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moonlight-prose · 7 months

Note

If you’re taking those as prompts, ❛ don’t you know what you’re doing to me? ❜ with Din perhaps?

LOVE IS A FIRE THAT BURNS UNSEEN

a/n: so i took forever on this, because i kind of fell out of writing for din for...well....awhile. i can tell you this sat in my wips folder half finished for months. honestly i was wondering if it would even get finished. but i was re-watching mando last night and decided why the fuck not. i can't remember which prompt list this was from because it's been so long, but that's okay. this is not beta read or edited, but we live and die by the pen.

summary: on your list of things that could possibly happen while bounty hunting with din, dying from hypothermia wasn't included. nor was finally admitting the truth to yourself about your feelings.

word count: 3.1k+

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, near death experience, angst, feelings being admitted sort of, p in v sex, a hint of choking, they're so in love it's sickening.

It’s fucking cold in the Razor Crest as you sit in the cockpit waiting for his return. You’re bundled in a jacket that has seen better days, but even with the extra layers you swear you’ll freeze to death before he comes back. Tempted to turn the ship back on in order to get some heat—you do the most to distract yourself from the frost currently eating away at the skin of your face. Din’s instructions were clear. Keep the ship hidden until he comes back with the bounty, which would be simple enough.

That is if the bounty he was currently hunting resided on a planet with a temperature that wouldn’t kill you from exposure. Everything had been fine two hours ago. You were working on repairing an old comlink as he tracked the bounty through space, having caught their signal on the outer edges of the galaxy. Except then…they were attacked. Neither of you could see who caused it or even why, but suddenly a lone ship was heading into the atmosphere on the one planet you always said you’d rather die than visit.

Hoth—a frozen pit that once housed the Rebellion of all places.

So, there you were. Shivering to gain some warmth as you scanned the area for Din’s signal. If the ship was right, he still remained alive. You only wished you could say the same for yourself by the time he came back.

The cold had begun to seep into your layers, hitting your chest directly and causing you to cough harshly. If he didn’t return within the hour he would find you dead due to hypothermia. Except that’s not what scared you. It was the fact that he would be the one to find you—a man who showed absolutely no interest in you whatsoever.

You weren’t sure when the crush started or even why, but you do know the realization hit you harder than a speeder-bike going at full speed one day while you were sitting beside him in the cockpit. He laughed at something you said, the chuckle low and slightly clipped due to his modulator and that’s what did it. What had you sitting there in shock—eyes wide—as it suddenly dawned on you that…you liked him. A lot more than you would have ever thought before.

“Maker fucking above,” you muttered, your teeth chattering with the words. “Hurry up, bucket head.”

Vaguely you recalled some survival tips from your time as a teenager on Bracca working as a scrapper. Never touch live wires, always look out for yourself, and when stuck in freezing temperatures—layers become your best friend. So, you stumbled out of the cockpit chair and towards the ladder that would lead you to the rest of his ship. Slow small steps were all you could manage as your body went into overdrive to try and keep you warm. Except the ship acted as an icebox rather than a heater.

You could lock yourself in his small cot, burrowing under the blankets he’d bought because of you complaining there wasn’t enough on the ship. But you’d first have to get there. It was a struggle to even climb down the ladder—your breath coming in gasps as your lungs fought against the freezing air. How long had you been sitting up there? You held no answer to the question, because the results were clear to you now; you were up there long enough to lead you right to death’s doorstep.

Dragging yourself along the side of the ship wall, you flinched as the cold metal touched your cheek. You should have gone against his orders and simply turned the ship back on. It would keep you from this—currently fighting against hypothermia as Din took his sweet time coming back.

The sound of the airlock on the door releasing when it opened brought a small flicker of hope to life, burning bright in your chest. But it faded just as quickly as it came. You caught sight of him dragging a half dead bounty up the ramp—his helmet turned towards you—before you collapsed to the ground. Your body shivering in a final attempt to generate enough body heat in order to keep you alive.

His voice calling your name echoed in the back of your mind as you drifted off—the concept of sleep far more enticing than it should be.

Steady breaths against your bare back was what you woke up—your mind drifting slowly back to reality. Or at least what you thought to be reality. The last thing you could recall was seeing Din’s helmet as your body did what it could to survive. How you ended up in the darkness of his cot, pressed against someone you assumed to be him…naked, was a mystery to you. Perhaps you were still dreaming. This must be how your mind envisioned some form of peace to ease your soul into an afterlife.

“You’re awake.” His voice caught you off guard—the breath in your throat catching.

“How…”

The shift of his body created a low burn of heat to appear at the bottom of your stomach as his arm tightened around your waist—drawing you closer. “You almost stopped breathing when I got back. Your body went into shock from the cold.”

“I was dying,” you said softly, the realization far less jarring than waking beside him in the nude.

He hummed, the low pitch a vibration you felt along your back. “I had to get you warm.”

“So you took off my clothes?” you asked, the smile prominent in your tone.

“Generating enough body heat only works when—”

“Both of us are naked.”

His fingers gripped onto the soft skin of your belly. “Yes,” he replied—voice slightly strained.

Somehow it never registered that he was actually sans armor and clothing until you felt his hand glide further up. The soft skin of his palm turned the spark into a fully formed flame that traveled its way through your body. He was laying beside you…naked. If you concentrated hard enough, you could feel the rise and fall of his stomach against your lower back—his skin soft there too.

Any other time your brain would have short circuited, but the sluggishness from sleep had yet to wear off. It made you rather docile—something you felt oddly grateful for. You were entirely aware, fully conscious of your words and decisions, but the tranquility in your body seemingly spurred you forward. No other time would you be this centered—this sure of yourself—and maybe that’s where you made the mistake, because this was dangerous. Revealing the feelings you’d harbored for months was like poison to your heart…positively lethal.

“Din,” you murmured, the soft heat coming from his body now spreading into yours.

If you knew you’d end up like this after one visit to Hoth, you would have come here a lot sooner.

“Yes?” Even his breath was warm as it brushed across the bare skin of your shoulder. Maker you were close in his bed that was barely big enough for him, let alone you beside him.

“I—” The words caught in the base of your throat, lodging themselves there like a stone you couldn’t swallow. You wanted to say it. Get everything out into the open and be done with it, but your mind seemed to be slowly coming to its senses.

“What is it?”

Closing your eyes, you let out a shuddered breath in the hopes that it would push down the erratic nerves which jumped under your skin. If you chickened out now, you’d never say the words. They’d be your secret—forever trapped in the cage of your heart until it was far too late to confess them. What’s funny is that they seemed like such easy things to say. How hard was it really to say I love you? How much effort did it take? Only you now realized it took a lot more than you expected.

It was far easier to die than to admit your feelings.

“I have to tell you something and I just—” Inhaling, you curled your hand around the blanket beneath you. “I don’t want you to look at me differently if things don’t turn out the way I hope.”

His thumb rubbed a soothing circle against your hip. “I won’t.”

You scoffed. “You probably will.”

The subtle shift of his body against yours caused flutters to go through your heart—rendering you speechless for a moment. He was so close it was maddening. If you had the courage you’d turn around, press yourself to him, and whisper the words against his lips. But you were practically stone, unable to even turn your head slightly to feel the press of his lips against your neck.

“For a while now I’ve felt…well…my feelings towards you have changed.” You blurted them out, hoping it was like ripping off a bandaid. Except the silence of his response hurt more than you expected.

Until—

“I know,” he said, his hand pressing a bit harder on your hip.

Nothing could have prepared you for the shockwave that went through your body. “You know?” you exclaimed.

“I’ve known since our trip to Coruscant.”

You paused, trying to form something to say, but all you could come up with was: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Why had he let you think he held no feelings towards you? That you were alone in this. You felt him stiffen behind you, his hand pulling away slightly and your heart sank in your chest. Perhaps you had asked the wrong question. Or even touched on a part of this he didn’t want you to see. But you had to know the truth. You knew why you waited—why you couldn’t get the words out for the life of you—but why had he?

That is until he wrapped his arm around your waist tightly, jolting you back towards his body. A soft yelp left you as you tried to refocus yourself in the pitch black space. Except then you felt it. Pressing hard and insistent against your lower back—a part of Din you had only ever imagined, but never seen.

He grunted, his hand splaying across your stomach as you shifted against him. “Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?”

You gasped. “Din—”

“What you’ve been doing?

His hips canted downwards, grinding against you and sending heat sparking up your spine. Enough to combat the cold that still remained in you, but you wanted more. You craved it. Moaning softly, you pushed back against him, pressing your thighs together to hopefully appease the growing ache that formed. Except he was one step ahead of you. Shoving his bare thigh between your legs, he pressed it upwards, grinning at the way your head fell back against his chest—a guttural moan leaving your lips.

“Every day is fucking torture,” he rasped, his hand sliding even lower until his fingers were hovering right above where you needed him most. “Because I can’t touch you.” His lips pressed against the curve of your jaw. “Because I can’t kiss you…”

“Maker,” you gasped, reaching down to wrap your hand around his wrist. “I-I want you to touch me. Want you to kiss me.”

His fingers dipped down even lower, finally parting your folds. A ragged groan was pressed to your jaw, his teeth scraping down against the skin when he found you wet and dripping for him. You could feel his heartbeat against your back. How it was erratic and almost as quick as yours. He was just as nervous as you were—if not more so, because of his creed.

He wanted you to be his, to love him as he was with his creed, but he was scared that this wasn’t permanent. You wanted to show him the inner workings of your mind, the makeup of your heart—how he was seared into it. He was ingrained so deep into your soul that you couldn’t even fathom the thought of being parted from him.

“Are you always this wet for me?” he asked, disbelief clear in his tone.

Nodding, you felt another moan begin to form, only for it to die as he pulled his fingers away. “No—”

“Shh,” he breathed, cupping your jaw as he moved even closer. “I’ll take care of you.”

Heat flooded your stomach, a whine forming in your throat as he pulled you back, the head of his cock now nudging against your entrance. You dug your nails into his forearm, your lips parting to form around his name. A ragged moan echoing in his small quarters, and he began to push forward. Sliding into you slowly as you fought to keep yourself quiet.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed, wrapping his arm around your torso and thrusting into you completely, his hips pressing against your ass. “Won’t last—”

You keened when his hand fell to your clit, circling it with enough pressure to send jolts up your spine. For a moment he simply held himself there. Encompassed in your heat as he worked you over, building your release steadily until you were pressing into him. Your hips rolling against his fingers—fucking yourself on his cock. Soft moans were pressed to your skin, the stubble on his jaw scratching along your shoulder, and that only heightened everything.

For the first time…he was entirely yours. Bare and open as he indulged in something both of you had held back from doing for so long.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you turned your head and caught the corner of his lips in a kiss. Something so tender yet so powerful. It nearly sent you over the edge and you felt Din’s surprise at the action. How his body jolted, his hips nudging forward and fingers stuttering in their motions. Even though he had proudly claimed he wanted to kiss you, to finally feel your lips against his. He had never expected it to come true.

“Cyar'ika,” he breathed.

“I want…” You gasped, hips rolling against his fingers in quick movements as that blinding feeling continued to overtake you. “Kiss me Din. Please, please—”

His mouth found yours in the darkness of his cabin, and you felt your heart scream out. Felt your entire body give into him, his name, his signet forever carved into your heart. He was your future and he knew it. Which is why he kissed you with a fervor that you believed only existed in your dreams—a passion that you felt right down to your toes. His tongue slid along yours, tasting the shitty caf you had earlier—the desperation on your tastebuds.

“Ah…” You tried to form the words on your tongue. The feelings that were trapped in your heart, but they refused to be let loose.

“I know you want to cum,” he breathed, fingers speeding up as your walls began to flutter around his cock. His other hand shifted, wrapping gently around your throat to keep your face close to his. Pressing down lightly as you gasped. “Let me feel it.”

A keening broken moan of his name ripped from you, hands scrabbling to grasp for something, settling for his arm that kept you pressed against him. White flashed behind your closed eyes, his lips swallowing every sound you made as you writhed against him. Gushing around his cock.

You didn’t hear the hoarse shout that he pressed into your mouth, his hips thrusting into you quickly as he followed you off the edge. Filling you with a warmth that you swore you felt in your chest. Biting down on his bottom lip you sucked into your mouth, moaning when he canted his hips forward, prolonging the sparks that ran up your spine. He was a panting mess and you tried to picture what he looked like.

Was his hair a mess? Were his cheeks stained red? Were his lips swollen?

The urge to simply open your eyes nearly overtook you, but you understood what came with that action. What would have to happen afterwards. Din had explained enough for you to grasp the basic details of what being a Mandalorian meant. So you kept them closed and opted to simply feel. You memorized how his lips against yours felt, what being full of him felt like.

You kept what you could nestled against your heart, remaining here for as long as possible. Din’s cock softened in you, twitching every now and then when your walls fluttered. But you solely had him to blame. Because he was running his hand along your body, grazing your nipples lightly before pulling away—the familiar feelings in your stomach stirring once more. If he wasn’t careful neither of you would be leaving this bed for quite some time.

Which didn’t bode well for you seeing as how you hated the planet you currently resided on.

“Din,” you breathed, pulling away to catch your breath before he dived down again—ready for round two of the hottest makeout session you’d partaken in.

“You want to leave,” he panted. There was something scary about how he could see your thoughts so clearly. You’d have to ask him about it later.

“No…” Your head fell back against his shoulder. “I want to stay here, but Hoth.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We can stay here for as long as you want.”

Half expecting him to pull out and place his helmet back in its rightful place, you were a bit surprised when he remained put. Curling himself around you closer until his body perfectly molded yours. The cold still remained in the ship—the heaters unable to counteract the snowy planet—yet you found that you were perfectly content to remain right where you were. Wrapped in his arms—the certainty of your future now nestled in his heart. Mimicking yours in every way.

“Din,” you breathed in the darkness, feeling him trace something along your waist.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say…” You took in a breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart. “I feel like you should hear me say it.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his fingers pressing down. “I know cyar'ika. I feel the same way.”

“You do?” you asked softly.

“I do.”

You settled into the bed, allowing your muscles to relax and your body to once more give into the temptation of sleep. With Din right there, you felt as if you were able to finally relax. To give in and allow yourself to float.

“You know…” You yawned, feeling his chin settle against your shoulder. “Maybe Hoth isn’t so bad.”

He smiled, his lips brushing along your skin as you drifted off, mind succumbing to the sweet snare of unconsciousness. “No,” he breathed, continuing to trace the shape of his signet on your skin, because whether you wore it or not…you were a part of his clan. His life. “It’s not.”

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #my writing

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norrussell · 9 months

Text

Lap Dance | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: basically smut, lots of babygirl I guess

A/N: decided to try myself in this writing stuff and this has been sitting in my wips folder since January. I have a lot more for Lando and Pierre written so let me know if you'd want them. Also, English is not my first language :)

It was close to midnight and George and you were just coming back from the restaurant where you celebrated your two years anniversary. You both were a little tipsy; George struggled a bit with unlocking the door of your apartment and you just stood giggling beside him. Finally, the key clicked and he let you inside first.

"You looked absolutely gorgeous tonight." he said, looking you from up and down as he turned to face you. He walked up to you, grabbing you into his embrace and resting his hands on your hips.

"You looked good too." you whispered, looking up at him and pulling him by his suit jacket.

"Oh yeah?" he inquired, your noses brushing against each other.

You nodded and let him kiss you there in the hallway. Shortly, your kiss turned into a full make out session and you had to stop him when he reached underneath your red dress because you already had something else planned in mind.

"George," you breathed, your eyes closed, as he traced kisses down your neck. "I have something for you."

"Mhm, I'm sure you do..." he mumbled as he tried to kiss you again, but you placed your hands on his chest giving him a little push. He groaned, making you chuckle, but obliged.

"Come with me. But first, let's get you out of this jacket." he raised his eyebrows in wonder, but let you slid your hands down his arms to undress him.

You took his hand and led him to the living room where you sat him down on the couch. He looked up at you with his big eyes. You pressed a finger against his lips, disabling him from any words of protest.

"Now, be a good boy and wait for me to get ready." he quickly nodded his head looking up at you and not even blinking.

You smiled and ran a finger across his jawline. You went to the bathroom where you had already prepared a set of lacy lingerie and a robe. You touched upon your hair and makeup real quick before going back to the living room and played some sensual music to set the mood. Since you were coming from behind him, the sudden noise caused him to snap his head to the right. You walked over to him, placing your hands on his shoulders.

"It's me." you whispered into his neck before planting a soft kiss. You felt him tense, smiling satisfactorily to yourself.

You walked around the couch in front of him to see that he has also gotten comfortable. He was sitting back on the couch with his dress shirt half undone and arms and legs spread open. You bit hard on your lower lip. Shit, you should be the one in charge here, but seeing him on display like that made you want to commit to him instantly. You tried not to let that distract you from what you have planned to do. With regained confidence, you walked forward a bit. His eyes scanned you from head to toe and you noticed his breath deepening.

"You look amazing, babygirl." he breathed, his eyes lingering on your figure.

You started playing with the rope that was loosely keeping your robe together while walking even closer to him.

"You think so?" you asked, voice low, as you stood in between his legs now, towering over him with your robe fully open.

"Y-yes." his eyes fell from your face to your chest.

"Good." you smirked, straightening yourself and walking away from him.

You took the robe off of your shoulders and looked over at him, back still facing him. Shimmying your way out of the rest of it, you tossed it away and turned to fully face him. His breath hitched now that you were standing half exposed in front of him.

"Now," you started as you slowly made your way back to him "we are going to set some ground rules."

"Mhm," he licked his lips "and what are those, babygirl?" he reached to touch you and bring you closer to him, but you stopped him halfway.

"First one is," you said as you got a hold of his wrists "you can look, but you can't touch." you pinned his hands on each side of him. "And the second," you leaned closer to his face and brought a knee up to his crotch and started working it. "you can't get hard."

"You're making some impossible rules, honey." he let out a shaky laugh.

"If you do, I'll stop." you stopped moving your knee just to make the point even more clear. He gulped and nodded. "Good boy." George loved praise, you could see his eyes rolling back.

You let go of his hands and walked away from him once more. He adjusted himself on the couch, spreading his arms on the back of it as if to say come and get me.

Oh, and I will George Russell, you just wait.

You unclasped your bra and put a hand over one cup to keep it in place while slowly removing the straps off your shoulders. George's gaze darkened as you stood there with your bra being loosely supported with just your hands. You shimmied a bit, moving only your upper body, before you let the bra just fall off. He took a deep breath in, his eyes travelling all over your naked torso as if he's seeing it for the first time. His fingertips started dancing on the couch surface and you knew he was itching to touch you.

You flashed him a smile and took your time walking back to him, one foot in front of the other. Once you were near him, you looked at him with intention. His lips were slightly apart and his chest visibly moving up and down. Your eyes roamed around his body for a bit before you looked into his eyes again with a smirk. You crouched down in front of him, placing your hands on each of his knees. You moved your hand up, caressing his thighs, feeling his muscles twitch under your palms, over his stomach and up his chest to his shoulders. You straightened up and placed your legs on each of his sides, straddling him, but not sitting on his lap. He licked his lips and you felt his breath hit your chest.

"Please..." he looked at you with hooded eyes.

"Please what baby?" you slowly swayed your hips, playing with his collar and teasing him.

"Please, let me kiss you." he breathed, closing his eyes.

You leaned your face forward and he was ready, ready to capture your lips with his, but in the last moment you changed direction, grazing over his cheek with your lips to his earlobe.

"No can do, babe." you whispered and noticed he was gripping the sofa rest which made you chuckle in his ear.

As quickly as you got on, you got off him. You walked away unbothered, but not as far as before. You took your time, sensually moving your body to the rhythm of the music, giving him something to look at. You played with the ends of your thongs before you bent down and took them off completely without previous warning. You could hear him take a sharp breath in.

"Shit, baby..." he gasped at the sight in front of him.

You gave him a quick glance over my shoulder, your body still bent down. You stepped out of your panties, gave him a little bit more of a slow dance before you made your way backwards to him. You sat on the couch in between his legs with your back still turned to him. You started working your hips against him, leaning back over his chest and feeling his breath on your neck. Soon, you could feel something hard pressing on your lower back. You stopped moving and got up.

"No, come back..." he pleaded.

You turned around and looked at him. He was in desperate state, his head hanging back and unable to control himself any longer.

"You broke the rule, baby. I told you I would stop."

"I know, I'm sorry..." he was almost panting. "I'll try to behave, just please..." he was completely at your mercy now.

You pretended to give it a thought when you already knew what you were going to do next. You went back to him, straddled him, but still not sitting fully on his lap.

"That's all nice to hear, but I still think I'll have to punish you, baby." you whispered in his ear.

"Yes," he started rapidly nodding his head. "you can punish me. You can do whatever you want with me. Please." his breathing was heavy.

And then finally, you sat your ass on his lap. He did soften a little.

"Oh my god..." he groaned and you guessed that was a sigh of relief.

You started grinding your hips against him. You knew he wouldn't last much longer and it didn't matter anymore.

"Shit, baby, I don't know how much longer I can put it off..." he started squirming like he was trying to get away from you. You stopped moving to let him catch some breath.

"It's okay, George. It doesn't matter anymore." you caressed a side of his face.

"It doesn't?" he looked at you in wonder.

You shook your head, cupped his face and kissed him. His body prompted up, but then stood still unsure should he move or not.

"It's okay, George, you can touch me now." you smiled against his lips.

"I-I can?" he stuttered and you nodded your head. "Wow, I, uh, I don't know where to start." he nervously laughed.

"Let me help you a bit." you chuckled and took his hands. "You can start here." you placed them on your waist and his fingers curled around your warm skin. His palms started moving up your sides, over your boobs and around your neck. "It's your reward for doing so good. You've been so good to me, George." you said, feeding his praise kink and losing yourself in sensation his touch was giving you.

"You are so perfect, babygirl." he whispered against your lips before closing the gap between you.

Soon you started making out and your hips thrusted on their own. His hands were all over your body, grabbing your boobs, pinching your nipples, squeezing and slapping your ass. He placed kisses down your jaw and neck, over your chest to your boobs. He sucked and nibbed on your nipples while you were going crazy on top of him. You could even feel him grow again from under you.

"George..." you breathed, your fingers lost in his hair. He parted from you and licked his lips.

"Should we move this to the bedroom?" he looked up at you.

Unable to speak, you just nodded your head. He wrapped his arms around you firmly and lifted you up. Your legs immediately curled around his waist and he carried you to the bedroom. He softly put you down on the bed, towering over and admiring you.

"I've waited all night for this." his hands caressed your body. "And you had some nerve teasing me." he smirked.

"Was it worth it?" you asked.

"It was so worth it, babygirl. You were so good for me." he started leaving pepper kisses down your body as he spoke. "You were so good, babygirl, it would be a shame not to reward you." he kissed down your stomach, sinking lower and lower.

You gulped. He put his hands on your knees and spread them open. He begun kissing his way in on one leg and then the other. You gasped when you felt him suck on the skin of your inner thigh. He knew you loved marks and hickeys. He pulled away, admiring his work.

"It's gonna look so beautiful in the morning, babe." he then moved his attention to your core. "Ooh, babygirl, you don't even need much preparing. All this wetness just for me?" he chuckled and slid his fingers over your center.

You moaned at the contact. He proceeded to circle his fingertips around your clit, drawing figure eights, going slow then faster until you were a whining mess.

"Oh, George, please..." you panted.

"Please what, babygirl?" he perked up.

"Please... Finger me, please." you barely choked out.

"If that's what my babygirl wants, my babygirl gets." he pushed one finger inside of you and your eyes rolled back. He fingerfucked you with one hand and teased your clit with the other. You were only able to moan his name at that point.

"More," you uttered somehow.

"What? What was that?" he urged you to repeat yourself.

"More, George, please..." you cried.

"Oh, my babygirl is ready for more." he smirked as he slid another finger inside. You let out a moan and arched your back. He was so good with his fingers. "I think you're ready." before you could ask him what he meant by that, you already felt the warmth of his mouth closing in on you.

You squirmed and your legs automatically shut he needed his arm to keep them open. He sucked and lapped his tongue around you, his fingers picking up the pace. He knew you were reaching your climax as your moans grew louder and louder.

"Are you going to be a good girl and come for me, babygirl?" he asked in between licks.

"Yes..." you gritted, pulling on his hair, your hips uncontrollably going up and down, grinding on his face.

"Then do it." he commanded and you released. You came all over his fingers. "Oh, baby, look at the mess you made." he said, removing out and showing you his dripping fingers. You could only pant and look at him in your bliss. "You did so good. I'm so proud of you." he leaned forward to kiss you.

You kissed for a while and you took that to your advantage. You flipped you over, where now you were on top and had him crucified under you. He laughed, loving the way you played the dom. You circled your hips just to see how he was doing down there, but there was no need. You could already feel him. You unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, tossing it behind and attacking his torso with kisses until you reached his waistband. You palmed his bulge with one hand and undid the button with the other. You took the zipper between your teeth and pulled it down, keeping eye contact. That had George roll his eyes back and rest his head on the mattress. In quick motion, you had both his pants and boxers pulled down and his member standing straight in front of you.

Even after two years, his size continues to surprise you. You took it in your hands, giving it a few pumps before you licked him all the way from the shaft to the tip. George threw his head back once again, moaning. You circled your tongue around his tip before fully taking it in your mouth. He audibly gasped. His fingers quickly removed your hair that fell forward, giving you more access. You bobbed your head up and down, still warming up to take him all the way in while George was gripping your hair and giving praises left and right. You looked up at him through your lashes. The boy was in another dimension right now. Well, you were about to send him to another one. You took a deep breath in, preparing yourself for what is about to come, and sank your head down all the way to his balls. He moaned so loud you thought neighbors from the building across the street could hear him. He held your head in place for a few moments before letting you lift your head up. You took a much needed breath before you could start working on him again, but he stopped you.

"No, no, no," he whined and cupped your face "if you do that again I'll be coming down your throat in five seconds. And I want to fuck you." he kissed you. "I need to fuck you. I need to feel you. Now." he kissed you again.

You nodded and reached for the nightstand drawer. You pulled out a condom, ripped it open with your mouth and rolled it onto George's dick. You positioned yourself above him and slowly slid down. You both let out a shaky breath when the tip disappeared inside of you. He held your hips, guiding you further down.

"There we go, baby, all the way in. You're taking it so well." he moaned when you fully sat on him.

You rocked your hips back and forth before you started bouncing up and down. You took George's hands and made him hold your boobs while you rode him. Your movements started to slow down a little and he noticed, making you lay on his chest while he took over. He thrusted into you until you could no longer even form moans. Your mouth just silently hung open. Soon that pit in your stomach started forming again as you were reaching your second orgasm of the night. You dig your nails into George's shoulder.

"You close?" he breathed. You could only nod your head in response. "I feel it, you're clenching around me." he hissed and fastened his movements. "On three?" you nodded your head again and he kissed your temple as he begun to countdown.

On three you both finished at the same time. You plopped down on George's chest with your full weight, catching your breath. He caressed your hair, his cock still twitching inside of you.

"You did so good, baby." he kissed the top of your head. "Thank you for tonight."

You prompted yourself up just enough to face him. "No, thank you. You've been amazing the whole day today. Sending flowers to my work place and the gift waiting for me in the apartment." you traced your finger across his face.

"I try to give you everything, babygirl." he kissed the back of your hand.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Now, let's get cleaned up and go to bed, okay?" he removed a strand of your hair and kissed you quickly.

You giggled and nodded your head. He picked you up in his arms once again and carried you to the bathroom.

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bitchin-beskar · 1 year

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the taste of scotch and cigars - chapter one

Rating: M

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fake dating trope, propositioning a stranger in a bar, drinking/mentions of being tipsy (minor), intense makeout in public, hints of exhibition kink, hints of voice kink, absolutely fucking douchebag of an ex, mentions of cheating, I think that's it for this chapter? Most of these will be expanded the further into the story we get, and more warnings will come hehe.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: this is one of the au ideas I've ranted to @catsnkooks about (there are many) and I wanted to schedule the first chapter drop during my vacay because it's been sitting in my wip folder and I wanna get opinions to see if people like this idea/wanna see more. (I mean, I'm gonna post it regardless but I still wanna see if people are into the idea). anyways, enjoy this fun spin on a fake dating trope :)

The burn of cheap vodka as it slid down your throat did little to soothe the ache in your chest. Coming here was a mistake. You should’ve let sleeping dogs lie, let your past stay where it belongs. Instead, you’re submerged in old memories and familiar hurts, the waters of time washing over your head and threatening to drown you in melancholy and diffidence.

The noise of the packed pub pressed in from all sides, buffeting you and keeping you off balance, loud enough that you were barely able to hear yourself think. You’d managed to avoid interactions thus far, but the likelyhood of that dwindled with every second you lingered, waiting for…

Well.

God only knows what you were waiting for.

Draining the last dregs of your drink, the thunk of your empty glass on the wooden bar as you sat it down made you frown and debate waving over the bartender for another refill. You thought for a long moment, before you decided otherwise. If you were going to be interacting with others tonight, you’d prefer to have at least some of your wits about you, and the vodka you’d consumed was enough to take the edge of your sorrow off. Any more though, and you couldn’t be held responsible for what might happen.

You turned around in your seat, scanning the crowd. In the back corner of the pub, you saw them for the first time that night since you’d walked in. The group seemed to be concentrated in the back, thankfully. You’d done a perfunctory greeting with the hosts of this little reunion, and then beelined for the bar and had been sat there since. Honestly, you’re not entirely sure why you even came.

Unfortunately, right as you were looking over at the group, you made eye contact with Christian, the one person you’d been hoping to avoid. He’d been looking in your direction, and when he saw you, he smirked and stood up, beginning to try and make his way through the crowd.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you spun around again on your stool, regretting not having ordered another drink. “God fucking dammit.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you began to wonder if it was possible for you to make a quick escape in the crowd, when your panic was interrupted by a deep and deceptively smooth British-accented voice to your right.

“Everythin’ alright, love?”

Turning your head, you made eye contact with the older man sitting next to you at the bar, and immediately your mouth went dry. How had you not noticed him yet?

He was absolutely gorgeous, with clear, intelligent blue eyes and thick dark brown hair that you wanted to run your fingers through. His cheeks and upper lip were covered in that same dark brown hair, shaved into mutton chops with stubble on his lower lip and chin. He was dressed in a light blue henley that clung to his torso, a hint of a ball chain disappering into the vee of the neckline, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and showing off his forearms. One hand was wrapped around a glass of scotch, and dangling from the fingers of his other hand was a lit Maduro cigar. He had on dark, well worn blue jeans that were moulded to his thighs, and black, slightly scuffed up combat boots.

He looked like the kind of man you’d spent many a shameful night fantasizing about back in high school, fingers ducking below the waistband of your sleep shorts as you clasped a hand over your mouth lest you wake your parents sleeping down the hall.

Those bright blue eyes were focused on yours, and you felt your cheeks heat under his surprisingly intense yet soft gaze. Something deep inside of you, fueled by the vodka, whispered that this was the kind of man you could trust, the kind of man who maybe, possibly would be willing to help a perfect stranger out of nothing but the kindness of his heart.

Maybe it was the alcohol, and you were drunker than you thought. Maybe it was the way he was looking at you, this gorgeous, dangerous man who managed to pierce you with such soft, kind eyes. Whatever it was, you lost control over your brain-to-mouth filter, and words began to spill forth.

“My ex is here, he just saw me and is coming this way, and it’s been years since I last saw him, and… god, I don’t have the strength to deal with him tonight, he never fucking takes no for an answer, would you be willing– I mean if it’s not too much trouble, and I could pay you back, but could I ask you–”

You managed to reboot your brain, but not quite fast enough to stop the spew of words from escaping you, and physically biting your own tongue was the only way to prevent you from making an even bigger fool of yourself. Immediately you averted your eyes, tearing yourself away from his piercing gaze as you shrunk in your seat, dread and shame roiling in the pit of your stomach and mixing with the alcohol to make you feel sick.

Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck were you thinking? He just asked if you were alright, he didn’t ask to have your entire life story dumped on him at the drop of a hat. He had to be at least ten years older than you, if not more, you were likely barely more than a silly little girl in his eyes. Shit, he’s probably got a stunning wife and gorgeous kids at home, and here you are, practically propositioning the poor man. Your mama always said you were a no-good, simple-minded child, and here you are, not even ten years outta her house and proving her right once again.

So lost in your self ruminations, you don’t notice the pensive look on the handsome stranger’s face, until suddenly there’s an arm wrapped securely around your waist and you’re being tugged off your barstool and onto a thickly muscled thigh, leaning against against the warm length of a heavily muscled torso. You somehow manage to not leap out of your skin in surprise, even when you feel the brush of his lips against the outer shell of your ear, his voice a low growl, gravel grinding against pavement.

“I’m more’n willing to help a pretty lil’ girl like you, love. No debt necessary. ‘Sides, a man who doesn’ understand the word no? Princess, that ain’t a man at all.”

Dreaming. You’ve gotta be stuck in some kind of alcohol intoxication induced fever dream, because there’s no fucking way that this is your life right now. Shit like this doesn’t happen outside of cheesy romcoms and trashy dime store novels. Let alone at random pubs in fucking Liverpool.

You’re not given the time to delve more into the ramifications of dreams induced by too much imbibed alcohol because your ears are abruptly assaulted by a reedy, nasally voice that you wished you could forget, but was burned into so many of your adolescent memories.

“Sweetcheeks! Goodness, it’s been awhile! You know, I wasn’t sure I’d see you here, we were all pretty surprised you showed up.”

The stanger-who’s lap you were perched-on turned at the interruption, his hand sliding from your hip across your belly, palm hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. He hooked his finger in your belt loop, fingers pressing reassuringly into the meat of your hip as his forearm felt like a bar of iron against your abdomen. The positioning was oddly possessive, like it meant more than him making sure you didn’t tip off his thigh and onto the dingy floor of the pub. His glass of scotch was abandoned on the bar, the arm not holding you streched out on the wood, cigar dangling from his fingers. You turned your head to look at the last person in the world you wanted to see, although you were distracted slightly from your ire by the slow drag of lips along the length of your jaw, the bristles on your stranger’s beard tickling the sensitive skin. It was an act that was surprisingly soothing as it was intimate.

Schooling your features, you looked at the face of the man who’d held your entire heart in his hands and shattered it on the ground without a second thought. Half a decade hadn’t dulled the pain, although you did a remarkable job at covering it up.

“Christian. Wish I could say it’s a pleasure.”

He pouted, an altogether unattractive look, although years ago it had been one to tug at your heartstrings. “Awe, don’t tell me you haven’t missed me, at least a little bit?”

You fixed him with a glare, even as fury began to burn low in your belly. “Why exactly would I be missing you, Christian?”

He rolled his eyes, as though the answer was exceedingly obvious, and he thought you dumb for even having to ask. “Awe, babes, you’re not still hung up about that little incident, are you? Even your momma thinks you’re overreacting, sweetcheeks.”

You cocked an eyebrow, even as you subconsciously sank further into your stranger’s embrace, his hold on you soothing and helping to keep you grounded. The admission that he still talked to your momma stung more than it should have, but then, she’d been heartbroken when you divorced who, in her eyes, was the most perfect embodiement of a son-in-law to ever grace God’s green earth. Figures she’d refuse to cut contact with him, even though you had.

“Hung up? Little incident? I came home to find you fucking Paisleigh, my best friend, in our fucking bed. And then I find out it wasn’t just the once, but practically every single week of our relationship, with about three dozen different girls over the years. I would say I have every right to still be pissed at you, Christian.”

“Well, that’s hardly my fault, is it? Men have needs, babes. I was just doing what I needed to, since you certainly weren’t fullfilling ‘em. You hardly needed to move halfway across the world cause you got a lil’ upset about it.”

It took every shred of self control you had to refrain from launching yourself off of your stranger’s lap–and dear sweet god, you’re just now realizing you don’t actually know his fucking name–and strangling the idiot in front of you. Honestly though, it was probably less about your self control and more about the way his arm tightened around you, his fingers hooking tighter around your belt loop. He brought his other hand up to take a slow drag off his cigar, the richly sweet smoke curling around your body as he exhaled, his chest pressed comfortingly against your back. He let his hand drop, resting it on top of your thigh, fingers carefully keeping the cigar away from the fabric of your pants.

You felt the movement of his head as he gave Christian a look, glancing up and down before scoffing darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. He only held you tighter, even as he opened his mouth, and the rich smoke of his voice filled your ears, deep and dripping honey, sending sparks straight to the fire in your gut.

“You’re no man. You’re barely more ‘n a immature little boy, a waste o’ space n’ air. If you’re not willin’ to stay faithful, then ya shouldn’t be in a relationship. If you weren’t satisfied, it certainly wasn’t somethin’ she was doin’ wrong.” He punctuated his words with a kiss to your temple, and dammit if it didn’t make you wanna melt into a puddle on the floor.

Christian puffed up, looking extremely offended, albeit ridiculous considering he was skinnier than a stick. “Do you have any idea who I am, old man?”

You’re trying very hard not to panic, because you didn’t have time to tell your stranger anything before this conversation, but you shouldn’t have worried, because he simply replied with a shrug of his shoulders, and a short, clipped, “Nah, should I?”

Dammit, you thought, trying to hold back a laugh. You didn’t know he was funny too.

If anything, that only pissed Christian off more. “Sweetcheeks, you didn’t tell your little friend here about your husband?”

“Ex-husband,” you hissed, eyes narrowing and body tensing at the way Christian spoke, all amusement draining from you at the sound of him acting so damn dismissive, it made you wanna claw his eyes out.

“Shh, is alrigh’, love,” your stranger whispered in your ear, and to your surprise, the tension bled back out of your limbs, the low timbre of his growl soothing the fury boiling inside you. Unfortunately, Christian rudely interrupted.

“And just who are you supposed to be?”

Your stranger chuckled, the vibrations rumbling pleasantly against your back. “Nah, I’m nobody special. Jus’ the one who took advantage of your colossal fuck up and married the sweet thing you let get away, ain’t tha’ right, love?”

It took every ounce of control you had to stop the surprise from showing on your face at his declaration. This was so far beyond anything you could’ve ever hoped for, you didn’t quite know how to handle it. There’d been no hesitation on his part, no awkward pauses or stuttering. Just a steady declaration that he was apparently your (fake, fake you reminded your brain) husband.

Christian’s cheeks were turning a ruddy color, nearly incandescent with rage. You should’ve realized that this little charade was gonna push him too far, especially when he bared his teeth and snarled.

“I pity you, sweetcheeks, you’re such an obvious charity case I should’ve known. No way is another man willing to settle down with you, especially considering the fact that you’re used, broken goods. Did’ja tell him that, before you trapped him, babes?” He growled, spittle flying. “Quieter than a doormouse in bed, she doesn’t even know how to properly pleasure a man, else I wouldn’ta needed to find someone else, isn’t that right?”

Ok, that was it. You were going to deck Christian here and now. You were done letting him have all the power, letting him walk all over you like he had for the entirety of your relationship. Just as you placed your hands on the forearm around your waist to push it off you so you could fight your fucking ex, a firm hand on your jaw distracted you, turning your face to the side and tilting it up, then slightly chapped lips were covering yours.

Oh.

Your eyes fluttered shut as calloused fingers smoothed over your jaw, cupping your face as your gorgeous, dangerous-looking stranger slowly pried your lips open and plunged his tongue into your mouth, stroking the length of it alongside your own tongue. You followed his lead, opening up beautifully beneath him, letting him kiss you deeper as he plundered your mouth, growing more heated, more passionate with every brush of his lips against yours. His beard scratched gently at the sensitive skin around your mouth, but beard-burn was quite literally the last thing on your mind. The entire world faded away, until it was just you and your stranger, and the deep, possessive way he kissed you.

He claimed you with his mouth, there was no better way to describe it. He drew back slightly, only so he could bite at your lower lip, teeth pulling at the darkened skin and making you let out a surprised moan before he dove back in, open mouthed and messy. He sucked on your tongue, making you whimper softly, which only spurned him on even more. His fingers tightned on your jaw, keeping you steady against his onslaught, stealing kiss after kiss. He stole the very breath from your lungs, every time you pulled back to gasp for breath he simply chased you, greedily depriving you of precious oxygen.

He tasted like scotch and cigars, the smooth burn and sharp bite of sweet smoke mixing to create something so uniquely him that you honestly couldn’t imagine him tasting like anything else. You wondered if he tasted the vodka on your tongue, or the coconut of the lip balm on your lips. Whatever your taste, he couldn’t seem to get enough.

A loud cough broke the bubble you’d found yourself enveloped in as he kissed you, but even still, he didn’t let you jerk away, pressing one, two, three kisses in quick succession against your swollen and tender lips, glossy and slick with spit.

Your eyes slowly opened, finding him already staring at you, his pupils blown wide, inky black surrounded by a pale, thin ring of blue. His fingers stroked the skin of your cheek, almost reverent as his gaze flickered between your own wide eyes and your ravaged mouth.

Incoherrent sputtering drew your attention away from the man who’d just kissed you–a fucking stranger–like you were the only two people to exisit in the world and not just at a pub in the middle of Liverpool, and you slowly slid your eyes from his to look at Christian.

You had to fight the urge not to laugh. Christian somehow managed to look equal parts dumbfounded and embarrassed as hell. Considering the way you’d just been kissed felt like it had to break some kind of public indecency law, you weren’t too surprised at the mix of emotions on his face, although they were quickly giving way to anger once again.

He didn’t get to interject, however, as your stranger spoke, his voice barely more than a growl. “If you’d been any good in bed, then maybe you’d have some kinda idea about all the pretty sounds my wife can make, but somethin’ tells me you weren’ ever enough to earn those, and like hell am I ‘bout to let you learn how she sounds when she makes ‘em now.”

Abruptly, he stood, easily hoisting you off his lap to stand on the ground, although his arm stayed secure around you and not letting you take even one step away from him.

“Hol’ this for me, love?”

He handed you his cigar, before digging in his back pocket to pull out a wad of cash, throwing it on the bar and making a quick gesture at the bartender to indicate that he was closing your tabs.

He turned back towards your ex, making eye contact even as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and brought your hand up to his mouth so he could take a drag from his cigar still gripped between your fingers, breathing in deeply before exhaling, chuckling at the disgusted look on Christian’s face.

“My wife ‘n I are leavin now, cause I’ve been deployed too damn long and I don’ feel like wastin’ another second with bloody pricks who mattered so little in her life that she doesn’ even mention you.”

With that, and a gentle nudge, your stranger began to steer you out of the pub, sliding his arm from where it was still wrapped around you, instead slipping his hand into the back pocket on your jeans, cupping your ass and giving your ex a little show, and causing your heartbeat to race. The cool air hitting your face as you stepped out onto the streets of Liverpool felt like being reborn, as you felt the tension that had been gathering all of the last few weekes in preparation for today just… fade away.

The two of you walked a bit away from the door to the pub before your stranger slid his hand out from your back pocket, leaving you immediately missing the security and warmth he’d provided, even with just that little touch. You turned to look at him, silently offering his cigar back, which he took, but just let it dangle from his fingers. His expression was sheepish, and he rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand. It was endearing, and you found yourself having to violently squash the part of you that said to just go for it and kiss him again, just to see if he’d still react the same way without an audience.

“I do apologize, ma’am,” he offered, and you blinked, thrown a bit. Why on earth was he apologizing to you? Shouldn’t you be the one apologizing, for even asking a total stranger a favor like that in the first place?

“I might’a taken things a bit far back there, but no one should be talkin’ to ya like that, love. It don’ matter who they were or what they used’ta mean to ya.”

To your horror, you felt your eyes begin to burn with unshed tears. You were so used to being the one blamed for the failure of your relationship, being the one told that you must’ve done something wrong to force a man like Christian to seek someone outside of your marriage, that to have someone tell you that it wasn’t ok for you to be treated that way was like a balm on an old wound you didn’t realize had ripped back open.

You had no idea how to respond to what he’d said, and at a complete loss for words, you blurted out the first thing to come to your mind.

“I don’t even know your name?”

His laugh was deep and warm, and you desperately wanted to take it inside you and hold it’s comfort there for the rest of your life. He smiled at you, eyes twinkling, and held his free hand out.

“Captain John Price, British SAS, at your service, love.”

You took a deep breath even as you placed your hand in his, trying not to show how the sound of his title falling from his lips sent a heady rush of arousal through you. You’d thought he might’ve been military, and the confirmation was doing unspeakable things to you.

“I-, uh, sir-” you started, only to be cut off as he brought your fingers up to his lips, brushing them across the backs of your knuckles and making your knees go weak with the look he leveled you with.

“Love, not to be crass, but I’ve had my tongue down your throat and my hand on your arse. I think you can call me John.”

#captain john price x reader #captain john price #reader #reader fic #fem!reader #fake dating trope #no smut here #yet #but it's coming #so 18+#new multi-chap #the taste of scotch and cigars #cod:mw2 au #au fic

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votederpycausemufins · 3 months

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Used Worm Man week as an excuse to finally finish these wips of a gem Zedaph and Worm Man redesign that have been sitting in my folder half finished (okay more than half finished) for months. (since mid to late august)

I made these two to be the same gem (ie, Zed is Worm Man, inverts gem to disguise, lie about gem type), but you can also just ignore Zed's weapon and treat them as two separate entities that happen to look similar since -gestures to pyropes hessonites and Garnet-

Version with notes featured below the cut

After designing my own Evil X and Xisuma gem designs, I decided I wanted to look at my zed/wm design again. I wasn't as happy with kinda just making another gem that didn't exist, so went looking for an existing gem that might fit better. And then I remembered the Morganite sketch.

Originally there was going to be a story about the ruby and pearl that make Rhodonite, and the morganite that owned them, but the story was cut. That being said, we did get sketches of her (i think there were like 2). Sketches aren't final of course, but it was the best I had. And I absolutely ran with the fact that she was designed in a kimono.

I started with Worm Man's design, running with the idea that 'wait, a kimono is japanese, the japanese version of a hero is a magical girl!!!' (yes i know that's not actually the case super sentai, kamen rider, etc) So bam! put him in a skirt! The weapon was also designed to be magical girl esque, which is why i say to give Zedaph another weapon if you want them to be different.

Also, if you want any lore, my one bit of potential lore is that since Zed is a morganite, which we know is an elite gem, it could be that he owned a certain trio consisting of a bismuth, carnelian and topaz. But he definitely treated them more as friends than underlings bc being elite is booooring. He wants to do stuff!

Oh and also if you go along with my interpretation of the diamond authority in gemcyt, because of him doing redstone and his whole s8 science thing, gem him really wished he were part of Blue's court.

#gemcyt #wormmanweek2024 #zedaph #worm man #my art

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hurricanek8art · 6 months

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Okay, I don't know what's going on with Tumblr and everything has been absolute chaos with my life the past few months, so y'know what, screw it. I think I'm actually brave enough to share some of my art. At least it won't just be sitting on my tablet that way.

This is my Sith Inquisitor turned Force-sensitive Outcast from SWTOR, Roodaka Greatstorm-Kallig. I haven't really plotted everything out with her regarding her story, but she's not my Outlander. She leaves the Empire right after Ziost, after losing all of the family she'd used her Dark Council connections to find and save from slavery, and Lana recruits her to help Sana-Rae run the Enclave about two years before the Outlander (my Knight Aja Verdona) is rescued. She's prickly and petty and spiteful but I love her dearly. And because I've never posted art before, art process and a little bit of character lore ramble under the cut, I guess?

I usually work with lined art/sketches that are admittedly very messy, but when I did the first one back in May I was experimenting with actually rendering/painting, and I saw a fashion post thing that looked like something Roo would wear, so I was mostly just playing around, it's not a solid outfit design for her. It's janky and wonky and oh Lord please don't look closely at the anatomy or face it is not up to my usual standards, but I was so proud of myself for the lighting on this one, as well as how I managed to render the muscle. Like, the lighting! I have no idea what I'm doing but I think it looks so flipping good! And I was happy with how the crackly lightsaber blade turned out—it is supposed to be Aloysius Kallig's lightsaber, meaning it's at least over a thousand years old, right? It should be a little janky with age!

The second one is supposed to be post Fallen Empire, after she's left the Sith and become sort of a wandering Force-user—think Ahsoka as of, well... Ahsoka, but more on the side of Ventress if she'd survived TCW (don't get me started on that choice 🙄🙄🙄). I came into it knowing a little more of what I was doing, but I kinda got in over my head and gave up on the 100% lineless thing, you can definitely tell with the sword/clothes. 🥴 The second piece has been sitting unfinished in my WIP folder for months, so I just said screw it, finished up some details and called it because I am SO PROUD of her face and hands (I DREW A GOOD HAND WITHOUT LINEART WHO AM I?!?!) and how I rendered her skin, I don't want it to live in WIP purgatory forever. You can actually tell that's muscle! And a neck!

I'm proud of how her tattoos turned out, too. I played around with Cham Syndulla's tattoo pattern, turning it at different angles. It felt like a good way to root her in Twi'lek culture despite the Kallig bloodline having been separated from it for so long. She gets the first one to cover up a slave tattoo, and the rest after Ziost to further reclaim her identity and culture, leaving the Sith behind.

I have no idea how to close this post. Um... thanks for reading all this, if you have? I've never posted art before, I'm kinda terrified. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

#K8's Art #(never thought i'd have the guts to make that tag!)#K8 Rambles about SWTOR #swtor #swtor sith inquisitor #swtor fanart #star wars the old republic #SWTOR OC: Roodaka Greatstorm-Kallig #i am utterly terrified of posting this but if i don't do it i dunno if i ever will #so here we go! deep breaths kate 🤣🤣🤣#edit: i'm gonna pin this at the top rather than that meet the artist because if i look at that self portrait anymore i'm gonna combust 🤣

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mitskook · 4 months

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a very mitskook 2023 wrap-up

hi everyone

so i didn't write very much in 2023, that much is apparent. now i'm not gonna sit here act like that's a massive loss considering the vast amount of extremely talented writers that produced wonderful work this year, but i am still disappointed in myself from, i guess, a labour of love perspective. i look at the work i have contributed to the fandom over the years and i still have more i want to add, more stories i want to tell (trust me the wip folder makes me weep too).

but every time i wanted to write, the idea of making a love story made me so miserable i had to scrub it from my head. and worse, when i pushed past that obvious discomfort, the love in those stories soured into resentment, rage, and a cruelty i couldn't justify (to this audience at least). particularly with tsdverse, this next installment is about m'boys really grappling with conflicts that have no easy answers (if they have answers at all) and man am i so fucking glad i wrote that flashforward with heejin to keep a north star on where they would end up because if i hadn't, i would've completely shattered them in a misdirected fireball of righteous grief. im glad i had that to hold on to bc i haven't had much else.

my 2023 has been. uh. trying amongst the good stuff (and i promise there was some good stuff) but not this. my mum had a heart attack, i was fired for not coming back to work straight after her surgery, and i was couch surfing and unemployed for long enough i felt like i'd wrecked my life forever. and, of course, i was mourning my relationship that ended at the end of last year, and to be honest i'm still not done with that. that's the absolute joy and misery of tying your heart to someone you're hoping will be around forever: your eyes don't see anything the same anymore, certain songs that come on shuffle make you break down on the tube, you realise huge swathes of your social media presence, including ao3, were built for one person and it wasn't you, and now? all those things are monuments to the emptiness you feel every time you remember they're not in your life anymore.

to be extremely clear, i'm not blaming my ex for these feelings, and if anyone harasses them on my behalf i will personally hunt you down and gut you with a knitting needle, but in missing them as much as i do i realised how inextricable they were from my writing process. i mostly wrote fic to make them happy, to hear their praise and notes and excitement to read the rest, and that was unfair on everyone; me, them, and you (if you look forward to my work, i don't wanna presume lmao). that's too much pressure to put on someone who just wasn't interested in bangtan rpf anymore, and that's normal, it's okay to move on from that, but it meant even before the breakup i didn't know who i was doing it for anymore. that level of directionlessness (<- not a word but whatever) gummed up those creative gears until they had no choice but to stop.

anyway to maybe cap this pity party a bit, i want to start sharing my writing more on here, and i won't wait for people to clamour to let me know that that's wanted bc again, i need to start rebuilding my confidence in my writing and feeling out where i fit into this community after basically silently moping around for a full year. i want to sincerely thank everyone who's ever read my work. i won't promise to do anything but my best, and in the meantime i'll give all the snippets to you.

lots of love

zeeb "hyperlight" mitskook

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trainsinanime · 2 months

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WIP reblog game

I got tagged by @chaos-has-theories and @into-september. Sorry for the delay in doing this, I just forgot about it.

If you're like me and you have a million WIPs and are anxious about updating them, play this game!

List the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends!

Let's start with the stories. So, I don't trust myself with multi-chapter stories, it takes me forever to write one-shots already, so (almost) none of these are out yet. You can read the ones that are out over here.

Operation Multifail. Three-chapter story where Marinette tries to convince Chat Noir to stop thinking about Multimouse by fighting as Multimouse, badly, on purpose, so he'll think she's incompetent. It doesn't quite work out.

Kwamidaddy Adrien. Assumes Marinette is the guardian. For reasons, Chat Noir has to take the Kwamis for a while. They all promised not to tell him anything about her private life. Shouldn't be a problem, right? This one may also end up being like three chapters

Chlogami Sabrina's Wedding. I think I posted a rough outline for chapter one here: It's Sabrina's wedding, and drunk Chloé confides in also-drunk Kagami about her complicated relationship to Sabrina, how she's happy for her but also jealous but also knows that because of their baggage, it could never work, while Kagami also has feelings about Adrien's and Marinette's upcoming wedding. I have like half a first draft of a first chapter here and absolutely no clue where this might go next.

Wings AU - Learning to Land. So there's a wings AU concept for Miraculous that keeps coming up every now and then. A bit too angsty for me, but when I first heard it, I thought it was a fun idea to talk about aerodynamics and world building in that context, specifically where Marinette teaches sheltered Adrien how to fly.

Plagg Interview. Now we're deep in the dregs, I picked a folder at random. Alya publishes interviews with someone close to Chat Noir's thinking. That someone: Plagg, who has been bribed with cheese. Marinette is not happy, but she can't say anything because Alya can't learn she's Ladybug. Yeah, this one's been sitting in my folder for a while. As have the others. Probably a one-shot.

Stuff I'm looking forward to in each fic:

The whole thing is based around big action set pieces. Three big Akuma fights, one in each chapter, which Marinette tries to fail at in different ways, and fails to fail, so to speak. I have no idea how to write these well, but I think that can be fun. Super-unpopular opinion: Fanfiction has way too much angst and romance and not enough action, and I'm definitely part of the problem myself.

Adrien interacting with the Kwamis who imprint on him as their father should be really adorable. As should the Kwamis trying their best to get Adrien and Marinette to marry (without revealing too much (they will reveal too much)).

Writing the banter between Chloé and Kagami is fun. I want to write more of it. I can definitely see someone taking that concept and turning it into, for lack of a better word, "normal long fic"; you know, thirty chapters, misunderstanding, they take a trip for a few chapters and return, so on and so forth. I'm not doing that, I don't have the work ethic and it's not actually my favourite genre of fanfic anyway. But what else could this story be? Figuring that out is an interesting challenge.

Aerodynamics! Learning to land! How do you learn to fly in a Wings AU? What does "rich kids aren't allowed to fly" mean for the world building? I don't have a story here at all but I do like the setting.

Plagg and Alya scheming together should be gold. Plagg trying to barter with a Marinette who can't reveal she's the Guardian has also a lot of comedic potential. Plagg trying to teach both of them how much Adrien needs them could be very emotional. Just Plagg.

Also, do you have any title ideas for any of these? I think Operation Multifail is good, the rest are just literally the file names I chose when I started with these projects.

I am tagging, very much at random, @sizzleissues, @pauliestorylover, @oblivionhold, @wrw47, @precious-notes, @kyuunonana, @aidanchaser, @aanabear2803, @valtionrautatiet-official and @cosmiccarrotcake. The requirement for inclusion was "I found you in my activity view in the past three months", so if you don't know what fanfic is, or don't feel like doing this, do feel free to ignore this.

#in retrospect i could have included some non-ml ones as well #but i'm not going back and changing this now

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chipped-chimera · 10 months

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WIP WEDNESDAY - 12/07/23

AND IT'S ACTUALLY ON A WEDNESDAY! Thanks @theviridianbunny for the tag <3 I regret to inform you ... it's more hair again @.@ (this one is actually different, I swear)

More under the cut, as usual~

Soooo if you've been following me you probably know I've done a few things since my last WIP Wednesday, namely more tattoo stuff, and more recently ... more hair stuff.

After a LOT of agonising over it I finally consider the neck 'done' ... or done enough (vaguely ... thinking about doing something more in the transition between the tattoo and the jaw but I probably should stop honestly or I'll never stop). This means I probably have enough done to get away with taking screenshots while I work on the rest of it. Been pondering drawing up an actual plan for the rest beyond what I've been doing so far - mostly winging it and smashing things together. Might get stuff done faster, who knows.

Anyway I am back on my hair shit, yet again that's going just about ... as well as you'd expect ...

Okay okay, I'll be honest, this has been fixed but I gotta say after spending a whole 12 hrs staring at lines of code, changing entries and having to redo them several times because I'd fucked up some file name or changed my mind or found out 'no that is not where you should be putting that folder you absolute dingus' and this was the best I could do was kind of hilarious. 😂

The important part was I'd gotten it IN, which was a process and a half, considering THIS time I'm using a custom made 2048px hair texture (alpha is 4k) and a higher poly mesh - which means yeah, this is the same hair rebuilt from scratch.

After some additional fiddling ...

... and a very unamused Ven (I'm sorry hun) ...

I got it in. All of it. No missing textures, no hair cards in the hair cap slot. The physics look janky but it's somewhat intentional - this is a minimal effort rigging job based on the alt rig, the priority was to get this hair texture IN so I could see how it looked in game and how everything sat before I dug myself further into a sunk cost fallacy over this second version of the hair.

And I'm actually pretty happy with it? There is some curl distortion yeah but it's not as bad as it was last time - and considering I'd rigged that one PROPERLY is saying something. Higher poly + textures are making a big difference here. It's pretty obvious in the comparison -

Also yes I am aware this one is WAY too shiny, but that one is a considerably easy fix now I know how Vertex Paint actually affects this value. I was a bit too generous on the highlight gradient so I've already repainted what I have so far, using side-by-side references with existing game meshes to try and get it 'equal' but it's likely gonna be a lot of back and forth calibrating with that one.

Excessive shiny-ness aside I'm actually REALLY happy with how the side curl is sitting nice and neat in her jacket collar this time! Also man ... doesn't that look silky ... (ok maybe some shine is good lmao)

I guess that's kind of it on the mod front. I've got other projects in a very initial stage (it's fanfic. Ofc it's fanfic) but work on both the tattoo bodysuit + hair is eating up a lot of my daily spoon allowance so that one will happen when it happens I guess (and probably when at minimum, this goddamn hair is done).

Oh and this hair is using UUH4V. I GOT IT TO WORK. Which means I'll be able to use multiple rigs which will hopefully prevent these carefully crafted curls from getting minced beyond recognition, fingers crossed.

Anyways until next time!

(Uh, I tag anyone who read all of this. Yes you. sorry I don't know many people yet and I'm shyyy)

p.s. yes hair tutorial. soon. In the case you are similarly frustrated and desperate as I was and working on hair please note I AM VERY OPEN TO TELLING YOU ALL THE INFO just ask me. Cause tutorial might take time unfortunately. But it's in the works.

#kerytalk #my modding #wip wednesday #cyberpunk 2077 modding

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urrone · 3 months

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wip amnesty - jordan eberle/taylor hall

Full disclosure, I think I've posted this before, but I'm officially posting it again just to get it off my chest and out of my active fics folder. It's never getting finished. At the end I will include my notes for how I would have ended it if I had the willpower to do so. I created this document in the year of our eldritch horror TWO THOUSAND THIRTEEN so that's how long it's been muddling through existence.

the new normal

It’s not that Taylor hasn’t heard of Oklahoma before, of course he has, though he doubts he could have ever picked it out on a map of the US. He’s just never, like, had to physically acknowledge its existence with his own presence, and it’s weird.

“Is it as flat as you thought?” Jeff, the intern the team sent to pick him up at the airport, carefully keeps his hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel. Bringing his truck down from home hadn’t made sense given he’s sure he won’t be here long, but Taylor misses driving already.

“I didn’t really think about it,” he says, and that’s definitely true. Foreign places always resemble a slightly different Canada in his mind until he sees them. And it’s not like anywhere in the US is really that different, not like going overseas.

And honestly, it does kind of remind him of Edmonton, only with fewer trees.

Jeff laughs when he says it out loud, and starts pointing out landmarks on the way to the apartment Taylor will share with Jordan. He’s never lost this much playing time before, and he isn’t sure if it’s that or seeing Jordan for the first time since April that has him wiping sweat off his palms every five minutes.

Taylor lets Jeff’s inane chatter ease him all the way to his new front door, on the second floor of a low rise apartment building that Jeff assures him is only a five-to-ten-minute bike ride from the arena. “It doesn’t look like a lot, but there’s some good stuff in Midtown,” Jeff says, gesturing vaguely to the road behind them.

Taylor doesn’t know how to respond to this but it doesn’t really matter because Jeff’s already gone.

“Are you telling me you actually brought your dirty laundry from Canada to wash down here?” Jordan says, looking at the pile of clothes in front of the washer. “You moved down here just so I'd do your laundry again, didn't you?”

Taylor laughs and chucks the socks he'd been wearing on top of the pile. It’s almost a relief to just fall back into chirping each other like they always used to. It helps him talk through the fluttery bits in his stomach. “Yep, it had absolutely nothing to do with finally being able to play again. I got tired of washing my own socks.”

Jordan picks one of the socks up and flicks it back at Taylor's face. “It doesn’t look like you’ve washed a sock since last season.”

Taylor bats it away, laughing around the new tight feeling that’s taken up residence in his chest. He'd really missed just being in the same room with Jordan, sitting on their mutually owned couch playing xbox, buying groceries they’d forget to eat, watching Jordan sort their dirty laundry.

“Why aren't you holding up your end then?” Jordan asks. He's given up bitching and started dumping the pile of clothes into the washer. “When's the last time you went grocery shopping?”

“Chill out, I just got here.”

“We can't eat at Earl's every day, dude.”

It's weird that he can eat at a place called Earl's in two different countries. Did they run out of restaurant names? The one down here doesn't have the variety of Edmonton’s, but their brisket is delicious, and Taylor doesn't see why they can't eat it every day if they want to. He says as much.

“The nutritionist might object.”

Fair point to Jordan. “Do you think Tubes would let me borrow his car?”

Jordan snorts. “No.”

Taylor flops down on the couch. “Well do you think he'd give me a ride to the grocery store?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether or not he's already going to the store.” Jordan flops down next to him, and it's not their awesome giant wrap around couch that Jordan’s mom bought them when they moved in, so next to him is kind of on top of him given the way that Taylor's sprawled, but Taylor doesn't mind. He likes Jordan's warm weight against him, even though it's kind of hot in their apartment, despite the air conditioning. It's weird that it's 30C in late October anywhere in the world.

“If we had Vespas we could go to the store.”

“How is grocery shopping with a Vespa different than grocery shopping with your bike?”

Taylor tries to shrug but his shoulders are stuck to the leather. “I'd get there faster?”

“Do you even know what a Vespa is?” Jordan nudges Taylor with his foot. “You still wouldn't have anywhere to put the groceries.”

Taylor doesn’t want to admit that no, he still doesn’t know. “I wouldn't get much. It's not like you're going to cook it.”

“Can't fit a lot of coconut water on a Vespa.”

“I could fit enough.” He nudges Jordan back with his knee, since his feet are currently trapped under Jordan's calves.

“Hey, Cheds.” Sometimes Taylor regrets ever telling Jordan about that nickname, but sometimes he likes that Jordan is the only one to use it anymore.

“What?”

Jordan won't make eye contact with him for a minute, which is weird because it's Jordan and Jordan has never been uncomfortable around Taylor, not even when they first met. “I just. I really missed you.”

It's weird to say his heart flips in his chest, because hearts don't actually do that, really, but Taylor might finally know what people mean when they say that, like this sick warm weird feeling right there behind his sternum. It's awesome and terrifying and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

He waits until it passes and pats Jordan's shoulder, because Jordan's still looking weird. Which, granted, they hardly ever talk about their feelings for things other than food or hockey, but still. “I missed you too, you non.”

Jordan doesn't even smile at that, and Taylor suddenly feels like they're having two different conversations. “No,” Jordan says. “I mean. I missed. Jesus, Taylor, it was like six months.”

“No it wasn't, I was back in Edmonton that whole time. I mean, except for the surgery.”

“Not on the ice.”

“Well no, but—”

“Not over the summer.”

“We never spend the summer together.”

Jordan's looking at him now, but it's with the distinct impression that says Taylor's missing something big, and fuck if Taylor knows what it is. He kind of does though, because even when he'd been out with his ankle his rookie year, they'd still been around, and it hadn't been some planned thing like his shoulder where they knew it'd go through next season.

The shoulder thing had kind of scared him, and he guesses it must have scared Jordan a bit too. He puts his hand on Jordan's shoulder again, but leaves it there and holds on. “I get it,” he says, even though Jordan's still looking at him like he really doesn't. “I really did miss you too. And playing with you. And winning with you.”

Jordan looks kind of okay with that, and he reaches up to pat Taylor's hand.

“You want to hug it out?” Taylor asks.

Jordan laughs at that and smacks his hand away and things feel normal again, but a different kind of normal. “Fuck you, turn on the TV.”

If this is going to be their new normal, Taylor could be okay with that.

–

Practice is weird and it isn’t just because he hasn’t actually had a team practice since last season. Jordan and Ryan have been down for a month already, since before the home opener, and Taylor hates feeling a step behind. He knows some of the guys from training camp last year, but Schultz is new and Ryan follows him around like a duckling.

He’s also missed out on several months worth of inside jokes, which he hates almost more than feeling winded after sprints. During practice Justin hip checks Jordan and they both say “sauce” and crack up laughing. Taylor doesn’t feel bad at all when they both land on their asses and get yelled at.

Tubes laughs at Taylor when he mentions the grocery store, but Hamilton takes pity on him. (Taylor hadn't really planned this well and asked in the locker room. If anyone chirps him about it, he's totally throwing Jordan under the bus about the laundry. Cereal is way better than socks.)

“We can go after practice,” Hammy says. “I've gotta go anyway.”

They end up driving way further north than Taylor's been before, he hasn't really made it past 23rd St on his bike, and stopped there because there wasn’t a bike lane. He figures if it isn't in the confines of downtown, he doesn't really need it.

“But you do,” Hammy says. “Because they don't have a Whole Foods down there.” He then spends about fifteen minutes bitching about the grocery store situation in Oklahoma, because apparently the liquor laws in the States are different than Canada, and for some reason that means no good grocery stores exist in this state. “It's a big fucking mess,” Hammy finishes, just as he parks. He catches Taylor giving him whatever look must have been on his face, because really, grocery stores. “What?” Hammy asks.

“I had no idea someone could have so many feelings about grocery stores.”

Hammy just pushes him into a parked car, and they both run when the alarm starts blaring.

–

“Did you know it's not even called KD down here?” Taylor asks, neatly arranging the offensively labeled blue boxes in the cupboard.

“I did, actually,” Jordan says, not even looking up from the TV.

“You could have warned me.”

“I'm sorry, was it a shock to your delicate nature?”

Taylor lobs one of the wet sponges on the sink at Jordan's head, and fuck yeah he's got excellent hand-eye coordination, it hits Jordan right in the ear. Jordan yelps and comes at him, and Taylor barely gets out “I'm sorry, was it a shock to your delicate ear?” before Jordan has him pinned on the kitchen floor, laughing into the tile.

Taylor gets his hands under him and shoves up. He's got height and weight on Jordan, which has always made wrestling pathetically unmatched, especially when Jordan forgets to do shit like pin his hands. He gets Jordan wedged into the corner between the cabinets and the floor, and even with Jordan squirming and kicking his truly massive thighs around, he can't dislodge Taylor. Taylor is the fucking master of pinning people.

“Say it,” he says. It's unfortunately a little muffled because he's got Jordan's shoulder pinned with his head, and his mouth is full of Jordan' shirt. Still, it's a familiar enough routine by now, and Jordan's face is free and clear.

“No.”

Taylor presses down harder, his feet hooked over Jordan's legs and their arms tangled. It'd be horrible form if either of them had ever actually officially wrestled in any kind of formal manner, but there aren't any rules here. They're touching knee to head and it’s apparently part of the new normal that Taylor notices this time. Notices exactly how they line up, how Jordan's thigh flexes between his, how Jordan's breath pants across Taylor's forehead as he struggles. He doesn't know why he's never thought about this before, how good everything feels. He's missed it. They've had to be too careful about Taylor's shoulder for so long.

“Say it,” he says again, and hopes his voice doesn't sound as wrecked as he feels.

“You're better than me!”

“At what.”

Jordan sags against the floor and Taylor finds himself resisting absolutely nothing, and then they're just two guys, cuddling on the kitchen floor. “At literally everything,” Jordan says.

Taylor lifts his head. “That escalated quickly.”

“Fuck you, don't quote Anchorman at me.”

“Don't say ridiculous shit.”

Jordan shrugs and Taylor feels it with his whole torso and remembers that, oh yeah, he's still basically laying on top of Jordan, and it isn't for wrestling reasons anymore. He gets up and offers a hand to Jordan. “NHL 13?”

He laughs when Jordan slaps his hand away. “I'm gonna kick your ass,” Jordan says, levering himself up against the cabinets.

“Yeah, we'll see.”

–

Taylor's first week playing with the team for real and not just practicing involves a road trip down to Texas. On a bus. Taylor remembers taking buses to games, it honestly hasn't been that long, but the drive from OKC down to Houston is going to be like eight hours. And because he’s who he is he decides to complain about it out loud in the middle of Earl’s. “Welcome to the AHL,” he mutters.

“It's not that bad,” Jordan says.

“You're like a foot shorter than me, of course you don't think it's that bad.”

Jordan flicks a fry at him. Taylor tries unsuccessfully to catch it in his mouth. “I'm like inches shorter than you,” Jordan says. “Very few inches.”

“At least two,” Ryan says helpfully.

Justin nods. “But not more than six.”

“Fuck you both, it's not six inches.”

Taylor flicks a pickle at Jordan. Fries are too precious to waste, and he's really not a fan of pickles. “I can see over your head without even trying. It's enough.”

“You cannot.”

“I can.”

“Prove it.”

“Right now?”

Jordan gets up from their booth and stands next to it, hands on his hips. “Yes, right now.”

“You look stupid.” Taylor looks at Ryan and Justin, but they're both concentrating really hard on eating right now and are exactly no help. “Seriously?”

Justin looks up from his barbecue. “It makes Nugget really uncomfortable when his parents yell at each other,” he says, with a truly impressive deadpan expression. Taylor is forced to begrudgingly admit, only to himself, that Justin could teach lessons.

Taylor sighs heavily and ridiculously and throws his napkin down. “Fine.” He knows he's exaggerated his and Jordan’s height differences. Jordan knows he's exaggerated their height differences. Literally everyone knows he's exaggerated their height differences, and he stands up and his eyes are right on Jordan's forehead and of course he can't see shit over his head and he hates that he had to stand up and leave his barbecue behind. “Whatever, you non. Fine.” He sits back down again. “Two inches. Why were we talking about this again?”

Jordan is insufferably triumphant with his shit-eating grin. “The bus,” Jordan reminds him. “It's not that bad, so quit your fucking whining.”

“Language, Ebby,” Taylor says. “This is a family establishment.”

Jordan kicks him under the table, and it's really fucking hard actually, but then he leaves his leg pressed up against Taylor's until they leave.

–

Taylor shifts around for the millionth time in as many minutes. The bus is too hot and too cold and too cramped and too . . . everything. He's got his iPad out and has Dexter queued up but can't find a good position for the iPad and his legs and his shoulders. Jordan shotgunned the window seat on the way to the bus and at first Taylor thought that the aisle would be awesome, more room for his legs, but then Arco spread out a blanket, grabbed his pillow, and camped out in the aisle. It's a mad genius idea and Taylor wishes he'd thought of it first, but now he's got nowhere for his legs except under the seat in front of him.

“Stop squirming,” Jordan says, shoving at his shoulder. “I can't sleep when you squirm.”

“I can't get comfortable,” Taylor says, shoving back. “This is the worst.”

House kicks his seat. “Tell us again how wonderful the Oilers plane is, seriously.”

Taylor hunches down in his seat. This is the worst, the absolute worst, but he might be down here for the whole season, given the way the negotiations are going, and he doesn't really want to be that guy.

“Here, just.” Jordan starts manhandling him a bit. “Sit up a minute, will you?” Taylor does and Jordan pulls his leg up behind Taylor and Taylor does not at all see how this is going to be comfortable? But then Jordan grabs his shoulders and turns Taylor away from him and pulls his back into Jordan's chest, so Taylor is basically reclining in a Jordan chair. Taylor tries really hard and really unsuccessfully to not think about every point of contact between them.

He swings his legs up onto the armrest across the aisle, basically right over Arco's head, but he's asleep and Danis is all alone across the aisle and sleeping with his face mashed against the window and obviously not using the arm rest right now.

“Better?” Jordan whispers, and it's right in his ear and that's definitely what makes the goosebumps spread across the back of his neck. He wonders what Jordan will attribute his full body shudder to, but Jordan doesn't actually ask. Also is it better? No. And yes.

“Yeah,” he says, just as quiet. It really has no business being comfortable, because they're still two tall, muscular dudes shoved into a seat made for people roughly half their size, but somehow it is, and it’s weird that it is.

Jordan slings his arm over Taylor's shoulder, because it's that or leave it mashed between Taylor and the seat. He can feel when Jordan falls asleep again, because his breath gets deep and even against Taylor's shoulder.

Taylor puts his earbuds in, props the iPad against his knees, and hits play. He’ll deal with how good all of this feels later.

–

It’s Justin’s idea to go see Cloud Atlas. Taylor doesn’t really like going to movie theaters, he gets bored just sitting there trying to follow along with a plot he doesn’t really care about. He relents when Jordan tells him to stop being a non and promises to buy him a popcorn and lemonade, so he gets on his bike and follows them all down the street to the theater.

Somehow, when they all go to sit down, Taylor ends up on the end of the row next to Justin, and Jordan’s on the other end next to Ryan, and all Taylor has is his watery lemonade. Ryan and Justin do this thing during the previews where they do a thumbs up or down on whether or not they’ll go see the movie. Jordan starts giving his opinion after he sees Ryan and Justin doing it.

Taylor keeps his thumb down the whole time and eventually Justin stops turning to ask.

He only makes it thirty-seven minutes into the movie. By the sixth time a new storyline is introduced and he’s leaned over again to Justin to ask if that’s still Tom Hanks under all the makeup and Justin has shushed him yet again, he just gets up and leaves. He waits in the lobby to see if anyone follows him but eventually Taylor has to concede that they might not have even noticed he’d left. Or maybe they just thought he was taking an extended bathroom break.

The lobby of the movie theater is boring and doesn’t have any couches and he’s actually pretty close to home because everything is pretty close to their apartment, so he just leaves.

He bikes around downtown. There’s a little canal area near the theater and a big statue of a covered wagon. He likes the canal. It’s absolutely nothing like the river in Edmonton but whatever, it’s trying. He stops outside Toby Keith’s restaurant to tweet about the movie and laughs at Whits’ response.

Most of the time he’s not sure if it’s Oklahoma City that he likes or his anonymity. No one recognizes him here. No one stops him on the sidewalk to ask about their Cup chances. No one laments to him about their godawful power play, or how long it’s been since their last playoff run. No one gives him their insider tips or advice on going top shelf or five hole. He hasn’t been this anonymous in a really long time.

If he’d stopped to think about it, and he never had, obviously, he’d have assumed he’d find it lonely, isolating. The first time he’d left the country, to go someplace that wasn’t the United States, he’d gone all the way to Russia for hockey. They had people to help them around, translators assigned to help them order dinner and find their way to the bathrooms. And, other than thinking they were obnoxious tourists, the Russians hadn’t really cared much about who he was. He keeps thinking about that time, about being in the middle of a crowd of people and completely unable to communicate with any of them unless they spoke English.

They speak English in Oklahoma but it’s the same feeling, like there’s something lost in translation between him and the people strolling along the canal.

He’d never been alone in Russia though, Jordan had been with him. He wonders why he feels more alone now, and he kind of hates it.

As he’s contemplating that feeling, he realizes he’s hit the highway. And because he’s hit the highway, he doesn’t actually know where he is. It should be easy just turn around and go back the way he came, plus all the streets in Oklahoma City are numbered, but he can’t figure it out. He lets Siri direct him back to the apartment.

That's where it ends, these are the notes:

Lockout ends and they go back and Taylor is still pissy and doesn’t know why

Jordan confronts him about it

Taylor finally says that OKC was balls but he missed feeling like they were about to start something, like they were removed from their normal lives in a place where anything could happen

Jordan calls him an idiot and kisses him

“It was like. Anything could happen there. We could have just been two normal guys. And it made me think, if we were just two normal guys, what would I do.”

“But you didn’t do anything.”

Taylor shrugs. “We still weren’t normal guys, even though it felt like it.”

“What’s normal? Nothing’s normal. There’s no such thing as normal.”

“You know what I mean.”

“So we make a new normal,” Jordan says, and kisses him.

Okay but now that I’ve been reminded of it I need to add something in there about bonking their heads together as they kiss.

#huge shout out to all of my hockey friends #who read this story #and offered suggestions #that i never implemented #bc i never finished it #my fic #this work is not in progress #hallberle #hockey fic

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thetragicallynerdy · 6 months

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Alright, I'm back for one more for the wip folder game: jim ed modern flower shop tattoo parlour biker au ☺️

Ooooh yes yes!!!! I think I've rambled about this one elsewhere, but I can't find it, so here you go! This one is a long sad t4t Jim/Ed modern au where the gist is:

Ed, recently divorced from Stede, gets in a bar fight with a homophobe. Jim saves his ass and takes him home because he's too drunk to remember his new address

They become friends, and eventually lovers. Very much a vibe of Ed coaxing feral cat Jim into a relationship with love and good food.

Jim in this one has multiple warrants out for their arrest, and is a little stuck in "I need to kill the remaining few siete gallos, but fuck, I'm so tired of it." They work under the table at a bar, have basically no connections besides Ed, and are just scraping by.

Ed is also trying to rebuild after divorce, making a new home etc.

There are a lot of mental health and trauma vibes with both of them.

Eventually Jim gets stabbed, saved by Ed, loses their shitty bar job, and gets offered a job in Stede's flower shop (Stede is still good friends with Ed, or at least, they're rebuilding the friendship). Ed, meanwhile, is a tattoo artist with a shop nearby. So, the tattoo parlour/flower shop aspect is VERY loose.

This one also features Jim who hasn't had an actual relationship or friendship like, ever, and is terrified of commitment and always ready to run, and pretends Ed is just their FWB until they can't anymore. Very "yeah we're fucking but I won't say I love you or call you my partner for 75 thousand words" vibe

It's my baby. This is absolutely my most self indulgent h/c fanfic. No idea when it'll be finished but I adore it so much have I said I love it so much??

Anyway here's a snippet XD

Jim struggles to sit up on their shitty mattress on the floor, and it makes Edward doubly glad that they let him make a copy of their key. They look like shit still, hollow cheeks and skin that still hasn't regained all its colour.

"You're here early." Their voice is a slur, and he frowns, not sure if it's because they just woke up or if something is wrong.

"Last appointment of the day got cancelled, thought I'd come over. Sit the fuck back down, don't get up, I can come to you."

They slump back down with an audible sigh, waiting until he makes his way over and sits on the bed beside them. When he kisses them they relax into it, hand curling around his thigh in a way that feels lovely. Like maybe they're starting to feel comfortable with casual touch that's doesn't lead to something more. Like maybe they're starting to feel comfortable with him, with them, together.

"How're you feeling?" he asks softly when he pulls away.

They yawn, blinking when their jaw clicks together again. "Okay. Fucking tired, man." The hand on his thigh edges higher. "I don't think I can do a ton, but you can ride my mouth, if you want. Or my hand."

He stares at them. "What?"

"That's why you're here, right?" They yawn again, barely bothering to cover it with an elbow. "So we can have sex."

It hurts far, far more than it should. He forces a laugh, picking their hand off his thigh and dropping it back to the bed. "I was there when the doctor spoke to you, Jimbo, six weeks until you can do strenuous activity." When they open their mouth to argue he taps them on the nose. "Which means you've still got five fucking weeks to go."

They look terribly lost, which hurts even more than the assumption. "... then why are you here? You only come over to hook up."

To hook up. As though they hadn't been practically dating for months, now. Fuck. Fuck.

He thinks bitterly about how he'd told Stede that Jim was his friend, and wonders when he got so good at underselling things. Does Jim even think that the two of them are that much?

Instead of asking he hefts the backpack still in his hands up. "Well, now I'm here for movies and dinner. Pick one while I get started on the soup."

Jim stares at him like he has two heads. "Soup?"

"Yes, dummy, soup. You know, delicious meal with broth and vegetables thats easy on the stomach? I'm making you enough to last the week. Brought you groceries too. Those muffins that you like."

They look down at the backpack in their hands, face twisting for one brief moment before settling into careful neutrality. “… you didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure I did.” He leans in, presses a kiss to their forehead before pushing himself to his feet and heading for the groceries left by the door. He doesn’t want to see whatever their face does next, isn’t sure he could take it. “That’s what friends do, mate. Take care of each other.”

He doesn’t see it, but he hears it.

“Oh,” Jim says, voice soft and small. “Okay.”

If anyone feels like dropping me an ask for the WIP folder game, my long list of WIP titles is here!

#jim jimenez #edward teach #ofmd fanfic #the modern au #tragicallynerdy writes #jim/ed #flower shop tattoo parlour modern au

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a-cup-of-fantasy · 7 months

Text

so, as the next couple chapters for my main @smvillainsweek fic are going to take a while for me to finish, here's a bonus snippet for the free day (though it still fits under the theme of corruption) that takes place between the second and third chapters.

I actually wrote this like a year and a half ago, and it's been sitting in my giant folder of sailor moon wips, and I thought now would be an appropriate point to share it, to tumblr at least. I may post it to ao3 eventually, idk.

(edit: I have now posted it to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50676811)

it's a short kunzoi piece, with implied/fade to black sex, but nothing at all explict. hope you enjoy!

Zoisite marched into their rooms in a huff, only to sigh as he entered to see Kunzite pouring over papers at the table there. “You’re still at it? You promised you’d be done for the day hours ago.”

There was no response.

“Kunzite?”

He walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. At the touch, Kunzite whirled around, with his fingers just beginning to spark with the light of a spell and his eyes a dull grey, unfocused. “Hey, it’s just me! All I did was say hi—you’re not usually this jumpy.”

Kunzite’s eyes widened as he took in what was before him. He shook his head. “I’m sorry—I didn’t hear you come in. I must have been more absorbed in the work than I thought. What time is it?”

“Far past time for you to go get something to eat, if you’ve been sitting here since I left you.” Zoisite said, and he sighed, letting go of the snide tone. “Come on, I’m worried about you. You’ve been so stressed the past few days. And what are you even working on that’s got you like this, anyway?”

“I’m looking at the records of who and how many people have been entering the Earth from the Silver Millenium. There’s something—”

“Really? That’s what has got you so stressed you forgot we were supposed to have dinner together?”

“We were—oh shit. That was tonight, wasn't it.”

“Yes, yes it is. Why do you think I’m dressed up like this?” Zoisite turned around, showing off how the green silk of his shirt shimmered in the light, and how it highlighted the embroidery of the floral patterns he so loved. He stopped when he was facing away from Kunzite, and made as if to walk out the door. “Though, I suppose since you’re so occupied with your work, I may as well just leave you to it.”

Kunzite stood up from the desk and put his arms around him. “I’m sorry, love. I got caught up in this, and I completely forgot. Can you find it in yourself to forgive me?”

“I don’t know…” he said, but he broke off in a giggle when Kunzite began to press kisses to the back of his neck.

“How about now?”

Zoisite wanted to melt back into Kunzite’s touch, but he decided he’d play hard to get for a while longer. “I think it’ll take more than a few kisses to get me to forgive you for standing me up like that.”

“What about some pretty words then? Like how absolutely ravishing you look in that outfit, or how incredibly sorry I am to have left you on your lonesome for so long? Or, would you prefer me to get on my knees?” His words were punctuated by kisses, and one of his hands began to slide down Zoisite’s leg as he murmured into his ear.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, you flatterer.” Zoisite turned around and drew Kunzite into a long kiss. “I forgive you,” he said as he pulled away. “But, I’m still worried about you. You’ve hardly been doing anything but work the past few days, and I could have sworn you’d said you wouldn’t be as busy now as you had been recently. What’s going on?”

“Oh, forget about it for now.” Kunzite lifted Zoisite up in his arms and carried him to the bed.

Zoisite frowned as Kunzite set him down. “I’m serious.”

“Fine. It’s the Moon, there’s something—” He stopped and sighed when he saw Zoisite’s blank stare. “You don’t see it.”

“You’re right, I don’t see it. I don't understand what it is that’s got you so worried.” He looked into Kunzite’s eyes, still the brilliant silver that he’d fallen in love with. “Just… just promise me that you’re okay?”

“I promise.” He started to undo the ties holding Zoisite’s shirt together. “Don’t worry, my love. It’ll be fine. I’m fine. Now, I think there is something far more enjoyable we could be doing, don’t you agree? ”

The caress of Kunzite’s hands on his skin thoroughly distracted Zoisite from his concerns and drove any worried thoughts from his mind, if only for a little while. For, as he lay in bed afterwards, with Kunzite’s strong arms around him, he couldn’t get rid of the sensation that was creeping up his spine, the unshakable feeling that something, somewhere, was going wrong.

#sailor moon #kunzoi #zoisite #kunzite #my writing

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snowangeldotmp3 · 1 year

Text

here's a scene from spider-nance since i still need to write the full thing but i am too preoccupied with haunted hawkins right now. this is still a very rough draft (as i've not even finished this scene/chapter lmao) but this scene has been hidden in my wips folder since...july? so, hope y'all enjoy!

word count: 1.4k

Robin wakes up to a sharp thud followed by the turning click of her window lock. She sits up, squinting into the darkness, scanning her room for the intruder. She reaches for the nearest item she could use as a weapon—Don Quixote suffices—and flicks the lamp on.

In the dim lighting of her room, her eyes land on a red and blue webbed spandex outfit, clutching the side of their ribs. Looking them over now, she sees the torn fabric along with matching gashes and cuts across their arms and torso. The figure is still for a moment. Robin thinks that this person is as stunned as she is.

Spider-Woman is here. Standing. In my room.

“Oh…my god. Oh my god. What are you—“ She scrambles closer to the masked crusader, who, she notices, is wheezing out breaths.

“Are you…do you need to go to the hospital?” She asks. The Spider-Woman’s head twists and immediately hisses at the movement.

“No,” she grunts, “no hospitals.”

Robin blinks at her, the blood still seeping through the blue fabric of the suit. “Okay, no hospitals. Here, uh,” Robin snakes her arm around the girl’s waist, helping her to the foot of Robin’s bed, “Sit here. I’ll be right back.”

Robin’s brain works on autopilot. Dismissing the fact that Spider-Woman is here, and instead making a mental list of medical supplies she’ll need. She wonders, briefly, if she needs to go wake Steve, forcing him to help bandage the hero up. What would she say though? Hey, Steve, I need you to wake up. I have a superhero in my room that needs to be bandaged up, now.

She sprints to the bathroom—too far in her opinion, for the current situation—digging around the medicine cabinet for gauze, bandages, antiseptic, anything and everything she might need and can realistically carry back in one trip.

She realizes, on her way back, that she’s not too sure how she’ll be able to check for a concussion, or actual, visible, facial wounds. She’ll have to peek under the mask to do that, and even though everyone—including herself—would like to know who she is, she can’t help but feel like this would be a betrayal of trust somehow. Though, she guesses, taking her to a hospital where there are tons of possible betrayals waiting to happen. This must be less of a risk, even if it is some random stranger.

When she returns, the Spider-Woman is still clutching the side of her rib, bloody torso be damned, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Robin can handle the cuts and scrapes, but she’s never dealt with anything more than that. She throws the bandages down on the floor, feeling the wide eyes of mask follow her as she works at her makeshift station on the floor.

“So, I got everything I could, I don’t know how badly you’re banged up, but—“

Spider-Woman interrupts her. Not with words, instead, the hand that’s not holding her ribs reaches up, fiddling with the neck of the suit. Robin realizes a second too late that she’s trying to take the mask off.

“Woah, woah, woah,” She stands, grabbing the girl’s shaking hand. Whether it shakes from fear or the sheer pain of her situation, Robin doesn’t know.

“You don’t have to do that,” She adds, “I get the mask is like, protecting your identity and all, so—“

Robin is once again interrupted by the shaking hand of the Spider-Woman, and surprisingly, she speaks, rather than grunts out words.

“No,” she starts, hissing as she lets go of her ribs, moving both hands up her neck, “I want to do this.” Robin blinks at her again, taking a step back as to give her some sort of emotional space. She’s never been privy to a hero reveal before, so she’s not sure how much space one needs emotionally to get through this. Robin notes how intimate it feels, trusting an absolute stranger with your entire identity, trusting them not to sell you out to the cops or to higher government officials. Not that Robin would ever sell her out, and especially not to the Hawkins Police Department. They work a little too closely with the Hawkins Lab, and if Robin tells the cops, they’ll tell the lab. (Robin’s never particularly trusted that lab, if she’s totally honest.)

What if it’s someone she doesn’t like? What if it’s someone who’s made Robin’s life a living hell? Suddenly the idea of the mask brings more comfort to Robin, and she’s not the one who’s risking her life almost every night.

The red webbed gloves peel the back of the mask off first, giving Robin a glimpse of brunette curls falling out. The first person that enters her mind makes her stomach lurch. She’s sure now that she doesn’t want the rest of that mask come off.

The girl peels the rest of the mask off with a soft pop and Robin feels the bile rise in her throat. Her brunette curls are matted, sticking to her face, covered in blood. Her face is adorned in cuts and bruises, a prominent bruise on her left eye, a cut above her brow, and a larger cut on her right cheek. Her lip is split, and blood still drips from the wound. Her heart shaped face is mangled, her jaw clenches and unclenches, holding back the unshed tears in her eyes.

Robin stares, unblinking, unbelieving. “…Nance?”

Nancy smiles at her, tight and watery. “Hey, Robin.”

Robin doesn’t know how to react. Instead, she smiles softly at Nancy. How long has she been doing this alone?

“We’re gonna need more than these bandages. Let’s get you cleaned up, Nance.” Before she knows it, Robin’s hands move of their own accord, snaking back around Nancy’s waist, lifting her up and leading her to the too far bathroom down the hall. She gently sits Nancy down on the edge of the tub, and quickly works on grabbing more bandages from the cabinet and wetting a clean rag.

Robin steps closer to her, rag in hand, tilting Nancy’s head up as she begins to clean the wounds on her face.

“Nancy…what happened?”

Nancy looks through her, no longer clenching her jaw and instead fighting the trembling frown as tears flow freely down her wounded face. She clings to Robin, hands fisted in the soft fabric. Robin holds her, letting her cry, carding her hands through Nancy’s dirtied curls.

(She pushes the urge to press a soft kiss to those curls deep down within her.)

She doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Minutes, hours, it feels like forever. Robin tries to wrap her mind around Nancy’s confession. Nancy, who didn’t even know Robin, who thought she was dating Steve, misplacing her anger on Robin. Nancy who sat next to her in AP Lit, reputation as “the Priss” preceding her, carrying a certain air about her, never once sparing a second glance towards Robin.

Nancy, who Robin had seen in that one AP Lit class, looking like she would pass out, offering her help, to which Nancy refused. Nancy, who snorted at one of Robin’s jokes, trying to conceal her smile as Robin beamed at her. Nancy, who wants to hang out with Robin, declaring that they were friends. Nancy, who’s quickly wormed her way into Robin’s heart, making it a home for herself.

Nancy, who dons this stupid suit and puts her life at risk all most every night. Who stumbled into Robin’s room, nearly torn apart, all because she didn’t want to go to the hospital. Nancy, who is the Spider-Woman.

Nancy, who’s sitting here, bruised, battered and broken, sobbing into Robin’s shirt.

They stay like that a moment longer, long enough for Nancy’s breathing to even out. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, wincing as she does so. She pushes herself off of Robin, and from what Robin can tell, the movement alone is a herculean task.

“Surprise?” Nancy wheezes. Robin doesn’t know how to answer. She wants to be angry, furious, even. She can’t be though, at least, not right now. That doesn’t stop her the next sentence that falls from her mouth.

“Who else knows?” Robin asks, gently wiping the blood from Nancy’s face. Nancy does her best to avoid Robin’s gaze.

“Steve. Mike and his friends. You, now,” Nancy mumbles as Robin places a bandage across Nancy’s cheek...

#my writing #my fics #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #spiderman au #spider-nance #important info - in this au robin lives with steve!!#this was the first thing i wrote for spider-nance and some details have changed since then #like now robin wants to be a part of team spidey and she helps them crack the code and it's all very comic book #or at least i hope it is lol.#i know spider-nance isn't as popular as spider-robin but I LOVE spider-nance and this is 100 % self indulgent #stranger things #posting a moodboard soon for this btw!#like right after i post this actually

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batnbreakfast · 22 days

Text

AO3 Writer's Ask Game

Thank you for tagging me @slightlyintimidating ! 🥰

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

102378

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly Bernie Wolfe/Serena Campbell although I branched out into the RedgraveRussellCinematicMultiverse.

And there's this one Deadloch fic, I really would like to finish. *side-eyes her brain*

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Notting Hill

My Berena Notting Hill rewrite with Serena Campbell as the bookshop owner and Bernie Wolfe as the famous actress.

Before the Sun Sets on the River Thames

Yet another film rewrite (I just love them) - this time it's Before Sunset with Bernie & Serena reconnecting years after having spent an unforgeable night together.

fragments of a holiday season

My Berena advent fics collection

clouds in my coffee (but the sun's coming through)

My Berena coffee shop au for @fortytworedvines day

chi va piano

My Berena smut fic, which has forever changed how I look at pianos

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Ah. It's complicated. During the last year I only had comments like "Please finish this!" and no, most of the times I don't respond to them. While I LOVE comments and use them to motivate myself to get back to writing, I find comments that don't even say why someone would like me to continue a store utterly unhelpful. Also there's my beloved ADHD brain, which makes me forget to answer sometimes. I will though, even if it's like stupidly late.

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

*chuckles* Well, I wrote this fic with Bernie's thoughts while she's dying under the rubble after they killed her in an explosion off screen. Lucky for most of you preferring a happy ending to your angst, I did not publish it. Instead I rewrote it to become a chapter for my collaboration with the lovely @ktlsyrtis

everything is different, everything has changed

Five times Bernie Wolfe’s life explodes - and one time it doesn't.

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

I feel like all my fics have a happy ending. I love a bit of angst, but seriously life is bad enough without giving your favs a happy ending after putting them through the mangler.

My favourite might be

Before the Sun Sets on the River Thames

because Bernie stays.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Huh. If so, it apparently was too irrelevant to remember.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes, I do. And I honestly love to connect them via smut with feelings.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do love a good film au. I have dozens of ideas what films to cast them for and I've only written two so far, with another three sitting in my WIP folder.

My crossover ideas aren't that crazy actually, but maybe

the slow appraisal of silent things

might fall into the category, because why not mash up Lynley and my love for Berena, replace the old Helen with Catherine's Helen, and have her leave Lynley (as one should do), to fall in love with Jemma's Grace Finegann (who did not shoot anyone).

Others might say that it was absolutely crazy to write my first Berena fic, which is also a crossover, without ever having watched a single episode of Holby.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! I wrote

everything is different, everything has changed

with @ktlsyrtis and I loved, loved, loved doing this.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Seems a bit like anyone reading this far could answer this, but

💖 Bernie Wolfe/Serena Campbell 💖

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

Nope. Not going there. All my WIPs have a chance to being finished. It took me almost three years to finish Notting Hill. I might get inspired on something that's been sitting in my drafts for longer. Who knows - certainly not me. I won't give up though!

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'd say dialogue with feelings and with smut also showing without spelling things out in detail.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Commas and formatting. *chuckles* Apologies to all the lovely people who ever beta'd for me. I appreciate you so, sooo much.

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

I could have them speak German and Italian and would, if I found it necessary. I prefer to have a translation in the notes at least while reading fic.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Ah. Something wlw that I'm not looking back to.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Urghhhhhhh... I love all my children, I don't have a fav-

Before the Sun Sets on the River Thames

Because it marks the beginning of a new fandom journey that is still bringing me so much joy and made me make wonderful friends.

Okay, I'll stop now before getting even soppier.

I'm tagging @ktlsyrtis @lapalfruity @fortytworedvines @ariverandasong and everyone of you who wants to take part in this. Seriously, just run with it if you want to!

Questions to respond to:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

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

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

8. Do you get hate on fic?

9. Do you write smut?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

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

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

#ao3 asks game #writers ask game #thanks for tagging me friend 😊#slightlyintimidating

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