#is it oc x canon if all he does is yearn

[euporie-art]

sigh. the oc posting urges.

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

i wonder if u agree, but sometimes when i read old man rust x younger oc, it's weird to me picturing somebody in early/mid twenties bc, realistically, that would make the oc around his daughter's age, and i don't think rust can go for that. i say that as somebody who's 23, so i don't mean to exclude younger women or whatever. anyway, that's why i really like your oc bc she seems like an actual match for rust and not bc of age, but bc she's just the type of person i can see him falling for, i guess? like directly canonically in the series, so yeah, thank you for your work!!! but that got me wondering: when u started to write, did you have somebody in mind already and thought of how that sort of oc will work with rust, or did u ask urself what sort of person compliments rust best? sorry if this is too much trouble.

NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE i think this is acc a super interesting ask!

my opinions below the cut…

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

RIGHT so i wanna preface by saying EVERY SINGLE rust oc story ive read so far has meat to it, like the authors know their shit and they should get their due snaps and kudos

i think i read younger ofcs with like a pinch of salt in the sense that i know it’s a bit crazy — btw this is coming from someone who had a “relationship” with a much older man at the ripe age of 16 — but i think it’s still good to read

things we experience can be ugly and uncomfortable but it’s still real and a part of me appreciates like keeping it real 💀 this is going to sound a little femcel of me but let’s be honest, sex is about power and the dynamics of that power give intricacies to stories that make them interesting! rust is a man (😔) and have you ever seen that one study of like ages of women men find most attractive and it’s a consistent 20 even as men get to like 70

yeah

keeping it uncomfortably real but real nonetheless

true detective is southern gothic and what i love about southern gothic is that it doesn’t shy away from touching on the less palatable corners of human existence/nature/WHATever. do i see why a daughter woman child thing as a love interest to a middle aged man with a dead baby is off-putting? YES. do i still read things along those lines because it’s interesting? ALSO YES. because more often than not creators are self-aware and explore these topics with nuance, which i respect massively

now onto like the sort of second part of you ask, beautiful anon…

when writing The Idler Wheel, idk if i was thinking as deeply when creating an oc as i was fixated on the weirdness of rust and ocs like yearning 😭? for each other, and the fact that he felt anything at all was a massive woaaaahhh for them both. the way we experience / act on desire (not even sexual just any kind but actually maybe especially sexual) says so much about a person and i guess that’s the single point from which i branched out, and every other aspect of her came later

the reason she/oc is not like twenty is because, similar to what you said, i cannot picture 1995–2002 (around that time) rust with a youngYOUNGGGG woman becaaaause holy shit i think he’d just die, like out of sadness or hurt, i think he wouldn’t be able to look at her at all 💀

old dog rust on the other hand does not give a shit about doing what’s “right” imo if that makes sense, like he’s who he is and he feels what he feels and i think this version of rust would be much more receptive to a younger woman, even if it’s “wrong” because he literally just doesn’t care anymore

i think the only reason The Idler Wheel girl was able to sneak her way in around that time is because she’s grown and a part of his workplace and therefore she should be “safe”, no more than any of his coworkers. so he lets her in his space and he lets her bring him coffee and he lets her do him favours because she’s just like the others and he just has to tolerate her, just has to see her

but of course she’s not like his coworkers and he can’t place why he wants her so bad, only that he does, which is bad because she should be mundane and she should be nothing and yet unfortunately he wants to be her dog

does this answer your q or did i go off on a tangent

i love you anon 💕💕💕💕

[anonoob]

SELF SHIP/OC x CANON Rant.

Moon Morningstar x Vox..

Gulpss. Okay so BASICALLY Moon had alot of character changes since er. Last time. Moons like. An anti-hero kinda. He LOVES his dad and sister, and at first he's completely on board with Charlie's hotel. In fact, he has similar dreams! Yes, he STILL has the dream of granting hell-born a chance of moving to earth. (His dream is RIDICULOUS dude that's NOT happening.) But due to certain encounters he has, this dream gets SHATTERED. He snaps at Charlie and like. Fights with everyone at the hotel before LEAVING!!! yeah. He's out roaming the streets of hell. Um. Woah! Who finds him? Vox! Wow! Vox sees this as an opportunity. An opportunity to

A. go viral, I mean, collaborating with one of the Morningstar's will truly upload your status.

And B. Take advantage of the hotel residents, cus. Yeah obviously?? He wants alastor DEAD!!!!!

After a few drinks, they come to an agreement. Moon stays with the vees, and they work together. So, moons SORTA an antagonist but also not. Cus while he understands Vox's intentions and doesn't help him, he like. Doesn't care what Vox does and doesn't stop him.

Their relationship itself is. Odd. They're kinda doomed. And they DON'T ever get better. Despite multiple efforts. Moon fell first, and the hardest. Sure, vox DOES express care, but he's.. well. A mess.

The relationship at FIRST is really just. "Oh yeah if we stick together we're strong" but EVENTUALLY Moon develops like. An attachment to him and the vees, and YEARNS for like. Love. He's a stupid hopeless romantic surrounded by people who only really understand sexual affection. And well, velvette's there too.

Now don't get moon wrong, he's down for that, but he doesn't want JUST that. We wants something.. more. And honest.

And VOX, well. He takes longer to like. Actually understand. Like. "Oh SHIT wait?? Fuck this guy's kinda.." idk man. Yeah!

BUT both of them fucking. Have so many issues with their personal selves that their relationship is just all over the place. They care for each other, but it ain't no Charlie and Vaggie relationship. But man, I love a ship that's not like, Abusive. but lowkey doomed/not healthy.

Now on to their dynamic, Moon and Vox are the perfect like. Example of one dude lowkey being a crashout (Vox) and the other being there to either cheer them on or calm them down (Moon)

And sometimes it's the other way around. Not often but when it is bro... Grins.

Moon doesn't have a low temper, but he WILL lose his temper in the right moments. Touch any of his loved ones? Yeah buddy run the other way...

Moons overall a good person, but he's losing that innocence, being around those guys. Vox is. Well. We all know he's a bad guy. But I do like the headcanon that around the vees he's like, somewhat caring. Like damn?? Sorry. I love the vees.

Also bonus; moons relationships with Valentino and velvette.

Moons friendly with Velv, in fact they get along quite well. Gossip buddies, maybe?

Moons.. on and off with Valentino. He forces himself to get along with him because, they're business partners.. BUTTT he does NOT support the guys actions to Angel, or well. Any of his employees.

OH! Also, Moon gets along with Angel Dust quite well, Moon gets the guy. They gossip sometimes, but also. They had to work together on a production for Valentino once, so they kinda had to get along.

Anyways. This ship is so Me and My husband core. Gulps

[konigbabe]

little storm (part iii; set me ablaze)

final part

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Keegan Russ x (vague and not described) fem!OC

Word count: 3.8k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; explicit language; keegan calls OC 'kid'; canon compliant; pre-canon; smut; p-in-v sex; kissing; vaginal fingering; cunnilingus; slight dom!Keegan; soft(er) sex; female gendered anatomy; 3rd POV

Summary: Months pass after their latest meeting; yet here she stands, in his room, way past midnight...

A/N: It's been months since I last wrote any piece of creative writing so excuse the possible slight change in tone. I tried to keep it together as much as I could.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3

little storm: part i • part ii

A part of her is paralyzed, afraid to make a move; afraid that if she does, she'll break the spell, that he'll retreat back behind his walls and the moment will be lost.

Desire bursting through her veins like liquid fire, all she wants to do is tear off that damn mask – see his face, see the full expression as pleasure takes over him. Yet the mask stays on.

There is an air of impropriety in the way her fingers trace the fresh wounds adorning the delicate skin over her knuckles. A gentle tap echoes through the stillness of the night as she stands before the wooden door, uncertain of what awaits her on the other side. A part of her yearns for him to answer, while another is hesitant, wavering in indecision.

Time had slipped by like a thief in the night since she last saw him.

She’d never admit it but she misses the feel of his presence. The annoyed tone of his voice, the watchful eyes of his that never seemed to miss. They shared a part of their past. Not a significant one, neither one that’d change their lives; but it still made her heart warm to find out that she might be the first person outside his team that saved the Keegan Russ. At least these words were said to her multiple times to her by her colleague after they found out what happened.

The door swings open with ease, revealing a shadowy figure with a mask obscuring his features. Keegan stands still, broad shoulders blocking the view into his room.

Words pool in her mouth, caught by her teeth when attempted to spill. Biting the kindness away, she can’t help but chuckle.

“Damn…you really never take the mask off, huh?” she slips past Keegan’s frame, arm brushing against the hard surface of his chest as she uninvitedly enters the room, “even when you’re alone—“

Her eyes dart around the bedroom. The room is spotless, an oddity in this dim, sulky space. It's too quiet, even the sound of her own breathing feels like an intrusion. The full moon casts a grey hue on everything, making it feel like time has frozen in this room. It matches his demeanor perfectly, she thinks to herself.

“—you’re here.”

Keegan’s voice breaks the silence as he turns around to face her. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, scan her every move as she approaches his bed, noticing the sheets neatly arranged. Her usually confident steps falter in his presence. Usually very secure and confident enough to get by, something about being here, in Keegan’s room, feels intimate.

“What you want, kid?” he meets her steps in the middle of the room.

“I just realized I never got to thank you; for saving me,” her eyes follow him, taking in the way the black military shirt hugs his upper body, vaguely outlining the defined muscles underneath, “twice actually.”

“‘s that all?” he asks.

She looks up at him, trying to read his stoic expression. The sharp and penetrating gaze seem to bore into her very soul. She can't help but wonder what he's thinking, what he sees when he looks at her.

She takes another deep breath, steeling herself to ask the question that's been plaguing her mind since the day she heard. The cuts on her knuckles throb under the bright light, a stark reminder of the past few weeks.

"Why’d you get me into Ghosts?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicker to her knuckles, then back up to meet her gaze. There's a moment of hesitation before he speaks, and she can see the flicker of something in his eyes.

"You're good, kid," he finally answers, his voice measured and calm. "It’d be a waste of potential if you left."

She raises an eyebrow at his answer, surprised by its simplicity. "That all?" she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Keegan nods, and she can't help but feel a little disappointed. She’d expected something more profound, some hidden meaning behind his actions.

"And here I was," she says, trying to lighten the mood a little, "thinking that I grew on you." She offers him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension between them.

Above Keegan’s tall frame, the analog clock clicks as it strikes way past midnight, yanking her back to reality. The late hour dawns on her as she realizes they have a lot of work to do the next day.

“Well,” she transfers her weight from one leg to another, stopping herself from clapping, “I better get goin’. We have a lot of work tomorrow–or today, should I say.”

She makes her way towards the door, still slightly ajar.

For a moment, Keegan doesn't respond, his silence stretching on as she grips the door handle. But then he speaks, his voice low and gravelly. It makes her stop in her tracks, her back towards him.

“You’re reckless, impulsive, and a pain in my ass,” he remarks, making her pivot to face him, “but you’ve got potential, kid. And that’s something I don’t come across very often.”

His words jolt her, heat creeping across her cheeks. She’s not used to hearing praise from Keegan, especially not when it’s mixed with insults.

"So yeah," he continues, his tone softer now, "maybe you've grown on me a little bit."

She turns back to face him, a small mischievous smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Well, I’ll take that.”

As Keegan closes the distance between them, his long strides are quiet but purposeful. The floorboards creak softly beneath his weight, the sound echoing off the walls of the dimly lit room. His eyes are fixed on her, unblinking and intense, as he steps up before her.

She can feel his heat emanating from his body, warming her as he moves in closer.

"But don't let it go to your head," he murmurs, "I'll still kick you out if you mess up."

Her heart thuds against her ribs as she faces him, her eyes meeting his. There's something different in his gaze now, something that sends a thrill through her. It's as if he's seeing her for the first time, really seeing her, and she can't help but feel a little dizzy.

“But you’re not my captain,” she teases, her eyes flickering down to his torso. Her fingers twitch with a desire to touch him.

“I still outrank you,” he retorts.

“Oh, c’mon,” she exhales theatrically, “you’ve been a lieutenant for a couple of weeks.”

Silence descends on the room, thick and electric with tension. She breaks the stillness with a soft inquiry.

“How's your side?” she asks softly, reaching out to touch his hip.

“It's fine,” he replies. “I've had worse.”

It’s at this moment, her arm barely moving in order to touch his side, that she realizes just how close the man before her actually stands. It emits questions in her head – did he move closer on purpose? Or was it the same string that pulled her towards him all those months ago? That made her run through bullets to get him to safety…

Out of reality, as if she’s watching her own body move on its own, her hand reaches for his mask. Slow. Calculated and careful. As if she’s reaching to grab a piece of delicate glass, afraid it might shatter at any moment.

Her fingers brush against the rough surface of the mask, feeling the contours of it, tracing the edges.

Keegan feels her hand on his mask and for a moment, he hesitates.

Her heart races in her chest as she begins to lift it off his face. The pace tantalizing, she offers him an escape route. Enough time to pull away. To stop her.

Yet the man stands still. Frozen in his own body, he allows the woman to do as she pleases. Vulnerable as the moment might seem, she might not be aware of the fact that he carefully calculates his timing.

Only to grab her wrist when she uncovers his mouth. It’s enough; enough for him to trace her jawline, watch her eyes widen, the moon illuminating her features. Him casting a shadow over her form, trapped between his battle-worn body and the wooden door that seem to survive many airstrikes.

A part of her is paralyzed, afraid to make a move; afraid that if she does, she'll break the spell, that he'll retreat back behind his walls and the moment will be lost.

But then he moves, his hand coming up to cover hers, and it's as if a dam has burst inside her. She leans into him, her lips meeting his in a slow, steady kiss gradually increasing in hunger and neediness. She longs to feel his skin, his body. To touch his soul. To let him light that fire within her bones.

Breaking away, Keegan's eyes flutter open at a leisurely pace, fixated on hers. His expression exudes an aura of tranquillity and satisfaction as if he's at long last discovered what he's been yearning for.

He reaches up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline as he leans in for another kiss. This one is slower, more exploratory as if he's trying to savor every moment of it. His movements are deliberate and controlled, like a man who knows what he wants and how to get it.

Keegan's hand slides from her cheek to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as he pulls her closer to him. For her, it's a kiss that tells her that she's not alone, that he's not just her lieutenant, but her ally, her partner, her friend, and maybe something more.

The day-old stubble scratches the delicate skin on her clavicles as his fingers unzip her jacket, undoing the single button at the top of her shirt to reveal more of her softness. Her content moans only fuel the hunger bubbling deep within Keegan’s insides. Hands grasping her hips, she feels like she’s flying as he picks her up.

Her legs cling to his lean frame, like vines entwining a sturdy tree. Gazing into his topaz-blue eyes, illuminated by the moonlight peeking over his shoulder. She only catches a glimpse of his rugged features before he claims her lips once more. The taste of him, the roughness of his stubble, all enveloping her senses.

Keegan’s walls are slowly crumbling down around her as she grasps the back of his neck. Partially covered in his mask, her fingers slip beneath the scratchy material, nails scratching against his scalp. A content hum assures her of her actions.

He lowers her body down onto the bed, his touch like a feather as he pins her war-ravaged body underneath him. She hears the distorted creak of the mattress as their weight meets in unison. Keegan's name slips from her lips in a breathy sigh, as she feels his warm hand glide underneath her shirt, flattening against her tummy. With his body inching closer to her belt, he halts and pauses, hovering just above her skin. A single question hangs in the air between them.

Locking eyes with her, he softly whispers, "Are you sure?"

Without a word, she nods in response, her hand gripping his shoulder tightly as she surrenders to his touch and allows him to undress her. It doesn’t take long until she’s half-naked underneath the masked man; content with his wandering eyes, roaming hands. Lips tracing the contours of her legs – ankles, knees; then indeed thighs, hips.

Keegan takes his time. Hands gripping under her knees, heels digging into his shoulder blades, she feels his lips trace the apex of her thighs. So close to where she wants him the most, a desperate groan makes its way out of her throat. Shamelessly bucking her hips into his mouth, she momentarily swears to hear Keegan chuckle.

Looking down, the man’s eyes are already looking at her face and she can swear that he’s smirking; unable to see the lower, exposed part of his face. Keegan doesn’t waste much time after she lets out another desperate plea, swiftly and with expertise taking off the last barrier between him and her innermost parts, she lays completely vulnerable before him.

The moment his lips brush against her core, his touch sends a current of electricity throughout her body and she feels herself falling into the abyss. Too much time had elapsed since someone had caressed her with such sensuality, and Keegan's deliberate movements brought her back to life.

Bursting with hidden energy, her sounds grow louder the more his tongue delves inside her. Tasting her. Lapping at her like a man dying of thirst; she completely overtakes his mind as he watches the woman before his eyes twist in pleasure. Rapture coursing through her veins like molten magma, all she wants to do is tear off that damn mask – see his face, see the full expression as pleasure takes over him.

Yet the mask stays on.

She feels like she’s been thrown into boiling water; drowning in the feeling of Keegan’s tongue, fingers curling deep inside her. His hands heating the skin of her chest, feeling her hardened nipples underneath the remaining pieces of clothes none of them bothered to discard.

The symphony of her cries when she finally reaches her peak is music to Keegan’s ears, fueling his ardor as he savors everything of hers with unmatched hunger. Unwavering in his passion, if anything, it only grows more fervent as he loses himself in the intoxicating taste.

Something snaps.

Inside Keegan; something breaks.

The cage holding his inner, primal side of his; it escapes.

Keegan's fingers are like a vice around her thighs, an unexpected surprise that has her muscles tense momentarily. His grip only grows tighter as he easily flips her onto her stomach. Her skin aches from the sudden change of position and she feels his lips lightly brush against the back of her thighs. A gasp spills from her throat as Keegan's teeth dig into her plump flesh, a fire of sensations burning in its wake.

Shameful; that’s how she believes that she should feel.

Shameless; that’s how she truly feels.

She can feel his tongue trace the globe of her ass, moving upwards until he reaches her lower back. Blatantly digging her knees into the mattress, her body moves into override. All sense of rational thought fades away as her instincts kick in, driving her movements to a cardinal level. Her body moves with a life of its own, responding to the sensations coursing through her veins.

The desire coursing through her makes even Keegan’s smallest acts seem as if her whole existence depended on him. The way his voice rasps when he whispers into her ear; feeling his hand knead the skin of her ass.

“You never told me your name,” his teeth mark her shoulder.

That’s when she feels the side of his face brush against hers, a sudden rush of realization washes over her — he’d taken off the mask.

She answers with a name as sweet and gentle as the lilac flowers she'd pick on summer days, as beautiful as the melody of her father's song that used to echo through the kitchen walls, yet still as false as the family she was born into.

His hand clutches the back of her neck, pinning her in place and trapping her in the moment of wild passion, caging in any curiosity or doubt. She unsuccessfully tries to twist around and see him, but instead finds herself pressing further into the lone pillow adorning his bed.

When his fingers scorch her oversensitive folds, each stroke seeking out pleasure spots within; it makes her forget it all. Her hands fist the bed linen, almost tearing it from the mattress.

“Fuck me already,” her impatience grows as he toys with her more. Unbothered by her writhing body. By the way she desperately tries to back into him; to feel him inside. The fabric of his shirt still brushing against her bare back as Keegan stills, hearing her raring demand.

“Manners,” he challenges. He tortures her with his fingers; two of them completely buried, it's enough to bring her back when she would have felt right at home sinking into an infinite loop of pleasure, "I'll keep going until you ask nicely."

“Keegan,” his name tumbles from her lips now more as a plea than as a word, “please," she surrenders willingly, craving for more.

It’s then that she can hear the buckle of his own belt. Feeling its part slide over her bare ass as Keegan works his pants down; not fully, just enough to free his aching cock. It doesn’t really matter to him at this moment, whether he’s fully naked or not. He only wants one thing; and that one thing is laying beneath him. Bare. Vulnerable. Willing and oh so desperate for him.

Fisting his own cock, he can feel his heart pumping; hard fast thuds against his ribcage. All while his other hand grips the pillow right next to her head. A guttural moan escapes his lips as her legs move wider, inviting him in.

His name a sonnet, a mixture of moans and mewls fills the darkened room. The spongy head of his cock teases her entrance, collecting her wetness. Occasionally dipping inside just enough to feel her opening up to him.

He wants to hear her beg once more.

Determined to do it; “Fuck,” is all he’s capable of saying when her walls enclose his tip before he withdraws again. Teeth grazing the same spot on her shoulder, sure to leave a mark after he’s done with her, he continues to repeat the action – just the tip; in and out, drawing sweet cries out of her.

His name becomes a safe haven when mixed with her moans; her writhing body, ass pushed against his hips, thighs enclosing around his.

Gripping the metal headboard, her words fuel his starvation. Tongue tracing the slight teeth marks on her soft flesh, hand flicking over her aching nub, its the simple, sweet little word, the plea, that does it for him–

–”please”.

His pace is slow; teasing. Tempted to thrust all the way as for his it’s been way too long since he felt the exquisite squeeze around his cock, he continues the leisurely tempo. His fingers, circling around her clit, follow the rhythm.

It’s calculated; as everything Keegan does. Steady, quick thrust in. Punishingly slow thrust out. His desire to savor her, to savor the feeling overtaking her very own primal needs. Yet, she’s content. Chest pushed into the hard mattress, the feeling of springs pushing back against her; hand grasping the headboard, feeling its cold surface against her heated skin.

Keegan's rough breath tickles the skin on her neck as his face nuzzles against it, his lips occasionally brushing against her flesh. Her fingers delve into his hair, surprised by its length and texture. Soft and fluffy, with curls that she can feel around his temples. But even with her grip on his hair, she still can't quite see him – he remains a mystery to her.

Even now, deep within her walls, feeling the head of his cock kiss her cervix, Keegan Russ still remains as puzzling as the depths of the sea, unfathomable and enigmatic.

Her hand grips the back of his neck, pushing him forward; lips connecting in a crushing kiss, she can feel the muscles in her neck strain as she desperately sucks on his lower lip. Pulling away with a groan, his hands grip her waist; a single tug forces her lower body to move back on her knees. Breasts firmly pressed into the mattress, arms stretched forward, his name escapes her lips as his thrusts grow impatient. Hard and relentless, hands grasping the skin on her lower body, anywhere he can reach and squeeze.

The pillow muffles her cries of passion for only a moment; until Keegan moans out her name, hand sneaking around her clavicles, to grip the side of her neck just enough to bring her up to him. Back to his chest, the fabric of his shirt scratching her exposed skin, his breath fanning over her ear.

Eyes closed, lost in pleasure and pain, she thrusts backwards, meeting Keegan halfway. Hands gripping his forearm, she can feel the tension building.

Her vision is filled with shimmering pinpricks of light, as though her entire being were consumed by a starry night. Keegan's body moulds to hers, holding her tight in his firm embrace as she reaches the peak of ecstasy. His voice rasps out her name like a prayer, and he clings desperately to her neck, burying his face against her skin.

Breathing heavily, he clings to her as if his life depends on it. His fingers dig into her back, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. She can feel the heat radiating off his body, and his ragged breaths tickle her skin. He's holding her so tightly that it's almost painful; she swears can sense the fear and desperation in his touch. Despite the intensity of the moment, she can't help but feel a sense of comfort in his embrace, knowing that he needs her just as much as she needs him.

It’s not long after that he stirs before getting up, watching as she lets her spent body fall onto his very own bed, face towards his window; she watches as the moon shines over the top of the nearby building while listening to the rustling next to her before a towel lands next to her head.

Turning to face him, a sense of disappointment washes over her as she sees Keegan with his mask back on. Fully dressed, in stark contrast to her completely naked body laying on his bed, illuminated by the night sky. A picture he surely will remember for a long time.

She stares at him, intensely analyzing his stoic expression while her body still pulsates with his own cum leaking out of her cunt.

“You good?” she breathes, breaking the silence between them.

He hesitates before answering. "Yeah, I'm fine, kid. Just...trying to process everything."

A slight grin pulls at the corner of her lips.

“You shouldn’t call me kid now, Keegan,” getting up, she walks towards him, still completely naked, feeling the cold breeze wash over her glistening skin, “makes you look like a paedophile.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh softly, “you’re right.”

“Think I can use your shower,” she asks, “I’m quite sticky if you get me.”

Arms crossed, he nods towards the door next to his bed. She can feel the tension emanating from him and decides to break the silence, "y’know, for someone who just had sex with me, you're awfully distant."

“It’s not like that,” he huffs as she makes her way towards the bathroom door.

"Ah, I see. So, I guess that means no cuddling?" she says playfully, hoping to lighten the mood.

She can see his eyes quint beneath the mask; a small smile surely to decorate his face. But even now, she can still see the walls he's built around himself. "I don't cuddle.”

She shrugs it off, "Suit yourself," and enters the bathroom, leaving him alone in the room. The sound of the shower soon engulfs the space. Keegan stands there for a moment, lost in thought, before finally making his way towards the door. He takes one last glance at the bathroom door, his mind racing with conflicting emotions, before turning to leave.

[velvateen]

misery likes company- johnathan ohnn/the spot x reader smut

when you and Dr. Ohnn go from coworkers to something more, something that will last through thick and thin…

pre and post collider with @nami-kana ‘s OC, Scorpede at the end! check her out she is so talented mwah

gn fem bodied reader, no pronouns

warnings: oral sex, piv, non-canonical use of powers, slight slow burn at the beginning MDNI

Before the accident.

Johnathan Ohnn is your boss. That’s a fact, or a statement, rather. No matter which way you slice it, his position above you should be completely and undeniably professional. He does the lab work, you record his findings and translate his excited murmurs into legible notes for research. That’s all there is to it.

So why is it that hearts start appearing next to your notes, blossoming from sprouts in the margins to full bouquets of pages dedicated to mindless swirling and doodles accompanying his name on your notepad?

It is likely the same reason that your heart’s been starting to race whenever you catch his eye, or when he calls your name from the other side of the lab for you to write something down.

You’ve gotten into a bad habit of yearning for Dr. Johnathan Ohnn.

You tell yourself that, as far as having a crush on your boss goes, you’ve got a good thing going. Long days turning into late nights alone in the lab, so no gossipping coworkers, plus, the object of your affections himself is pretty oblivious to any and all signs from you.

It’s a double edged sword. On one hand, you’d be over the moon if Dr. Ohnn would wisen up to your affections, and swoop the stuff right off a desk and take you there in the lab like some sort of movie. On the other hand, you know your shy boss better than anyone, knowing that he’s far too invested in his research to ever notice.

It wears on you.

Night after night, you stay by his side, prattling away at the computer, jotting notes, brainstorming with him about the project.

Night after night you edge closer to him as he works, skin igniting at a brush of your arms, before he inevitably moves his away to point at something or other.

Night after night, the words to tell Dr. Ohnn how you feel creep closer and closer to leaving your lips.

Night after night, Dr. Ohnn stays oblivious. He runs his hands through his brown hair, exasperated (but still excited) about the research findings. Your eyes travel to his hands as they push his glasses away to rub his eyes. The sun begins to rise, early in the morning, which usually means that it’s about time to go home and catch a few hours of sleep before meeting back at the lab.

These few hours of sleep are precious to you and Dr. Ohnn knows it, he can tell by the way your eyes droop mid-day, even in the throes of enthralling experimenting, so he sends you home at the first sign of a yawn.

The chime of the pass key greets you as automatic doors admit you into the lab. You set down your bag at your desk.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Ohnn,” you spot him pouring over his table, undoubtedly running some kind of hypothesis over in his head.

“Oh, hello. That on your desk is for you,” he looks up, for the briefest moment. Your eyes widen as you turn to find the warm pastry bag and a coffee on your desk.

“Really? Thank you!” you said with a hum, not hesitating to rip a piece of the pastry off and into your mouth. “What for?” You ask. It sounds more like “wah or?”

“Well,” he mutters, “we’ve got a pretty long day ahead of us, and I know you get tired.” He looks up again, not long enough to catch the blush that pushes through your skin.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

He hums a ‘you’re welcome’, and then adds “Come over here, I wanna put this in the report.”

You make quick work of grabbing your notepad, pen, and coffee before standing next to where Dr. Ohnn sits at his desk. Even as he rambles important things for you to note, you can't help but feel the heat radiating off of his skin, and to flinch slightly when his elbow brushes your thigh. Imagine that smart mind of his, reduced to nothing, brought to incoherency by you, turned into mush by the heat of your core, as you slam yourself down onto him, wiping away the strands of brown hair as they stick to his forehead, kissing away the sounds that slip past his lips as you--

“Are-- Are you okay?”

His voice snaps you back into reality.

“Hm,” you play it off, “oh yeah, yeah I’m… I’m good. Sorry.”

“Okay, sorry, I just wanted to make sure you got this part but I looked over and you looked like you were somewhere else.”

“No, we were right here.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing,” you pick up your coffee cup and take a long sip to bring you back to earth.

It’s a long day of the same routine, note-taking, and theorizing, but today your mind has been running rampant with lewd scenarios of you and the Doctor, engaged in activities far from professional. Because of this, your “accidental” touches have become more and more frequent, aiding your addiction to the spark that rams its way up your spine into the base of your head. It’s so tangible, that you start to wonder if he can feel it too.

He feels it. Maybe not a physical spark or chill, but he can tell something is different about you today than on other days. The change in your behavior is accompanied by a lingering stare at him and is initiated by contact. So often is this occurring, that he starts to work up the words to ask if everything’s alright.

The day passes, and the chattering in the hall dies down completely as you two become, per usual, the only people working so late into the night. You’re typing away at the computer, condensing your notes into a report email, part of the routine that makes you wish you had another coffee, or a nap, or something else to numb the pain of dull office work. A shadow casts over you, causing you to turn and face Dr. Ohnn, who is looking very concerned over your shoulder, before his eyes fall on your face.

“Yes?” You ask, although you’d be kidding yourself if you said you didn’t immediately think about how hot he looked standing over you like this.

“I just wanted to ask,” he fiddles with his hands, “Well, I noticed you were a bit spaced out today, and, well, is everything alright?” He looks up, and he keeps the eye contact.

Fuck it. If I’m ever gonna get fired, this would be one hell of a way to go, You think.

“Thank you, Doctor,” you spin your chair to face him, standing where you land, which happens to be pretty close to him. He tries to back away, but your hands are quick to gently grab his tie, “There has been something on my mind lately…”

The loose grip on his tie strengthens, and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs.“...And I wonder if the same thing’s been on your mind too.” You bring yourself up to your tiptoes as you speak softly into his ear.

“Tell me, have I been on your mind, Doctor?” Your hands loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt before they start to make their way down. You have your answer before he speaks, his growing erection starting to be visible under his pants.

“I, well, I think of you, yes,” he cannot break his attention away from your hands, slowly undoing his belt buckle.

“And what do you think of when you think of me, Doctor?” You undo his pants button, urging him to help you pull them down. Once they’re off, leaving him in his boxers, your hand returns to his tie.

He doesn’t fight as you lead him by the loose tie to sit in your chair, his hands nervously gripping the armrests. He inhales sharply as your mouth hovers over his length, still hidden by his boxers.

“I think,” Your fingers hook over the waistline, “--think that you’re, you’re a great assistant, very uh, attentive and helpful and--”

“And?” you urge, freeing all of him from the confines of his boxers, taking a sharp inhale at his length. You make sure to use that exhale to warm the pre that have started beading across his tip.

“And you’re very hah--” Your mouth makes first contact with him, doing a delicate loop around his tip.

“Keep going.” You continue your administration, licking your lips before taking his tip fully into your mouth, letting spit drool out to work itself down.

“You’re very, um, thorough, and--” You take more of him into your mouth, using your tongue to administer light licking to the sensitive places his body is responding to.

“--You’re so, so warm.”

You groan at the compliment, the vibrations sending a definite shiver up and down his body, your mouth so full of his cock. The groans that are leaving his lips are going straight to your core, and also partially to your mind, feeling that he’s getting close, and wanting this to go farther. You drag your lips off of his dick, and he moans at the loss of contact.

Standing up, you nod your head towards the couch in your lab, and although it’s crowded with papers, it’ll have to do. Dr. Ohnn, his face flushed and red, makes his way to the couch, with you not far behind, and quickly swipes away the papers that obstruct the seating.

It’s slower than in the movies, and it most certainly is not as sexy, but it makes you laugh. He turns back to you, and your hands prod at his chest, kissing down his exposed inch of skin.

He doesn’t protest when you push him down, in fact, he uses his hands for the first time to pull you on top of him, resting on your hips as you kiss him, slowly grinding your clothed core over him. He’s vocal about it. You’re vocal about it. The way his hair has been ruffled and his glasses discarded has you going wild. You all but race to strip, and he watches, a mindless hand reaching down to steadily stroke himself as you pull your shirt over your head, followed into the growing pile on the floor by your pants and underwear, now fully exposed for him. His eyes roll back as you situate yourself over him, the heat of your bodies sweltering. He can feel the arousal pool and drip from you and onto his thighs, and it’s almost more than he can take.

“Please,” he starts, his voice breathless.

“Please what?” You’re kidding yourself. You want it just as bad as he does, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get any enjoyment out of this.

“Please fuck me, please.” His eyes are aviodant, nervously raking over every part of you except for your eyes.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Your hands cup his face, and he looks up at you. You keep him still as you sink down onto him, inch by inch, until he bottoms out, leaving you full. His face contorts in pleasure and from the effort of not closing his eyes or looking away.

The groans that slip past his lips are just what you’d been imagining, all those nights spent by his side finally coming to fruition as he’s finally under you, reduced to the mess you knew he’d become.

His hair sticks to his forehead from the effort of not busting on the spot, the sight of you stripped and squeezing him nearly too much to bear. With the rhythm of your hips comes the gradual undoing of resolve. Although your determination to fuck him into oblivion set your pace high and fast, it was all you could do to not fall apart on his dick. Your legs serve you well, not faltering for a while before tiring. The Doctor’s hands stop their roaming across your body, to help your rhythm be kept as his dick drags along inside you. His hands holding your hips, he uses the chance to slip a thumb to rub circles across your clit.

The change in your energy is immediate. You can feel yourself clench around him, earning a lewd sound, and your stamina is renewed as you can see your high within reach. He leans up, and you meet him in a sloppy, passionate kiss as you feel his hips jut up to meet yours.

“Fuck, Doctor,” you gasp, eyes slammed shut focusing on reaching your high.

“Johnathan,” his inhale is quick, “call me Johnathan.”

You moan his name, and his eyes widen, hearing it for the first time. He responds with a rendition of your name, broken through the strain of his voice. You don’t have to focus on reaching your high after that.

The searing, tightening of your core brings him over the edge, taking you spilling over with him as you all but collapse over his frame.

You both catch your breath, draped over each other and exhausted on the couch. It went over as a wordless resolve, made through tender touches, that this could be, should be the new normal.

And normal doesn’t change, even when everything else does.

After the accident.

The Spot becomes known worldwide quickly after taking his revenge against the heroes for the disaster that his life has become.

But he can’t complain, can he? Even though he wishes, really wishes that he could’ve protected everyone from the effects of the collider explosion, he’s secretly comforted.

After all, misery likes company.

Especially when it’s company as loyal, as faithful, and as beautiful as you.

To the world, he’s the Spot. To you, he’s still Dr. Jonathan Ohn. And to him, you’re still you, just under the new form the collider had given you.

And he would never complain about the possibilities that your new identities had gifted to you.

Figuring out intimacy after the accident had been difficult, but worthwhile. Your two extra arms and lengthened tongue had no complaints, and his infinite warp holes had some… interesting implications.

And neither of you had any qualms about putting those implications to the test.

He hovered over as his fingers pummeled into you, your skin darkening to bright shades of pink and red, as your powers indicated, love, romance, lust. He was bullying you, remembering how you’d teased him for so long with that long tongue of yours, wrapped in loops around his length, denying him his release for ages.

Two of your hands were clasped over your mouth, resisting and stifling the moans that he was earning so fairly from you. Your third and fourth arms were holding his face against yours, his blotchy forehead pressed against you.

“Come on now, don’t do that,” he teased, “I wanna hear how badly you want me, Scorpede.” You clenched around his fingers, but held back every sound from your lips. “Fine,” he added, “I asked nicely before, guess we’ll do this the hard way.”

In a mind boggling instant, he pulled his hand away, the black hole in his palm suddenly warping. Before you could wrap your mind around what was happening, he shoved his dick inside your warm center.

Using his powers, he teleported his dick, literally, into the palm of his hand. You were stripped of all of your breath, skin colors rapidly fluctuating and pulsing with the thrust of his hand.

“How’s that? Use your words, honey,” he teased, slamming his hand against your core, the pace harder and steadier, and urged on by the moans you couldn’t hold back if you’d tried.

“Holy,, shit,” you huffed, a spare arm pushing back your long hair. Your usually orderly long braids were loosened by his relentless pace, his hungry behavior towards you.

Without hips to stutter, Jonathan worked you over your high more times than you can count. His other hand reached up, fingers shoved into your mouth, before bringing them down to stimulate your clit.

How many times had it been? Three? Four? You’d lost track of how many times he’d made you cum just tonight, his stamina had increased in the accident, it seems. Whatever the number was, you could tell that this round was the finale, the spot on his face swirling in irratic glitches as he moaned, the hand fucking his dick into you slapping delightfully against your pussy.

“Go ahead, cum on my cock, please, for me, yeah,” he muttered, angling his wrist to hit that part inside you that sent blinding white light shooting through your vision. Your color changed from flashing red, to a dull, glowing, satisfied pink as he fucked his way through his high.

You could get used to this new normal.

an: this was a gift to my very talented bestie @nami-kana she is also on instagram @ nami_kana. here is her art of her OC Scorpede and The Spot!!!

[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter X

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 4.2K

21 Melona

The picture frame was heavier than Kazi originally planned. Arms trembling from her awkward grip, she managed to connect the hook to the nail and secure the frame to the wall. 

With a satisfied breath, she retreated a meter to assess the picture’s balance. Her triumphant smirk slid into a rictus. The right side of the black frame was tilted higher. Much higher.

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself. 

A beep from her comm drew her away from the unbalanced frame. The number was familiar. Her heart stuttered. 

“Lucien,” she answered tightly.

“Ms. Lucien,” the voice chirped. “This is Licae Thurmin with Eluca’s Adoption Center for Young Girls and Boys. I have a recent update on Neyti Lucien’s application.”

Kazi chewed the inside of her cheek, scanning her surroundings for any listening ears. 

She was alone. The men outside, Daria in her garden, and Neyti upstairs. 

“What’s the update?”

“The application you submitted has been processed and accepted,” Licae Thurmin said. “I want to remind you that a live application does not guarantee immediate adoption—”

The kind woman’s voice quieted as Kazi stared blankly at the room. 

White walls housed three new paintings, the colors smudged and blotchy, common for a six-year-old artist. The refrigerator displayed a handful of sketches. On the kitchen table, a small collection of bird feathers Nova had gifted Neyti a few weeks ago rested. Beside the collection was an unfinished drawing of the feathers. 

Formerly barren and devoid of personal touches—other than Daria’s succulents and Kazi’s dragon on the bookcase—the living area and kitchen now spoke of life. The existence of a family—

“I understand,” Kazi said once Licae Thurmin stopped speaking. 

For a fleeting moment she hesitated. Considered revoking the application. Or asking for a deferral. The adoption center was Elucan and had no connection, at the moment, to the Empire. One of the reasons she went through this center and not another. To protect Neyti from the Empire’s eyes. So, revoking Neyti’s application wouldn’t raise Imperial suspicion. 

However, it was silly—a frivolous desperation to cling to a new normal—and she knew better. 

Instead, she said, “I’ll await further updates.”

The comm went silent and Kazi pocketed it, eyeing the lopsided frame next to the holoscreen. A hammer and nails scattered the floor. The measuring tape lay limply on the table. 

What the hell was she doing?

Closing her eyes, she ran her hands through her unbraided hair, massaging her temples. She was stupid. So fucking stupid. 

After all these years she had perfected the mirage of closeness. Of companionship, so that others felt appreciated and needed. It was all an illusion. An illusion that allowed her to maintain distance to protect herself. 

And yet, sometime in the last three months, she had formed a semblance of a bond with Neyti. A bond so small and fragile it could easily be snipped. But it still existed. 

The tightness in her chest, the empty disappointment in her bones, were proof an attachment was forming. 

Three goals. She had outlined three goals upon her move to Eluca, and one of them was Neyti’s adoption. The application’s process and submission shouldn’t have surprised her. She had no right to be upset. 

“You are aware that picture is crooked.”

The voice startled her from her thoughts and she dropped her hands to her sides. How a man so large could move around so silently was beyond her. Cheeks flushing, she frowned at Wolffe.

“Thank you for that illuminating observation.” Wolffe threw her a bland look and she sniffed her exasperation, muttering, “I was just about to fix it.”

Sweat sheened on his face and matted the white shirt he wore. Sleeves rolled to his elbows revealed the black ink darkening his left forearm. Piqued interest encouraged Kazi to analyze the tattoo closer, but she fought the urge, instead, lifting her gaze to his. 

He was already staring at her. Rather, he was scanning her neck. It started, she assumed, the morning after their conversation beside the lake. His assessment was subtle, and she didn’t notice it until a week later. Now, it was obvious. And even though it had been a month since the incident, he didn’t appear content to stop.

A small piece of her appreciated his analysis—appreciated the thought of someone caring about her. A greater piece of her disliked the attention and the confusing emotions it brought forth. Life was easier and simpler when their lives remained separate and uninvolved.

Stepping toward the wall, subsequently creating distance, Kazi unhooked the picture frame. From the corner of her eye, Wolffe retrieved the tape measurer and the stylus. She held out her hand for both items. He blinked at her outstretched hand, levelled an unimpressed look in her direction, and then stepped toward the wall.

Kazi straightened. “I was going to do that.”

“I know.” 

Stylus between his teeth and the old nail removed, he measured the distance from the floor to a spot on the wall. Kazi folded her arms.

“I can do it—”

“I know.” Wolffe penciled a small dot and dropped the tape measurer. He extended his hand to her and she rolled her eyes, handing him the hammer. “Did you present the intel?” 

A frisson of unease twisted in her stomach. “I did.”

His silence, as he hammered the nail into the wall, demanded further explanation. 

Kazi glanced out the window that overlooked Daria’s garden. A neatly-twined hat kept the sun off her sister’s face, but it was the obvious trembling in Daria’s hand as she snipped dead leaves from her plants that caught her attention. 

“The magistrate was impressed,” she said to Wolffe. “But he didn’t elaborate on my findings. I still don’t know why he’s interested in this.”

Wolffe set aside the hammer and hefted the picture frame. Annoyingly, he didn’t struggle with its awkward size or its heaviness. 

“You’re sure the outpost is abandoned?” she asked.

“I’ve told you”—he grunted and hefted the frame higher—“it’s been cleared for months.”

Nearly five weeks ago, Kazi noticed a nearly imperceptible pattern in her data analysis for the magistrate. A pattern concerning deserted clones. 

Most of the clones Wolffe and his men rescued relied on secure comm channels. However, there were a handful of desperate ones. Those who needed a quick extraction and couldn’t wait for a secure channel. And even though they spoke in code, their transmission could be located. 

Hence the pattern: Before a clone deserted, Eluca or Coruscant received a long-range transmission. Days later, the deserted clone disappeared. 

Luckily, the pattern had occurred only three times—twice to Coruscant and once to Eluca. But, Kazi feared if she noticed the pattern, someone else might, too. It could lead to an Imperial investigation. So, she decided the best solution was to manipulate the data to a different location. 

The outpost was a secret, former Republic station located on a hyperlane route within Veridian Sector. It stored rations and additional weapons and was used primarily by commando units who needed a hideout in the midst of a mission. According to Cody, who offered the outpost’s location, it was abandoned a few months before the war’s conclusion. After a Separatist ship located it.

Seemingly forgotten by the Empire, Wolffe and his brothers had stripped the outpost of its goods. And now that it was emptied of provisions, the men claimed it no longer served a necessary purpose to their missions. 

The solution was simple. All transmissions between deserted troopers and the men would appear connected to the outpost rather than Eluca. Thanks to the outpost’s long-range communication tower.

Wolffe stepped away from the wall. “I want to know: What will happen to you when the magistrate realizes the outpost is abandoned?”

The question was a point of contention the last two weeks. Wolffe thought it too risky to provide an abandoned location, arguing the magistrate was too impulsive and it could threaten Kazi. She argued the need to deliver intel and keep the magistrate satisfied outweighed a possible reaction. 

“I think it’s still crooked,” she said, changing the conversation.

Jerking his gaze to the frame, Wolffe scowled. “It’s not.”

“Huh.” Placing the tools in the tool box, she shot him an awkward grimace. “Thank you. For helping. Even though I didn’t ask you to.”

With a roll of his eyes, Wolffe crossed his arms over his chest. He watched her, and when she was finished, he cleared his throat. “I keep expecting you to return with new bruises.”

A current of tension tightened her skin and she rubbed a spot on her arm. A month had passed since her interaction with Magistrate Aro, and yet she still woke some nights from a phantom pain in her neck. Her sheets dampened by sweat. Her heart racing erratically. A shout of terror built in her throat. It took a long time for her to return to a fitful sleep.

Most of the time, she avoided thoughts regarding that day, and she diverted conversation whenever it seemed Wolffe might reintroduce the issue. Especially in the past few weeks when discussing an intentional mislead through the outpost.  

“I don’t know why you would expect that—”

“What will happen to Neyti? To your sister? Have you thought about them?” Wolffe exhaled sharply. “Lying to the magistrate is needlessly dangerous.”

“It’s not.” Irritation heated her blood and she folded her arms across her chest. He knew she only ever thought about Neyti and Daria—that they were her first concerns in everything. “You know I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t necessary.”

“And what happens if you die?” He took a step toward her. “You’ll leave my brothers and I with a kid—”

“If that’s your concern”—she lifted her chin, glaring—“let me reassure you. There’s an adoption center in the capital—”

“Do you really think so little of us?” His tone was harsh. His eyes were narrowed in indignation. “Of me?”

Time spent with the men the past month had convinced her of their honorable character. They wouldn’t abandon Neyti, and they wouldn’t abandon Daria. Kazi knew this to be true. But she had also learned an important lesson over the years: relying on another was a direct path to abandonment and hurt. 

The optimistic side of her that believed in morals and ethics and justice yearned to trust Wolffe. The realistic side of her, the side that endured too much and yearned to protect, couldn’t relinquish control. 

At her continued hesitation, Wolffe huffed a wry chuckle.

“I told you,” he said curtly, “if a problem arises, we will protect you—”

She shook her head. “That’s not your job.” 

“You’re fucking aggravating, you know that?”

“Me?” Her eyes widened. “Have you met yourself?”

Wolffe scoffed. “You’re closed off and guarded. Too independent to ask for help. You’re stubborn and self-righteous, and it’s fucking aggravating.”

“You’re guarded, too.” A scornful smirk twisted her mouth. “You carry responsibility like you’re the only one who can. You’re reserved and apathetic, and borderline overbearing.” 

Rolling his eyes, Wolffe opened his mouth but he was cut off by the approach of padded footsteps. A pair of bunny slippers rounded the corner. 

Dressed in a green dress, Neyti wandered toward Kazi and Wolffe. She frowned at the recently hung picture frame.

“It was Mr. Wolffe’s idea,” Kazi said quickly. Wolffe levelled a disapproving scowl in her direction but she ignored him. “What do you think?”

Tilting her head to the side, Neyti scrutinized the frame.

Kazi followed her line of sight. “It’s crooked, isn’t it?”

Wolffe sighed. 

Tiny hands wringing together, Neyti didn’t react to the comment. Hesitation hunched her shoulders and distress worried the line between her eyebrows. 

Kazi shared a disconcerted look with Wolffe. The man eyed the little girl, his gaze intense and assessing. 

“Neyti?” Kazi searched the youngling’s face. “Is everything okay?”

Gray eyes, wide and timid, bounced between Wolffe and Kazi. Understanding the girl’s unspoken discomfort, Wolffe excused himself, making his way through the sunroom and out the backdoor. 

“Did something happen?” Kazi hedged.

Dark thoughts spun in her mind, like a spider spooling its web, and she considered the past week in its entirety. The only disruption was the men’s last mission. The three deserted clones they rescued had left yesterday. 

Uncertainty stalled her heart and she glanced toward the sunroom’s windows. If something had happened to Neyti—

Blinking rapidly, Neyti reached for her hand. Neyti’s throat bobbed and Kazi squeezed her fingers. Gently, softly.

Neyti tugged on her hand and led her to the stairs. Nonplussed, Kazi followed Neyti up the staircase. Her bewilderment increased when they wandered down the short hall and found themselves in Daria’s bedroom.

Pale pink curtains lined the windows that overlooked the backyard. Sunlight dappled the carpeted floor. The room was fresh and inviting, except for the clothing items littering the bed like unwanted paint splats. Kazi pursed her lips at her sister’s lack of basic cleanliness. 

Daria was always put together, and yet she couldn’t make her bed in the mornings. The contradictions in her personality never failed to irk her.

A white dresser housed a dozen succulents, the plants ranging from prickly cacti to flowery geometrics. Opened and recently written in, a notebook sat on the desk. Penned in superfluous script was the day’s date.

Kazi had half a mind to read her sister’s diary. If Daria refused to respect her personal space, willingly sharing her adventure book with Neyti, then the same rules applied to her. Maybe she would finally understand her sister’s thought process. Then again, she would probably read diatribes concerning her actions and complaints concerning her perpetual singleness.

Neyti dropped her hand and wandered into Daria’s ‘fresher. Kazi followed, watching as Neyti extracted one of Daria’s morning/evening potions. Liquid an iridescent blue, the potion shimmered beneath the fractured sunlight. An empty bottle from this morning sat behind the faucet. 

With an abashed grimace, Neyti mimed draining the potion in the sink. Kazi’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. Neyti repeated the gesture. 

Realization dawned on Kazi, slow and creeping, like the sun rising on the horizon, and with it, the world around her quieted. 

Slowly, she peered into the black basin, running a finger along the bottom. She withdrew her hand, praying Neyti was wrong. 

A blue tint coated her finger pad.

Her breathing sharpened. Her throat dried.

She thought she might be sick.

Months of unexplained symptoms, months of unusual episodes suddenly made sense. 

A dull roaring filled her head. She turned on her heel. 

The descent down the stairs passed in a haze.

In the kitchen, Daria was washing the gathered herbs and vegetables from her garden. Her dress fell to her knees, light and airy. The white spoke of innocence. A quiet tune sounded from the radio. Daria noticed her and she started to smile.

Hand shaking, Kazi raised the empty bottle.

“You haven’t been taking your medicine.”

The statement was muffled by the ringing in her ears and Kazi took a deep breath, focusing on the kitchen. Focusing on her open-mouthed, stunned sister.

“What the fuck is your problem?” She hissed the words in a spit of vitriol so pure Daria stumbled back a step. “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?”

Flustered, Daria turned off the sink and patted her hands on a towel. A slight twitch in her eye belied the casual blasé she was trying to exude. “It’s none of your business, Kazi.”

“Like hell it isn’t—” 

“It’s not!” 

Shocked by her sister’s sudden change in demeanor, Kazi stiffened.

Daria glared at her. “What I do and do not do with my healer’s recommendations is not up for your judgment and criticism—”

“It fucking is!” Kazi snarled. “It’s all up to my fucking judgment because I’m the one who’s wasted money and time trying to ease your pain and prolong your fucking life!” 

Kazi slammed the empty bottle into the kitchen sink. The clatter of breaking glass further incensed her.

“Months of paying Healer Natasha to help you with your symptoms”—she fisted her hands at her sides—“and you haven’t been taking your fucking medicine. What the fuck is your problem?”

Rage, roiling like the sea in the midst of a hurricane, churned within her body. It dominated her thoughts, dominated the tautness in her muscles and the tightness in her lungs. 

After her father died, Kazi taught herself to control her emotions. Primarily her anger. Formerly quick-tempered, young Kazi could work herself into a conniption of such rage she would cry. 

Anger was her least favorite emotion. When she experienced it, she felt unbalanced, and her façade of perfect composure and unaffected apathy splintered beneath the emotion.

Her mother exploited her defensive anger. She used it to ridicule and humiliate her. To force her to obey. 

So young Kazi learned to shut down. The moment she felt her emotions rising, circling outside her control, she gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and told herself over and over that she didn’t care. 

She numbed herself to her mother’s scorn. Numbed herself to feeling.

Years of training herself to dominate her emotions rather than accept or acknowledge them created her cool, aloof personality. It was her shield against a world of change that constantly felt out of her control. 

And so this rage—receding and crashing inside her—unnerved her. 

The lack of control frightened her. But she didn’t care. 

She couldn’t care because her sister—the person she had pooled money, time, and effort into helping—decided to forego her daily medicine. Medicine designed to ease her suffering. Lessen the severity of her symptoms. Offer her more time to retain her mental sanity. 

“You have no right to be upset with me.” Daria glowered. “You don’t care what happens to me—you don’t care that this illness is killing me. You haven’t cared about me, or anything else, for that matter, in years.”

Kazi hardly processed the words. 

The roaring in her head was too loud and her thoughts too distorted by this revelation. 

She didn’t care about the hurt in Daria’s tone, and she didn’t care about Daria’s accusation. Especially since her sister’s accusation was partially true. She hadn’t cared about anyone or anything in a long time. 

There was a reason for that.

“It seems I’ve given you too much free reign,” Kazi said tightly.

Swallowing her anger, forcing it down and locking it away, she took a deep breath. 

Numbness returned and, with it, clarity. 

“It’s clear you’re a danger to yourself.” She stared at Daria, unfeeling. Flippant. “You don’t care about your health or trying to prolong your life. And since you’ve shown a lack of concern and maturity, I think the best option would be hospitalization.” 

Dismay widened Daria’s eyes and she retreated to the far counter. Her mouth opened and closed. The tremble in her lower lip worsened. 

When the silence lengthened between them, tight as a wound harpoon, Daria lifted her chin. “How could you do this to me?”

“You’re doing this to yourself.” Kazi chuckled, the noise acerbic and unrepentant. “Your lack of propriety to take care of your own health—”

“I’m your sister and you’re threatening me because I refused to take a dumb potion—” 

“The medicine is supposed to help—”

“The medicine takes them away!”

The brokenness in Daria’s voice forced Kazi to pause. 

Confused, she could only frown. “What?”

“It takes them away.” Daria pressed a hand to her mouth and choked. “Mama and Papa. I can’t see them when I take the medicine.”

Time stood still for a moment as Kazi considered her sister’s bewildering statement. 

And then it hit her.

The moments she noticed Daria staring off into space, smiling at nothing.

Hallucinations. Her sister was hallucinating their parents.

“When I see them,” Daria murmured, “I don’t feel so lonely.” 

Her sister’s gaze was deadened, lacking the vibrancy Kazi used to envy when they were younglings. A gaze so full of life and joy. Eager to explore, intrigued by stories. Loving.

“I miss them, Kazi,” Daria whispered hoarsely. 

Gritting her teeth, Kazi exhaled a slow breath. 

“It’s harder to remember them,” Daria said. “I can’t remember what they look like.” 

Daria stood before her pale and sick-looking, once-fresh features drawn and weary. The fullness of her cheeks had hollowed; even the plump pink of her lips were dull.

“I’m scared.” The words were defeated. Daria raised a shaky hand to her cheek and wiped away a tear. “I’m losing more of myself every day. I’m scared of forgetting everything, and the medicine only makes it worse. I don’t want to lose Mama and Papa. I don’t want to be alone.”

The fear in Daria’s voice, the unspoken plea, rendered Kazi speechless. Her sister—the woman she had loved more than anyone else in the galaxy—wasn’t preserving her life out of fear of being alone. As if companionship through hallucinations meant something.

It was selfish. Daria would die sometime in the near future and she would leave Kazi. Her sister didn’t understand the meaning of loneliness. 

Her sister didn’t understand the fear of being alone.

“Every morning I will watch you take your medicine,” Kazi said coldly. “And every night I will watch you drink that damned potion. Got it?”

Visible shock tightened Daria’s features and then darkened into hate. “I’m not a child for you to hover over.”

“It’s quite obvious that you are.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” Daria corrected a wrinkle in her dress. “If you want to mother someone maybe you should start with the actual child in this house. Neyti lacks any sort of emotional care because you’re so unfeeling it’s borderline monstrous.” 

Kazi flinched at the harshness of the words. 

“What do you want me to do?” she demanded. “I am trying. I am trying to do what is best for this family, but you don’t care. Nothing I do is ever good enough for you. And now you mention Neyti?” 

Resentment bittered her mind and she laughed ruefully.  

“What do you want me to do with her? Give her away?” She threw up her hands. “Maybe I should because I don’t fucking know what else to do! I didn’t ask for this, Daria. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be responsible for either of you—”

A broken sob cut through her rant and Kazi froze. 

No.

No.

Kazi looked over her shoulder, to the little girl who was cowering on the stairs. The little girl who had been here this entire time, forgotten. 

Horrified, Kazi took a tentative step toward her. “Neyti—”

Neyti sprinted away. Up the stairs. 

Kazi stared at the abandoned space. 

Her lungs squeezed. Her stomach felt empty. Her blood ran cold.  

A numb sensation, cold and unfeeling, pooled in her toes and slowly rose. It entombed her body.

She’d fucked up. 

She’d fucked up even worse than forgetting the field trip. 

A brittle laugh drew her attention and she turned her gaze on her sister. To the sister who was staring at her like she truly was a monster. 

“Mother was always right about you.” Daria laughed again. The sound as broken as Neyti’s sob. “You’re too emotionless to care about anyone but yourself.”

The words repeated over and over as she climbed the stairs.

If only Daria knew how little she cared about herself. 

If only her little sister knew the depth of her self-hatred. 

If only her sister knew she brushed aside emotions because they were nothing but a liability. 

Kazi knocked on Neyti’s cracked-open door. 

The silence that followed was deliberate. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

Over the years she promised herself she would never be like her mother. Critical comments, judgmental stares, constant disapproval. She promised she would always be better.

She should have known she would fall short. She should have known she would fail, and she would hurt those around her.

“I’m so sorry, Neyti. What I said”—her voice cracked and she gulped—“was wrong. I spoke out of anger and I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I’m so sorry.”

Unwavering silence resounded from the room.

Sliding to the floor, Kazi pressed her forehead against the door. “I made a promise to your mother.” 

The memory was stark in her mind.

Chaotic streets darkened by night.

Screams of terror. Children’s sobs.

A woman and daughter fleeing.

The crack of a blaster.

A child, bleeding and crying, shoved into her arms.

“I promised your mother that I would protect you,” Kazi said hoarsely. “I promised her that I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. To give you a chance at a new life.” 

Vision blurring, she rubbed at her wettened cheeks.

“I’m going to give you that new life,” she whispered. The adoption application was finalized and the search for real parents could finally start—the search for a home where Neyti would never hurt again. “I promise.”

The door squeaked open a smidge. 

Sitting on the opposite side, her cheek pressed to her knees and tears in her eyes, Neyti played with the ear of a bunny. 

“I want to go home.” 

The words were soft and quiet, and Neyti speaking for the first time—those five specific words—flooded Kazi with shame.  

All she could do was nod. In understanding. In regret. 

Because Neyti knew they couldn’t return home. There was nothing left. 

For either of them.

Masterlist | Chapter 9 | Chapter 11

A/N: I know it’s probably frustrating to see Kazi constantly keep up her walls and not entirely trust Wolffe. My writing has always been a way to deal with real-life emotions in realistic ways. A woman who’s struggled a majority of her life with trust issues immediately trusting the love interest because he’s a nice guy is the most unrealistic and annoying thing for me to read in novels and fics. Kazi’s trust issues are a main part of this story, and they will not be going away any time soon.

[husbandograveyard]

Multichapter fics I want to work on (soon-ish) - Previews? Accountability? Interest check? Something in between? I am bad at summaries, when i write them out properly, I will do better hihi. I promise the plots are actually good haha. All these are reader insert, OC fics are also in the making, but more in my personal folders than ready for sharing.

(working) title: untitled | Series: BNHA | Rating: E Pairing(s): Kirishima x Reader | Genre: Drama, angst, romance ↪ cw & tw: sex work, alcohol consumption, insecurities, bleak world ↪ Synopsis: Nearing his 40's, pro hero Red Riot is one of the few in his friend group that hasn't managed to settle down and the loneliness and yearning is starting to weigh on him more and more. He turns to a high-end sex worker, more for the girlfriend experience than anything else, but realizes pretty fast that he is falling for her. Based of one of my favorite Reddit Stories.

(working) title: the right place | Series: Haikyuu!! | Rating: M Pairings: undecided x reader (2 characters, one main pairing) Genre: college (AU), romance, humor, light angst, slow ish burn? ↪ Cw & Tw: AU, childhood friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, SO MUCH pining, miscommunications, failed relationships ↪ Synopsis: You and [character] have been friends since diapers. When you both decide to go to the same college, you make plans to live together in the big city, navigating school and living without your parents for the first time together. There is obvious romantic tension between you two, so why does he keep dating around? And why are you suddenly hanging out with his best friend?

(working) title: Bound in body and blood | Series: JJK (AU) | Rating: E | Pairings: Geto Suguru x Reader | Genre: horror, dark romance, dead dove

↪ Cw & Tw: Vampire AU, Vampire!Geto, Priest!Geto, Blood, so much blood, wounds, mild gore (nothing worse than canon tbh), bullying, traumatic upbringing, abuse, Catholic guilt, Catholic references, manipulation, unhealthy relationship, loss of a spouse, character (un)death, sexual assault, Geto is NOT a good guy ↪ Synopsis: You return to your small hometown you so desperately tried to escape as a teen for the community and support after a traumatic happening. You're struggling to find solid ground again when your childhood friend, another 'escapee' returns a few months after you. He's gone through similar things as you did, and you find a lot of comfort in his presence. But strange things have started happening in the town ever since he arrived, and you're torn between staying in the dark or digging deeper, old love and recent loss.

(working) title: Enstrangled | Series: Genshin Impact (AU) | Rating: E | Pairings: Baizhu x Reader | Genre: horror-ish to dark / monster romance

↪ Cw & Tw: Naga!Baizhu, survival horror?, wounds, stalking, unhealthy relationship dynamics, obsession, talking snakes (Changsheng), monsterfucking, TBA ↪ Synopsis: Every year you spend some time solo hiking and camping to clear your mind and get out of the city. This time the forest you are hiking in has some dangers other than the average predators. And one of them has got his eye on you.

(working) title: Untitled | Series: Naruto (AU) | Rating: M (mature themes, no explicit smut) | Pairings: Itachi x Reader | Genre: medieval AU! Romance, drama, soulmate AU with a twist

↪ Cw & Tw: domestic abuse, doomed soulmates, unhealthy relationships, minor character death, Itachi with visual impairment, family estrangement, healing journeys, trauma, illness ↪ Synopsis: Most people are born with a mark on them indicating their soulmate. Those who aren't, called the 'soulless', are there to marry each other, and those who can't find their soulmates. And you? You wish you were soulless, cause your soulmate is the worst person you ever met.

(working) title: Untitled | Series: Haikyuu!! (AU) | Rating: M (mature themes, no smut) | Pairings: multiple x Reader - endgame undecided | Genre: Post apocalyptic AU, horror, survival, thriller, romance is but a subplot, angst

↪ Cw & Tw: Post apocalyptic society, volunteers, but in a hunger games kind of way, nature has taken over the world, blood, death, gore, wounds, illness, major character death, conflict, arguments, overall dark content ↪ Synopsis: It's been a few years since the incident, and your encampment is running out of resources. You and a handful other 'volunteers' get sent out to find more. But it's a wasteland of survival out there, and who's to say you're alone?

[jadeoxfordrose]

OC Kiss Picrew Meme

Alrighty y'all, @littleladymab tagged me in this and who am I to resist a challenge that involves picrews or heroforge :)) Taking inspo from Mab, here are 5 ships involving characters of mine getting their smooches in xD

Adelaide Sylvestri nee Ontano & Thea Cuore (Il Covo Nostro:Court of Blades)

(Thea is my character, Adelaide is her paramour who is an NPC played by Zach) So these two haven't actually kissed yet in canon but the yearning, oh the yearning! Still, I'm hoping that there will be a chance soon xD Their situation is complicated to put it mildly- some of it can be found explained in my 'Thea Cuore' tag.

Max Valera & Merrill Whitmer(Space Gorls)

These two have it all - childhood friendship, faked deaths, pining, the slow rebuilding of trust, banter - and I miss playing them. Merrill is @citadelofswords's roller skating jewel thief of a dream girl and Max is my sarcastic to a fault mechanic.

Davey-Jane & Theo Delaney (Multiple FTL universes)

Sometimes they are a less tragic version of Hamlet & Horatio in ✨Space✨, sometimes they are a version of Orpheus & Eurydice, sometimes they're youtubers (one hunts ghosts, the other does crafts) - regardless, they always give me feels. Davey-Jane is @littleladymab's character (I'm sorry the picrew does not show how truly beautiful he is Mab), Theo is mine and I cherish them deeply despite my continuing to put them in awful situations.

Arkady & Arctorus (formerly of Stormhold | Fall of Magic + Mages Against the Machine)

These two began life as Fall of Magic characters played by me and Zach respectively, who came from the same place and from that came a goldmine of character fuel. Amusingly, I didn't even realise I'd started shipping them until after we wrapped the game - I blame the sheer number of delicious tropes that provided ship fuel we hit upon the way. They've only been played once since, and Arctorus (renamed Arthur in a new universe) was more of a cameo but the relationship was officially canonized xD Characters that I need to do more with to be sure.

Benny LaFontaine & Dante Voight & Kel Mahoney (Dumb Kids Playing Hero)

Oh my wonderful, messy, complicated Team Chaos (played by Richard as Benny, Bryan as Dante, and myself as Kel). A slow-burn of an OT3 despite active shipping from multiple people, all I can say here is please go listen to @dumbkidsplayinghero - it's Animorphs inspired Boston college students in the early 00s and I'm supremely proud of the story we all told together.

Alrighty, I've said enough - tagging anyone who fancies having a play in picrew and talking about their OC OTPs xD

Edited to include link to the picrew used x

[takadokii]

TALES OF THE CURSED

pairing gojo satoru x f!oc/reader | geto suguru x f!oc/reader

summary

With a new name in a new city, Kazuha Miyazaki was looking for a better life in the buzzing streets of Tokyo. Unbeknownst to her, something extraordinary was waiting behind the doors of Jujutsu High, and it was calling a name of hers she had long forgotten.

tags multiple ocs! multiple books, high school sweethearts, best friends to lovers, love triangle, pining gojo, childhood friends (kinda), emotionally inept gojo (canon)

status ongoing!

key

✴ = x reader-friendly side stories (so no oc name!)

all of the "tales untold" content is written in a way that can be read without the context of the main storyline, but it does help to read the books to understand the history of the characters' dynamic!

★ = main storyline

the main storyline always includes my oc's names and features significant events!

links

art masterlist | taglist | timeline | wattpad | character profiles | ao3 | pinterest | playlist

ask my characters (open!)

✴ sucker for (my) sweetheart | gojo ; fluff

After the Valentine's shift at work, you surprise Gojo with some sweets you've received to share. Despite his jealousy, he could never resist something as sweet as you!

✴ what the heart wants | gojo ; angsty fluff

You try to test your luck and have a vulnerable conversation with Satoru. But all he's thinking about is kissing you, and he doesn't understand the concept of crying anyway.

✴ insatiable yearning | geto ; slight smut, slight angst

Suguru likes helping you cook, but sometimes he's plagued with an insatiable hunger for you; he knows it's wrong, but only certain thoughts can stop them.

★ caught in the middle

book one (ongoing!) | set in 2006 (gojo's past arc) | best friends to lovers | love triangle

✴ 2:47am | gojo ; angst, comfort, fluff

Gojo likes speaking to you late at night and smalltalking you to sleep so he can finally mutter the words he really wants to get off his chest. The ones he's far too afraid to say when you're awake.

[ticktockmyclockworkhart]

I swear i need more lore to sollex, or i go insane.

So here are some questions:

Who did fall in love first?

How dose Trollex feel about solo’s problem with the volume of the music?

Does Solo have problems in general with the volume of things?

Does solo sing to Trollex?

How does solo feel when Trollex had an horrible day with his duties?

How would solo feel about being king when it would get serious like marriage?

Did both of them ever thinking about kids?

Who’s top and who’s bottom? (Hehe sorry it’s just a funny question)

I think that’s all for the moment. :>

AAAAAAAAAAAH OMG OMG YOU ARE BRINGING ME TO LIFE THANK YOU FOR BEING INTERESTED IN MY OC AND MY CRINGE OC X CANON SHIP

So as mentioned in the backstory post I made, Solo was the first to fall in love when they were very young, but it was years of yearning before Trollex even knew who Solo was. Though I imagine techno trolls having crushes on Trollex isn't particularly uncommon, considering he's both a young king of his people, singer and DJ, I think 80% of techno trolls who like men have some kind of crush on Trollex lol.

Trollex tries really hard to be understanding about his boyfriend's problems with sound. It's hard considering he's literally wired the opposite way, and Solo never asks him to turn down the raves or anything because he's aware he's the minority of the entire techno troll population there, so they work together to find ways to protect Solo's ears. Trollex can't help feeling a little guilty when Solo gets caught up in a noisy situation that Trollex himself most likely caused, but it is what it is and Solo usually insists on taking care of these things himself. Solo tends to hide away at his seafloor home during raves to escape the noise, but Trollex always is willing to lend his substantial collection of high quality headphones, too.

The simple answer is yes, pretty much. He's soooo autism coded by design lol. Solo's hearing is, especially considering he lives most of his life underwater where sound has a hard time traveling, nothing short of incredible. The sounds Solo struggles with the most are high and low frequencies. Mid-frequency sounds are still loud, but don't bother him as profoundly.

Yes! Trollex is one of the only people Solo feels comfortable singing to. Solo has a more storied backstory than I've already given, lol (hit me up if anyone is interested in that) so he has a broad taste in music. Admittedly part of that is because he can hear literally everything, and depending on where he is, that might even extend to other tribes' music. Solo self-identifies as being electro-swing, and he actually has a pretty good voice (not that that would be a surprise lmao. Having a good singing voice is a species trait of trolls lol) when he chooses to use it. It's just that usually, his choosing to use it is alone with Trollex, though Trollex would love for him to be able to sing in front of others one day since it's a big part of being a troll of any kind.

Solo is ON IT when Trollex is struggling. That isn't often, though, at least, not when Trollex has any say in it. I headcanon that techno trolls, just based on what we know, don't really do the whole troll royalty thing the same as other troll tribes that have kings and queens do, like rock, pop and funk. I think techno trolls don't vibe with that kind of power imbalance, so their philosophy with their leadership is "mentor not monarch". The royalty does make decisions and is ultimately who is in charge, but techno trolls like to "keep it real" with their royalty who are more like peer leaders. Though that in itself is a whole new set of standards and responsibilities... Trollex likes to keep strong for his people. And for himself, too. He feels almost guilty when he isn't giving his 110% at all times and being a strong, positive and happy leader for his people. And himself. And to be honest, I think the whole rock troll invasion thing gave Trollex some trauma he doesn't really know how to unpack. Techno trolls don't really, at a societal level, know how to handle "heavy stuff". For one there's whatever he was put through when being held captive, and for another, I think Trollex feels really guilty about surrendering so fast even if he did it in the interest of not having anyone be hurt by another attack from the rock trolls. All that being said Trollex tries to not let himself have any issues, but Solo sees through him and he's a caretaker by heart, so take care of him he does. They usually end up cuddling and quietly talking, sometimes Solo makes food, but usually he jus goes with whatever Trollex asks for in the moment. Usually that's how it starts when Solo pulls him to the side, it's just asking "hey, what do you feel like you need?"

That's the one thing about their relationship Solo is most nervous about. Their relationship is still a secret because they're both hesitating to announce it--not that the reef wouldn't accept it, I think techno troll culture is nothing if not accepting, but because it's just gonna become this whole spectacle like any kind of celebrity dating and Solo isn't ready for that attention. He's even less ready to be king. Technically by marriage he won't be a king, he'll be a king consort, and he'd very much like to lean into the consort part... just kind of fade into the background, but he's more than willing to help Trollex in leading the tribe and advising him on all matters, that's sort of what he does now, it would just be in a more official capacity.

Yes they both want kids! I headcanon in the future the pair of them have twin boys, Treble and Bass, who don't have designs right now, just color schemes but maybe one day I'll post them!

As for the last question, I want to say it in a separate post because Trolls is a fandom populated by a lot of kiddos so I don't really want NSFW text, even just implied, in posts I put in the main tag but I can answer in an untagged post.

[ladyjuquia]

[YUMEJOSHI/OC X CANON CONTENT]

『𝑀𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟...』

⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:⠀

⠀ `· . ୨୧⠀

『𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑛...』

Art by @shokansen

Two sides of the same coin. Tristan who belongs to the Death, bedded in a field of Poppies symbolising Death, and Juquia who beloved to the living, laying down in the cold water, surrounded by Water Lilies standing for resurrection and Re-Birth, but also being her Birthflower. On Tristans Chest are white Tulips symbolising new beginnings, forgiveness, as well as honour and respect. On his Chest, where his heart his beating and the scar of his death lies, the white Tulips which him the best in his new life, after all a Servants Summoning his a chance and second Life for them. 11 Tulips in the number, because the straight numbers belong to the dead, showing how Tristan is accepted and embracing his new gained Life. Juquia meanwhile as a blue Cornflower around her neck. The blue Cornflower symbolising Hope and Patience. It can also stand for genuine happiness and tenderness. The blue Cornflower places on Juquias Neck shows how long she was isolated and „held on a leash“ during her time at the Clock Tower, not giving her any freedom. But she took it with patience. She was hoping for something better to come soon, she was waiting for the Change that would bring her happiness.

Now the biggest parallel is Tristans flower-covered eyes and Juquias flower-covered ears. As they both symbolise what they are so sensitive for. Tristan who is selectively blind, he chose to close his eyes, not facing the cruel world and the suffering that came along with it, the ugly and the sadness - And Juquia who chose to stop listening, to disappear in her own world, not hearing terrible voices and noises anymore that could hurt her.

The Flowers on Tristans Eys are orange orchids, standing for spiritual growth, yearning, courage and new beginnings. They are put on his eyes by Juquia who is is standing for his new beginnings. Juquia who is helping him with the spiritual growth and Juquia being the reason he found courage to face his own anxieties and negative thoughts about himself and his past to move onto a better life. His eyes are healing and ready to accept witnessing Beauty and Purity again. When giving the Flowers to someone you also express „Admiration of ones Beauty“ - Something Juquia always saw in Tristan, no matter how much his thought of himself as a Monster.

Meanwhile Juquis ears are covered by white-lilac mallows standing for healing, protection, love, serenity or gentleness. Tristan is the one hear who is protecting her, he is the one who offers her healing, not only mental healing but also easing her pain with his harp that is caused by her Fairy Curse. Juquia is able to love and accept love, she is able to embrace positive things, thanks to Tristan not being affected by her curse and showing care and love to her like nobody else did.

There are also other parallels found. Like Juquia having cooler colours and Tristan having the warmer ones. As he is dead but he is receiving the warmth of the new Life while Juquia is stressed by the painful life torturing her but having a moment of calmness. Tristan being in the Sun and Juquia being in the Moonlight. Not only does Tristan symbolise the Night and Moon as shown in several official promotional Artworks, meaning she is bathing in Tristan’s Grace, it also shows Juquias Nature of rather hiding in silence and in the dark but also not complete darkness as it scares her away. Tristan on the other Hand is in the Sun, in the Spotlight like a brave Hero, the Hero we know through many tales, always ready to go into a new adventure. Needless to say; Juquia is his ray of sunshine, a warm light bringing calmness into one’s heart and mind.

Tristan being upside down, while Juquia facing the camera straight. It’s additional to the „living and the dead“ plus it’s shows the POV of the other. Tristan’s image is from Juquias POV, where he is resting on her lap. Juquias image is Tristan’s POV, where he holds her gently while she is floating on the water. Tristan smiles while having his eyes closed, showing more trust and carelessness around Juquia, while Juquia has a genuinely smile, feeling love and loved while and being able to feel after long time at all, something that’s not pain.

Tristan being on a flower field, meaning he is lying on a ground. He was always connected with nature such as the forest which is showing here - It’s his home. It’s something Tristan always wanted in life. A place on earth where he belongs to and can always return to. Juquia, while also being connected with the Forest, once mentioned that she often visited the seaside for her poor health, showing also her yearning for health.

Both are dressed in white and very plain clothes, the focus is on the flowers, not the Accessoires or anything. Yet you can see Juquia wearing Tristans Ring for example.

Both paintings are part of the flower series you can find also on my Account when looking for flowers. These two are very important pieces since they explain a lot about the characters and their story while also showing unity and capturing their essence. It’s one of the most important TrisQuia Pieces.

• Clean Full Pictures;

Art by @shokansen

[dragonbanexxi]

The Great Bronze Conspiracy

***!!!NOT CANON COMPLIANT!!!***

Aegon Targaryen x OC Targaryen Royce

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two very different men sit across from each other, with calculating eyes studying the other diligently.

One dressed in an earthy emerald doublet, with the aurora a poised peacock. The other adorned in his bronze armor encrypted with sacred runes for protection and good fortune.

Two very different men with one distinct mutual hatred for the infamous Rogue Prince.

“You’re a fool if you think there isn’t any better offers for my grandsons hand.” The Hightower man drawls. Eliciting a tight smirk on his companions face.

“You’re a fool if you think if you think you can crown the little princeling king with only Lannister gold and very few allies.” Ser Gerold rebuttals back.

“Marry the prince to my niece.” The Bronze Knight says gruffly. “The boy will become king and my niece his queen. She is also just as much of the blood of the dragon as the rest of her paternal family. Wed them and together we will finally put an end to Daemon Targaryen once and for all.”

The Lord Hightower’s eyes shine with contentment at that last statement. It’s been his greatest desire to get rid of the Rogue Prince for years now. A cocky smile breaks out on his face as he offers his hand to Ser Gerold .

“Very well.” They shake hands firmly.

“Let us join our houses. My grandson with your niece.”

“Long may they reign” Ser Gerold says with a large smile.

“Long may they reign.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: Amélia

“Uuughhh” an annoyed frosty haired girl groans. “Septa Minnie! I’ve been practicing my good posture and walk all morning.”

Taking off the stacked books from on top of her head, the young lady gave her septa a girlish pout. Her brown eyes shift to the large window, peering outside. Taking in a sunny pasture, with butterflies flying about and birds chirping happily. The lady’s tender heart yearned to frolic about through the flower beds barefoot.

“It’s such a lovely day. Why can’t we go pick flowers at the meadow?”

The woman of faith pursed her thin lips at her mentee. Tsking at the young ladies childish suggestion.

“You are a young lady now Amélia. Soon to be ten and six. Picking flowers is for little girls.”

Amélia Royce turns away from Septa Minnie. Not wanting her to see the displeasure on her lovely face.

“Scarlett Redfort still picks flowers.” The Lady of Runestone grumbles under breathes.

The only daughter of Lord Griffin Redfort who was the younger brother of the actual lord of the Redfort Keep. Scarlett Redfort is stunning girl with the loveliest midnight shade of raven hair and riveting ice blue eyes that shone with wildness. Amélia didn’t particularly care for the Lady Redfort; she found her to be snobbish. Yet the Runestone girl had to admit Scarlett was a talented kisser. Both girls having had many intense kisses with each other. Usually after finishing a whole bottle of cherry wine.

Septa Minnie manages to hear Amélia talking under her breath. Whacking her wooden stick harshly on the young maidens hands.

‘Fuck you’ Amélia curses the bitter wench in her mind. Not daring to say it out loud. Instead honey brown irises glare daggers at the rigid septa.

Damn that woman’s spectacular hearing. Septa Minnie’s ears have caused Amélia a great number of lashes on her hands throughout the years; for being impertinent at the worst times. In retrospect Amélia does have a naturally combative nature. Preferring to debate and argue her way out trouble. In truth the girl brings it upon herself the majority of the time.

“Scarlett Redfort is a girl with a horrid lack of manners and loose promiscuous morals.” Her voice stern. “Besides the Lady Redfort isn’t the one marrying into the royal family.”

Well that much was true about the Lady Scarlett Redfort. At the age of ten and four, she had been found kneeling infront of a Westerling boy who was squiring for her father. It didn’t take long to decipher what they were doing. Given that the raven haired girl had her delicate hands down the Westerling boys pants. The golden haired boy had been sent home immediately after.

“Have they even accepted the match?.” She huffs changing the subject before she says something else that’ll get her hit.

“Papa never tells me anything.”

“Well I’ll have you know little lass, the lord hand is quite impressed with your dowry.” The gruff voice of her Uncle-Pa spoke behind her. She turns around with a large grin on her pretty face, engulfing her Uncle-Pa in a bear hug.

The middle aged man sports an amused grin and is adorned in his shinning bronze hunting armor. His beard a fusion black and grey hairs tickling her temple as he hugged his ward back.

“But what truly sealed the deal is your Valyrian look my dear.” The man says as he ruffles the girls hair.

Amélia feels her eye twitch.

Despising the fact that it’s true. The Lady of Runestone has the Valyrian look. Tall and regal frame, with long, thick, frosty platnuim curls cascading down her back.

Her eyes however did not shine that otherworldly violet. Instead they rang true to her Firstmen heritage, gleaming the color of the warmest purest whiskey.

Smoothing out her ruffled hair she says,

“How tragic that they are promised a Valyrian lady, but they will instead end up with a barbaric Firstmen savage woman.” She jokes, snorting unladylike.

Causing Septa Minnie to look at her with vexation.

“Well you will need to learn your graces lass. The last thing we need, is you scaring off the Hightowers. I worked hard to secure this match.”

Amélia rolls her bratty brown eyes.

Her uncle and her Septa share a conspiring look.

“Give us a moment Septa Minnie” the woman curtesy’s her way out the living parlor. Leaving the two Royce’s alone.

“Must you always give an attitude to your Septa?” He sighs pinching the bridge of his nose.

The young lady smiles innocently. “I just wanted to pick flowers” shrugging her shoulders.

Her uncle isn’t at all amused. Peering at her with his dark brown eyes.

“She has point Méli.” He sits himself in one of the cushioned seats.

“You will be the Queen someday.”

“A treasonous statement Rhaenyra Targaryen is the heir apparent.” She drawls uninterested in the same conversation they’ve had a million times over.

“Have you forgotten what Daemon Targaryen did to your mother?” He growls angrily at her.

Guilt begins to swarm her belly. She hadn’t forgotten what her sire did to her dear mother. The monstrous Rouge Prince had bashed his wife’s head in with a rock until she bleed to death. Amélia had been a mere babe when her mama had murdered. Though Ser Gerold had told her about the Lady Rhea’s tragic demise, making sure to go into great detail.

Suddenly Amélia feels her breakfast in her throat, the urge to vomit making her wheezy.

The hatred the girl developed for her sire afterwards is a vast raging one. The beauty may not remember her mother, yet her loyalty for Rhea Royce is unwavering.

‘I hate you Daemon Targaryen!’ The voice inside Amélia’s mind says with antipathy. ‘And I hate your daughters!’

Ser Gerold is her true father. She prefers him anyway. When her father walked away from her attempting to steal her birthright, Ser Gerold defended her in the Eerie. She owes her Uncle-Pa her life. Amélia will always heed his advice and follow his directions.

That is why her Uncle- Papa, has secured a betrothal between her and the Prince Aegon. Together they will secure his claim to the Iron Throne and bring Daemon Targaryen to justice.

“No papa. I haven’t forgotten.” Her voice small. Sad brown eyes filling up with glossy pent up tears.

Ser Gerold pats her head with his large hand in a fatherly fashion.

“Your mother will be avenged my dear. Daemon Targaryen will pay for his crime against our house.” Her uncles voice void of its usual gruffness. Oddly soft.

“He has wed the Princess Rhaenyra. Any ally of his is no friend of ours.” Ser Gerold raises a sharp brow at her.

She nods her head in agreement.

“You will be the Queen one day. It will be your mothers bloodline that will continue on, come what may.”

“Come what may… “ she parrots back at him. Not all liking the sound of that sentence.

A cheery smile appears on his face.

“Why don’t you begin to ready yourself for the ball at Gulltown lass?” He suggests eliciting a happy grin from his teary eyed niece.

“Oh! Yes it is tonight isn’t it? Oh I have the loveliest new powder blue gown just perfect for the ball tonight!” Amélia says excitedly wiping her eyes dry with her long sleeve.

Giving her uncle-pa a daughterly kiss on cheek, the lady ran out the palor and to her chamber. All thoughts about revenge were pushed to the side. Tonight she is going to dance and dance until her feet give out.

And look her mighty best while doing so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Starting off this chapter light! This fic will have more politics compared to my other two fics. I hope you guys enjoy Amélia! She’s going to be quite the spitfire. Thank you guys ❤️ Comments are always welcomed.

[sunstaar]

Sunset

Shisui Uchiha x fem!OC

Word Count: 0,4k

Ao3

Author's Note: I forgot how much fun it is to write canon x oc <3

Summary: Finally, he whispered: “Can I kiss you?”

As the sun began to set on the horizon, announcing the end of a delightful day, Shisui and Miyu found themselves laying down on the grassy hill overlooking the calm village hidden in the leaves. After having spent the entire day together, wandering around the village and enjoying each other’s company, basking in the remaining light of the day brought them serenity.

Shisui shifted his position in the grass. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Miyu turned her head to look over at him. “The sunset?” In the light, the boy beside her looked ethereal. The way his dark curls fell near his mesmerizing eyes, a broad smile playing on his lips as he looked over at her. “It does.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, he was staring back at the girl laying beside him, the focus of his dark eyes shifting between looking into her green eyes, to then moving to look at her lips.

Finally, he whispered: “Can I kiss you?”

Miyu’s eyes widened noticeably, a blush rising to paint her cheeks pink. “Please do.”

The sky began to turn shades of pink and yellow as Shisui leaned forward to gently press his lips against Miyu’s. For a moment, Miyu tensed as their lips made contact, but as she felt his lips move against hers, she responded. Almost in sync, their lips moved together, slowly at first, and then with more urgency and passion between them. Shisui’s hands moved to pull her body closer to his, their positions on the grass shifting so that they were sitting up. Miyu’s hands wandered to settle around his neck, desperate to pull him impossibly close. 

As they pulled apart from one another, their cheeks were burning red and their bodies intertwined. Both were breathing heavily, gazing into one another’s eyes.

“I’ve been meaning to do that all day.” Shisui admitted, a wide smile playing on his lips.

Miyu's cheeks felt even warmer now, the same warmth spreading through her body. “So have I.” Shyly, she smiled at him.

Shisui reached out toward her and tucked a strand of her red hair behind her ear. “You know, you’re more beautiful than any sunset.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “You’re rather handsome yourself.”

They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the way the shared kiss left their body tingling and yearning for more. Miyu moved to grasp Shisui’s hand with her own, squeezing it once as she settled her body against his. It was clear to both of them that the kiss had changed something between them, and as they watched the sun fully disappear behind the horizon, they knew that this was the beginning of something new.

[cebwrites]

achilles, i’m talking to you

a/n: something of the boys needing companionship, we feeling melancholic in this house tonight... 💔

oc x canon, they/he law word count: 1k

Kirin’s birthdays are always quiet.

His crew mill about their duties but keep to themself - out of his way in hushed tones, even the bubble of laughter or obnoxious cackles that have become so commonplace can’t break this somber wave that seems to envelop the entire ship once late November rolls around. 

This year, Rio’s quiet scratching of pen to paper is absent. Izzy’s quill in their office hardly takes up half as much presence. Everyone feels the way their captain’s bones ache with the weather and the how he wishes to disappear with the swirl of his drink, downed.

Some wayward Hearts, catching wind of the date but not the crew’s protocol, come in guns blazing with balloons, streamers, and a cake Penguin, Bas and Laeno agonized over for hours to make just right - taking into consideration that Kirin never really did have a sweet tooth. They’ve all even wrestled their captain into a spotted party hat over their regular one for the occasion, begrudging as ever.

The reception when they show up for a surprise party is frigid.

‘Course, it’s no one’s fault. The Hearts had no idea and Hiraishin are still happy to see familiar faces, reunite with long distance partners, drink the night away - a celebration just wasn’t what anyone on this ship had in mind for this week, let alone on this of all days.

Kirin manages to peel himself off the underside of his blanket for long enough to announce that everyone’s free to party for as long as they like and that he’ll be around, just not in the spotlight for today. Gotta let someone else take center stage for once, right? Law can see that his heart’s not in it, sharp eyes soften upon being told the reason why, among a few others.

Still, everyone manages to get a pleasant buzz going after a while. Even with gloom from before, it’s hard to stay that way once the sparks of comradery begin to shine through - rubbing shoulders with old friends and catching up with stories of the adventures they’ve had without the other parties around.

Laughter returns to the Aura Nimbus, the Tang comfortably joins her as crew members slowly spread out when day turns to dusk.

Late into the night, long after they’d stopped catching the other captain flitting around circles of conversation - rarely taking part and almost ghostly in his presence, Law finds Kirin drinking below deck. Deliberately avoiding interaction, the small voice in their mind mentions, not that they were in any place to judge. Law was no stranger to these behaviors, they were familiar, a comfort.

But patterns of isolation weren’t healthy.

“Sorry, you know,” Law clears their throat, “for springing this all on you unannounced.”

Kirin glances at their backlight figure in the doorway, only a step below divine, vaguely registering how the crumpled shape he’s contorted himself into against the wall must look in contrast.

“Nah, s’alright. I would’ve rolled out a better welcome met for ya any other time.”

The smile that falls into place is one he knows well but wrong - no, this isn’t the smile he’s supposed to give Law. Or Izzy when he came by earlier with dinner. Or Reiji, any time he popped in to check on him. This smile is cold, dead behind the eyes, the instinctive one his facial muscles pull out of reflex whenever he’s hiding something.

Kirin can’t see it but he knows the exact look, it’s a shadow of actual delight saved only for others to mirror their disdain for him. He obscures it with a drag of his hand, ashamed, hoping he’d be able to force something a little more genuine by the time Law gets close enough to look at him in this dim light. He doesn’t see whatever expression Law has in response to that, either.

He doesn’t want to be perceived, yet yearns for the warmth of another person’s presence. Kirin doesn’t flinch away when they take a seat beside him, but does wince audibly at the question of what he’s doing here stewing alone in self loathing when everyone above wants to help.

Kirin doesn’t have a quippy comeback. Law’s words cut deep because they’re parallels, he sees right through him, Kirin can’t ignore the metaphorical arm extended his way. He leans - slumps - against their shoulder, Kirin’s grateful that Law doesn’t pull away but does whine when they swipe his booze for a swig of their own. 

A glimmer of his regular self coming through.

“I,” Kirin begins, ruefully, “don’t think I should be here.”

“Mm?”

“My parents were practically kids when they had me. Twenty with their whole lives ahead of them. Even with marines on their asses, maybe if they didn’t have their hands full with a baby, maybe then they could’ve...”

Law cracks one eye open to follow the faint clicking in their periphery. It’s Kirin fiddling with a lighter idly - a passing mention from someone that he used to smoke comes to mind, they’re just as guilty though. The memory of smoke, lipstick, and cherry cologne on woefully lonely nights fill their thoughts.

No, not now. That was too painful. Law tamps down the thought with different memories. A dull throb in their chest rather than direct stinging behind the eyes.

“Flevance’s destruction was always going to happen. Nothing a single person being born or not was going to change that after the Word Government decided that our suffering was worth exploiting for profit,” they take another sip, Law makes a face. It’s the cheap stuff.

The given well, yeah is on the tip of his tongue. The unfathomable tragedy of a genocide isn’t something Kirin wraps his head around easily - though he’s seen enough of what the world’s worst was willing to offer elsewhere - so he holds it, takes the empty bottle from their hands to set it next to the ones just out of Law’s direct line of sight. They hear the clinking, though, Kirin’s not spared a levelled stare but he chooses to ignore it.

“In any case,” Law sighs, “you—we’re here now.”

“Yeah? So what’s the plan, capt’n?”

They cast their gaze to the thumping above deck; the party isn’t as loud as it could be - Law’s well aware that both their crews were capable of and have been far rowdier than this. Muffled laughter and cheers still make their way to them through the floorboards. For the moment it’s peaceful that way. So they shift to get comfortable, cheek nestled snugly on Kirin’s head.

“Learning to live.”

[lemonadehtwooh]

It's Pride Month so I get to post my stupid little Utterson X Sherlock (OC X Canon) ship doodles and y'all are going to enjoy it (I am literally speaking to the void)

Warning for OOC of both Sherlock and my own character Utterson because some of the doodles were made not to be accurate but were made because I got bored and thought it was cute. Also some of this is older drawings and I really need to draw them more (in general) and draw their relationship more accurate to how I actually think they would act XD

Some headcanons me and one of my friends made:

-Both are very dedicated HOWEVER Sherlock likes to wait for Utterson to bring something up rather than initiate it himself. It's mostly Sherlock being mischievous and enjoying watching Utterson yearn and fluster. Also due to how Sherlock can sometimes be a lil bit mischievous, he also enjoys teasing Utterson just slightly to see how Utterson reacts. This goes on even before Utterson finally asks Sherlock on a date

-Sherlock also knew Utterson had a crush on Sherlock before Utterson even realized his own crush on Sherlock (this reads weird). Sherlock waited for Utterson to realize on his own rather than initiating it himself, adding onto the headcanon before this one. Like I said, Sherlock enjoys watching Utterson lmao

-Utterson had a SUPER LONG period of denial of his own bisexuality and mistaken his romantic attraction as a "super strong platonic love", and when he finally realized he was experiencing a crush, he freaked out and was like "NO ONE CAN KNOW. IT WOULD BE A DISASTER." while everyone else was like "The closet is glass, everyone knows he is a Sherlock Simp"

-Hyde (and a very unwilling Best Friend Paris) tried to make Utterson realize his feelings Faster by putting the two in cliche romance situations, but unfortunately Chaldea did it's magic and somehow each romantic scene would be screwed up. Hyde was doing all this because he watched too many romantic telenovelas (Hyde is Utterson and Sherlock's biggest supporter and hater)

-Whenever Utterson starts scolding Sherlock for doing something dangerous, Sherlock does the Handsome Face (tm) and Utterson melts and folds Every. Single. Time. XD

-Utterson confessed through a love letter. He didn't think Sherlock would read it automatically but Sherlock knew exactly what it was and really likes seeing Utterson's reaction (I actually have a more written-out, detailed scene of what happened, and it's way funnier than this short summary I'm giving RIP)

-Utterson is very modest and gets severely flustered at the idea of holding Sherlock's hand in public. It takes a long time for him to get comfortable with doing so, but Sherlock doesn't seem to mind. PDA is a Huge No for Utterson, obviously XD

Idk there's so much about these two, more than I can type in one sitting, although I mostly type about Utterson because I'm trying to still grasp FGO Sherlock's character. He's mysterious but also weirdly mischievous in some ways, and he's just,,, Interesting! (scrunches him like paper affectionately)

[book-of-baba-fett]

hi Iris!!

🍉 Do you prefer to write short fics or long fics? Multichaptered works or single ones? Why?

🍓 What’s a fic you’ve written you feel is underrated?

🍐 Is there anything in canon that you absolutely hate and love to fix in fics? A wrong choice made, a fuck-up in characterization, a misunderstanding never cleared up, a conversation never shown onscreen, etc…

🫐 What’s your favorite underrated thing in your fandom? (A ship that only you seem to write for, a character there’s almost no fics about, a trope that criminally hasn’t been written yet, etc.)

hi Leo!!! Thanks for asking!

🍉 Do you prefer to write short fics or long fics? Multichaptered works or single ones? Why?

So for this it’s kind a double answer. Cause if I’m thinking of just a little moment piece, or a reader thing i always find it’s better as a short fic. But anything other than that, I tend to like more, especially with OCs cause it gives more of a chance to get into characters. I guess I always plaay around in my head a bit with "does this feel more impactful with context, or can you just drop this blurb and people will still be able to feel something from it"

🍓 What’s a fic you’ve written you feel is underrated?

I mean it feels like a copout to say Illicit Affairs, cause I feel like it's the one I talk about the most, but compared to my other fics it's notes are nothing. It does well on AO3, but I feel like that's just the tale of how OC fics work. Like I know it's my best work, but I also know that more people will go for my smutty x reader oneshots and that's totally ok.

🍐 Is there anything in canon that you absolutely hate and love to fix in fics? A wrong choice made, a fuck-up in characterization, a misunderstanding never cleared up, a conversation never shown onscreen, etc…

Ooooh I had to really think on this one, just because I feel like a lot of what I tend to combat the most is fanon stuff lol. And I haven't written anything in that era, and I don't see myself doing it tbh, BUT I hate what the sequels did to Han and Leia. Do I believe their relationship would have been all sunshine and roses? Absolutley not, but for them to just basically not be together??? a fucking CRIME.

🫐 What’s your favorite underrated thing in your fandom? (A ship that only you seem to write for, a character there’s almost no fics about, a trope that criminally hasn’t been written yet, etc.)

Ok i'm speaking on my pedestal that like two people get from my Kotor end of the fandom and my current hyperfixation but for the love of gods we need more Revan x Canderous Ordo fics. I don't dislike the Fem Revan romance option of Carth, but that man is unbuttered toast at times in comparision to Canderous when I think of potential. Kotor spoilers coming in but even before the reveal, Ordo talks about how the only Jedi who had his respect was Revan, and when the reveal happens there's no grudge for what Revan did to the Mandalorians, in fact he's even more eager to fight by your side because of how worthy of a warrior he conisdered Revan.

But the real kicker??? What we see in Kotor 2, and the way that Kreia calls him out in reference to Revan (light side and dark side options) "Do you wonder where she wanders now Mandalore? Why she cast you down and left you broken at the edge of the galaxy/why she gave you your orders and abandoned you at the edge of the galaxy?"

like I know it wasn't written with romantic intentions but the way I feel this in my yearning soul??????

also I will always be a sucker for a good mandalorian x jedi pairing it just hits me in the happy mental place.