the moment. Whatever year it is, it’ll take a lot of pain before Dean grows into Mox again. Should probably get the name thing out of the way, anyway. “‘s Mox, by the way.”

Dean freezes, cigarette halfway to his mouth. Stares, for a second, and then just glowers. Flips him off, voice sharp. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.” But Mox gets it. He remembers when he was younger, with WWE, convinced that the bad old days were behind him and that the old name represented them. Dean Ambrose had been a new leaf, and he’d clung to it no matter how bad it got, because he figured nothing could be worse than before. “It’s.” He shakes his head, takes a drag of his own cigarette, half-forgotten. “Long story. You do it— or. I did it? When I was ready.”

“We don’t go back to CZ-dub.” Dean’s voice is flat, but he’s staring at Mox with a desperation that says please say we don’t go back to CZW.

GOD i do write some shit don't i. i do write Some Things. god. i mention this in the author's note but face reinvention is heavily inspired by/almost based on night watch by terry pratchett, and the "it'll take a lot of pain before dean grows into mox again" very very closely echoes a line from that book:

“That was always the dream, wasn't it? 'I wish I'd known then what I know now'? But when you got older you found out that you NOW wasn't YOU then. You then was a twerp. You then was what you had to be to start out on the rocky road of becoming you now, and one of the rocky patches on that road was being a twerp.”

like i've read night watch seven? eight? times now and that line always really resonates with me. the idea that you're still you but there's a bunch of different iterations of you that the present you can never truly understand because you're not him. and i think it works Extremely well with mox-dean-mox, who is very clearly several different iterations of himself, with names to match.

and then dean is - dean is trying very hard, for most of this fic, to appear unaffected by anything, except the name and what it represents (to him, to 2014 dean ambrose) cuts all the way through the bravado and even the recent betrayal to this like. deep-seated fear at the very core of him that whatever he has now he's destined to lose. which isn't. all the way untrue

this passage is also suffused with the energy of most of the fic, which is mox sort of emotionally shepherding dean in a way that dean is completely clueless about. he's not asking when it is. he gets it. he's not saying anything that will be too jarring for dean to hear (yet).

tbh i think this passage is one of my favs from the whole fic, up there with the bar conversation and the "how'd you do it?" it's just so. raw. feels Scratchy. i love her

[druidx]

Writing Bucket List tag game

I was tagged by @writingonesdreams, TY! <3

Rules: list WIPs (and/or general story types/ genres) you would like to finish in your lifetime. Optionally, add reasons for what's stopping you and how far you want to get them (publish/post etc)

Tagging: @strosmkai-rum @spacetimewraithwrites @wildswrites @tetrodotoxincs @odysseywritings @ayzrules @morganwriteblr @my-writblr @bexminx @writingingraves @dreamwishing @aalinaaaaaa @wardenoftheabyss @pleaseloathemyveryexistence @jaguarthecat @catharticallysarcastic

WIPs I would Like to Finish (in no particular order)

The MOW Files Novel (Original Universe - The MOW Files)

I would like to Self-Publish this one, or at least post online. The problem with this one is it's very old now and would need to be completely re-plotted, re-written, re-everything-ed.

NaNoWriMo 2017 (modern-ish au) (Fighting Fantasy World of Titan)

As this is technically based on an existing IP with characters belonging to other people, simply posting online would be enough. My issue with this one is the central plot feels awkward, but it's too interwoven to remove it. Also, it needs heavy editing.

Elowyn Investigations (Fighting Fantasy World of Titan)

I would love to post this one, but again, it needs a lot of editing and maybe some re-writes and I don't feel like I have time.

Igazinyoka (Original Universe - The Cryptid series)

I would like to Self-Publish this one, or at least post online. Again, editing is my nemesis. There might also be some plotholes that need filling.

The Skinwalker (Original Universe - The Cryptid series)

I would like to Self-Publish this one, or at least post online. Again, editing is my nemesis. This one not only has sinkholes to eat a town but also needs some secondary plots to fill out the narrative a bit more.

Tales of the Starbound (Starbound)

This is a series of short stories and fanfic so online posting only. Some of the stories only need a spit-shine, but one of them could probably become a novella of its own.

Write-up/ Novelization of D&D adventures (Fighting Fantasy World of Titan)

I want to get these professionally bound for my friends (and maybe posted online too). This lot is a huge challenge - there's over 15 years worth of D&D notes that I want to write up as a novelization, but my notes are sparse, scattered, or generally incomplete. They're also told in a jumble of formats that need deciphering. I'd also want to try and consolidate things like travel time & distance, iron out plot wrinkles and nip & tuck any loose threads or plot holes.

What Alexis Did Next (Fighting Fantasy World of Titan)

I'd like to post this online. My block here is 1, editing; 2, plot holes; and 3, there is a huge chunk missing in the middle about a place that doesn't excite me, so I don't wanna write it.

The Ruby Falls (MOAU) (TES IV: Oblivion)

This is my current main WIP and will be posted online. It's just... huge. It needs so much work and I'm running out of steam with it.

Who watches the Watchman (Fighting Fantasy World of Titan)

Posted online. It needs a bit of editing, but mostly I just can't stick the landing. I have been stuck on the ending of this fic for a year and a bit now. I had an ending in mind... and IDK, I just can't make it work :(

mow files nano10 (Original Universe - The MOW Files)

Posted online or self-pub. TBH I'm on the verge of abandoning this one. It's 10 years old and so clunky. It's not finished and I've forgotten where I was going with the plot, exactly, and I'm not sure it's worth continuing with this one.

My Blade for Thee, Your Son to Be (TES IV: Oblivion)

Posting this one online. I underestimated the size of it, TBH, and it turned from a cute fun idea to a potential entire recharacterization of a main NPC, which is frankly incredibly daunting.

A Treatise on Woodlings (Fighting Fantasy World of Titan)

Post online. This is my glorified list of headcanons. It was supposed to be short! And it grew unwieldy and I ran out of steam. I might go back to this one and see if I can finish it off at least, now I've got a bit more experience with the fictional-non-fiction style.

[avengerscompound]

1. Clint cam girl. Yes please. (I don't even know exactly what this is about but all the variations I can think of are still desirable.)

2. I saw you post the masterlist for the Tony small gods and got so excited for it!

3. Steve journalist. Is this like Clark Kent? Because if so, I am expecting Steve with glasses. 🤣

4. Ironhawk?!?!?!??!!? Whoa!!!!!

5. Recruit. Ok I am intrigued, what's the premise/synopsis of this?

Also I can't believe you only have 5 WIPs and knowing you, 2 is probably more done than in progress. Lol

Clint camgirl is Clint dating a camgirl. I will now say something that only means anything to you and maybe 3 other people, but I fucking love Jade and she made me want to write a fic with a camgirl as the protagonist.

Here's a little snippit:

Clint moved quickly around the table and wrapped his arms around you.  “Hey - hey.  It’s okay.  Did I say something?  I’m sorry.” You hid your face in his chest as you started crying properly.  “No. No. You’re fine.  Perfect.” “Then why are you crying?” he asked. “Misogyny,” you answered. Clint started laughing.  “You’re crying because of misogyny?”

2. Yeah you're right. The Small God's Tony one is done. I just figured I'd put it as a WIP because I am just posting it now (though I didn't include the pain in serendipity because it only has one chapter left to post).

3. Lol once again the document title is misleading. It's Steve dating a journalist and probably the fic I'm most excited about writing (or maybe tied with the Recruit) right now. I think it might end up being a big long thing. I wanted to write a fic where you got to see a lot of fine detail in the dating life part the way I did with my first fic. I usually skip over shit a lot because of repetition. Anyway, I've only just started it so I'll see how I go. They're still just in the interviewer and subject mode of their relationship.

You shook your head in disbelief.  “You ever wonder what the things we all accept as true now will be looked at as being completely crazy in the future?” Steve thought for a moment and when he spoke it was almost like he was talking to himself.  “Circumcision.” You nearly choked on your soup, which made Steve laugh, and he leaned over patting you on the back.  “I’m sorry.  It was the first thing that popped into my head.  I mean - that wasn’t even something people did much out of religious reasons back in my day.” “You’re totally right.  They brought it in in the fifties to stop men masturbating, but I wasn’t expecting Captain America to bring up circumcision,” you said, still laughing. “I’m so sorry,’ Steve said again.  “God - I can’t believe I did that.” 

4. CYOA IronHawk is the IronHawk x reader part of the choose your own adventure. I'm getting toward the home stretch on it, but I'm getting stuck on some paths a little.

When Tony’s laughter subsides he takes a long drink from his mimosa, almost draining it in one go.  “You’re talking like I never have groups sex, Clint,” he says.  “I have it all the time.  Three, four, groups of ten or more.  Why would I need to do this again?” “Can I interject for a moment?”  You ask.  “Exactly how strong should the antibiotics I buy be?” Tony dropped his jaw in mock shock.  “You slut-shame Tony?”  He says playfully.  “Jail for you for a hundred years!”

5. The Recruit is something I am loving writing. It's also the one I asked your opinion about a while back (quite a while back tbh you might have forgotten) when I wanted to know what you thought was a big enough polyam group for even a very open-minded person to go 'okay damn that's a lot of people.' Reader x Steve x Sam x Bucky x Clint x Nat x Sharon. Reader goes on a blind date with sam who's just there because he can't tell Joaquin that he's dating all those people and he can't keep saying no. They end up hitting it off. He proposes that the rest of the group date you too. On the way out of the building you save Tony from a gunman and he recruits you to be an agent.

You began to cut up the onion, garlic, peppers, and corn as Sam buzzed around the kitchen getting different things out and starting to prep the seafood.  “You okay with spice?” he asked. “Oh yeah, go crazy,” you agreed.  “Make me regret being born.” Sam burst into laughter and nudged you.  “That’s what I like to hear.  Steve is a complete pussy when it comes to spice.  The guy can lift a car full of people over his head but put pepper in his mashed potatoes and you’d think he was dying.”

And yeah, honestly, my writing has slowed a lot lately. Used to do between 2-3k words a day now 2k is a lot and it's more like 500-1000.

[viperbranium]

me: I need to work on the rbb fic today, and then this and this Stucky ficlets, and maybe fucky!Steve, and--

brain: hey remember that evanstan au in which Sebastian is a fairy living in the human world and he has this aura that actually makes him “too pretty for the mortal eye” and everyone who just wants him for his looks alone starts getting this pain that starts as a headache of sorts and then escalates if they stare at him and stay around him for too long, and Seb is sort of disenchanted with the human world because everyone seems to only care about themselves and everyone who's ever been remotely nice to him turned out to only want to use him?

me: .......fuck.

[octannibal-blake]

Hi, love your fics! "kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap" for bellarke. (If you let me be specific....I'd like this in canon. I love Bellamy's scruff but I wouldn't be mad if there's a scene where clarke's sitting in his lap, shaving his beard off, and there's sexual tension)

gah thank you so much!! um, again, canon bellarke is my SHIT and writing this was truly an ethereal experience because like…bellamy blake and a beard has truly changed me. tbh i love it and think he looks amazing. but anyways, i hope this is everything you wanted and more, nonny! 

P.S: I was listening to the song Dearly Departed by DeVotchka while writing this. the title came from it. You can listen to it here. 

how i missed your heart (beating next to mine)

(ao3)

There is a strange sense of deja vu being back on Earth. You would think the second nuclear apocalypse would make everything different, but it stills seems eerily familiar. Perhaps it’s because six years later, Bellamy is standing in the same place he had been thousands of days ago. He’s standing on the balcony of the lab watching his friends drink and laugh together like nothing had changed. Like they didn’t carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. Maybe it’s because they didn’t. Maybe he carried it all. Maybe he still does.

“You think it’s time we finally have that drink?” a familiar voice pulls him from his reverie. He turns to find her, still unsure if everything that’s happening is real. Clarke. She’s alive. She survived.

Their reunion hadn’t been glorious. In fact, it was a simple lock of the eyes and a half-smile before they had to disappear into the woods to escape their newest enemy. Of course. They always have fucking enemies. But now he gets to look at her, really look at her for the first time in 2,205 days. She looks healthy, her curves softer than they’ve ever been and her skin glows in the bright light. She’s cut her hair into a shorter bob and somehow managed to add color to it. She smiles like she hadn’t been left behind to die. Left behind to die by him. It makes his heart feel like it’s going to shatter into a million pieces – he knows because he’s felt it before. He felt it the day they left.

“I’m not much of a drinker anymore,” he says as lightly as he can despite thinking of the months he spent drinking away pain and loathing on the Ark. He’s not proud of himself, after all, they had chosen him to lead them. He did. He was a leader during the day, but at night he would numb himself to the responsibility. He would numb his heart so he could better listen to his head.

He feels warmth seep into his sleeve and freezes, his body unraveling at the smallest touch. She’s real. She’s real. She’s here.

“Bellamy,” she whispers his name and it’s a godsend. He always loved the way it fell from her lips and he spent so long believing he’d never hear it again. When he looks at her, whatever she had been about to say dies on her lips. They stare at each other, all their unspoken words hanging in the air. I’m sorry. I forgive you. I’m happy you’re here. I missed you. So much.

“Clarke!” Raven’s voice interrupts the moment, “Get your ass down here and drink with us!”

She steps back from him with a sad smile, like she wishes more than anything they could just have one fucking moment to themselves. But it’s just like old times. Just when they have a second to breathe together, someone always takes it away. He can’t really blame them this time. After all, they too are trying to comprehend the fact that their friend is alive.

He follows her over to the group, if only because he’s not quite ready to be away from her again even if it’s only for a moment. Not to mention he’s done six years of brooding on his own, he can’t take much more. His cup remains filled with water as they all laugh and tell stories of their years apart. They’ve lost so much but in this moment it feels like they’ve gained so much more. It’s late into the night before people begin to drift off, one by one. Eventually, he and Clarke are the only two left awake.

“I didn’t even know you could grow a beard,” she muses and he can’t help the chuckle that slips from his throat.

“Me either,” he admits, “It just kind of happened.”

And it did. Shaving became a tedious task by the end of their stay on the Ark. He was spending long days working on the rocket and using the rest of the time to sleep. Shaving wasn’t exactly a priority.  

“No razors on the ring?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “Didn’t really care to do it, honestly.”

She hums in response before standing and holding a hand out to him. He raises his eyebrow in question and she grins (fuck, when did her smile start lighting entire rooms?), “Let’s go take care of it.”

He feels that sense of  deja vu again. Clarke Griffin is standing in front of him, hating on his beard, and acting like no time had ever passed between them. She’s forgiven him, he realizes. Of course she would. Only she would brush off being left to die and chalk it up to, ‘you did what you had to do.’

“You don’t like my beard, Princess?” it comes out before he can really think about it and she looks just as surprised as he feels but she plays it off.

“Eh.” and with that, he finds himself following her up the stairs and into the bedroom. She pushes him on the bed and demands that he sit and he’s trying not to let his mind go there but it all feels extremely intimate.

He hears her fumbling around in the attached bathroom and she emerges a few moments later with a bottle and old scalpel. He eyes the tool warily and she laughs softly.

“Trust me, it works a lot better than a knife,” she tells him. She places the items on the table and puts a hand on his cheek to examine the patches of hair that have grown along his chin and neck. His heart slams against his chest at the contact and suddenly the air feels thick.

Seemingly unaffected by the closeness, she grabs the bottle from the table and pours some into her palm before rubbing into the overgrown areas, “It’s conditioner. Surprisingly hard to make. “

He grunts, unable to form coherent words in this exact moment. 48 hours ago, they had been preparing to come back to Earth and have to start from scratch. As far as any of them knew, Clarke had been dead for six years. 24 hours ago, she had found them in a flurry of blonde, complete with an adopted child (which nearly makes him laugh, because of course she would find someone to take care of in their absence). Now, she’s in front of him helping him shave. It’s all so fucking surreal.

“Turn your head,” she murmurs and he does as she says, closing his eyes while her fingers massage into his cheek. Her hands are steady as they sweep the hair from his cheek, his chin. He can feel her breath brushing each newly bare area and it sends goosebumps up his arms. She’s here. She’s so close. He has to close his eyes for a moment to keep himself grounded. It can’t be happening. It shouldn’t be happening. But it is.

“Clarke,” it’s the first time he says her name and her movements still. When he opens his eyes, she is staring right back at him, her blue irises piercing into his soul. He swallows the small lump beginning to form in his throat.

“Tilt your head back,” she directs quietly and threads her empty hand through his curls, gently tugging him back. He has to close his eyes again because, fuck, the close proximity, the way she’s touching and caressing his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

She makes quick work of his cheeks and chin, but getting the patches on his neck seem to providing a lot more trouble for her. She pauses for a moment before setting the the scalpel on the bed.

She clears her throat, “I’m having trouble with this part…do you…can I?”

Her nervousness is full frontal now, wringing her hands in front of him and looking anywhere but into his eyes. He isn’t sure what she’s trying to ask, but he knows he doesn’t want her to stop.

“Go ahead,” he tells her. She lets out a small breath before she pushes his shoulder to help him lean back. He does, leaning back onto his forearms so she has full access to his neck. He’s fine. He’s under control. Until she climbs onto his lap, with her legs on either side of him. In all the time they’ve known each other, even in their most intimate moments, it’s the closest contact they’ve ever had. His breath hitches in his throat and she looks like she may change her mind, so he grabs her wrist and nods for her to continue. He wants her to keep going.

He tilts his head back and she leans in, her breath hot on his neck as she concentrates on the more sensitive parts of his throat. She works the blade slowly and gently, rubbing her thumb over the newly smooth skin. Before he’s ready, she scrapes the last of the hair and wipes at him gently with the cloth she had slung over her shoulder. She brushes it along his neck, his cheeks, his lips. His hands of begun to idly slide up her thighs, gripping her through her pants and rubbing circles into the flesh.

It’s funny how he could only know her for such a short amount of time, most of which they spent at odds, and yet still feel an unmistakable pull to her. Everything about her intrigues him, challenges him, moves him. His hands are on her waist now, digging into her hip bones and her eyes close at the touch. It’s too much, he thinks, it’s too soon to feel this way again. But she’s consuming him just like she always had and now that he has her back, now that she’s really here, he can’t find it in himself to pull away.

He leans up, bringing them closer together and leans his forehead against hers and they’re breathing each other in. They should talk, but talking almost seems inadequate. Her hands fall to his shoulders, they trace each plane of his arm like she’s trying to retrace every piece of him she could have forgotten in their time apart. As her hands fall, his rise, moving across her waist, her back, tangle in her hair. IT’s then he realizes he’s smiling, truly and genuinely smiling, and she’s smiling too. When her eyes open they’re full and he brushes a thumb along her cheek to wipe away the stray tear having fallen.

“You’re alive,” he whispers and it feels like the reunion they deserve. Uninterrupted. Personal. Intense.

“So are you,” she responds and suddenly the tension is too much. They aren’t close enough. She has to understand what it all means. What she means to him.

He brushes his lips against hers and it’s quick and soft. She stills and suddenly he thinks he may have misread her, may have gotten it all wrong. But then she chokes out a sob, one full of overwhelming joy and before he can react, she crushes her lips against his and her hands immediately tangle into his hair again holding him to her.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t ever dreamt about this moment. He had a million times, a million lifetimes ago. And he thought it would always remain a dream, that it would always be something he’d regret not doing before their time was up. But time has been forgiving. IT’s been a blessing. It’s been given back to them and he decides, right then as they pour everything into each other’s lips, that he won’t ever take it for granted.

[hipsofsteel]

Don't you have stuff for NZ? I'd really love to see your ideas and headcanons about New Zealand!

Ah yes, the Kiwi. Where would my dear Oz be without the Kiwi? (TBH probably dead because he’s an idiot.)

Okay, so headcanons for Avery!

-Either hella genderqueer OR is a trans man (this is the option I usually go for in my fic writing).

-Wales was the only one who knew about this for years.

-Literally, Canada only found out during WW1, and Australia and England and everyone else didn’t find out until AFTER WW2.

-Oz and Kiwi: “Wait, you’re a girl? But a guy? What?” “Don’t hurt yourself, Kyle. Your brain’s the size of a pea. I’m a dude. End of discussion.” “I’m outraged by that insult but given that you actually hid this from me so long, I’ll let it slide.”

-Eng and Kiwi: “I LET YOU GO TO WAR! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN HURT!” “Wales, do you have a stick handy that I can acquaint your brother’s head with?”

-Eventually everyone calmed the fuck down and left Avery alone.

-Member of the Salt Squad™, but as one of the quietest members, often forgotten.

-Do not confuse his accent with Australia’s.

-No, he’ll hurt you.

-Also don’t call him an Aussie.

-Because you will die.

-Kyle: “Yeah, we’re bros, right Zea?”

-Avery: “I’d sell you for a single corn chip.”

-He wouldn’t, though, despite being really tempted sometimes.

-Also whenever Oz is about to do something so incredibly mind-boggling stupid that he has to intervene, Avery just says “Remember the Emu War? You’re about to repeat history, and I’m not saving your dignity.”

-Views Oz mainly as weird, distantly related cousin

-Unless they’re at war in which case Oz is his best friend and dearest brother and hurting Oz means a ferocious Kiwi is about to eviscerate you.

-Cannot decide if Australia is America Lite™ or if America is Australia Lite™

-Either way, do not leave him alone with both of them for too long. He will go insane.

-There’s a rumor he murdered nine people after the first meeting for the ANZUS treaty.

-Canada is his fucking best friend.

-Like, seriously, Matt is awesome. He’s a sensible human being. Unlike either of their neighbors.

-When travelling, he likes to see sheep out and about as it reminds him of home.

-Most stable parental figure for Hutt River and Wy.

-However if they call him in the hopes he’ll bail them out of a camping trip with Oz, he’s like “Hutt River and Wy who?”

-Because the one time he tried, Oz dragged him along as well and they were all miserable.

-Also, like how Matthew’s demeanor completely changes when given a hockey stick, Avery’s changes when playing rugby.

-Oz will likely be found nearly crippled for a week after playing a game with Zea.