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bubble-dream-inc · 1 year

Text

i walk the line.

You had joked with Ghost before about getting married, never with a tone serious enough for it to be taken into account, even if it was something you dreamed about whenever you were alone with your thoughts. What you hadn’t expected was the question to come up at such an inopportune time.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Sergeant Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 2.1 K

a/n: i hate giving my fics titles so just assume the song in the title is the vibe i want the fic to have lmao. also this is unedited and not beta read so beware of typos and shit

warnings: estabilished relationship, profanity, whump, description of wound, mentions of death, badly timed marriage proposal, medical inaccuracies, fluff, happy ending

It’s cold.

No, scratch that. It’s fucking freezing.

God, you hate the cold. Considering how much you despise it, it amuses you to think you might have been a desert creature in another life. A lizard, maybe. The types to scurry really fast and eat small insects all day. What a life.

You’re lost in your musings but you think there are a few very faint voices calling for you. Where are they coming from? Above? Seems like it. First, you hear their voices getting clearer, and recognize a word. It’s your codename, meaning, it’s your teammates voices. But why do they sound so agitated? Next, you feel pain. Quickly rising, scorching hot pain in your abdomen.

Oh, that’s right. You were shot.

A scream echoes out wherever you are and only later you’d recognize it as your own, in the same moment you recognize Ghost’s own booming voice frantically calling out for you, and the heavy weight of Soap’s large hands holding you down so you wouldn’t trash as much. It had been ironic, really, how much the mission went smoothly, 99% of it being completed without a hitch, but right as you were about to celebrate success, some fucker neither of you had seen before had decided to put a bullet in you - any of you - blindly, and it so happened it would hit you. The offender was long gone, a throw knife lodged in his skull as quick as a blink of an eye in the split second after the gunshot was heard, but the damage was already done. A few seconds before it happened, you had groaned how much you couldn’t wait for evac to come so you could take a hot shower and sleep, since your bones were aching, and Gaz had laughed and called you old-spirited. So much for that shower, you think as you take in the surroundings of what you could see of the abandoned safe house from your position on the blood stained table. It was painful to think about if that same table was used in the past for a family reunion or to gather folks around for good news, before hell broke loose and war tore apart the people, so you didn’t think about it. Ghost called your codename again and you cast your eyes downwards to look at him, the fear in his eyes sending a chill down your spine.

“Hey! Talk to me, don’t you dare close your eyes!”

You had screamed as he was removing the projectile from your flesh, you realized. Was not your first rodeo, a thought that made you want to laugh bitterly, but just the idea of laughing made you wince in pain. His hands were currently trying to stop the bleeding, and after taking one look at the wound, you suddenly felt at peace.

It was pretty shitty you were going to die in an equally shitty safehouse, but that’s the life you chose. So, against your better judgment, you chuckle lowly and decide to follow your superior’s orders.

“Keep talking, eh? Alright.” You groaned once more when he applied more pressure to your gaping wound. “L.t, do you- do you remember when i told you…I wanted to retire early and - fuck - get to the countryside and get a big ass dog?”

He looked up at you briefly, glad you were talking but clearly wondering where you were going with this. You knew he hated when you spoke of the future as if you were going to die - which, right now, you were pretty sure it was really happening this time - but you couldn’t help yourself. Of course he remembers that conversation, it was in the beginning of your secret-not-so-secret relationship. You had asked him what he would do if he wasn’t a soldier, and he had given you a very cryptic and vague answer that resembled a lot like nothing. In turn, you told him your wishes half heartedly, as if thinking of living for 10 more years was a very distant dream.

The relationship between the 141’s Lieutenant and one of its Sargeants was a sort of urban legend going around. People knew it was happening, but didn’t dare speak of it, and no one had ever really seen any proof of it, so, it was best to avoid prying into Ghost’s private matters as to not risk being at the receiving end of his annoyance, and, in turn, you both found solace in having something that only the two of you knew about. It never hindered your professionalism and it had been going on for a few good years now, so it became somewhat naturalized between the folks coexisting in the same space as you and Simon after a while. However, that never stopped the natural curiosity to flourish in a few people - namely, your comrades, who always knew there was something going on given the fact you’d literally look at your superior with hearts in your eyes - so you had to ignore Gaz and Soap’s expectant eyes on you as you spoke so tenderly, the intensity of witnessing the start of what seemed like a very intimate talk momentarily sharing space with the worry they were feeling over you.

“...Yes. I remember.”

He never forgets the things you say, even if you think it’s not important at the time. You hummed, ignoring the pain that came with it.

“Big dogs were never really my thing. I just-” A cough ripped out of you, and you didn’t need to look to know there was blood in it. “ I just thought it was the kind of thing you’d want. Big dogs fit you. It felt less scary to think about retiring once I added you in the equation.”

You were slurring your words and you knew it. As you regained your breath, you briefly saw a very wide-eyed and angry looking Price curse into his comm asking where the fuck was the goddamn chopper. Your codename being barked alongside the word “WIA” to a poor fellow soldier on the other side of the line left you with a bad taste in your mouth. You hate how scared Ghost looked, your big, scary, stoic Ghost, and you can’t help but feel selfish for leaving him, even if being shot was not your fault and wasn’t really in your plans when you left the base that morning.

“Stop talking like you’re fucking d-”

“We could have done it, you know?” Your laugh is, once again, bitter, and you’re acutely aware of the tears streaming down your face. Death has never scared you, but now that you got a reason to stay, you’re terrified. “Could’ve gotten hitched somewhere nice. Can’t really imagine you in a suit, though.”

The pain doesn’t stop, but it gets duller as you feel your consciousness slipping away, and you never fought so much to stay awake in your entire life. Simon yells something to Soap among the lines of getting something from somewhere so he can continue trying to save you, but you don’t register his words. His tone softens once his eyes are back on you.

“I’d wear a suit if you asked me to, sweetheart.”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask, though.”

Not caring there are other people in the room, you smile at him, well aware it must be uncanny to see Ghost be so tender towards another person, but again, you were the lucky one who got to see it every time it was just the two of you, so you got used to it with time.

Your vision starts spinning more and more, and your eyes start to close the moment you hear the familiar, faint sound of a helicopter getting closer, Simon’s big hands suddenly on your face to try to keep you grounded, and he sounds even more exasperated than before. He calls your name - not your codename, for once.

“Stay alive, do you hear me?! You gotta stay the fuck alive so i can take you to the bloody countryside and get bloody hitched-”

“You askin’ me to marry ya’ in my deathbed, sir?” You manage to slur out, your smile growing despite the panic you don’t have the energy to express settling in your bones, and Simon’s eyes widen even more behind the mask.

“Yes, I am, so stay with me, that’s a fucking order-”

You chuckle, closing your eyes as the frantic sounds around you all blur into a garbled mess. Faintly you feel your body being moved around, a strong wind on your blood and dirt caked hair, hear some more shouting, but then,

Silence.

——————————

Feels like the thousandth time you have woken up, and the feeling of coming in and out of consciousness is unbearable at best.

The first time - or the second, you don’t remember - there was a strong light above you, but you had no energy to open your eyes, so it lasted a measly second before you were out again. Later, you heard an unfamiliar voice saying something about an induced coma for a few days for a better recovery. You wondered if they were talking about you (they probably were). This happens a few more times before you actually feel your consciousness coming back for good, and, before you open your eyes, the first thing you notice is how warm it is, and, if you could, you’d smile. The spring air smells good, and you think you catch a whiff of cleaning products while you inhale, suddenly aware of how empty your lungs felt. The third thing you notice is the weight on your hand, and once you open your eyes, you find a familiar set of skeleton gloved hands on top of your own. A few years back you had told him with a laugh the print was very 2000’s, and he had just brushed you off with a scowl, but you’ve never been so glad to see the tacky thing. His thumb caresses your skin as he patiently waits for you to become more aware of your surroundings, and you instantly smile when you finally meet his gaze, which looks extremely relieved.

“Hi.” Your throat feels parched, voice straining as if you’d swallowed a kilo of sand, but Simon thinks your voice never sounded so sweet to his ears.

“Hi.”

It hurts to move, but you do so anyway, slowly sitting up despite Simon’s protests just so you can see him more clearly and grasp his hand a little better. While you are busy cringing at the dull pain in your stomach from the stitches, he extends a glass of water for you, to which you grab and gulp down immediately, quenching your thirst and looking over at your partner with such gratitude an onlooker would have thought he was a literal godsend.

“How bad is it?” Your voice still felt rough from disuse, but at least it sounded a bit more familiar to your ears.

“Pretty bad.” He doesn’t bother you with details; he knows you were never a fan of hearing about your wounds descriptively. “But you’ve always been tough.”

You flash him a grin that has him silently flabbergasted both with how beautiful you are and how quickly you seem to bounce back from a near fatal injury. Suddenly, you remember your last words before you blacked out, and your smile turns shy as you cast your gaze down to where your hands meet.

“...Did you mean it?”

Simon has always been extremely observant and smart, he knows what you are talking about immediately, and you like to think he is smiling under the mask as he goes back to gingerly caressing the top of your smaller hand with his thumb.

“I did, sweetheart.” His voice is low, and every time he calls you a pet name it has your heart doing somersaults. “I’m sorry I don't have a ring yet and I don't know when we would have some time off to have a ceremony, but I want to marry ya’. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Feeling like your smile would grow so big it would rip your face, you beamed at him, acutely aware of how you must have been looking like a mess with a - hospital - bed head and tired eyes, but you’d hoped he could notice the hearts in your eyes as obviously as you felt them. Things always seemed to fall in place with Ghost; no need for extravagance or huge acts, and the fact that your marriage proposal was exactly that, made you fall even more in love with him. You watched lovingly as he raised your hand to press a mask covered kiss on the top of it, and shook your head, laughing gently.

“Of course i’ll marry you, Simon.”

#capy.writes #cod #cod mw22 #cod mwii #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare #cod modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reade #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader

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godbirdart · 9 months

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Looking at your recent commissions, those backgrounds are soo pretty!! Do you have any tips for backgrounds? I always struggle with them :>

aAA many many thanks!!

backgrounds can absolutely be a struggle but they don't have to be! they just require a little more creative planning~!

whether it be a commission or a personal drawing, if I'm building an elaborate art piece i focus on establishing the background First.

the background is the stage for your character! planning the background first will make it easier to tailor the character's actions and how they interact with the environment around them.

planning the background first can be the difference between your character standing awkwardly front and center with the setting going on behind them, or actually participating in their environment.

if i'm super stumped for background ideas, i browse stock image sites to get inspiration. sometimes it helps to doodle on an image to generate some ideas - kinda like you're playing with JPEGs like dolls.

that said - while i'm pinpointing WHAT i want to draw, i keep the ideas loose. i don't want to focus on the itty-bitty details until i've got the overall aesthetic and layout in mind, as i might get inspired to add something in later!

THUMBNAILING

if you're planning a big piece it can be helpful to break it down into something bite-sized before you go all in and start lining or painting. these are "thumbnails" - fast little sketches that establish the scene in a way that doesn't consume a lot of time or effort. it's also great as a little perspective exercise as a treat.

here i decided i want to draw a character walking home in a back alley street. with these photo references in mind, i can plan a layout and how the character will act in the scene. is this a candid shot? are they posing cutely? are they looking down at us in a tense way? there are many ideas to be had!

after you've chosen the layout / vibe for your idea, you can scale up your thumbnail to your preferred canvas size and start fleshing out the details. be sure to keep referring to your reference images to get additional ideas, such as storefronts, items, props etc!

3D MODELS

If you're trying to create a unique environment that photo references simply cannot help you visualize, 3D models exist! This gives you that ability to rotate / scale things for better visualization. Clip Studio has a vast catalogue of 3D models to download For Free that you can fiddle around with. i know there are many 3D builder sites out there as well, though i've never made use of them so i'm afraid i cannot recommend any off the top of my head. hell, you can even use the Sims game to design a setting and go from there!

also if anyone is going to come into my house and say 3D models are cheating: they are not. using a 3D model to better grasp an angle or get a better idea for perspective is not cheating. using 3D models to help plan the environment in your art is not cheating. they are no different than brushes; these are tools made to HELP YOU. use them!

PERSPECTIVE

perspective and angles can make a HUGE difference in the art piece. there's nothing wrong with static long shots! if that's what you want to draw, do it!! there's no right and wrong here!

but if you're finding your work to be a little robotic and stiff, slap an angle in there. consider an overhead view. these same techniques are applied to photography and film! nothing wrong with wide shots, but every once in a while it can help to throw in a dutch angle.

if there is one note i'd like to leave off on, it's that your backgrounds do not have to be 100% accurate-to-life to be Good. unless realism is something you're really striving for in your style, don't feel compelled to nitpick every brick and leaf in your art. us artists can tend to over-prune our work until our art looks a little bare and soulless. flaws can give your work character, and that's often a lot more appealing than how accurate the scale ratio between background building A and building B are [again, unless you WANT to go for that realistic look then you can fuss over those details all you like].

i hope this helped a little! MY APOLOGIES FOR MAKING IT SO LONG AH

#art advice #art tutorials #godbirdart #long post

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wri0thesley · 1 year

Text

benefaction - thoma x reader (x ayato), 4k

thoma is very used to being the third; the bystander, in these little games that ayato plays with you. but today, on thoma’s birthday, the commissioner has a different proposition.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. dub-con due to weird power dynamics; reader is a maid and is beholden to ayato because of this, ayato is thoma’s master/lord too. cucking, kind of, of ayato. past cucking of thoma. wanting. piv sex, masturbation, mentions of bondage. use of ‘my lord’ and ‘master’ as titles. ‘songbird’, ‘birdie’ and ‘angel’ are used as pet names towards reader. reader wears a maid dress and stockings. reader is afab but no gendered terms are used.

a/n: happy birthday thoma, you may have a Crumb of pussy

The Kamisato Clan are nothing if not kind employers, so Thoma has not had to work at all today. He’d protested, of course - he had no idea how to fill his time without his chores, and he had things to do! - but Ayaka and Ayato had both laughed and told him to go into Inazuma City, have something delicious to eat, see some friends . . . and Thoma had been forced to spend his birthday away from the Estate, enjoying himself. Ayaka had brought him a bouquet of Mondstadt flowers, and Ayato had left a pile of carefully gift-wrapped books about Yokai on his nightstand, with the cryptic note;

“I hope you enjoy them; I have another birthday present for the most loyal retainer a man could ask for that I’ll bring you later on tonight.”

It was now ‘later on tonight’. Much later - everyone in the house is in bed, except, it seems, for Thoma and Ayato. Assuming that the young Master had once more spent too long over his desk working, Thoma had just about made up his mind to go and take him a cup of steaming hot tea and gently suggest that he retired to bed when the knock on Thoma’s bedroom door had come.

“Thoma?” Ayato’s familiar voice, all dark silk, floated through the keyhole. “I’ve brought you your other gift.”

Thoma stood up from the chair by his window, walking towards the door to let the other man in - wondering what kind of gift it could be that would necessitate Ayato delivering it so late at night.

“You really don’t have to, My Lord,” Thoma says, as he opens the door. “The books were a wonderful gift, I don’t need anything el--”

Ayato walks in, kimono loosely tied about him, soft smile on his face - and then, behind him, with nervous little scurrying steps and a bitten lip, you step into Thoma’s bedroom. Thoma’s mouth goes dry. You’re wearing a bastardisation of the maid’s uniform that Thoma has only ever seen before when Ayato has been in a particular mood - a short skirt, low-cut neckline, stockings digging into the soft flesh of your thighs--

Only now it seems that this little outfit is solely for his benefit. Ayato crosses the room casually and easily and takes a seat that Thoma is far more accustomed to being in when Ayato and you are enjoying yourself - by the window, but facing the bed. He’s elegant as he crosses his knees, resting his chin on his hand and smiling at how you drop into a curtsey before Thoma. Softly, avoiding Thoma’s gaze, you whisper;

“M-My Lord.”

“I thought,” Ayato purrs, tone dripping honey, “for my other gift, I might lend you our little songbird to do with as you will. I thought perhaps you might like to feel what it is to be . . .” He chuckles. “Commissioner for a night. And you don’t mind at all, do you, birdie?”

You bob out of the curtsey and look at Ayato through the fringe of your lashes. Your mouth looks terribly kissable, Thoma thinks, as his heart beats a double-time march against his ribcage.

“Now, now,” Ayato chides you. “I’m not in charge tonight.”

You move your gaze to Thoma. Thoma’s breath catches in his throat at the sight of you; the swollen lips, the eyes blown and dark, your chest and your thighs and the bare skin and the knowledge of what it is that Ayato is giving him as a gift--

“I’d be glad to be of any assistance, My Lord,” you say, voice all soft and breathy. “Anything at all I can do for you . . . Please let me serve you as you see fit.”

Out of the corner of Thoma’s eye, he sees Ayato shift - the brush of a hand over the front of Ayato’s trousers, a soft sigh and rustle. But you are still stood before him, and Thoma’s stomach is tying itself in knots.

How long has he wanted this? How many times has he been tied to chairs, has he knelt before Ayato, has he watched as you lavished attention on the Commissioner or were fucked within an inch of your life and has longed to be in Ayato’s place? And here Ayato offers you up on a silver platter, like a gift? He can barely believe his own luck.

“I couldn’t possibly accept this gift,” Thoma says, though he wants to grab you by the back of your neck and kiss you senseless. Wants to throw you onto his bed and spread your thighs wide apart and feast on you in a way he’s never seen Ayato do, until you’re a mess before him. Wants to fill you up until you’re chanting his name-- “It’s too much, My Lord, really--”

“Don’t be impolite, Thoma,” Ayato says, a small smile on his lips. “You’ll upset our poor songbird. It was their idea.”

Thoma looks at you - and you tilt your chin just so, so that he can meet your eyes. Your tongue swipes nervously across your bottom lip, before you say, soft like a whisper;

“Happy birthday, Thoma. Please let me take care of you.”

Any thoughts he had about refusing the gift flow like water out of his mind as he looks at you; so beautiful, so willing, so wanting. The salacious display of your skin and the pitch of your voice and the soft gasp that escapes your parted lips as Thoma wraps one warm hand about the back of your neck and draws you closer, to press his lips against yours in a searing kiss. He hasn’t been allowed to kiss you before - and it is everything he has dreamed of. Your mouth soft against his, something sweet lingering on his tongue as he presses it against the seam of your lips and you sigh as you open for him. Your own tongue nervously presses against his, but Thoma simply sighs further into the kiss, draws you closer.

When he pulls back, you follow him for a brief moment - your eyes half-lidded, gasp escaping, as if you don’t want him to stop.

Ayato sighs again, but Thoma carefully blocks him out - lets himself imagine that it is just you and him in his bedroom, that this isn’t one more bizarre way for Ayato to show you both who is really in charge. He’ll let Ayato sit there, let him touch himself, let him do what he wills - if this is the only time Thoma gets to show you how he feels about you, he will seize it with both hands and make sure you know just how much Thoma longs for you.

“Will you take off your clothes for me?” Thoma murmurs, brushing his fingertips over the softness of your cheek. He very carefully does not phrase it as an order. He does not want to be Ayato, telling you what to do with a smug smile - he wants, for once, you to have some agency in all of this. Your gaze meets his and you nod, eagerly pulling at the something-like-a-maid-costume that Ayato has you wearing.

You tug off the dress as Thoma’s gaze roves eagerly all over your body - as he drinks you in with the hunger of a man who knows that said hunger is going to be sated. He cannot stop looking at you - imagining how soft and lovely you will feel beneath his calloused fingertips, now that he is allowed to touch you instead of merely wishing he could.

You unclip the brassiere with a deft movement, letting it fall to the ground, and Thoma’s eyes are drawn to the curve of your breasts and how your nipples tighten and stiffen in the evening air. Your underwear is the next to go, falling down your thighs - and Thoma swallows to stop himself salivating at the thought of what’s between your legs. You leave the stockings you’re wearing on.

“May I?” Thoma asks, motioning for you to sit upon his bed. You tilt your head to one side and smile at him in a way that makes him want to kiss the smile from your lips.

“You can do anything to me you wish, My Lord,” you say, fluttering lashes and full lips and so beautiful it makes Thoma’s heart ache. “For tonight, I’m entirely at your mercy.”

“Sit,” Thoma murmurs, and you perch neatly on the edge of his bed. Thoma finds that he’s lowered himself to his knees before you; his palm grazes your knee, as he murmurs; “Spread. Show me.”

You oblige him eagerly, parting your thighs to show him the slit between your legs. You’re wet; he sees the slick clinging to your puffy folds and the monster in his chest roars in approval. You use two of your fingers to spread the lips of your sex even further apart, shivering at the sensation of being so thoroughly inspected - and Thoma watches with a dry throat as you squirm beneath his gaze and grow even wetter. You like him looking at you.

“Aren’t you beautiful?” Thoma murmurs, fingers trailing up your thigh, lowering his head. His mouth is close to your cunt, and you sigh softly - hot breath fanning across you. Still, Thoma does not use his tongue, as much as he wants to. He simply studies you, drinking in how you look like this. Utterly at his mercy. One of his fingers ghosts even higher up your thigh - and then he’s dragging it through your slit, wetting it in your own arousal.

“Open your mouth,” Thoma murmurs, as he raises his finger towards you - and you, obedient and lovely to a fault, part your lips and let him put it inside. You taste yourself on his fingers, and Thoma is dimly aware that you’re getting even wetter at the treatment. A soft groan emanates from Ayato, beside the bed, but Thoma cannot bring himself to care.

“Touch yourself for me,” Thoma murmurs. He’s had to do this for you several times; Ayato has made him open you up on his fingers before the Commissioner himself sheathed his cock inside of you more times than he can count. But this time, as you slide a finger inside of you up to the knuckle and use your other hand to swirl and toy with your clit, the only person that you are preparing yourself for is Thoma. You whimper, your hips gyrating upwards, a petulant frown on your face. Your own fingers aren’t enough, it seems.

Still. Thoma watches you for a few minutes - watches the way that you shift on the bed, the way that your slick leaks out from where you have your fingers stuffed inside of you. Listens to the way your breath keeps catching and the occasional whine of frustration that falls from your lips. He lets you work yourself up until there are tears shining like fat crystal droplets in your lashline, threatening to spill down your cheeks, and then he murmurs;

“On the bed, angel. Spread your legs for me.”

Through it all, Ayato has been making soft, quiet noises. Rustles and groans and sighs. It’s . . . it’s downright distracting, is what it is.

Thoma gets on the bed as elegantly as he can manage - settles himself between your thighs as he sheds his own clothes, as he lets his thick ruddy cock spring free. But Ayato--

The sighing is getting simply too much - and, too, Thoma can hear the rustle of fabric of Ayato’s kimono, the soft slick back and forth of the Commissioner pleasuring himself to the scene before him. Thoma, on his birthday, and with you before him all willing and pliant . . . he feels a certain kind of thrill, a bravery that he has not before thought himself privy to when so much of him is tied up with the Kamisato siblings. Thoma turns his head to view his Master.

Ayato is beautiful as ever; skin soft and pale and smooth as marble, violet-eyed and handsome in the low light of Thoma’s bedroom with his lips all bitten to redness and his pretty cock clenched in his fist. But tonight is a night for Thoma; tonight it is Thoma’s turn to feel what it is to be the Commissioner. He has you under his spell already. So, his voice only a little dry, Thoma says;

“Did I say you could touch yourself, Ayato?”

Ayato pauses. Thoma wonders if he has gone too far - if the Commissioner will not like being referred to so casually. But Ayato, instead, lets out a breathy sigh. His face is almost hazily pleased, as he lets his hand drop and lets his cock stand there, stiffly to attention. He wraps his slender fingers, instead, around the arm of the chair.

“Of course, My Lord,” Ayato says, with the pleasure of someone who is enjoying playing his little game. “Perhaps if I do it again you may see fit to tie me to the chair.” He gives Thoma a slow, insouciant smile, that Thoma feels in the pit of his stomach. His own cock jolts. You, neglected for too long beneath Thoma on the sheets, let out the softest little whine that licks down Thoma’s spine.

“My Lord,” you say, all needy and wanting. “Please. I want you inside of me.”

If, indeed, Thoma were Ayato, he’s sure he would tell you off for this little indiscretion. Pinch your cheeks and coo at you for being such an adorably wanton little thing who can’t last a minute without someone’s cock inside of you, for leaking your slick arousal all over his sheets. But Thoma is not Ayato, and this opportunity already feels like something that the housekeeper does not deserve - so instead, Thoma kisses your cheeks fervently. His lips brush over yours.

“I want to be inside of you, too,” Thoma tells you fervently, his words hot with longing. “I’ve wanted to be inside of you for longer than you can possibly imagine, angel.”

You tilt your hips up towards him, a soft pout making your face look all the more kissable. Thoma’s eyes stray between your thighs - to the beads of slick that decorate your folds, the wetness of the pulsing hole that longs to have him inside of you. You, seeing him looking, bite your lip in embarrassment but still force your thighs wider apart. You look almost as if you’re afraid Thoma is going to find you wanting--

“You’re beautiful,” Thoma sighs - and then, his cock brushes against the silky smooth dampness of your thighs, smearing precome all over your skin. You’re still wearing the stockings, and Thoma isn’t sure if he’s ever seen a more lascivious sight than the sight of your thighs pinched by them, spilling from the thin fabric. He slots himself between the lips of your sex, rocking backwards and forwards slowly so that the tip of his cock rubs against your swollen clit. You squirm beneath him, eyes bright with lust and need - and Thoma cannot help but tease you, just a little more. His cock longs to be sheathed inside of you, hot and tight and wet - but when will he once again get such a chance?

“Tell me how much you want it,” he murmurs, fearing he is more like Ayato than he has ever thought. As if in response, a strangled groan comes from the side of the bed - and Thoma chances a single glance at the actual Yashiro Commissioner. His teeth are grit, his jaw set, his face flushed pink - and his knuckles white upon the arms of the chair, as his cock strains against the planes of his abdomen, untouched. It’s a position that Thoma has been in more times than he can count, and oh . . . Thoma never realised how delicious it would be to see his Lord in one and the same. To see a fraction of that frustration reflected on that normally serene, lovely face.

“Please,” you say, fervent desire in your eyes - eyes that only look at Thoma, like you’ve never wanted anything as badly in your whole life. “Please, put it inside of me . . . Please fuck me, My Lord--”

“Thoma,” Thoma breathes against your mouth, and you whimper again as the head of his cock once more rubs through your sex, wetting itself in all of your slick. You squirm and tremble beneath him, sweat beading on your brow, your eyes bright fire. “Call me Thoma. Say it again.”

“Please fuck me. Thoma--”

He enters you with one slow stroke that steals the breath from your chest. He’s thicker than Ayato, though not as long, and your eyes roll back into your head quite against your will at the sensation of being so thoroughly stretched out. Thoma fancies he can hear your heart beating where his chest presses, sweat slicked, against yours. You stare up at him with a tenderness he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you express towards Ayato.

“Does that feel good?” Thoma asks you, breathlessly. You cannot respond to him, too far gone in the pleasure, but you give him a hazy nod. Ayato chokes out another moan. “Do you want me to move?”

“Please--” Your voice is nothing more than a whisper on a breeze, but Thoma hears it - and slowly, slowly, slowly he works himself out of you. The channel of your sex clings to him like it does not want to let you go, hotter and tighter and wetter and more wonderful than he had ever imagined that it could feel.

It suddenly does not matter the circumstances in which he found you in his bed; the only thing that matters is that when Thoma’s eyes meet yours, he feels like you and he are the only two people in the whole world. He slides back into you and your back arches, your hands coming to cling to his broad shoulders. Your nails digging into the soft skin.

“I-I’m sorry,” you gasp out. “I--I need to-- h-hold on--”

“Shh,” Thoma kisses your sweat-beaded brow. Ayato, perhaps, would tell you off for touching without his permission - but there’s so much apology already in your eyes that he cannot bear to do the same. Perhaps he is not properly playing the role of Commissioner right now, but that’s unimportant compared to you. He looks down at you, so torn up inside with adoration he can barely breathe, letting his hips slide into a rhythm somewhere between gentle and insistent. “Hold on as much as you need, angel. You’re doing so well. You feel so good.”

You tighten at the praise, pulsing around his cock. He knows you like praise, of course, but it’s entirely different to feel it in this way - the proof of it in the way you cling to him. With every slow inexorable thrust of his hips, he thinks he falls a little bit more in love with you.

“You feel . . . good too . . .” You say to him, though it’s entirely obvious from the look on your face and the hitch in your breath. You, too, have remembered from sessions spent with Thoma by the bedside as Ayato fucks into you with wild abandon that Thoma enjoys being praised. He feels a jolt of heat run through him. “You’re so . . . thick--”

Ayato shifts, hisses through his teeth, a soft groan falling from his mouth. Thoma ignores him. This is how it feels for Thoma, after all - his Lord should get the full experience, surely? Thoma concentrates on you.

One of his hands slips between your heated bodies, finding your sex so his finger can toy with the pearl of your clit even as he works his cock in and out of you. You writhe beneath his touch on the sensitive bundle of nerves, but it is clear from the noises and breaths that escape you it is a very pleasant kind of writhing. Your pulsing grows more urgent, your heartbeat faster, your breath is gasped in shorter and shorter intervals.

“Are you going to come for me?” Thoma murmurs to you, amazed at how he’s managing to keep himself in check when he feels close to melting into a puddle every time he looks at the pleasure on your face.

“O-only if you say I can, My Lo-- Thoma--”

He lowers his mouth against your ear, watching as you dig your teeth into your lower lip and toss your head.

“Come for me, beautiful,” Thoma whispers - and you let yourself go. Your sex clenches and pulses around him, dragging him deeper inside of you, clinging to him tighter than he thought possible. Your back arches in one final graceful swoop and you cry out a noise that is pure pleasure as Thoma feels a gush of wetness on his own cock, physical proof of how much you’re enjoying yourself.

You’re exhausted, he can tell, but you wrap your thighs about his hips nonetheless with a kind of fervent determination. You keep thrusting your hips against his as the aftershocks of your orgasm recede, not letting up for a moment.

“Come in me,” you tell him, with a soft kind of command in your voice he’s never heard before. “Please, Thoma - I want to feel you come inside of me--”

It’s those words that set Thoma himself off. The thought of you begging him to fill you up, when in the past he has wasted his come spattered across your face or your breasts or your thighs, or even across his own tummy when he’s only barely been allowed to touch himself. Sometimes even inside of his own trousers, when Ayato has been feeling particularly like toying with him.

Thoma lets the thick spurts of his release fill you, pressure abating in the centre of his stomach as he gives you everything that he has to give. You whimper again, tossing your head back onto his pillows (he sees himself, later on tonight, with his face buried in the pillow and his hips rocking against his sheets as he pleasures himself remembering this moment), and he feels you come again. A smaller, quieter kind of orgasm washing over you at the sensation of being come inside by the housekeeper.

Thoma and you are both panting - both sweat slicked and hot and satiated as he collapses on top of you, peppering a few more kisses onto the damp flesh his mouth is closest to.

The elephant in the room speaks.

“Well,” Ayato tucks himself, still hard, his teeth grit, back into his trousers. “That was certainly . . . an experience. Songbird? Shall we retire to my bedchambers?”

You look blearily up from the bed, over Thoma’s shoulder, well fucked and breathing heavy. Thoma’s own limbs feel hot and heavy as treacle, and he groans as he stretches off of you, softening cock sliding out of you with a slick pop. His eyes glance towards the clock on the wall.

Eleven PM.

“If you don’t mind,” Thoma says, a smile playing across his own mouth - normally so soft, now sharp as a knife. “I think I have an hour of my birthday left. And I think . . . I’d quite like to spend it alone with them.”

Ayato’s mouth drops open, for a fraction of a second - before he gathers his dignity back up around him, before he schools his face into one of those princely smiles.

“Of course, My Lord,” Ayato says, though his voice feels a little sharp and Thoma knows he is going to pay dearly for this when he does not have his birthday as an excuse to indulge. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I suppose.”

Ayato turns on his heel, elegant as ever, and leaves in a swirl of kimono sleeves and expensive silks - but neither you nor Thoma miss the flush on his cheeks, the bulge in his trousers, the wet patch on the expensive white fabric. Ayato leaves Thoma’s bedroom unsatisfied - and Thoma himself still has an hour of your time, all to himself.

“Thoma?” Your voice comes, soft and lilting, as you reach a hand up - as your palm grazes across his hot cheek. A smile settles on your pretty, satisfied face. He tilts his own head to the side to wait for your request. “Mmm. Will you fuck me again?”

He amends his thoughts.

Not yet satisfied.

And he is more than happy to assist in that.

#writing #not sfw text #genshin impact x reader #thoma x reader #thoma x ayato x reader #thoma smut #ayato smut #genshin impact smut #dub con for ts #power imbalance for ts #cucking for ts #genshin impact posting

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conkers-thecosy · 25 days

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hi miss conkers! i love your writing and i read through everything and stayed up late this weekend! i seen about your tags on the regency au and wanted to ask you what is the vault? please will you tell us some ideas you have?

Hullo! 💛

First of all, thank you so much! I'm so pleased you've enjoyed my fics and they brought you some entertainment, that makes me so happy! Haha, I do hope you've managed to get some good sleep since, though!

Ahhh yes... The Vault! Yeah, I can share a few ideas I have, if you like! They aren't very fleshed out or anything, but I can give you a little run-down! King - Final instalment of the "Soldier, Poet, King" series, dealing with Smaug, gold-sick Thorin, and Azog, set in the film-verse. But Will You Stay? - This is my "Bilbo carries the Ring" idea, with some fairytale elements. Playing about again with the idea of forgiveness between Bilbo and Thorin, and how that might realistically play out.

The Reluctant Burglar - An "Erebor never fell" au fic where Bilbo is hired to steal the Arkenstone from Thorin in exchange for help for his ailing father, but gets caught up in palace intrigue... amongst other things!

Breaking The Ice - Fantasy au where Thorin was sealed away in a glacier and stories are told of what a powerful evil he had been in his time. Hundreds of years later, Bilbo, a scholarly noble, accidentally sets him free, and has to try and hide his mistake while simultaneously keeping Thorin in check. Comedy and romance ensue.

Untitled Regency AU - A loose re-telling of Pride & Prejudice, bagginshield style, but will also have lots of other classic Austen references, too. Because I'm just that person, I'm in love with Jane Austen, and this idea has been poking my brain for ages!

Untitled Quest Re-telling - Book-verse and told entirely from Thorin's pov. Does what it says on the tin, really!

There! I have more, but these are the ones that I have a strong idea about, as opposed to just Vibes, haha! I'm not one of those clever writers who can work on multiple projects, unfortunately, so this list alone is going to be a few years worth of work! Thanks so much for the question, it's always lovely to have a chance to talk about my ideas!! 💛

~Conkers 🌰

#ask #thesmallestoops #conkers corner #I've got a couple of modern au ideas too but they're very vague still...

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deerspherestudios · 1 year

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How do you organise the process of creating a character? like, to me its too confusing, i dont know what i do first because there are TOO MANY THINGS TO DO, like backstory, personality, looks, what they like, so what would be the “steps” to make them?

(Since @isabellaswork asked the same thing recently I'm tagging you here, hope that's okay!) Omg I'm flattered I'm the person you'd wanna ask such a big question ;v;!!? Honestly the process is different for everyone, but I'll give it a go <3 This is how my process usually goes:

Personality first, backstory later. Flesh out the concept of the character before deciding their origin story if that makes sense.

Build a moodboard for your character! The more ideas the better!

Time for visuals! Sketch out multiple iterations, looking at the moodboard for inspiration. Colors go last.

Finalize! Once you've got your final sketch + colors, draw a proper illustration and see if you vibe with the design. Repeat previous steps if necessary <3

Extra: Since you've got the design and story down, add some fun facts. This is where interests, likes and dislikes go!

I'll use my VN characters as examples below in case someone wants it in more detail! Mychael (Mushroom Oasis) and Alma (Lift Your Spirits spoilers!! + horror imagery) process ideation under cut:

Usually I start with personality first. Because for me, when you first meet someone, you see what they're like in the present; their past doesn't matter as much until you get to know them. I can decide the backstory later so it doesn't limit the personalities I'm playing around with. Of course I must have gotten the idea from somewhere so these two things work in tandem most of the time.

Then it's just a matter of how they look!

After deciding on personality traits, I start by collecting references from everywhere, even the smallest of things. I think of how I want them to look plus how they would dress. Anything goes at this stage, so just go buck-wild gathering ideas!

Here's a moodboard for Mychael:

This one was for Alma, from their normal self to their monstrous self:

Then it's time for drawing and doodles. As I sketch, I look back at the moodboard I've made and pick out things I like, while drawing things really loose. Copy paste if I need to!

I've shared the ones for Mychael here, here and here! Here's some sketches for Alma from last year:

This part takes the longest but is always the most fun! Don't feel limited by what you had initially, just test out ideas! Here are the final designs!

Mychael(s):

Alma(s):

Then once I'm happy with the design I can flesh out the backstory as much as I like!!! so long as it fits the presentation of the character in current time. Of course this process can differ when you already have a story in mind and need characters to carry out the plot, but I'm definitely not big-brain enough to make an all-out story like that </3 I just enjoy designing characters visually haha

Oh and just for fun, I like to sprinkle in some extra (but kinda unnecessary) background info. It can be the most mundane thing but it gives them more life (to me at least!) Maybe they drink flat orange soda, or enjoy riding trains at night, or hate the smell of french fries, or think apples are disgusting etcetcetc.

Of course there's like, tips for professional character designing like silhouette, shapes, proportions but I assume this ask was for a more casual approach <3 That's all I could think of if I were to describe my process,,, I hope that answers your question!

To recap:

Start with personality traits and decide backstory later. Or work them together as one. It's more concept than visuals at this stage.

Assemble a moodboard for inspiration. The more ideas the better! Look up anything that might relate to your character if it helps.

Sketch, sketch and sketch again! Keep things loose and free. I usually start from the face, to clothes to accessories. Colors go last.

Finalize! Put everything together in one rendered drawing, and see if you vibe with it. You can always go back to previous steps if you're still not happy with it.

And you're done! :-)

#mushroom oasis vn #lift your spirits vn #bts #cheea chatter #i rambled so much so i hope the TLDR helps fhjds #q

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anime-owo-kage-san · 17 days

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Thanks to this fanfic I read called A Little Bean on Ao3, I discovered a Parents!Huskerdust concept I really love.

Kinda dark but wholesome at the same time, so read below the cut at your own risk.

- The idea that Angel (as messed up as it is) gets knocked up by Valentino, but instead of being devastated, he loves the baby, and separates how he feels about Val from the baby.

Infact the baby was the last straw he needed, to lash out on Val. And Val just realized having a baby with Angel made him loose even more control of Angel. He agrees to everything Angel wants and the space he needs, to avoid getting beaten and yelled at.

Bc: I headcannon that Angel’s (Anthony’s) mom, was too afraid of her husband, and just let him do whatever he wanted to her sons, she only protects Molly, because she’s the only one who doesn’t resemble her father.

But because of that experience, Angel doesn’t give two shits that his baby is a moth. He’ll protect his flesh and blood.

- And Husk is there to assist, unintentionally becoming some sort of co-parent (this is before he and Angel start dating).

- Extra bonus: Alastor actually respects and commends both Angel and Husk’s attitude towards the ‘unborn baby’, (because, since Journey to the Light isn’t canon, I headcanon Alastor also resembles his dad more, but his mom loved him unconditionally regardless)

- When baby is born (I’m gonna say she, bc I already drew her): She gives absolutely no fucks, about Valentino, even as a clueless baby.

When Val’s in her sight, she just…. stares. Not menacingly, and fearfully, she’s just absolutely numb to his presence. Even when Val, carried her and held her in front of a mirror to show their resemblance, she only blinks without any feeling. She only starts squirming in joy, and giggles when Angel returns to the room. Or when Husk (whom she imprinted on) walks in.

Also lol:

Baby: “Pa….” *eyes instantly lights up* “Papa! Papa! Papa!”

Valentino: “Ha! Finally!” *lifts her into the air* “Yes, darling! Papa! And you’re mamacita thought, you would never call me th—“

Baby: *points behind Val* “Papa! Papa!”

Valentino: “Huh…?” *turns around and see Husk*

Husk: “Yeah, I think she’s talking about me. Give her here.” *takes the baby and walks away*

Valentino: “Are you fucking kidding me!?—OW!” *get hit in the head by a frying pan*

Angel: *holding the frying pan* “Don’t flipping swear, in front of my baby, you butthole!”

Valentino: “She’s MY baby too!”

Angel: “With the way she acts around you? I don’t think so. Your sperm, but my spawn. Get out. Let me deal with you later at work!”

Valentino: “Going! I’m going!”

Like I said, I drew my own fankid already. If anyone’s interested, I might post the art once I finish her up.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #huskerdust #valangel #husk x angel dust #valangel kid #but treated as a huskerdust kid #fankid

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bl3ss3dbyt1amat · 4 months

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OC ASK THINGIE!! tagged by @tadpole-apocalypse

name: malas!! (formerly "of the bhaal temple", currently "of... my house?" he doesnt get it at all but hes got the spirit)

nickname(s): mal (astarion), arthax dus (by lae'zel, roughly translates to "utter moron" in draconic. theyre besties trust), evae (astarion, tranlsates to "love" in elvish), dragonbro (karlach), bhaalbud (wyll and karlach)

pronouns: he/him very loosely. sometimes he just drops shit like "i wish i were a girl" and everyone in the party has to deal with that for a second before moving on.

star sign: i would imagine capricorn with maybe something in cancer? hes a very responsible "big brother" quiet type but can absolutely be emotional. just like. in private. and then he immediately pretends like nothing happened. IM SORRY IM OVERTHINKING

height: 7'0 (okay last tangent but ironically i was actually working on a drawing of all the companions with my height and body type companions for them. so this was something i was very prepared for)

orientation: gay and asexual!! (he doesnt MIND sex and was totally chill with being intimate with astarion on the grave and shit, he just also doesnt really seek it out or desire it. ALSO i feel like he probably had a phase where he dated girls and kept trying to convince people/himself he wasnt gay)

race: white dragonborn! though in my head hes more of like. a hunk of bhaal's flesh in the vague shape of a white dragonborn. i think actual dragonborn might get an uncanny valley vibe from him if they look at him too long

romancing: astarion :DDDD

fave fruit: im really amused by the idea of this big hulking dragon guy very delicately picking some razzberries or blackberries to eat. so im gonna go with that (someone remind me to draw that later!!)

fave season: winter probably! i like to think that he absolutely thrives in the cold, being (sort of) a white dragonborn

fave flower: canada thistle! technically not a flower but a weed. i have a headcanon that poor malas just destroys every single plant he even considers going near. canada thistle is a very hard to get rid of weed, so i think he would be delighted to find a "flower" that could put up with his creepy death vibes

fave scent: this is gonna sound so weird but like? cooked meat? and rice and that sort of thing. the smell of a home cooked meal is the general vibe (i dont feel like the bhaal temple was super hospitable when it came to making nice food? malas loses his memory and is like "i dont know why but i feel like i prefer this curry so strongly to like. human fingers")

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: secret third thing called i think malas would be indecisive and slowly drink all of them. like back to back. over the span of an hour to try in avoid anyone catching on (astarion is so onto him)

average sleep hours: i think it really depends on the day. like 4-6 days out of the week hes too paranoid and restless to sleep at all/more than like 2 hours a night (concerning all of the elves in the party who can absolutely hear him). and then the other days of the week hes so stressed from questing and staying up the previous nights he just storms into camp and sleeps from then until he is forced out of bed

dogs or cats: dogs but more accurately worgs and owlbears. i feel like he just wants a pet thats also a bit of a feral sweetheart. also big fluffy guy you can ride!! whats not to love?? malas is probably one of those guys who inexplicably gets every cat ever to hate him within seconds of meeting them. and is also probably very upset by this

dream trip: LITERALLY ANYWHERE! malas just wants to see all the shit hes never seen before/doesnt remember. ideally after finding a way for astarion to walk in the sun.

amount of blankets: i think probably none to maybe one or a sheet? hes probably overheating for most of the game, being meant for colder climates and junk

random fact(s): - as bhaal's chosen, malas was much more into the preaching aspect of things. he would still probably be a good preacher if he worshipped any gods - malas can speak draconic as well as a bit of undercommon and deep speech. i feel like he had to like. hear people talk in these languages to even remember he spoke them post-amnesia though - that comic about malas having a giant journal full of everyones bullshit wasnt a joke. hes got a scrapbook full of quests, stickynotes, drawings, diary-type entries, and probably a good few mental breakdowns - this is more of a headcanon abt dragonborns in general but i think hes got a little hoard of pretty doo-dads.

(im so sorry if the images made this unreadable it looks fine to me on computer??? i dont know how to make them smaller either sob) IVE NEVER DONE A TAG THING SO I HOPE ITS NOT JUST SUPPOSED TO BE MUTUALS MOSTLY CAUSE I HAVE TWO ONE OF WHICH TAGGED ME ORIGINALLY tagging @venusmage @mooreaux @grandmother-goblin (i wish i had seen this tav when i did my tav appreciation post!! so cool!!) @ppilotco (AGAIN WISH I HAD SEEN THEM SOONER) @divorcedwife ANDD UUHH everyone else ever forever praying i did this right

#bg3 #bg3 oc #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #bg3 durge #dark urge bg3 #durge #tag game #malas posting

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herobrinna · 5 months

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so i had some thoughts on witch culture, regarding what they do with their dead, or at least what they used to do pre-Belos:

so first off, witches/demons believe in their body connecting with the Titan after death, but, just as different part of the Titan provide witches with different things, so should the body of a witch/demon connect with different things.

first are the brain and the heart, which are both believed to be connected to the witch's soul, each keeping different parts of it that make the person whole (eg, the heart might hold all uncontrollable things about the person: their fears, their love, their compassion), and to join the Titan in soul a witch must loose all earthly (fleshly(?)) attachments, thus the brain and heart are usually extracted. whats done with them depends on the culture, but the most common course of action is cremation. another one of note is a form of cannibalism; where a tiny piece is cut from both organs and given to all family and friends of the person (pieces being so small you could swallow them without chewing, as its more about connecting with the person, and letting them move on, more than anything, with consuming each part meaning connecting with a different aspect of the person: eating the brain piece shows your love for how they thought, eating the heart for how they felt (like were emotionally), not eating a piece would be interpreted as the person disliking an aspect of the deceased person (eg, ok i know bigotry doesnt exist on the BI but lets pretend for the same of thing cause i cant think of anything else: so imagine a terf mother, her child recently gone, and at the funeral she doesnt eat their brain piece cuz she saw the child's transition as nothing more but a silly "opinion" that infiltrated their soul))

now, the flesh of the Titan itself is the life of the world, its what gives crops nutrients, its what then gives everything else whats needed to live, and as such the flesh of the person is important in continuing the cycles of life. as such the body's flesh and bone are separated (after the brain and heart are extracted of course).

whats done with the flesh then depends on the family, a farming family with turn it to compost, thanking their family member for providing them with a good harvest (and the Titan Themselves of course). whilst anyone living in a town/city would give the flesh to what im temporarily calling a necromancer even tho they aint one but im not creative with names. what these "necromancers" were, were people who used a mixture of plant and abomination magic, (although such distinctions didnt exist pre-Belos, but yknow) with them usually also being the ones to do all the funeral rituals, they would then use the flesh of the person to help any areas of the Titan that were struggling, like if a flashfire damaged a forest recently they would use it to introduce more nutrients to the ear- erm, flesh. otherwise, they would generally spread it around the chunks of wilderness they were protecting, helping keep up the health of the area.

as for the bones, the Titan's own's bones are believes to be the foundation of life, a literal backbone lol. and with that vague belief came a lot of interpretations, and a lot of differences in what was done with the bones, not just from culture to culture, but sometimes there were slight difference per family. some example: some witches had a sort of catacombs, where a limited amount of bones would be left before the place would be sealed off to be reclaimed by the Titan over millennia. others used bones in rituals, carving them glyphs (<- during very ancient times, before they fell out of fashion and Belos later erased all public knowledge on them (unrelated but i hc that Evelyn taught Caleb glyphs, as they were considered like a "nerdy" thing to study in that time, for being an outdated form of magic) or enchantments that would then help ward the household from dangers.

anyways yh, thats some rough ideas.

and oh, after Belos started gaining more popularity, cremating the whole body became the most common way to deal with a dead body. although even by the time canon takes place, some secluded towns might still hold a form of the old tradition.

#the owl house #toh #emperor belos #philden au #<- tagging my oc x Belos au here cuz all my hcs are canon there #i like to have overcomplicated ideas that only get like a single brief mention in actual fanfics ok #:(

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specksizedgoddess · 4 months

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Piercing

Punching a hole in your exoskeleton, not anywhere vital, so I can string you on my keychain. So many things these days have moved to apps or RFIDs that a girl can hardly collect enough keys to make it jingle so instead I'll just use you. As I slither around, hips swaying, everyone knows both that I like girls and what I can do to tiny ones like you. But for your services, you are compensated. I'll give you little snacks throughout the day and show you off to other cute girls who like bugs. And maybe you might get caught up in some hip-grinding action at the club, who knows. All that matters is that you're mine and are a highly valued accessory that I'm going to take good care of.

Maybe one night, you help me score so I tell you I've got something special planned and that I'll give you a special treat afterwards. I take you and slide you in to replace one of my nipple piercings. She was fascinated by you, so putting you someplace spicy to surprise her tonight seemed like a fun idea. From your new position, you can tell I'm nervous as the boob sweat builds up around you and the air between my breasts and my bra gets mustier and mustier. Hours later you hear her and can feel her squeezing you through my clothes. Needless to say, she's delighted to finally see you again and toys with us. As she gets more desperate she begins humping my tits and you get to be front and center to a pussy easily five times your size as it slathers and smooshed you over and over, too large to even register if or how many times you've cum while trapped. Changing positions again you find yourself crushed between our tits, sweaty and panting as we make out, you're practically drowning and suffocating, but then, but then, she kisses you. and she kisses you, oh and she kisses you. Pinned into me, stuck in a tiny hole made for a slim metal rod, she kisses and suck you, us, and you feel yourself coming loose. her kisses deepen, her tongue wriggles around you, coaxing you out further, until you're sucked into her mouth and she swallows. While the passage of her throat is wider and less cramped than my nip, the ribbons of slimy, hot flesh rip around your body, and sudden explosion of sensation from your previous confines. As you stew in her guts and slowly start to melt, a musky, tasty slime drops in from the ceiling above you: your promised special treat, cummies from your owner of many months. "Enjoy your treat" you hear from outside, something out there still acknowledging you as more than food or a toy. But soon enough you're part of the cutie that's gonna be my special treat very soon... after all, you two may be sated, but my tummy's rumbling.

~🐍💜

(PS. I can decide if it'd be funnier to have you in my nipple with your pussy out or not. Just exhibiting you to anyone who gets me with my bra off. But the other way you can wriggle and let of steam inside me. Maybe I control which version based on who I'm gonna see that day and on if you've been a good accessory :3 hehehe. Anyways, hundred kissies blast!!!)

HDJSJDJWJSKDJWBOH MY GOSH HUN <33333

IKSHDHS SIM SO NROAML MHMM

Letting out a yelp as you pierce me, staring up at you eagerly... so exited to be yours... a little keychain, dangling so happily, making little noises with every move you make~ happily squeaking every time you reach down and push me around, any time I'm shook with the rest of your little trinkets...

GOSH I can just imagine her face... curious eyes staring at me as I wave, her giggles as she's absolutely fascinated... watching the two of you strike it off, happily waiting... even more exited when you secure me into place~ squirming against your tit as I blush, eagerly kissing and adoring it...

I certainly dont mind the sweat, it gives me something to try to help with while we wait~ and sureenough, she appears, even more eager to see you- and so entertained by the little plaything against your chest...

Soaked. almost drowning, gasping for air as she moans and enjoys herself~ grinding against your chest, and me~ a dizzy little speck dazed with lust climaxing over and over between the two of you... slurped up in an intimate kiss~

Slathered in the drool from both pairs of her lips, stomach juices coating me as the two of you adore one another... you swear you can hear an eager moan muffled from inside her when you do cum down her throat <3

Also AWAWAWA KISSING YOU BACK MWAH MWAH MWAH

#thanks for the ask!#🐍#hannddfab :33

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wolfsbanesparks · 2 months

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Idk if you answered a similar question but how do you plan your fics? Do you have the entire plot ready or some points that you connect while writing

Hi anon!

So confession time: I absolutely suck at planning stories out.

I'm what a lot of people refer to as a 'pantser' aka I fly by the seat of my pants as I write, filling in things as I go without a plan. I have literally never had an entire plot worked out before I started writing lol.

Typically I come into a fic with little more than a brief prompt or a single scene in my head and just start free writing a couple of scenes to see what happens. Often times the first scene I come up with is the very beginning/set up and then I give myself a goal to work towards and figure the rest out as I go along. For plot heavy things the goal is usually simply to fix the problem I've created (For example in Split my goal that I wrote towards was simply: merge Cap and Billy back together). Because that goal is the focus, I often have a scene or two near the end of the story that is fully fleshed out long before I get there that I'm writing towards (and then I tweak the scene to fit the details of how I got there) But everything in the middle? A complete blank until I get there.

When I outline, it is generally a painfully brief bullet point list of things like "character A talks to character B" or "fight scene" or "Batman POV?" that I add to or rearrange whenever I get a new idea. Since I often have multiple POVs, if there is a POV I know I want to include, I stick it into the list and figure out what to do with it later.

When I'm a bit further into a story I'll have a better idea of where things will go and have a handful of scenes I know have to happen so I just have to decide how best to get from point A to point B. I think this works for me because I don't feel stuck in an outline like this and can let certain side plots develop and resolve naturally so long as I am generally moving towards my main goal.

Now this is obviously a very loose, messy way to plan a story that probably doesn't work for most people. I have to be careful when editing to catch plot holes or double check facts/details but that's just part of the process for me too. I've done a lot of reading, writing, and studying of literature to the point that I have internalized a lot of the rules of how stories work/how they should be structured so I don't need to be quite as reliant on outlines a others might be.

This is probably not super helpful if you're looking for tips on planning out a story (and it definitely is a bit rambling) but that's how I do it.

Thanks for the ask!

#ask me whatever you want y'all #my writing #fic writing #fanfic asks #I always feel like I should have a better answer for this sort of thing #but I just don't plan ahead of time #It's worked out for me so far but I know that it isn't for everyone

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nerdnag · 1 year

Note

How much do you plot out your stories before you write them?

More than I used to!

Up until maybe 2019 I almost never plotted out stories beforehand. Therefore I have a LOT of started docs saved with little random ideas: some of which never became more than a page, some of which went haywire after a while and never recovered. And there are some entire "books" or fics that were completely improvised as I wrote them. That used to be how I wrote when I wrote for my own enjoyment only.

I tried my hand on an overarching structure for an original work back in 2017/18, but that was probably my real first planning for any story I'd ever written.

And then I think it was @alienducky who really got me into plotting and got me stuck on it for real. We worked on a fic together, and it would have been practically impossible to do that without some kind of joint plan. I remember she started a table at the top of the doc where she listed all the scenes, and I was like yeah, that's a good idea, and it was. After that I started plotting out my own fics in a similar manner too, and now I never want to go back to how I did it before. The stories just turn out so much better when I know where I'm going from the beginning. But I plot in a way that still lets me be creative with the plot along the way.

So this is how I do it nowadays:

Scribble any little initial idea I have - sometimes in a single sentence, sometimes in a paragraph, sometimes in random loose sentences here and there that only make sense to me.

Place the bits I know I want into some kind of organised scene structure - if I don't already know which order things will happen in, I'll get a first sketch on that now. I usually structure this into actual chapter titles (placeholder titles that just give me an idea of what the scene is about) so that step 5 becomes a bit easier later.

Loosely figure out what kind of ending I want - just so I have something to aim for. Usually I have two large threads going and then a number of subthreads; the main threads (like a fantasy conflict or a romantic struggle) have to be clearly solved at the end imo, but some of the subthreads can be more loosely handled. At this point in the process though it's all just a rough sketch.

Slowly fit more pieces I want into the puzzle - any scenes that are necessary to bring me to the end somehow, or even scenes that bring me joy to think about, as long as they don't stray too far from the main threads. I also make sure to always add in early on which pov I think I want for every scene.

When I have a beginning, an end, and a number of scenes that seem to coherently bring me from one to the other, I start fleshing out parts. This usually means that I start writing bits and pieces here and there. Often I wrote the first handful of chapter first before I go on to the rest of the story, so I have a basic idea for myself of what the characters want and how they should be acting. But after the first few chapters, I usually jump from scene to scene depending on what mood I am in and what feels more joyful at any point in time. So I might write half a scene in chapter 7 one day to then write an entire chapter 22 the next day, only to then jot down a few paragraphs into chapter 16 after that. (This is my adhd working, I let it because it's worked out pretty well for me so far.)

Along the way I may come up with new ideas and adjust things, I flesh out scenes that were very barebone in the beginning, I solve and change things that turned out not to work, and when I reach the latter chapters that I wrote early on (for example ch 22, if I wrote that straight after ch 7), I'll usually have changed enough things that I need to rewrite large parts of that chapter. That is fine by me, it's all part of the process.

I should also add that if I've started posting it on for example Ao3 along the way, I sometimes - very rarely, but it happens - adjust my plans depending on what people comment. This is usually only if someone comments something that is so genius or otherwise so perfectly natural for the story that I just cannot let it go by without doing something with it, and only if it fits into the plot somehow. One example of this is when I noticed that several people were suspecting a particular character of having hidden motives. Up until that point I hadn't planned on doing much at all with that character, but when I realized that what I'd already written was leading very naturally to their conclusion, I decided to give that character more space from there on out and even played into the whole hidden agenda idea (but with a twist). That kind of thing can be really fun to do, but I don't do it if I don't think it will work for the plot I already have.

There have also been occasions where conversations with @alienducky have led me to change things in similar ways. One example of this is when I sent her a first overarching plot of my entire then upcoming fic series back in... 2020 I think? And she's great with noticing details, so she asked me how the characters would be able to send letters to each other if they didn't know where the other person was. I told her there was a magically enhanced wolf in there that would be used to bring letters back and forth. She was so into the idea of this wolf, and asked what would happen to it later in the story, that I simply had to make it part of the main cast, and in the end it even played a very important part in a reveal down the line. XD Throwaway details that grow larger like that are also very fun.

Omg I actually found our old convo from back then, I can't not add it in here.

TLDR; I plot out an overarching story with beginning, end and bits and pieces in-between, then adjust as I go.

#Ask a nerd #This answer got away from me #But I love talking about this!#Writing

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scrumpledorph-writes · 4 months

Text

Koben’s Requisition (Shopping Trip)

My wounds have had long enough to heal. Left arm is still a little tender, but I don’t think I can bear sitting around doing nothing all day again. Already deviated from my sleeping schedule by fifteen minutes last night. I should go scope out the landscape around here, pick up a few essentials while I do it: a change of clothes, a spare blaster, maybe some thermal weave if I can manage that discreetly. Date night tomorrow too; so I should get a second change of clothes. A nice one.

No getting around wearing the armor into town again. As much as it draws attention, it at least gives people the proper impression. Not much difference between a body glove and a cat suit to a civilian eye, and just the thought of being propositioned has me recalling all the practice I had on how to snap a wrist. I don’t think the blood would wash out if someone tried to perform an unannounced physical inspection. The blaster rifle should probably stay home though.

Only twenty minutes across the flats to town, this speeder performs exceptionally far above the standard set by all the taxi speeders I’ve been calling. Could be made with illegal parts, or stolen Imperial tech. If that’s the case, somebody will come looking for it. They likely wouldn’t be expecting anyone to put up a fight, and their body wouldn’t last more than a few days on the sands – scouring winds for the flesh, scavengers for the bones, but that would leave a loose thread for whoever sent them. They’d send a bigger force to follow up, one of them might report back, and I’d be left looking for another little nothing planet to start all over on, alone.

I should have this thing inspected. Brayli’s a speeder mechanic, but I don’t know if it would offend her to blend her work and private life, even if I offer to pay. She probably wants to get away from work when we’re together. I could find another mechanic, but then she’d wonder why I didn’t bring it to her; if I don’t think she’s a good enough mechanic to do the job. Maybe I should bring it in now, while we’re not on a date and she’s a speeder mechanic first. Just bring in the speeder I stole off a bounty target, I’m sure that won’t cause any problems. Stupid; bad idea.

Think about it later, stick to the plan for the day so I can at least get something important done. Blaster first, it’s the easiest to carry around. Should just assume anything I can find around here is illegal, so who looks like the most credible illegal dealer? Is that a squadron of Jawas running a stall out of a speeder truck? Never seen that before. They at least probably stole it first hand, so I’d be getting it second hand, which beats third or fourth from any of the rest of these shops. They’re looking at me expectantly—too bad I don’t speak Jawa.

‘Hey miss! You in the suit! Were you hoping to do business with my fine companions?’ Long loose coat, loping posture, smile too wide for his head, voice like a tread on gravel. Shifty, probably a conman. Unfortunately my best bet. ‘I was.’ ‘Ah, but you don’t speak Jawa do you?’ ‘No.’ ‘Ah that’s alright my friend, few people do.’ He’s trying to put his arm around me. Too friendly. Firm hand on the wrist, firmer shake of the head. ‘Ah, straight to business with you, I can respect that.’ He’d better. ‘So, what is it you’re in the market for?’

‘Blaster pistol. Highest power you have. Discretion is no concern.’ ‘Highest power you say? I hope you have your papers.’ He’s laughing, slapping two of his four spindly hands against two of his twig like knees. Trying to draw me in, establish a connection he can exploit. ‘I don’t.’

He’s standing up straight now, but with how crooked everything else about him is it makes him look off balance. ‘Ah ha, well, that’s no matter. Only a joke. Please, feel free to browse. We keep the batteries stored separately, so by all means inspect the merchandise, give the triggers a test squeeze or two.’

Surplus, worn out, stripped, knockoff. I should have expected none of these would meet any official standards. Good thing I carry a pocket tool. There might be one good blaster spread across this entire inventory. ‘Hey hey, whoa lady, what do you think you’re doing?!’ He’s spineless, maybe literally; push a little harder and he’ll fold.

‘You claim to sell blasters. These aren’t blasters, they’re piles of scrap. Most of your customers won’t know the difference until it kills them, but if you cared about that you wouldn’t be selling them.’ Guilt. Not the guilt of knowing his shoddy goods have killed his customers, but of knowing he’s been caught. ‘Let me pull a few of these apart, put together a complete, functional blaster, pay you for the parts since I’ll be handling all the work – then you can put the rest back together and get back to scamming people.’ His face looks more red than an imperial saber and pressurized as a grenade.

‘Two thousand credits for the privilege of picking and choosing.’ ‘A good heavy blaster is worth seven hundred new; five hundred and fifty for your secondhand wares.’ ‘That’s in the core worlds where you can get one made easily, fifteen hundred for the import fee.’ ‘Your Jawa partners stole these off corpses, I can see the kill tallies carved into some of them. Seven hundred and fifty.’ ‘And they risked their lives getting to them before the Tuscan raiders! Twelve fifty.’ ‘Nine hundred and I’ll put the ones I have to take apart back together myself.’ ‘One thousand for insulting the quality of my wares!’ ‘Done.’ Emperor that was exhausting. Used to be able to just serve up a writ of requisition to commandeer things like this. Or arrest the vendor.

I can’t believe it took two hours of sifting through and comparing their whole stock, but I finally have an acceptable blaster. Thick grip, long barrel, wide firing chambers, compact sight. Imperial steel through and through, none of those ornamental engraved wood or softer metal inlays that are popular with civilians. Just a needless point of failure. Reminds me of my academy days, stripping and reassembling a blaster over and over until I could do it with my eyes closed and an alarm siren wailing. Now I just need a holster and some practice shots to get used to the weight.

‘Finished. I’ll take five batteries for it. I’m done haggling for the day, and I know how much a battery costs. Twenty five credits per unit.’ He seems as fed up with me as I am with him, he’s not even feeding me excuses any more.

‘Say, not bad work you did putting these back together. One connoisseur of fine weapons to another, perhaps my wares may not be of the highest quality on the maintenance side of things. That’s why I have to sell them on the street. How would you be interested in a business proposition?’ Oh, he stopped haggling so he could get on my good side. How shrewd. Still, bounty work is inconsistent even under the best conditions. A fallback option wouldn’t hurt.

‘I have other avenues of employment, and I only work freelance. Whatever you’re suggesting would likely be bottom priority. If you’re still interested, keep talking.’ ‘I’m sure you noticed a lot of the problem with these blasters is wear and tear. Jawas are great at finding things and taking them apart, but not quite so good at putting them back together in good working order. How would you like to be my refurbishing specialist? Your blaster’s looking great, and all you had was a pocket tool and a folding table on the street. With a proper workbench and suite of tools, like the ones I’ve got at my workshop, you could probably get these good enough for the Troops!’ Delusions of grandeur. I don’t have time to get wrapped up in some small time scheme.

‘So you can peddle them to passersby? Sounds like wasted effort. The Empire has industrial grade contracts.’ ‘Ah that may be true my friend-’ ‘We aren’t friends.’ ‘-My potential business partner; but the local gangs are always looking to expand, and that means they always need new blasters.’ High quality blasters in the hands of the local gangs means higher quality blasters being pointed at me on the job.

‘Do you think I wear this armor because it’s comfortable?-’ It actually is, the body glove was vacuum contoured perfectly to my body, with all the plates machined to match. I used to sleep in it on long operations, just to be safe. But that would undermine my argument. ‘-My primary earner is bounty work. Being shot at by military grade blasters already sounds like a losing proposition, knowing I’m the reason they have them would just be insulting.’ ‘Mm. I understand. Take my comm number. If you ever change your mind, let me know.’ Doubt I’d ever make enough off of this to be able to stop doing bounty work, but fine.

That ate up too much of the morning. I was hoping to take a shuttle to the system capital early so I could beat the commute, no way I’d find anything approaching fancy on this planet, but at this time of morning there might as well be a blockade on intra-system traffic. Guess I can pick up those civilian clothes now.

I’m a little surprised to see she has an actual building to operate out of, but the desert winds aren’t kind to lighter fabrics so she must get a lot of repeat customers. Half filled racks of disparate pieces of clothing. A lot more variety than I’m used to. Could branch out from imperial black on imperial black. Not a lot in my size though.

That coat looks reliable, nerf leather lasts almost as long as plastoid. Still has most of its color, looks about my size. ‘Do you have anywhere I could try things on?’ A single disinterested finger from the other side of a holovid. Fine by me, I’ve been marketed to enough today. Over the shoulder and keep looking. Slim pickings for pants, and cloaks aren’t much my thing. Always get worried that there’s nothing under them whenever I see someone wearing one, or worse: that they’re hiding a lightsaber.

One pair of denym pants that looks like it could fit around my thighs. Another durable bit of civilian wear – no reason to compromise on that principle just because I’m stepping out of my armor. A shame it looks like it just came in from a few years sitting out in the suns, but it should do.

Those are some nice boots. Sturdy, reinforced worker’s wear. Maybe I can keep a little black in my wardrobe. The Empire puts everyone in it for a reason, right? Slimming, obscures your silhouette, muffles features. They have a nice clack when I tap the toes, could probably stop a blade if it really came down to it. Vibro-blade would probably still go through them like paper, but normal people take that risk every day and most of them make it out okay.

A nice looking holster. It looks new—brand new; too new. Imperial black, with a belt loop to fit any size and shape of blaster pistol. This is an officer’s holster. What would an officer be doing this far out? Hopefully not looking for me, and if so, hopefully this was picked off their corpse. Doubt the girl behind the counter verifies her sources. I’d have no choice but to buy it just to destroy it; the fact that it fits my blaster well is just a bonus.

This shirt might have been imperial black at some point; another casualty of the triplicate suns. Really need to consider moving to a system with fewer of those. A softer retirement than most imperial uniforms get though; no cuts or burns. It’s also the only shirt here that can fit over my shoulders, so I don’t have a choice.

I’m not sure I like civilian clothes. Even in the regular Storm Corps the glove was vacuum fitted despite the plates being mass produced, but after ten years of custom machined Purge Corps plates contoured to my musculature, these generically cut fabrics feel like they’re strangling me. I can feel the stitches on the jacket strain if I deviate too far from rest, not to mention the cuffs hanging up on my elbows. The pants would probably rip wide open if I had to sprint or lunge at something, even a crouch feels like I’m pushing my luck. The shirt has the opposite problem – loose fitted to the point of bunching and folding under the jacket so badly I’m constantly pulling on the collar to keep it facing straight. Boots and holster fit well though.

Fifty credits for it all, not a single word from the shopkeeper. One of the better interactions I’ve ever had with one. Easier to carry it around than my armor, so I guess I’ll have to head back home and change into it before I head off world. Less likely to get stolen if I leave it in my speeder too. Surely the people around here aren’t that desperate.

I doubt the morning rush has finished yet. The less time I can spend on a crowded ship the better. Maybe I can ask Vranki to order me in that sheet of thermal weave, a crime boss is sure to understand the value of discretion. If she’s halfway competent it should be no problem to source, and if not I should probably start looking for another employer.

‘Hey Trooper. Wish you chose a different code name, kind of confusing when I have to call out regular troopers.’ Good to see he remembers me, I think it’s a faux pas to disarm someone two times. ‘I’ve spent so long being called that I couldn’t think of anything else.’ Not a lot behind the eyes in that nod he’s giving me. ‘Nice blaster by the way! Where’d you get it—I’ve been thinking of upgrading. Just in case a fire fight ever breaks out, y’know? Can barely hit a bottle past ten feet with this thing.’

‘I had to splice together six blasters to make this one.’ ‘Oh no way, that’s crazy. Could you take a look at mine? Maybe it’s just rusty or something.’ Hard to picture this guy ever being a serious threat no matter how good a blaster he has. No rattling, no visible wear and tear. Likely doesn’t get fired often enough for that. Even a pretty good scope, but it’s completely warped. ‘Everything’s fine but the sight, what happened? Did it get run over, dropped off a roof?’ ‘That’s the bit I use to crack open beers when a shift is dragging on.’ Glad I’m wearing my helmet so the disgust on my face can’t sour our working relationship. ‘Don’t do that.’

Nothing seems to change much around here. Still dark, loud, and smoky: all problems my helmet solves. Surprised Vranki has time to see me, I figured there would be a lot more overhead on running a gang. A lot of it must handle itself now that I give it a second thought though: addicts just need some space to dissociate, and I’ve never seen someone paying for sex unhappily. The problem solving flow chart is probably a lot more linear without having to worry about court reprimands or public scandals—just use violence until the problem is gone.

‘Ah, Trooper! Glad to see you up back up and walking without that nasty limp. You here for work, or did you need a little help unwinding?’ ‘Neither ma’am. I would like to make use of your front companies if possible.’ ‘This isn’t Coruscant, why would I need to bother with those? Everybody in town knows who I am and what I do, and the only people who’ve given me trouble over it so far are people trying to compete.’ That’s a worryingly lax attitude, but the sooner I restore my armor’s integrity the better.

‘I need a sheet of thermal weave, but I don’t want my name on the purchase. Could I proxy it through you?’ ‘Of course! Normally that sort of business would start running into exorbitant fees, extortion if I’m being honest with you—woman to woman; but since we’re professional associates I’ll let you off with just a ten percent surcharge. I’m still running a business after all.’ ‘Fine. Give me the price as soon as you have it. If it’s too much, give me a target to make up the difference.’ ‘Oh don’t worry, I have no shortage of work for you if it comes to that. I should have a quote for you by the end of the day, not like it’s illegal or anything. Has anyone ever told you you’re paranoid, dear?’ I doubt it would be worth explaining how criminal activity looks from the enforcing side of the law. The Empire has a loose grip out here, but it tightens every day.

Suns are out in earnest now, traffic should have broken up. Just need to stow the armor at home and head to the spaceport. Things have been happening fast enough lately that I’ll likely be home by the time I’ve parsed them all in a sitrep. Vranki raises a lot of red flags – she makes half the rookie mistakes I spent seven years busting people on, and seems proud of it. She’s only gotten big because there’s no law out here to crack down on her, but once there is her operation is done. I need to not be a part of it by then. There’s no such thing as an honorable discharge from a crime boss’ service, so I might need to ingratiate myself to someone else more discreet and help with a hostile takeover. Should take my next contract from someone else too, better not to establish a pattern before breaking it.

Situation at home is appreciably unchanged. Looks like the wind rustled the shutters though, wish those stayed shut. Better not to invite any prying eyes or opportunistic scavengers in, even this far from town. Armor’s safely tucked in the alcove, casual clothes are on, time to go.

III

Honestly glad there’s no good tailors on Doobinth, I could use an afternoon away from this planet. Waterproofing is easy, but sand infiltrates every crevice in a piece of gear better than any assassin I’ve ever worked with. Maybe I can take Brayli off world for a date some time. I hear the capital is interesting. Not nice, considering it’s a hyper dense ball of iron that cooks you alive if you leave the arcologies—with rivers of mercury flowing across a lot of the surface, but apparently there are some breath taking views. I can’t even imagine how it got chosen to be the capital though.

Hang on a second: why does it smell like exhaust inside the ship, and why does it make me feel...nice? Better look around, just to be sure there’s no leak. It seems to be coming from that woman over there. That Nautolan with pink skin and tight coveralls who needs two seats. What’s Brayli doing on this shuttle? Should I talk to her? If she sees me I have to, it’s not nearly loud enough to pretend I didn’t notice her. We aren’t scheduled for a date until tomorrow though, she probably wants to be alone. Likely left the planet to get a break from me, I shouldn’t be too pushy. Just leave her alone.

‘Hey Koben, is that you?’ Oh, okay, never mind, impromptu short date. Public transportation through the void of space is romantic, right? It doesn’t matter, you need to get up and use your legs to walk over to her so you aren’t shouting across the cabin. ‘Oh, hey Brayli, it’s good to see you! I just happened to be heading to Saraz myself for some-’ Don’t ruin the surprise by telling her you’re going to spend a sizable chunk of your blood money on a dress from a tailor you’ve only heard about on the HoloNet; that would look stupid for two reasons. ‘-sightseeing.’ ‘Lucky you. Some oil baron who only drops by for the winter wants me to supe up his speeder so he can blast across the dunes, and the folks who make the parts for it don’t deliver. Just my luck, huh sugar?’

A pet name. A friendly elbow. That soft, warm laugh she does. How do I respond. Do I put my arm around her? Kiss her? Not in public, surely that’s too far too fast. I’ve been in situations like this before. This is a tightrope, she’s testing you. Fall and it all ends once we land. I recognized it, that’s the first part of the test, now all I have to do is figure out the answer.

‘You alright? You look a little pale, the shuttle making you sick?’ ‘No! I’m fine! I’m sorry. You’re very unlucky. I hope those parts are easy to transport.’ Feels like I just got hit by a speeder. ‘It’s just a few little nuts and bolts. The kind that are just a tiny bit off from industry standard so they can sell you replacements.’ A second part of the test, breadth of knowledge review, I can handle this.

‘Oh! I know what you mean, blasters have that problem all the time. The Empire published standard dimensions for chamber dimensions, seal sizes, firing power outputs, every characteristic that could possibly be regulated, because practically every culture had their own informal standards. Steep fines for intentional propagation of non-regulation part dimensions. The reason they do it is because they need to be able to requisition replacement parts from as many potential sources as possible, for when troopers are on long field operations and left cut off from official support lines. Of course, with how many blasters are rarely used, and passed down from father to son for generations in particularly egregious cases, there’s still quite a sizable market for unlicensed blaster parts. This one here I actually spent an hour just this morning putting together because of how many parts felt like they fit, but started to squeak or jostle upon further inspection. A lot of people think that they can get by with a fit that’s close enough, but with how much stress is placed on a blaster during use, the best result is that your blaster falls apart on you, and the worst is that it explodes in your hand.’ That should be sufficient.

She’s laughing again, and now our thighs are touching. There’s ample space for them not to be if she wanted, which must mean I passed. No other place for it now, so it’s safe to put my arm around her. This is nice. I hope the transport stalls out.

‘Wow, and here I thought troopers just fired blasters. I’m starting to think you’re secretly an engineer just trying to impress me with all that trooper talk.’ Teasing. Lighthearted teasing, I remember this from my academy days. ‘How do you think I got the armor?’ ‘Made it yourself in a workshop. It only looks real; the plates are rusty sheet metal you pulled off a speeder and painted up pretty. I could probably snap chunks off of ‘em!’ She’s grinning, and so am I. I hadn’t realized.

‘No way to prove that now, since I left the suit at home. Can’t risk depressurization with some sharpshooting, and there’s no floor space to spar a few rounds.’ She’s trying to lean in close, but her head barely reaches up past my chest. ‘Oh don’t worry, I’ve got the perfect spot to spar a few rounds at home.’ Now would be a good time to cross my legs, just to be safe while that image runs through my head. ‘Haha, yeah, well—I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it until we get around to that.’

Transport just arrived. I don’t want to get up yet, and neither does she. ‘See you tomorrow night?’ ‘Of course. Oh, nice new duds by the way – I’d been meaning to say. You finally get tired of catching heat stroke in that suit?’ No time to explain how sophisticated the temperature regulation is, only time to smile and laugh. All the time in the galaxy for that. ‘I got tired of having to wipe the sand out of the cracks every night.’ ‘Maybe you’ll get used to desert living yet. Shuttle’s just about empty, should probably head out, catch a taxi before they’re all snapped up. Bye sugar.’

Hard to believe this place is in the same system as Doobinth. Everything’s bright, clean, crowded, and loud. It has its charms, but I’ve been out of big cities long enough I think I’m starting to prefer wide open stretches of nothing. This place looks surprisingly barren for a clothing shop. Figured there would be a lot more on display, but all they have is fabric samples. ‘Good afternoon madame, welcome to my humble boutique. How can I assist you on this fine day?’ His voice is coming out fast and nasal, wonder if it has to do with how much neck it has to traverse. Not used to looking up at people.

‘I have a date tomorrow and need a nice dress.’ ‘But of course, a trifling matter.’ ‘I don’t see any to try on.’ ‘Oh no my dear, you do not -try on- art! Everything we Kaminoans create is art, and art must be made bespoke, one of a kind, by and for those whose ambition wills it into being. Please remove your jacket; my droids will take your measurements and then we may begin holo-projecting potential designs over you.’

All of these designs look awful. My shoulders keep jutting out, my waist is a straight vertical line, and all these silky smooth fabrics just draw attention to how cracked and worn my skin is. I’m stupid, this is stupid. Dresses are for women with the luxury of sitting in a temperature controlled office all shift and taking monthly salon trips. Ones who’ve never had to practice knife fighting or crawl through suppressive fire. Real women.

I’m crying. Haven’t cried once since the Empire took me in, and now I’m crying because I don’t look good in a dress I could never have imagined affording until now anyway. What a joke. ‘Oh please do not cry madame. What troubles you?’ ‘I don’t think a dress is for me. I’ll be on my way.’ I guess she’ll have to be satisfied with these clothes.

‘Oh you must not go! In all my years I have never had the pleasure of working with one such as yourself!’ ‘Someone built like a slab of wrought iron?’ He looks offended. Don’t know how he has the gall to be the one offended here, but that’s self proclaimed “artists” I suppose. ‘That is how you think of yourself madame? Do not say such things!’ I’ve spent the better part of my life taking orders, but a scrawny seamster is a step too far.

‘And why shouldn’t I?! I could go to Coruscant with more credits than I’ll ever see and still not find a tailor who can make me look pretty!’ ‘You would not, that is true, but that is because you would be looking on Coruscant. That is a planet of high society, a world where there is no need for one to hone one’s body. Within those confines of course there would be nobody who would know what to do with a specimen of your caliber.’ That makes a nonzero amount of sense.

‘What is my caliber then, how would you dress me?’ ‘Dry your tears madame—whilst I tell you all I could see from the moment you walked into my shop. Your physique is sublime: a sculpted, chiselled testament to the endurance of the natural form. This could be the result of costly bodily sculpting technology, that is perhaps true, but such technology is unheard of by anyone living this far from the core worlds. An employer of such methods would have no reason to visit my establishment, and thus you must possess a physically demanding employment to maintain it naturally.’ I never figured it was that noticeable. It must be easier to make out through normal clothes than under armor.

‘Compounding this, your posture: the proud and yet restrained bearing of a soldier! Your eyes scanned uniformly across my shop, shoulders level, gait even. Such is not the behavior of a mere athlete or physical laborer. Even in so safe an environment as a shopping district you stay alert – vigilant for threats. Had I a blaster pistol in my hand when you walked in, no doubt you would have taken it from me.’ That is a difficult habit to unlearn.

‘You sound like a detective, but none of that makes me look any prettier in a dress.’ ‘Of course; nothing would make you look pretty in a dress. I knew that from the moment I saw you.’ ‘Then why put me through that?’ ‘Though I gleaned much from your bearing, I am no Jedi: I had no way to see inside your mind.’ Really need to learn not to tense up just from hearing that word some day. ‘I apologize for the distress, but more important than showing you what would work was showing you what would not. Now that you’ve realized a dress does not suit you, I would be happy to tell you what will.’ ‘Go on then.’

‘To accentuate and flatter your powerful form is the purview of a suit, madame.’ Oh, he’s right, these look amazing! ‘From your smile I see you begin to understand, but I will elucidate: there are as many forms of beauty as there are cultures in this galaxy. While you are a human, you are also a soldier – you come from a culture of power, strength, discipline; it would be foolish to force the beauty standards of the cosmopolitan worlds upon you.’

High shouldered, sleek limbed, and just a little imperial black for the under layer. I can see why this place has such a high recommendation, if the real thing looks half as good as this holo-projection it should be the second fanciest set of clothing I ever wear. ‘It’s perfect. I never knew how good red looked on me. I have one request though.’ ‘But of course, it is only fair that the canvas be comfortable with the art placed upon it.’ ‘Do you have any blaster resistant materials?’

That laugh is a lot deeper than his usual speaking voice. Hearty, makes him sound strong. ‘Oh, a daunting task, but you are in luck. Many of the people who care to buy tailored clothing in this system are members of the less savory side of society, and as such would prefer not having to compromise protection for style. I cannot guarantee it will prove immune to high power weaponry, but most common blaster pistols should take no fewer than two shots to damage this mesh. If you find yourself utilizing this property, fear not, because all my works come with a lifetime warranty.’

‘You’ve really surpassed all my expectations, I have to say. When will it be ready, and how much will it cost?’ ‘No more than two hours, and five thousand credits will suffice.’ The credits are easy, but I have no idea how to spend the next two hours. I never appreciated the utility of long patrols until now.

‘Can I ask you a non-work related question?’ ‘But of course madame.’ ‘I don’t know a good way to pass two hours around here. Do you have any recommendations?’ ‘Oh it would be my pleasure. If you are in such a mood as to spend more credits, I would recommend that you purchase a pair of boots to match the suit. Yours are passable, but red leather would certainly complete the ensemble. As for yourself, and please do not misunderstand me – the rugged, down to earth look has a charm all its own – you may want to seek out a salon, if for no more than a manicure.’

‘A salon? That sounds like an excessive measure.’ ‘Consider it a part of the ensemble. Just as one would not expect to see a full face of makeup underneath a trooper’s helmet, so too does one expect not to see a woman in a five thousand credit suit have dirt under her nails.’ For how much he talks, I have to give him credit: it makes a lot of sense. Definitely not just talking to hear the sound of his own voice. ‘I failed to consider that before, thank you.’

The boots were easy, managed to find the exact same shade as the suit to avoid any dissonance. Not usually impressed by civilian craftsmanship, but these are almost as comfortable as my old ones. Good flex, breathable, spacious. I’ve never owned clothes that weren’t made for fighting in before; I feel protective of them already.

I’ve never been to a salon before. No that’s not true, I raided an illegal one once, but I’ve never been a customer. ‘Hi there, welcome, can I get your name?’ Oh hell, should probably not leave too much of a paper trail. Been getting too comfortable lately, think of a fake name. Nothing’s coming to mind. Just Hers. Can I use it? It’s not like she’s around to be upset, and it’s the least she can do to make up for everything else. ‘Tessa Revilane.’

‘Well Mrs. Revilane, I don’t see you on the list, but you’re in luck: we just had a cancellation so I can squeeze you in.’ Her smile is fake, but polite. Wouldn’t look out of place placating an officer. ‘What was it you were looking for today?’ ‘I have a date tomorrow and I want to look pretty.’

Just relax. It’s okay to close my eyes around these unfamiliar women with scissors. They’re just civilians, if they were Imperial assassins I would have recognized their body language. The chair is adjusted for my height, and I’m being washed with water instead of sonic vibrations for the first time in years. I should enjoy it.

‘Goodness, you really needed this cleanup. How do you even get your fingernails into this state?’ ‘I wear gloves most of the day. Trim them with a knife when they get too long.’ Wow. These women must take this deathly seriously, I’ve never heard such an affronted gasp from so many people at once. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place dear. I’ll have them fixed up for you in no time at all.’

The warm water is nice, but being detailed like this by three different people makes me feel like a droid in a repair bay. ‘Not often I work with hair this tangled. This might take a few brushes, and there’s a strong possibility of pulling, is that alright? I can skip it if it would be too painful.’ ‘That sounds fine.’ I’ve taken serrated vibro-blades between the ribs, I’m sure this will be triv-ow. Easy to forget how sensitive the scalp is wearing a helmet all the time.

‘Please don’t be offended by my saying this ma’am, but these callouses are so thick I don’t think a foot soak will be sufficient. We have a micro-vibrational cleaner that detects changes in tissue density in order-’ ‘Will it make them pretty?’ ‘Yes ma’am, very pretty.’ ‘Go ahead.’ Never worn an open toed shoe in my life, but I’m here, no use taking a half measure. It tickles. That feels nice.

I’m starting to see why the officers made such a big deal about their grooming, it’s really relaxing once you get used to being touched. The prices weren’t that steep either, for a bounty killing salary. Maybe I should make this a regular routine. Come here once a month, get to know them by name, make small talk. Then they all recognize me when an imperial detachment comes looking. Better keep it to just this once, and put effort into savoring it.

‘Well, we’ve done all we can out here, and if I may say so myself we’ve done quite a great deal. There is an optional full body massage we can have done for you in the back, a masseuse droid handles it to reduce any feelings of awkwardness. If not, we can get to painting your nails and styling your hair and you can be on your way.’ A massage. Never had one of those either, usually just been injected with a relaxant whenever a medical droid’s scalpel was having trouble penetrating. Why not? ‘I’ll take the massage.’

Now this is luxury. Most luxuries serve a practical purpose: they’re a status symbol to separate the wealthy from their servants at a glance. Investments in psychological domination. Jewellery, clothes, fancy speeders, large apartments; things to be seen, not enjoyed. This is different. Nobody will ever notice this but me. I have so many credits I can afford to throw them away just for my own pleasure.

Each manipulator digit feels like it’s giving me a stim injection. I never realized how much tension impairs physical capacity. My physical conditioning regimen has largely compensated for it and kept me effective, but right now I feel like I could do a standing jump over a speeder. The oil feels nice too. Like the cool tingle of hypoxia settling in, but I can lie here and enjoy it without dying. It might not be a good idea to come to this salon again, but surely the Empire would never track someone buying a masseuse bot, right?

Even my clothes feel different putting them back on, everything is so sensitive and providing me so much feedback. I thought with bacta eliminating scarring that there would be no difference, but this must be how molting species’ feel.

‘That was amazing. I’ve never felt anything like it.’ ‘That’s great to hear! Just sit back down and we can handle your hair and nail polish.’ A holodisplay of potential colors, but I don’t need to look. ‘Imperial black please.’ Applied in under a minute. They look pretty. My fingers look...pretty. I look pretty.

‘Is everything alright miss? Are you allergic to the nail polish?’ Crying again. A different sort of crying, not one I’m familiar with. ‘No ma’am. I’m not sure why I’m crying. Just ignore it, and give me the same hairstyle I came in with please. I’m happy with it.’ Not much room for a fashionable haircut under a helmet. Even in the same style, it looks completely different now.

Six thousand credits. Four month’s salary for a set of clothes and a deep clean. I’d have scoffed at that last week, but thinking of how Brayli’s going to react when she sees it is invigorating. It’s going to be great. ‘Hey lady, hand over your credstick!’

Wow, I even look rich enough to get mugged. A back alley is a back alley no matter what planet you’re on I suppose. It only ever makes the situation worse, but I can’t stop myself from laughing at this guy. I’ve had some desperate people rush me with a knife, but this is just ridiculous: he’s grip is loose, his stance is terrible, and that blade looks like it would struggle to cut bread, never mind skin. Oh well, what can you do?

Grab his wrist, angle the blade away, pull him in, punch him in the throat, let him down gently so he doesn’t get concussed by the ground. Over and done, simple as that. Nails are intact, suit is still clean. He’s reeling pretty hard, I should call him an ambulance. Done. What a way to cap off my trip.

I could go for a walk back to the spaceport. Get used to the way these new clothes fit, break in the boots. How to pass the time? Already got everything done today, no topics for a mental evaluation. Maybe a marching tune. It must have been ten years since I’ve whistled one of those. The imperial March is always a classic.

VII

Back home. Probably shouldn’t wear this suit out too much, I can leave it off for the night. It’s still a bit too early to go to bed though. Maybe I can get my workout in early, then spend the rest of the evening practicing with this new pistol. That sounds like a good way to cap off the day. I can’t wait for tomorrow.

#writing #star wars #my oc #oc #Koben Tarani #sapphic #transgender

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