#LAST PLOT BUNNY!!! THEN WE WATCH THE NOTES!!

[undead-supernova]

Bummer! / Masterlist / 18+

part 1 / part 2

Playlist

pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

plot: you invite eddie out to a party with you and your best friend and it's all perfect...right?

contains: eddie lacking confidence, confident!reader, dirty dancing/making out, hints at past trauma, arguing, underlining slut shaming, lots of heavy petting and fluffy feelings

note: we're up to part 3 already?! with part 4 already in the works?! who even am I anymore!!! thank you to both @littlexdeaths and @jo-harrington for being my biggest supporters and encouraging me to keep going. this is for you both !!!!

song inspo: the song in this chapter is Tití Me Preguntó by Bad Bunny. It is an absolute bop (also he is so hot it’s not even funny)

wc: 5.6k

“Your life sounds like fan fiction.”

You let out a high-pitched scoff, taking Aron’s stuffed octopus by the tentacles and whacking her with it.

“Shut up!”

Aron chuckled, throwing her hands up. “Hey, I never said that was a bad thing!”

You and Aron, your best friend since freshman year, were perched on her bed, all cross-legged and giggly, recounting the last few weeks with Eddie. When you finally told Aron about him, she was livid. How could you not tell your best friend about a really hot guy you’d been seeing who wasn’t an asshole? 

“He’s just so good,” you said with a content smile, throwing your head back on the bed like a girl in a 2000s romantic comedy. “I can’t believe I got this lucky.”

“Yeah, I’d feel lucky too if I had a guy playing guitar for me and tasted like cinnamon and beauty and stuff.”

Your smile widened, the phantom touch of his lips already having imprinted itself on your mouth. “He’s just so nice. And I feel like he gets me, you know? He sees me for me, not for my body or whatever. Plus, we have the same taste in music and movies and…” A soft sigh left your lips as you shrugged. “He just makes me happy, I don’t know.”

Aron leaned over, smiling down at you. The beads at the end of her long braids clinked together as she shook her head at you. “Well, I’m very happy this Eddie is making my best friend all gooey and soft for once.”

You rolled your eyes but you both knew you really appreciated the affirmation. Sometimes you needed that extra assurance, Aron’s opinion being maybe the most important to you—besides your own. When you’d met her at that dreaded Halloween party, all tattered clothes and broken sobs, Aron was quick to help you. Without questions, without judgment. A stranger helping a stranger before becoming best friends within a week.

Before you could get lost in the cold memory, Aron clapped her hands and gasped.

“You should invite him to the party!”

You sat up, furiously nodding. “Oh my God, yes! I completely forgot.”

“It’ll be fun.” You nodded, watching as her nose began to crinkle. “Unless you sneak off to go make out or something.”

Your apologetic smile that turned a little too exaggerated made her groan.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” you said, feigning a sensual tone as you made kissy noises and reached out to tickle her.

She hit you with the octopus (that poor octopus), causing you both to laugh. “You tell me about every fucking kiss, bitch.”

Grabbing it from her, you smirked and said, “And you love hearing about it.”

Aron shrugged. “True. I’m too nosey for my own good.”

“And I’m too honest,” you added, giving her a high-five.

“So, the party?”

You hadn’t felt this way since you were fourteen, running around the football field late at night with Trent Summers, lost in the throes of an unrequited crush. Lost in an all-American fantasy of dating a boy on the football team when you hadn’t even made the cheer squad. Getting your heart broken after he told you he had a girlfriend. You ended your friendship right then and there—resulting in you throwing a football at his face.

Mary Winston had been next, all braces and crooked smiles. Sweet sixteens and discovered identities. You’d met in the art room during lunch, fawning over some TV show before realizing that there was something more there. It didn’t last long, but you swore you’d love her till the day you died. And if anyone had access to your tear-stained diary, they’d know it was very dramatic. Very dramatic.

(Come to think of it, you’d felt something bubbly inside you for Eliza Roseheart in preschool. Playing “husband and wife” and pecking each other on the lips shouldn’t have been as fun as it was.)

Now there was Eddie Munson, the guy who walked you to class and got you coffee just because. At night, you hopped in his van and went on drives. An hour and a half of scream-singing that always ended up with feverish make out sessions by the dock of a lake, the windows fogging up despite the humid heat just beyond those doors. Gnashing teeth as you both giggled your way through can we play 20 Questions? and can I tell you another secret? in between kisses. Helping him down from orgasms after some whispers and heavy, heavy petting, caressing his face in your hands as you told him how good of a job he did. Tracing the lines of his face as you teetered in and out of sleep. Feeling his lips on your forehead as he helped you back into your dorm.

You were never one to believe in good luck. After years of being thrown to the wolves and caged inside a dungeon you built yourself, this nerdy little goofball had coaxed you away from the bars. Led you from a state of hidden solitude, only to welcome you with warm sun and sweaty palms.

All you knew now was that you wanted him. Always.

“We’ll be there.”

Eddie felt naked without his jacket.

As a matter of fact, he felt a bit out of character. A dark, dark purple Black Sabbath tee was paired with his regular black jeans, combat boots, and wallet chain. The same rings and bracelets.

But his jacket. He knew he’d have to leave it with this weather. Smelling bad wasn’t an option tonight, especially meeting your best friend. The less he fucked up his appearance, the less he had to worry about fucking up in general.

So he hung up his favorite boy and left his dorm with bare arms. Followed his heart all the way to your dorm.

Had your roommate greet him, a giggle escaping her lips as soon as she saw him. Aron, as he learned, was quick to pull him into conversation as you finished up getting ready. Though you called down the hallway to them, he still couldn’t calm his anxiety.

Meeting new people didn’t bode well for him.

And yet he was proven wrong—their conversation was as easy as breathing, exchanging thoughts on their favorite video games and how legendary Black Sabbath was.

“Oh, I like you,” she said at one point and laughed at the blush rising to his cheeks. “I’m glad you already know that’s a compliment of the highest degree.”

He’d thought he got his groove back. He really did. But then he heard your heels echoing through the hallway and looked over at your figure coming closer. Eddie immediately shot up out of his seat at the sight of you.

Your dress was one he hadn’t seen before, a satin black spaghetti-strapped dress that hugged your curves just right. A patch at the bottom showed a red rose, circled by a silver snake. Black heels and an array of rings. No necklace, no earrings. Smokey-eyed and gloss-lipped.

“Fucking hell.”

Both girls broke out into laughter.

He wanted to hit himself. Could he once, just once, keep his mouth shut?

“Sorry,” he added.

You shook your head, stepping closer. “Don’t be. I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever received, so thank you.”

Eddie nearly missed Aron skipping off to her room when you pulled him into a hug. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, letting his arms wrap around your back. Even after all these weeks, he found that he could never get used to your embrace. Your skin against his, the fizzle of something electric jumping between your bodies.

“You look amazing, by the way,” you whispered in his ear before pulling back. He was pretty sure your smile was just as goofy as his. “I love your shirt.”

“Thought you might,” he responded with a small laugh. He leaned in to kiss your cheek, but stopped himself. “Sorry.”

Your smile faltered as confusion flooded your face. “For what?”

Before he could apologize again, Aron was skipping back into the room and clapping her hands together.

“Alright, let’s boogey.”

You were quick to settle into the party, the three of you standing in one corner or another, laughing over really anything you could think of. Aron was sure to point out everyone who was cool and everyone who was not, giving Eddie a crash course in the party scene that always felt a little too high school for your taste. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to bother with that stuff which you liked. There was nothing worse than watching someone lose themselves in fair-weather friends.

Two drinks in, Aron left to go find some other friends of hers, reiterating that they were part of the Cool Crowd. It left you and Eddie to your own devices, with your exaggerated bantering and light shoves. Touches that felt like electric shocks, the voltage only increasing with each jab. At some point, you had to wonder if that’s why you both kept doing it.

Then, in the middle of threatening to tickle him, you heard the starting sounds of a Bad Bunny song you liked. Leaning your head back, you let out a satisfied “Yes!”, watching as people quickly gathered near the speakers.

Eddie looked at you, confused.

You merely chuckled, taking his hand and leading him over to the small crowd.

“Let’s dance!”

Your hand grasped his over your shoulder, just like that night you met. It was a feeling like no other, Eddie’s heart hammering in his chest. And, God, he really couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

He was happy. He was having fun.

“I don’t know how to dance to this kind of music!” he admitted loudly, a smile still plastered on his lips.

But you were far from deterred. “Just follow my lead, pretty boy.”

And just like that, you were turning around and tugging his hands forward until they met your waist. Let yourself lean back on him, grinding your hips as they swayed back and forth.

Effortless. That’s the best way he could describe the way you moved, the way you never missed a beat. The bass pumped and vibrated through Eddie’s limbs, but you seemed to be one with the music.

Dancing wasn’t something unheard of when it came to Eddie. If he was listening to music, chances were that he was shimmying his shoulders or head banging. In a mosh pit, he let himself get jostled around, bopping along to the sound. He may not have had hips like Jagger, but he knew how to move them at least.

However, this was new territory, having a girl, having you in front of him, waiting for him to move. And if he was supposed to move, then god dammit, he was going to move.

Eddie took a deep breath before the beat slowed down. Letting his wired thoughts fade into a soft buzz, doing what he felt was right. Like pulling you tight against his chest and moving his hips at the same time as yours. Pushing himself against your ass, a harsh breath leaving his nose at the friction.

Sighing, you let your head fall back on his shoulder, a content smile lifting onto your lips. Raised your hands, wrapping them around his neck the best you could, rhythm never lost on you.

And it would be just so easy to…

But would you be okay with…

Fuck it.

Shaking his head, he leaned down and began to kiss your neck. Your next sigh was what officially turned him on, pushing him further into your heat wave. Licked a stripe up your neck and tugged on your earlobe with his teeth.

Eddie couldn’t help the thought, the impulse creeping up in this crowded house party to move his fingers just a bit lower, to skirt the hem of your dress that was riding up with each swirl of your hips. He wanted you, cock straining against his jeans in near agony, continuing to litter your neck with love bites as if you were alone.

And just before he could get a little more bold, you were taking his trigger-finger hand and placing it on your thigh, so close to what he could call the inner thigh.

“Is that okay?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He nodded. “Was already headed there, sweetheart. You beat me to it.”

“I took an earlier flight,” you joked.

A breathy chuckle left his lips. “That’s okay. That’s not my last stop anyways.”

Your thigh was soft, full, easy enough to squeeze. So he did, eliciting a high-pitched sigh from you.

A proud smile met your face. So you liked when he took the upper hand.

And, God, if you kept looking at him like that, he was going to start fingering you in front of every fucking person here. Maybe he would. No one was looking at you both, right? He could do it. Just a little bit. Just…just a little bit.

His fingers twitched, raising higher and higher and—

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” a voice said, snapping you out of this moment. You both looked over to see Aron approaching, taking hold of one of your wrists. “But I gotta steal her for a second.”

“Aron!” you exclaimed, holding onto Eddie’s hand as long as you could before Aron dragged you away. Sorry, you mouthed at him before turning back.

You couldn’t help your face growing hot at the feeling of your wetness still sticking to your inner thighs as you parted them.

She didn’t pull you far, but you couldn’t help how pissed you felt. Granted, you weren’t really pissed at her but something was about to happen and you’d been more than happy to just let it.

Eddie was finally taking the upper hand, doing what he wanted. Not just going along with what you told him to do. There was no blind faith or overthought. No, he was showing—initiating. It was euphoric. It was nearly orgasmic…

“What’s going on?” you asked, smoothing out the hem of your dress. And as you stood there fixing yourself, you felt Aron step closer to you.

“Listen, Sam is walking around, drunk as fuck—”

“Big shock there,” you commented, crossing your arms over your chest.

Aron let out a snort. “Yeah, literally. Anyways, he’s talking about how easy you are in bed and keeps telling everyone you’re here with Eddie to make him jealous.”

Sam Covington had been a problem for…a while. Maybe since last summer, when you were…friendly with some of the frat guys’ girlfriends. Got invited out one night and Sam was there, always staring at you from any corner of the room or finding excuses to talk to you. It was fucking creepy.

It was one of those things that sent chills down your spine, the fear for your safety growing with each glance. That voice that made you want to run and hide. The touch that had you wondering if you’d remembered to grab your pepper spray and whistle.

Usually, you were able to stand your ground and hurl insults he couldn’t fathom hearing from a woman. Even the last party you’d seen him at, the one where you had met Eddie…

But it didn’t mean that you felt any more secure.

“Him? Ha!” You exaggerated your tone, trying to keep your voice from shaking. Waved your hand around, desperate to stay calm. “What a fucking joke. He wishes.”

Eddie’s blood ran cold at your mocking tone, taken aback by your blatant degradation. Like a mask had been removed, revealing a forked tongue and razor sharp teeth.

He’d seen your expression, your shoulders turning inward, like you were uncomfortable. He decided to walk over and, sure, it was probably rude. He knew that. However, he couldn’t stand to see you upset. He needed to know what was going on, pulled to you with some tether that he couldn’t explain.

But he regretted it immediately.

Aron chuckled. “If that ain’t the truth, girl.”

“He’s such a fucking loser, I swear. Can’t catch a fucking hint.”

Eddie once thought he’d let go of the anger he once held in high school. The defiant boy that was once riddled with so much frustration at the cruel hand he’d been dealt. The one that jumped up on lunch tables and screamed at whoever would listen. He thought he’d given up on holding onto the bitterness of verbal sucker punches and bruised ribs.

But it was creeping back up, that violent shaking that ran along his arms. The torment of those five brutal years of high school tingling in his fingertips as you continued to desaturate the vibrancy of a man he thought he was becoming.

“Like, why does he have to be so obsessed with you?”

You shrugged and his eyes caught the tail end of your eye roll. “Because he’s so fucking desperate for someone to fuck him. That’s why.”

And before he could stop his head from going there, he was back in that blistering July. The fear of being used goods clutching at his throat as he struggled to speak, struggled to find an escape. 

“Pathetic,” you stated, voice thick with disgust.

That scorching July. Fingers trembling on the doorknob, his sweaty palm slicking it in sweat. Slipping. 

No escape, no escape.

He needed to get out. There was no thought, just action. So, he turned and started stalking towards the front door. Voices in his head spoke over one another, flooding his brain.

Freak. Loser. Dirty. Good for nothing. Desperate. Trailer park trash.

Pathetic.

“Eddie?” he heard behind him, the sound of his name on your lips like a beckoning call, serenading him with its delicacy. 

If he didn’t have a shred of dignity left, he would’ve turned around and come running. But he didn't, instead making a run for the side of the house. Maybe if he hid, he didn’t have to face your humiliation.

And, like he said, he didn’t have to run back…because you were already catching up with him, stopping him in his tracks as you stepped in front of him. How you did that in six inch heels was fucking beyond him.

Placing a hand on his chest, you asked, “What’s wrong?” As your eyes scanned his face, you added, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

But he knew better. 

He did, didn’t he?

“Are you using me?”

You paused, flinching away from his chest as if you’d been burned. “Excuse me?”

“Like…” Eddie started, trying to take a deep breath to keep himself level. But he was starting to falter, all shaky and desperate for you to get it the fuck over with. “Like, if we even fuck, is that it? Will the chase be over for you?”

Your face began to harden, something resembling fury clouding your features. “How fucking dare you think I’d do something like that.”

“It’s just a question!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah, and I don’t appreciate you acting like I’m engaging in this relationship just to fuck you and leave.” 

His eyebrows furrowed as his nostrils flared with frustration, both of you holding mirrored expressions. But yours softened first, the edges of your snarl quivering. Shaking your head, you took another step back.

“I like you, Eddie. Okay? I’ve liked you since that first night. We’ve been on, like, three dates now? And I introduced you to my best friend, for Christ’s sake. You make me laugh but you make me so fucking soft, it drives me insane. And those late night drives make these stupid midterms worth it.”

“Oh.”

“Did I really have to spell it out?” Eddie didn’t say anything. “I mean, geez. I thought I’ve been an open book this whole time. I’ve spent practically every day with you. Every night, even. Like, why would I want to be with anyone else? And did you really need me to reiterate all of that?”

“But you told your friend that I’m—”

“What?!” you exclaimed before shaking your head. “No, that was about this frat guy, Sam. He’s been creeping on me again and is spreading fucking rumors and I am getting literally so sick and tired of it.”

The dissipated anger began to creep back up at the thought of some douchebag stalking you. Who the fuck was Sam to not take a fucking hint? And why was it becoming so increasingly hard not to run back into that party and beat the shit out of him?

“A guy’s been creeping on you? Since when?”

You sighed. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

Eddie held up a hand. “Now, hang on. I am going to worry about that, because that’s not nothing.”

“I agree, but that’s a later conversation,” you said, pushing his hand down and shaking your head. “Get to the part where you tell me why you think I’d ever say that about you.”

Eddie was the one to sigh now, pissed that you had to move on but ultimately needed to confess. “I just never thought you’d actually be into me.”

“Why?” you nearly yelled.

“I’m just a fr—”

“Ew! If you say ‘freak’, I’m legally obligated to rip your eyes straight out of your skull.”

A breath escaped his nose as he closed his eyes and tried again. “You just…you’ve dated more people than I have.”

“Based off of what?”

His eyes flew open. “What?” he asked, unsure what you meant.

“You haven’t even bothered to ask me how many people I’ve dated—or fucked, for that matter.” Eddie’s eyes widened. “I’ve had one relationship. One.”

“Really?” he whispered.

You let out a laugh that didn’t match your exhausted expression. “Yeah, for a week until she got nervous about her parents finding out and dumped me. I was sixteen.” Furrowed eyebrows returned to your face as you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned towards him dramatically. “What about that, huh? How many people have you dated, Eddie?”

Two. The number was thick in his throat, his verbalization swallowed by your question being, well, rhetorical.

You paused, turning your face away from the light. But he caught your pointer finger flying up to dab your lower lash line. “Like, I’ve had sex, sure. But it’s not like I ask all those guys to fucking harass me. I honestly don’t know how that became a thing here. Like, I’m just here. I’m just trying to have fun.”

The guilt was starting to settle in his chest. “I should’ve caught that.”

“I thought you understood me,” you said before letting out a high-pitched sound of disbelief, lifting your hands and letting them fall at your sides with a loud thwack. “Like, I’m not a slut or a whore or whatever they want to say despite it being the twenty-first fucking century! And I can’t even be with you without some guy trying to—”

He heard it before he saw it. A scoff that shifted into a sob as you crouched down to your knees, only hovering above the ground by your tall heels. 

Eddie had never seen you cry, had never seen the façade so easily broken. This girl he once thought untouchable, invincible, cracking before his eyes.

Looking back to all of those moments, those numerous instances of harassment, how quick you were to send them a message. How easily it came to you, to throw your verbal and physical punches like it was nothing. Like it was a normal thing.

He’d gotten so caught up in how badass you were that he didn’t stop to think about how you felt about it. Or why it came so easily to you.

He crouched down, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, I’m really sorry. That was really shitty of me.”

He felt you lean into his hand, glad that you weren’t rejecting him. It was lame, but he didn’t think he could handle your rejection right now. Especially when you were in this state. Especially when he was the reason why.

Turning to glance at him through your tears, you said, “Eddie, that really hurt my feelings.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” he said truthfully. “If it means anything, I didn’t think you were a, um, slut or whatever. I just thought maybe you didn’t want me the same way.”

You nodded, sniffling while wiping the snot away from your nose. Never once did you pull away from his touch or grow cold. “Yeah, I get that.” You paused, your eye contact starting to burn him. “I’ve never done any of the shit we’ve done with other people. I’ve only felt that comfortable with you.”

“But you’re just…” he trailed before sighing and closing his eyes. “You’re just so good at it.”

When he heard a loud laugh leaving your lips, his eyes flew open, grateful to see a smile on your face. The laugh turned into a fit of snorts, leaving him to laugh at just how adorable you were.

“Yeah, thanks,” you teased, the familiar tone giving him the ability to breathe again. “It’s a litany of porn, smut, and—” You moved your hands up to mimic the shape of a rainbow. “Imaginaaation.”

The reference got Eddie laughing again, nodding along as he replied, “You could’ve told me you’re a dominatrix on the side and, like, I would’ve believed you. Scout’s honor.”

“Good to know,” you joked.

Eddie stood back up then, shaking his head as he reached a hand out to you. “I’m an asshole.”

You lifted an eyebrow, slowly shaking your head back at him before taking his hand. “You’re more special than you think you are.”

He lifted you up, grasping your palm in his as he brought you closer to him. Your joined hands rested against his heart, faces inches apart. 

There you were, your eyes fully in view now. Watery, with makeup creasing along your waterline and smudged mascara littering your cheeks. Despite the quiet pain it caused him, he was grateful to get a glimpse at your beauty again, your attention still gutting him over and over again.

If he didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn he could feel his guts spilling onto the concrete. And when he drew closer, it was made even worse as he felt your heart rate increase in real time.

And, god dammit, he couldn’t help himself. Eddie closed the gap and kissed you. Gently, tentatively. Let himself linger just long enough to inhale your breath before pulling back.

“My god, you’re precious,” he whispered, heart clenching with every feature you softened—the mask slipping. His eyes fell upon your lips, slightly ajar in shock.  

“Yeah?” you whispered, breath hitching when he lightly pushed you against the wall. 

Eddie’s nose skimmed your cheek, desperate to breathe in your perfume. One last whiff. He swore it. Just one more.

Just one more.

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, inhaling your scent again.

It was the last time. Promise. 

“Tell me again,” you pleaded.

He pulled back, catching the clenching of your thighs in his peripheral. A dangerous smile grazed his lips as he gave you what you wanted. 

“You’re precious.”

You nodded repeatedly, doe-eyed as you begged, “Again.”

“You’re precious,” he said, hushed as his lips hovered above yours.

“Please,” you whimpered, legs squirming against his. But he pushed you further into the wall, your connected hands halting your movement. He could feel your heart racing furiously. “One more time.”

“You’re precious, baby.”

Before you could lunge at him, he was a step ahead of you, crushing your lips with his. Released your hand, quick to cup your face as you floundered to find somewhere to put your hands. Taking a page out of your book, he grabbed your wrists and placed them on his shoulders.

A sigh left your lips at the movement, nodding your head as you pushed your tongue into his mouth. What you were nodding about, he had no idea. He didn’t have the ability to have thoughts about anything anymore. 

All he could think was more, more, more.

All he could feel was you.

He couldn’t help himself when he slotted his thigh between yours, earning a deafening moan that made him harder than he already was. You’d moaned, sure. He’d heard you do it plenty of times when you made out. But he was suddenly struck with how different your positions were now. And how he was the reason for it. 

The thought drove him closer to the edge, roughly grabbing at your cheek with one hand while the other slid down your thigh, snaking around your knee and jerking your leg up to his hip. Your gasp made him even crazier, unable to help it when he pushed his thigh further against your core. Another wild whimper, this time with an edge of impatience.

“This okay?” he asked.

You nodded furiously. “Yes. Yes.”

If Eddie had the confidence, he’d take you against this house right now. He’d slide into you with ease, Fucking those little sounds out of you, the ones he dreamed about at night. The ones that would mirror the way you sounded right now, only intensified and louder. 

And yet it was enough to hear your now quiet desperation, to feel your thighs clench around his leg, your soaking pussy dripping through your panties and staining his jeans with ease.

“Jesus, you’re soaked.”

You nodded furiously, seemingly unable to speak as you gasped and chased his lips again. Ground your pussy against his leg. Impatient, hungry.

He couldn’t help but feel greedy, draping himself around you.

Let there be witnesses. Let the whole house hear him, he didn’t care. But those noises, your noises, belonged solely to him. Swallowed by his mouth, muffled by his body shielding yours. The vibrations pulsed through his cheeks and he couldn’t help but let out a low groan.

He noticed you continuing to chase the friction, rubbing yourself along the denim over and over, his jeans being ruined with every rut of your hips. If Eddie hadn’t been drunk off of you before, he was deliriously faded now. Because you were still going, no words leaving your mouth. Just whimpers and moans.

He wanted to say something, wanted to beg you to keep going. But he stayed quiet, knowing that you’d probably stop, keeping yourself from the pleasure he was witnessing. You looked like a goddess, eyes rolling back and, dear god, he needed to mark your neck again. He dipped his head down and began nipping at your skin again, frenzied at the reaction it pulled out of you.

The hitch in your breath caught his attention, moving his face from your neck to see your head thrown back. Your heaving chest was the indicator, the slow build of something beginning inside you. 

“Do it,” he whispered. “Come for me.”

Without any warning, he felt your legs tremble before your cum seeped into his jeans. A cry left your lips as your breath continued at a rapid pace, sweat dripping down your neck. Eddie was quick to lick it up, trying hard not to get on his knees and lap up what was left from the source.

(He was just glad he had enough restraint to resist begging for your underwear to keep for later.)

(The one time he’s able to keep his mouth shut.)

One last whimper left your lips as you came down, chasing the last of your high on his leg before he moved it out of the way. Left a gentle kiss on your forehead before he heard you sniffle.

“S-sorry,” you breathed, tightly squeezing your eyes shut. He came back to the present, leaning back as he watched your face crumble. “Sorry.”

Eddie took your chin between his fingers. “Hey, open your eyes. Look at me.”

At first, you only opened one, like you were testing the waters. He chuckled, earning access to your other eye. “There she is,” he murmured, pecking your nose. “Why’re you apologizing?”

“‘Cause I didn’t ask you if it was okay if I did that.” Tears brimmed in your eyes as you pushed his fingers away, covering your mouth with your hand. Shook your head as you added, “I didn’t ask. I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

“Baby, I would’ve stopped you.” He moved your hand away, lightly stroking your cheek as he continued. “I was honestly scared you would stop.”

Your head cocked towards his, glassy eyes turned clear again. “Why?”

“‘Cause then I wouldn’t have gotten to make you cum.”

A bashful expression immediately fell over your features, shoulders caving inwards as you bit your lip. You tapped your heels against the concrete, one by one, all jittery and shy. It was cute.

“Yeah, I didn’t plan on that, either,” you said. “But you just…”

“Hm?”

You shrugged, sighing. “You kinda fucked with my head.”

“Does that mean I get to finally fuck you?”

Tapping at your cheek, you looked away in feigned contemplation before shaking your head. “Nope. I think I’ll make you work harder to get to see it.”

“Nah, I could prove it right now,” he insisted, getting down on both knees.

You became flustered, looking at your surroundings before back down at him. “Eddie, no.”

He put his hands in a praying position and tried to puppy-dog eye you. “Trust me, I can make you do that, like, five more times right now.”

“Eddie—”

“And that’s just with my tongue.”

“Oh my God. Get up,” you said with a laugh, tugging him to stand back up. “We’re not doing this in public.”

Eddie snorted, a goofy smile meeting his lips. “Well, technically we already—”

“There you guys are!” 

Aron’s voice snapped you both out of your delirium, bringing you back to where you were.

“Oh, ew!” she nearly screeched, eyes wide as she stared at Eddie’s jeans. “We’re in public, guys. Come on.” 

When you both looked down, you saw your cum glistening across his jeans. 

“I’m sorry!” you said at the same time Eddie said, “I’m not sorry!”

You immediately gawked at him and he couldn’t have enjoyed any reaction more. His smirk said it all, earning a quick whack to his shoulder. 

“You’re both so horny on main. I’m never letting you out of my sight at a party ever again.”

thank yew for the divider @strangergraphics

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson/reader #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson/you #Eddie x you #Eddie x reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie Munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie Munson smut

[lordoftherazzles]

PLOT BUNNY #8 ↳ HELLO MY OLD HEART

Summary: With the quest complete and Bilbo having returned home (much to his dismay), he has only a few infrequent letters to keep him connected to those in Erebor. His ties to Thorin are fading, but as if on cue, that very same company arrives at his doorstep - three dwarves short. Meanwhile, Thorin and his nephews are slower in making it to Bag End, halted by Thorin’s insecurities when it comes to his newfound quest. A quest of the heart, and words that should have been said a long time ago.

If you want to see this fic in the future, be sure to like, reblog, and/or comment! Feedback is welcome, and I can’t wait to see what fic wins the raz2k! Check out the MASTERPOST to see the other plot bunnies!

Dear Bilbo,

You’ll be pleased to know that Thorin, Fili, and Kili are expected to make a full recovery. It’s been a battle to keep Thorin in his cot enough already, but Oin insists everything will be fine within a few months at least, should the three of them follow his orders and not tear open any of their wounds.

They’ve all asked about you, waiting for your latest update on the ongoings of the Shire. I think they look forward to that in all honesty. Fili was even asking if you’d gotten all of your mother’s spoons back from your cousin upon your return. I know a few dwarves that may be able to spook your Lobelia into handing over the rest if you’re still butting heads with her.

However, it would be undiplomatic of me to promote violence, or even a mild spooking. That being said, the offer still stands.

Your lack of presence is felt amongst the rest of the company as well. Take heart in knowing that you are missed dearly, and we hope to hear from you very soon. I know many will be setting off and going their own way to help bring those from Ered Luin back to the mountain, so perhaps you may have a few guests now and again?

Best regards,

Balin, Son of Fundin.

=========

Master Baggins,

I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for not only me but my people. Without you, I don’t think we would have made it through this quest. I owe you a life’s debt and so much more that I’m not quite sure when or how I’ll be able to repay, but I will see it done.

If you are ever seeking adventure out to the far east, know that Erebor will be more than happy to welcome you at any time.

Things are coming along here. My sister arrived and after only a brief verbal lashing about letting her boys get beaten around, I think she’s finally forgiven me for taking them along in the first place. It’s good to see her again, but the mountain still feels like it’s missing something.

I apologize that these letters are less frequent, just as they are less lengthy. The life of a king is a busy one, but I will try to do better.

I hope you’re doing well.

Best regards,

Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain.

==========

The first and last letters that Bilbo had received from the dwarves of Erebor currently sat nestled in his lap, the rest littered on his bed in a chronological pile. It was just something Bilbo did once in a while. He’d be rereading over the words and trying to hear the voices of his company many miles away. He missed them dearly, but when word had reached him about Bag End rumored to be sold due to his mysterious disappearance, he had to hightail it back to the Shire. The house that Bungo had built for Belladonna was far too important to land in the hands of someone else.

That didn’t mean he didn’t feel regret for his sudden departure from the mountain. Once he had been sure that Thorin and his nephews were alive, Gandalf whisked him away to make a quick trek home to save the family smial. Though Bilbo sometimes wished he had stayed–how he desperately missed those dwarves with every fiber of his being. He missed their crude sense of humor and their barbaric boots. He missed the way they dreaded green food and praised meat and ale. The stories, the comfort, and now…he missed their letters.

Sighing to himself and clutching Thorin’s last letter close to his chest, Bilbo closed his eyes and tried to swallow the emotion that was crawling up his throat and making it feel as if the pressure in the room were changing. It felt like the family he had found along the way was breaking apart. Sure, there had been words exchanged that one might visit the other, but in reality, they were just words. Bilbo didn’t expect anyone to come marching all this way to the Shire to see him, even if some were cutting through to head to the Blue Mountains. It would be a detour that was out of the way and far too time-consuming. And he certainly wouldn’t see Thorin again–A king couldn’t abandon his kingdom for the sake of social pleasantries.

It made his heart sink as his fingers clutched at the parchment even tighter.

A few knocks against the door of his smial sounded off, promptly shoving away every wishy-washy emotion he had and earning the hobbit’s attention rather quickly. With his head up and ears perked high towards the sky, Bilbo gazed out his window for a moment, noticing that the setting sun had disappeared leaving behind the lovely shades of pink and orange. Who would be wandering to his doorstep at this hour?

The thought made his heart race, his mind being taken back to that night where his whole smial was practically confiscated by a company of dwarves, a wizard, and a life-changing event.

“It can’t be.”

His poor heart was full of too much hope that at any given moment it may burst, but Bilbo was leaping off of his bed anyway.

Racing down the hall and pulling at the straps of his braces to ensure his shirt was nice and tight, Bilbo flung the door open to reveal Hamfast and Bell Gamgee, both harboring bright smiles, and Bell even had a pie in her hands.

“Good evening, Mister Bilbo!”

While Bilbo’s mood visibly wilted, he couldn’t say he was upset with those at his door. The Gamgee family was probably his favorite in all of Hobbiton. “Good evening, what brings you here this evening?”

“Bell was baking up a storm earlier and thought you might enjoy one of her blackberry pies. We’ve, um…noticed you’ve been a bit down lately.”

Bilbo’s eyes dropped, his heel scuffing against the ground like a child who was caught doing something he shouldn’t, but he had to appreciate his observant friends if anything. “That’s very…very sweet of you–”

“And imagine our surprise when along the way, we ran into a few friends of yours!” Bell interrupted with her bright and sunny voice. “I do believe these dwarves belong to you, do they not?”

Bilbo looked up and towards the side where Bell had nodded her head to reveal the very dwarves he had been about ready to sob over. His heart constricted, looking at the various grins that were coming his way even if most were shadowed by facial hair.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to share a bit of that pie of yours, Bilbo?” Bofur grinned with a wave, earning a few chuckles from the company around him, as well as from the Gamgees.

“Of…of course! Please, everyone, come in! Bell, Hamfast, would you like to join us?”

“Perhaps another time, Bilbo. You should get a chance to catch up with your dwarves,” Hamfast insisted as Bell was passing over the pie and dwarves were piling their way into Bag End with the same eagerness as before. “They seem like a nice bunch, so perhaps we’ll get to meet them properly for ourselves one day!” 

“Thank you…” Bilbo breathed out as his eyes watched the tail end of the ragtag group he loved like family entered his smial, but something about that caused him to frown. He only counted ten. “Did…did you happen to see any others on your way down? Perhaps two younger dwarves causing trouble? They’re brothers. And maybe their uncle? Probably lost?” Bilbo asked cautiously, his voice lowering to a hopeful whisper as Bell and Hamfast exchanged a look.

A look that Bilbo knew that he already had his answer.

“I’m afraid not, but should we see any trouble-causing dwarves that look terribly lost on our way home, we can direct them this way!” Bell tried to sound optimistic, but it didn’t quite reach Bilbo’s mood, and they could see that.

“Have a good evening, Mister Bilbo. Your dwarves seem very excited to catch up with you after all this time away from them.”

And with that, Bilbo’s doorstep was empty, and even if his smial was full, there was still something missing to fill that aching void in his heart. Three dwarves, and one that had a particularly strong grip on that heart of his, and they were many miles away.

==========

The trek from Erebor to the Farthings had been long. Just as it had been tedious, but not nearly as dangerous as the other way around. No warg scouts to chase them, no goblins to battle against, and thankfully no trolls were attempting to cook them. That didn’t ease Thorin’s restless heart as they were nearing the borders of the Shire.

It felt like so long ago that he had wandered along these paths–getting turned around a time or two in the process–and now being on them again for this purpose? It made the dwarven king feel antsy on his feet and his hands wrung together while his eyes remained locked on the several hills of smials ahead.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see us!” Kili cheered, a small wheeze to his voice as he moved to clap his uncle on the shoulder in encouragement. “And I’m sure the others who’ve gone ahead will have given him a run for his money yet again. I do hope they saved some food for us…”

“At least this time we were invited,” Fili interjected with a wide grin as he limped his way towards Thorin’s side. Recovering had been a difficult time since the battle at the mountain, and no Durin was the same or felt completely whole after their extensive wounds. Yet somehow, they overcame the odds of survival. “He did say that tea was at four though, I think we’re a wee bit late for that.”

Considering it was dusk? Probably.

“Things are decidedly different this time…” Thorin mulled, feeling another squeeze against his shoulder from his youngest nephew. “I just hope I’m not too late.”

“For the tea?”

The collective sigh between Thorin and Fili was practically expected at this point.

“No, not the tea. I can live without that.” But there were other things in the world that Thorin was certain that he couldn’t live without. That’s what led him to the Farthings on a quest yet again, but with a different outcome than the last.

“It’s Bilbo he’s lamenting about, Kee.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle. Things with Mister Boggins will go just fine, all you have to do is be upfront about your feelings, unlike what you’ve been doing since you started getting those fun tinglies in your heart,” he spoke softly and confidently all at once, “and think of it this way, if you muck it up, you can always move into the smial next door now that you’re retired!” Kili teased, giving one of Thorin’s braids a small tug.

Thorin’s scowl shifted to look at Fili, practically pleading in agitation for his oldest nephew to spare him from his youngest.

“I don’t know how Tauriel deals with you,” Fili sighed, moving to pull Kili away and give their uncle some space. “But he is right. Be upfront, be yourself…and the rest will follow, you do have the rest of your life to make that happen, but try not to take that long.”

“How can you be so sure?” Thorin asked quietly, nerves bubbling around in his entire body to the point where he was sure he might pass out at any given moment.

“Because it was always plainly obvious that Bilbo felt the same way. You’re both just…really bad at communication. Just talk with him, tell him your intentions, and it’ll be just like a fairytale,” Fili grinned brightly, Kili following suit.

“A happily ever after,” Fili and Kili both spoke in unison, both under the same impression that this would be an easy trip, and one with a desirable ending.

#raz2k #bagginshield #thilbo #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #the hobbit #the company of thorin oakenshield #hobbit fic #hobbit fanfic #bagginshield fic #razzywrites #fic: sneak peek #reshirement!au #kind of #post-botfa-fix-it #LAST PLOT BUNNY!!! THEN WE WATCH THE NOTES!! #now if you'll excuse me my brain is tired lol #razpb

[libraryofgage]

I realized Steve is absolutely that kid whose parents put him through piano lessons solely so they could have another way to show off at parties and shit. And then that thought morphed into a little Steddie plot bunny and here we are lol:

Steve doesn't know it's the last time he'll sit at the grand piano, the last time he'll press down its keys and let music fill the empty room before bleeding out into the empty house.

He doesn't know that when his parents next come home, his mother will notice how horribly out of tune the instrument is. He doesn't know that it will be sent off somewhere for repair (his parents won't tell him where, no matter how he asks, and he'll never quite understand why) and lost to him. He doesn't know his parents won't bother buying another one; it was only ever there to impress party guests when Steve sat down and played some Bach. Without those parties, company or otherwise, there's no point in getting another one: both the piano and Steve will have outlived their usefulness.

He doesn't know that he'll be storing away his sheet music, carefully placed into folders and in a waterproof box for safekeeping. He doesn't know that he'll soon become too consumed by high school and dating and monsters to idly write down notes on a staff. He doesn't know that when he's swinging a nail-ridden bat in the future (to destroy monsters, sure, but destruction is destruction, right?) he'll ache with the pain of missing the act of creation as a means of stress relief.

He doesn't know any of that, so Steve sits down at the grand piano with a soft smile, gently trailing his fingers over the keys before lining them up in the Middle C-position. He runs through a few warm-ups, letting muscle memory take him away, so he doesn't have to think. Without another thought, he seamlessly transitions into idly playing, bits and pieces of everything he remembers and songs he's heard blending together.

Mozart's Air morphs into Beethoven's Fur Elise into Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. It doesn't all sound good together, but that's not the point when Steve plays by himself. All that matters is letting his brain shut off for a bit, letting the notes and echoes mingle together to create something new and joyful.

After two hours on the piano, his wrists are aching; he always forgets to hold them in the proper position when he plays alone. But it's a good ache, one that reminds him of the music still dancing around in his brain.

Steve takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, feeling the last of his tension dissipate. He lets his hands linger on the piano for a little longer before standing and leaving the room, tragically unaware of his imminent and unavoidable loss.

--------

Steve is sprawled across an old couch in Gareth's garage, reading Eddie's well-loved copy of Lord of the Rings. He'd promised to at least give it a go, and he had to admit he was looking forward to finally understanding some of the references Hellfire Club and the kids make. His progress is slow, but he's almost halfway through after two weeks of work. Reading while Corroded Coffin practices helps; the background noise of their music is perfect, letting him ignore all other sounds and focus.

Of course, that's provided they actually play continuously instead of starting the same song over and over only for Eddie to stop them halfway through. When it happens for the sixth time, Eddie growls in frustration, tugging harshly at a lock of hair. "It still sounds wrong!" he cries, dropping into a crouch while cradling his guitar close.

"Stopping us halfway through isn't helping," Gareth points out, idly twirling a drumstick as he watches Eddie's lament.

"Do you know what's wrong yet?" Asher asks.

Steve can longer focus on Lord of the Rings. Instead, he places the book on his chest and looks at the band to watch how this plays out. Eddie scowls and looks up at Asher. "Unfortunately, Ashy Baby, no."

Jeff, meanwhile, has locked eyes with Steve. And because Jeff knows the perfect way to get Eddie off their asses is to get him on Steve's instead, he says, "Why don't you ask Harrington what he thinks?"

Eddie whips around to look at Steve, eyes wide and hopeful. He doesn't even bother standing from his crouch, instead waddling his way over to Steve and testing his ability to hold back laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of the sight. "Stevie, baby, sweetheart, lover boy, please tell me that wonderful brain of yours has an idea so your favorite boyfriend can finish this rocking song."

"You're my only boyfriend."

"Which automatically makes me your favorite," Eddie points out, grinning as he leans closer. With Steve still laying down, Eddie's the perfect height in his crouch to kiss him. He lingers for a few seconds before pulling away, and Steve knows his own smile matches the dopiness of Eddie's.

"Have you considered adding a piano?" Steve asks.

"None of us know how to play," Asher says, and Steve would look at him if Eddie's face and hair and shoulders and everything weren't filling his entire line of sight.

Without thinking, Steve hums and says, "I do."

"Do what?" Eddie asks.

"Know how to play piano."

There's a silence that follows his sentence, one that makes Steve's stomach lurch as he wonders if he's maybe fucked up the shaky peace and friendship he's finally managed to build with the other members of Corroded Coffin. He doesn't know how his words might have done it, but he's scrambling to somehow take them back when Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth, the bands of his rings pressing against Steve's lips.

"Gareth, you still got that keyboard?" he asks, keeping his eyes locked on Steve. There's a light dancing in them like he's just discovered magic is real, like Steve has amazed him beyond imagination.

With a grunt, Gareth gets up from his drums and steps into his house. The rest of them stay in silence while waiting, Eddie refusing to remove his hand no matter how much Steve licks his palm. When he finally gives up and just glares at Eddie, his boyfriend grins brightly back.

"It's a little dusty, but it'll work fine," Gareth says when he comes back, and Eddie finally moves his hand and body, allowing Steve to see Gareth setting up a keyboard a few feet away from his drums.

"Okay, sweetheart," Eddie says, taking the book from Steve and carefully setting it aside before pulling him off the couch, "you've heard the song enough. Play what's missing."

Steve hesitates before walking over to the keyboard. Eddie sticks to him like a shadow, sliding his arms around Steve from behind once he's standing in front of the white and black keys. An odd nervousness churns in Steve, tugging at his spine and making his palms clammy, but he knows it would be much worse without Eddie there. If he had to play in front of the band without feeling like anyone was on his side, he'd probably just throw up instead.

"It, uh, it's been a while," he says quietly, easily falling into the muscle memory of tracing the keys and finding Middle C and dancing his fingers through warm-ups despite his words.

Eddie squeezes him tighter as Jeff asks, "Since you've played? Why?"

Memories of his grand piano rise in Steve unbidden, overwhelming him in a rush of longing for the instrument itself and the relaxation of playing. "My parents paid for lessons and had me play at company parties. They, uh, sent it off to be tuned, but it got damaged, and they didn't get another one."

"That sucks, Stevie," Eddie murmurs, soft and reassuring and Steve suddenly feels far more confident.

He looks up at Jeff. "Can you start playing again?" he asks, flashing a grateful smile when Jeff nods and starts strumming the song's opening notes.

Steve listens closely, breathing in the tune he's heard so many times and letting it take hold. He doesn't allow himself to actually think, letting Jeff's guitar and Eddie's arms and hair and scent drown out everything else. Before he knows it, he's playing a hesitant tune that grows with confidence as he follows the song laid out before him. He's always a measure behind, chasing the guitar's echoing notes as they fade.

He and Jeff make it through the whole song without Eddie telling them to stop. When the final notes of guitar and piano echo together, the latter still chasing the former even at the end, Steve is shaking with excitement and anxiety and grief and joy.

He lets out a slow breath, feeling tension he didn't even realize had lingered for so long finally draining from his shoulders and dissipating. Steve can also feel Eddie's face pressed against his neck, a smile searing into his skin as Eddie squeezes him even tighter.

"I love you so fucking much, Stevie, that's exactly what was missing," Eddie says, his words the only warning he gives before pulling Steve away from the keyboard and off his feet and spinning him around. His surprised yelp quickly morphs into laughter that still lingers even after Eddie has set him down again.

Gareth and Jeff and Asher have already started discussing how the other parts of the song might change with the addition of a keyboard, but Steve is too busy turning in Eddie's arms and kissing his smile away to pay them any mind. He can worry about inevitably being roped into the band's practices later, after he and Eddie are breathless and flushed and smiling bright.

#steddie fic #Steddie #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Corroded Coffin #Stranger Things #My writing #I got this plot bunny and fucking ran with it

[beskarandblasters]

Punish Me, Officer Djarin

Prison Guard!Din Djarin x Inmate!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: Thank you to @fhatbhabie for the plot bunny and thank you to @pedgito for beta reading! 🤍🤍

Summary: You've been thrown into an imperial prison for anti-empire speech. During your sentence, a new prison guard is hired, Officer Djarin, and you take a liking to him.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: f!reader, reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, uneven power dynamic, brat taming, degradation (scumbag), fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, his glove in your mouth lol, no use of y/n

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

Bleak, white cell walls. Staring at the same thing for hours on end. Eating the same shitty rations day after day. Frankly, death would’ve been a better punishment than this. This was to be expected, though, when they gave you your sentence at your hearing. Part of you was sort of hoping to be put to death. It didn’t match your crime anyway. Anti-Empire speech… what a thing to be thrown in kriffing prison for. 

Your sentence is five standard cycles on this Imperial prison ship. You tried to keep track of the rotations here but it was no use. It’s hard to do that when there’s no rising and setting of the sun, no change of scenery, and no one to tell you when the rotations change. It’s a miracle you haven’t lost your mind here, staring up at the fluorescent white lighting or peering out into the liminal space that is the hallway. It looks like it goes on for miles, a never-ending corridor; sterile and mind-numbing. 

If there’s a Maker, you’re praying to him or her for something different, something to break the routine, something other than staring at ugly Imperial Officers who always look like they just smelled a fart. 

The Maker answered your prayers.

“Listen up, inmates!” one of the Imperial Officers says, banging his blaster on the metal bars of one of the cells.

You and the other inmates in this cell block peer out into the hallway, looking for where his voice is coming from. But soon enough the Imperial Officer, Officer Baize, is pacing up and down the cell block. 

“We have a new officer joining us,” he says, stopping in front of your cell and glancing down the hallway. He motions for someone to come towards him. You’re just expecting another typical Imperial Officer type but you couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Sauntering down the cell block is a Mandalorian, wearing full silver beskar and cape billowing as he walks. Your mouth falls open at this threatening presence; donned in various weapons head to toe. 

“This is…?” Officer Baize trails off, looking over at the Mandalorian. 

“Mando?”

“No, you gotta go by Officer something. Got a last name?”

“…Djarin.”

“Officer Djarin. He may look different from us but you will all treat him like one of us. Got it?”

Everyone murmurs their acknowledgments and retreats to the back of their cells. Except for you. You watch as Officer Djarin paces up and down the cell block with Officer Baize. You catch bits and pieces of the conversation. He’s just giving Officer Djarin some of the basics about working here. But soon enough the red lights to signify nighttime turn on and they disappear between the two sets of doors. The entertainment is over. 

-

Ever since you stepped foot in the prison, it’s been the same. You do everything in your cell; eating, using the refresher, exercising, sleeping— you name it, you’re doing it in your cell. But now that Officer Djarin has arrived, the prison has decided to switch things up. 

“Listen up, inmates! The warden has decided to make you useful to the Empire. You’re going to be put to work, assembling droid parts,” Officer Baize says, banging his blaster against the bars of the cells as usual. 

“We’re going to release you from your cells one by one and you’re going to stand in a single file line with your hands on your head. Do I make myself clear?”

The inmates utter their unenthusiastic words of acknowledgment, prompting Officer Baize to bang his blaster on the bars again, with even more force than the last time. 

“I said do I make myself clear?” he shouts louder. 

“Yes, sir,” everyone shouts in unison, standing up straighter. 

One by one Officer Djarin lets the inmates out of their cells. But his body language suggests that he’s still unsure of his new role. He’s almost hesitant to grab each inmate by the arm and force them into a neat line. And that gets you thinking…

It would be kind of fun to mess with him. 

You move to the back corner of your cell, waiting for him to arrive at yours. Once he does he unlocks the bars and slides them across, he motions for you to come forward but you don’t comply, remaining in the corner with a smug grin on your face. 

“Get in line,” he commands sternly. 

You cock your head to the side, your smirk never fading. 

“Is there a problem, Officer Djarin?” Officer Baize calls out. 

Kriff, you didn’t want him involved. 

“No, not at all-”

“Don’t be afraid to use some force,” Officer Baize says. A smug smirk is evident in his voice even though you can’t see his face. Officer Djarin walks towards you and the saunter in his steps makes you feel powerless compared to him, adorned in all sorts of weapons and cloaked in armor. 

“Get in line,” he commands. 

“And what are you gonna do if I don’t? Punish me?” you counter. 

“Maybe I won't…” he says, taking another step towards you, “But I can get someone who will,” he continues, bringing his helmet beside your ear. 

A shiver runs down your spine. His voice is velvety smooth. And although he’s telling you he’d unfortunately get someone else to come in and reprimand you, you can’t help but melt. 

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“Get in line, inmate,” he says, pressing his hand against the wall, right beside your head. He pulls back and his visor meets your gaze, lingering on you for a moment before turning and walking out of your cell. With your knees feeling like jelly you walk to the hallway, taking your place at the end of the line. Officer Djarin is standing behind you and you feel his gaze burning a hole into you. 

“Hands on your head,” he says beside your ear again. He’s right up against you, in a motion so quiet that it startles you. You do as you’re old and put your hands on your head, waiting for what he’s going to do next. But he doesn’t do anything. He just takes a step back, leaving you there to follow the inmate ahead of you. 

What a tease. 

The entire time you’re listening to Officer Baize drone on and on about assembling droid parts you’re thinking about Officer Djarin and his melodic voice. 

Maker, his voice. 

It’s velvety smooth, modulated in such a pleasing tone that it makes you wonder what he sounds like without the helmet. It also makes you wonder what his voice sounds like when he’s telling you to get on his knees and suck his cock like a good inmate.

A girl can dream. 

You glance over your shoulder and find him, standing at the back of the room with his visor fixed on you. 

Maybe just maybe he wants you, too. 

-

That starts a never-ending cycle between you two. You get under his skin and he puts you in your place… just not in the way you’d like. 

You’d like for him to drag you into a supply closet and bend you over, spanking you while calling you a bad girl. But you’ve been letting go of that fantasy. He cares about his job too much to cross the line. So instead he teeters on the edge of what is professional and what is… inappropriate to say the least. 

-

After another long shift of assembling droid parts and irritating Officer Djarin, you’re in your bed, wishing you were doing anything else besides staring up at the ceiling. 

Until you hear your cell door being unlocked. 

You shoot up out of bed, ready to attack whoever’s coming in. But then you see a reflection glimmering under the red lights of the cell block. 

It’s Officer Djarin, of course. 

“Come with me,” he orders. 

You don’t need to be told twice. You’ve only been hoping for this moment for Maker knows how long. 

You step into the hallway, waiting with your hands on your head. After he shuts the cell door he grabs your wrists, pinning them behind your back before dragging you down the hallway under the dim red light… to a supply closet. It’s like he read your mind. 

He opens the door and shoves you inside, leaving you to stumble upright as you regain your balance. This should scare you, being locked in a closet with a tall man made of metal who holds some form of power over you. But it doesn’t. It only excites you. It makes the excitement pool between your legs. 

He closes the door behind him and takes a step closer to you, pinning you against the wall. The same red light that’s in the hallway hangs from the ceiling of the closet, illuminating his armor. 

“Are you gonna punish me, Officer Djarin?” you ask sweetly, cocking your head to the side. 

“Not in the way you want,” he says, bringing his helmet beside your ear like he always does. Your legs buckle underneath you as you press yourself harder against the wall, praying it’ll keep you upright. Officer Djarin places his gloved hands by either side of your head, palms flat against the wall as he continues to taunt you. 

“You’re pathetic. You know that, right? Throwing yourself at me like that,” he says, pulling his helmet back to face you. 

You’re pathetic.

Those words should hurt but they don’t. They turn you on even more, making your whole body shiver with desire, craving for him to degrade you more. Your mouth falls agape, and he picks up on it, asking, “You like that, don’t you? You like it when I tell you what a desperate slut you are?”

“...Yes,” you admit.

“Say it,” he commands.

“I like it when you tell me what a desperate slut I am.”

“That’s right.”

He removes his hands from the wall and grabs you by the waist, dragging you over to a cleaning cart in the corner of the closet with a forceful grip. 

“Bend over,” he growls. 

Doing as you’re told, you bend over, standing on your tip-toes and sticking your ass up, hoping that it looks good for him. As good as it’ll get in the unflattering prison garb. 

He hands palm your ass, rubbing it over the thick fabric before grabbing the waistband and pulling them down entirely. He takes off one of his gloves, setting it on the cleaning cart before rubbing two fingers along the entrance of your cunt. He collects some of the wetness that’s already built up there, bringing his hand in front of your face to show you the evidence of your arousal. Under the dim red light, you watch as his thumb rubs against his index and middle fingers, spreading your wetness around. He spreads his fingers apart and your wetness stretches with the movement, all while he taunts you. 

“So wet for me. And I’ve barely even touched you.”

All you can do is whimper in response, desperate for more of his touch.

“Do you want me?”

Another whimper from you.

“Say it.”

“I want you,” you whine.

“Address me when you talk to me.”

“I want you so bad, Officer Djarin. Please,” you beg.

“Much better,” he says, bringing his hand back to your cunt and sliding one finger inside you. 

A small moan escapes your lips, prompting him to tease you further.

“From just one finger?” he mocks, curling it painstakingly slowly against your walls. 

“I… I need more,” you whine.

“You know what to do.”

“Please can I have more, Officer Djarin?”

Without warning he slides a second finger in and you feel yourself stretch to accommodate the thickness of both fingers. You moan involuntarily again and he leans forward, helmet beside your ear again. 

“Be quiet, inmate,” he commands, doing a “come here” motion with his fingers. 

“I’m trying,” you softly whine. 

“Try harder,” he says, picking up the pace. 

You grip the cleaning cart for dear life, thankful it’s there to hold you upright as he fingers you relentlessly. You bite your lip to prevent any more noises from slipping out. But it’s hard when your orgasm is threatening to spill over. He can feel you’re close, purring in your ear, “Give it to me. Cum on my fingers.”

And then the floodgates burst open, walls clenching and releasing his fingers in rhythmic waves. You bite down on your lip harder, doing your best to stifle any whimpers and moans on the tip of your tongue. It’s not easy. All you want to do is moan, whine, whimper, scream, letting the whole cell block know that Officer Djarin is having his way with you in this supply closet. 

He pulls his fingers from you once you’re done coming, only to swipe his fingers again along your entrance to collect your spend. He slathers his cock with it and you can hear the wet squelching sounds he makes as he strokes himself behind you, getting ready to fuck you. 

With one hand on your hip and the other on your shoulder he thrusts his cock inside you, burying himself down to the hilt. You were doing your best to stifle your moans before but this is too much, not with his large cock gracing your insides. As he draws his hips back and slams into you, a moan from deep in your throat forces its way out, causing him to go still. 

He’s going to punish you for that. 

Officer Djarin reaches forward and grabs his glove from the cleaning carts, shoving it in your open mouth. 

“That’ll teach you,” he says, returning to fucking you again. 

You moan and cry despite the balled-up glove in your mouth, feeling your pleasure build up as he thrusts in and out of you. His grips on your hip and shoulder are tight, fucking you forcefully while making sure you stay upright. 

He leans forward, purring into your ear again with a mixture of degradation and praise. 

“Such a good scumbag, letting me use her pussy like this.”

His pace never falters, thrusting in and out of you unforgivingly. Tears roll down your cheeks and stars dance in your vision. Your second orgasm is imminent, you can tell by the way your core muscles tense up in anticipation of a big release. It isn’t long until you cum all over his cock, waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body. 

The sensation of your cunt squeezing his cock draws his orgasm from him and soon enough you’re filled with his cum. He lets out a deep and guttural moan, holding you still as he releases all of his spend inside you. 

But once the adrenaline settles you’re left with the realization of what just happened. You weren’t imagining it. He did want you and he just proved it to you. But how is he handling this? 

He pulls out of you and puts his cock away, leaving you to stand up straight and pull your pants back up. You look at each other under the dim red light, staring at him with a blank expression until a smirk creeps onto your face. 

Before he can say anything or put you in your place, a voice startles the both of you. 

“Officer Djarin? Are you in there? The warden wants to know why you abandoned your post.”

Kriff.  

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian x f!reader #prison guard!din djarin #dark!din djarin #din djarin au #din djarin #the mandalorian

[angelkakewritings]

Suck It and See. (Rodolfo Parra x Reader)

Written by: ANGELKAKEWRITINGS

18+ MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the canon characters of the COD franchise including Rodolfo Parra.

Pronouns Used: She/Her/Hers

CW: NSFW, Oral Sex (M receiving) , Porn with a plot, Implications of power imbalance between Rodolfo and reader, cumming without warning (poor rudy lol), Rodolfo being a big simp for reader, lust, car sex, semi-public sex, kissing, mutual crush, kissing after a blowjob, Rodolfo speaking spanish.

Author’s Note: Hello again :3 I hope you guys have been doing well! I’ve been back again on a COD streak as MW2 is a comfort game of mine filled with my favorite comfort characters including Rudy <3, I hope we get to see him again and the rest of the vaqueros soon. With that being said, please enjoy this little piece I wrote, it includes a line from Quentin Tarantino’s last movie that inspired this fic. Also, I heard the last line somewhere in a song but I can’t remember if it’s an AM song or Fontaines DC but all credit where credit is due <3!

The sunlight that cascaded down like honey made the city of Las Almas appear like the vibrant swatches from a fauvism palette. The splendid horizon of his hometown that was adorned in grand murals of La Virgen De Guadalupe and decorated with banners of summer colored papel picado were not as kind on the eyes as the little woman that sat beside him in the passenger’s side.

She was his comrade, his fellow soldier and a friend.

But after witnessing the pretty image of her beestung lips wrapped around the rim of a Coke, Rodolfo found himself pathetically wishing to be pressed into a glass bottle and be taken internally by her.

He was a quiet and stoic sergeant that was driven by logic not emotion. But when it came to her? He found himself being reduced to nothing more than a simple, defenseless man.

(1)

“You want me to suck your cock while driving?”

“Perdoname?”

The vulgarity of the question was softened by her bunny pink tongue and her glossy eyes that watched in delight at the sight of Rodolfo’s ears burning a bright red. The sensation of his insides being reduced and melted down into a gelatinous mass brought him back to his adolescence where he could remember trembling in his vintage Reebok shoes before sharing his first kiss behind the building.

His rich chocolate brown eyes flickered between the open road and back to the beauty who was now sitting on her side with her supple thighs crossed over each other. She was waiting ever so patiently with her button of the seatbelt mimicking the way she would appear on the battlefield with her finger over the trigger and ready to make her kill.

He pondered over her siren-like ability of luring men to their death both on and off the battlefield.

‘Did she get a kick out of making men fall like dominos?’

“H-here?”

Her lips curled into a feline-like grin as she nodded her head.

“Only if you’re comfortable, Sergeant.”

Rodolfo was paralyzed in absolute happiness as he presented puppy dog-like eyes before nodding his head back in response.

(2)

Breaking free from the bondage of the seatbelt, she crawled over his lap like a deadly little succubus to claw and paw at the utility belt that sat on the concave of his pelvis to allow his erection to spring free from its constraint.

Her mouth watered at the sight of his dick, how it wept delicious droplets of pre-cum at the simple sensation of her plush tits pressed against his lap.

“Carajo…” Rodolfo involuntarily hissed under his breath as her soft lips wrapped around his girth to place wet kisses to his mushroom headed tip before slowly devouring his flesh hole. He found himself slack jawed at her warm and wet buccal lining wrapping around his veiny cock as she bobbed her head back and forth.

He took a hand off of the steering wheel to intertwine his gloved finger into her loose and glossy hair, encouraging her to take him further down.

Shamelessly, she looked to her side to look up at her superior who was whimpering and dripping sweat from the temples of his forehead as his dick protruded under the skin of her dewy cheek.

The air around them suddenly felt so thick that not even a wasp knife could break through the atmosphere, his hand traced down her spine and down to her tailbone where he would cup handfuls of her plump ass as she worked on him.

“F-fuck…” Rodolfo slurred out as he was on a euphoric high from having the girl of his dreams pressing her doll-like nose against his pubic bone.

Without warning but no harm, his thick semen flowed down her throat and coated the inside of her mouth as the sweet symphony of his curses and grunts filled the air of the van.

But before the young woman got a chance to catch her breath, Rodolfo pressed his lips against her lip oil and semen covered ones in an angel soft kiss.

It's not like they were falling in love, he just wanted to let her know she was doing him no good.

#fanfic #oneshot #writing inspiration #my writing #mw2 fanfic #rodolfo parra x reader #rodolfo parra x you #rodolfo parra smut #mw2 smut #cod modern warfare #COD #las almas

[the-authoress-writes]

Up Where We Belong

Part One

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x Writer!reader

Synopsis: When a writer experiencing horrible writer’s block goes to the Apple Valley Airshow for inspiration, she meets a certain older, daring naval aviator, leading to maybe a little more than just inspiration.

Warnings: Mentions of hospice and family member deaths, age gap (reader is in their late thirties to early forties).

But really, this is just fluff.

Author’s Note: The plot bunnies have reproduced at an unholy rate, and I am so stupid for writing this, especially since I have another chapter of “Wherever You Go”, to write, the first chapter of “Safe and Sound” and a MavDad story to finish.

The second part and another Mav story is lined up, but at this point, I’m not going to complain, because at least I’m writing, and Mav is finally getting more of my writerly attention.

We’ll see what gets finished next, 😂.

#writerlife

Again, I name a story after a song, from another movie about the Navy, funnily enough.

(Only three of my stories on my masterlist are not named after songs—I can’t stop, apparently)

So here we go!

She had always been somewhat interested in planes—it was hard not to be, when most of her family was in commercial aviation.

Her father had flown for nearly thirty years for American, her younger brother was currently a first officer coming up on his command upgrade with Delta, and her grandfather, whom she affectionately called PopPop, had flown for Continental.

Some of her fondest memories were looking over her grandfather’s maps and airport diagrams, and sitting on his lap while he taught her how to use an analog flight computer.

But one day, when she was home from her freshman year of college, where she was taking her degree in English, her grandfather took her up to the attic to show her something.

It was a footlocker from World War II, the faded paint on the outside reading “USAAF”.

“This was your granduncle Joseph’s—my eldest brother.

He was a P-51 pilot.

He ran many successful missions in his aircraft until he got shot down saving his wingman’s life, near the end of the war.”

PopPop opened the footlocker, revealing a faded American flag folded into a tricorn lying neatly atop several dark greenish-brown uniforms.

PopPop gently lifted the flag and uniforms out of the footlocker, uncovering yellowed, brittle-looking maps, a compass set, and a thick stack of letters, tied together with a black ribbon.

It was the stack of letters that PopPop lifted out, and held out to her. “Look at these, and read them.”

She did, and the story the letters contained was beautiful and heartbreaking.

Her granduncle had fallen in love with a woman who was a member of the French Resistance, named Céline, whom he’d met during a covert resupply mission, and they even had plans to marry after the war.

But she’d died in a skirmish with German soldiers in Paris, leaving him so bereft that he’d taken to writing letters to her specter, just to have an outlet for his grief.

The last letter in the pile was heartwrenching, where her granduncle Joseph talked about how he was only living because she would want him to, only being careful in the air because she’d want him to.

She’d cried reading the letters, and she’d asked PopPop why he’d wanted her to read the letters.

“I wanted someone else to know their story,” he’d simply replied.

“No one else knows?”

He hummed, considering his answer. “Sometimes you keep some things to yourself until the right person to tell comes along.”

A few years passed, and when PopPop was on hospice, the two of them were watching “Band of Brothers”, when she remembered Uncle Joe, as she’d taken to calling him in her head.

“What’s going on in that bright head of yours, darling?” PopPop’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Oh, uh, nothing much, I was just remembering Uncle Joe.

Thinking that he and Céline deserved better.”

“They did.”

She shook her head, “I wish I could write them a happier ending, you know?”

PopPop hummed weakly. “Well, why don’t you?

If anyone could do it, it would be you.

If you do that, I’m sure in a few years, those English professors of yours would be saying that they taught a great American author.”

She was shocked and touched. “Wha—I—well, I guess I could, but, are—y-you’d be okay with that, PopPop?”

He laid a cold hand on hers, “I wouldn’t trust it to anyone else, my dear girl.”

“Okay,” she smiled tearily, and nodded, the two of them returning their attention to the episode.

A week later, PopPop passed, and many things happened over the ensuing years that caused the idea of writing about Uncle Joe to be put on the back burner.

In fact, she forgot all about it, until she was sitting on her couch a couple of weeks after having been let go from her job as an English teacher at her local high school.

She was mindlessly watching an episode of some show she couldn’t even remember the name of, when her eyes landed on the footlocker which PopPop had given to her in his will.

The memory of PopPop encouraging her to write about Uncle Joe came back to her, and she paused the episode, strode over to the footlocker, carefully opened it, and drew out the letters.

Madly, over the course of the next several hours, she reread the letters, numerous research-related tabs quickly opening up on her phone, tablet, and laptop.

As months passed, she made good progress on her first draft, but somewhere along the way, about slightly less than halfway through her intended story beats, she hit the dreaded dead end, writer’s block in full force.

Rereading the letters did nothing—every line she wrote, she deleted; she felt lost, and like she’d completely lost Uncle Joe and Céline’s voices.

She felt right back at square one.

Then, one day, as she was looking at her brother’s latest Facebook reel from his layover in Korea, she saw an advertisement for the Apple Valley Airshow, which would feature an aerobatic demonstration with an actual, airworthy P-51.

Maybe seeing the aircraft her Uncle flew would shake something loose in her brain so she could move forward.

She didn’t even hesitate—she immediately booked a ticket, and prepared herself to take down a lot of notes.

The airshow was absolutely wonderful, and even though she never got as into aviation as the rest of her family, it was still something which fascinated her, and seeing the planes made her marvel all over again at the miracle that was aviation, how humankind had successfully taken the skies for itself through brutally elegant means.

Finally, it was time for the reason she’d come—the emcee began, “Now, everyone, you’re all in for a treat, because up next, we have a nearly eighty-year-old aircraft, a P-51K named Bianca, and she’ll be giving us an aerobatic demonstration!

So let’s give a warm Apple Valley Airshow welcome to Bianca and her owner and pilot, US Navy Captain Pete Mitchell!”

She clapped along with everyone else, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the P-51.

Soon, the sound of a propeller engine grew louder and louder, and then, there she was.

Bianca was gorgeous, gleaming silver with red markings, the American star roundel on her side.

The shining aircraft got closer and closer to the ground, towards the crowd, and just as she was about to worry that the P-51 was in an upset condition, the plane pulled up slightly, buzzing the transfixed people.

Laughing in awe and delight, she clapped with everyone, and watched as the daring pilot put the plane through a series of hair-raising spirals, rolls, dives, and elegant, breathtaking passes with such precision, skill, and ease, just knowing that whoever was flying that old girl had aviation in his blood as surely as it ran in hers; it made her wonder what her granduncle would say about how the venerable fighter was being flown.

Before she knew it, the demonstration was over, and with another low pass and wing wave, the P-51 flew off to land.

It actually took her a moment to come back to herself, she was so stunned by what she saw, and she knew she had to see Bianca up close.

After asking for directions to the flight line, she scanned the row of planes, eventually spying a flash of red.

She walked over, catching sight of a tall, mustached man a few years younger than her, standing in front of the aircraft, wearing a borderline-obnoxiously-loud Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned over a white tank and jeans, stereotypical Ray-Bans pushed up onto his head.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?” the man replied.

“Is this the P-51 which flew a few minutes ago?

She is a P-51, right?”

“That’d be a yes to both questions, ma’am.”

She chuckled grimly at the idea that her age was maybe showing enough for her to be ma’am-ed by someone only a few years younger than her. “Are you the owner?”

He scoffed, good-naturedly. “Nah, that’ll be my dad.

Hey Dad, someone wants to talk to you!”

A moment later, a man stepped out from under the P-51, and she’d absolutely be lying if she said her breath didn’t catch.

First off, if she had to guess, he was older than her, but there was something about him which made him seem younger than his age.

Then there was the fact that he was absurdly good looking—ridiculously so, in fact; impossibly raven-dark hair, mischievously sparkling, brilliant green eyes, and a physique that people half her age would kill for, all sinewy muscle, visible with the snug white t-shirt and jeans he was wearing.

The final nail in the proverbial coffin was his smile—God, it belonged in a museum, because it was a work of art, and coupled with his roguish air, everything about him screamed the most delicious kind of trouble, sending echoes of Whoopi Goldberg’s voice saying, “You in danger, girl,” through her head.

“Hi,” he began, extending his hand.

Luckily for her, she was quick on the draw, and extended her own hand, proffering a “Hi,” of her own, though she kicked herself at the fact that the next words out of her mouth were, “Are you the owner?”

Oh, well—couldn’t win them all.

His grip was firm and calloused, but gentle, without the cool metal band she expected on his fourth finger, quick eyes observing the lack of even a pale band of skin on the same finger, and she shook herself from the observation in time to hear his, “That’s me—Pete Mitchell, you can call me Mav.”

At her quizzical look, he continued, “It’s short for my callsign, Maverick—I’m Navy.”

She nodded, “The emcee did say you were Navy, and that tracks; judging from that impressive demonstration, you don’t strike me as the kind who blends in.”

“Thank you—I aim to please,” he grinned.

Miraculously, she managed to ignore his brilliant, beautiful smile, somehow mustering a “Well, you certainly delivered,” before she introduced herself.

A cough from the younger man, Pete’s son, made her realize that she hadn’t let go of Pete’s hand, and vice versa, which caused the two of them to practically spring apart.

“Oh, uh, this is my son, Bradley,” Pete introduced the younger man, reaching nearly comically up to wrap an arm around Bradley’s shoulders.

“Nice to meet you, Bradley,” she replied, trying to recollect herself while her mind acted like it was the first time she’d interacted with a good-looking man.

“Nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

“I look that bad, do I?” she chuckled.

“Just the way he was raised,” Pete proudly said, patting his son on the back.

Embarrassingly, she just then remembered the reason she was here. “Oh, I—I actually had a few questions for you, Pete, about the P-51, because I’m writing a book, and I wanted to get some details.”

His eyes lit up. “Details about this old girl, huh?

I can do that; come on, let me show you around.” He moved to the side of the aircraft and gestured grandly. “Bianca here’s a Dallas-built North American P-51K, with a Packard V-1650-7 engine and an 11 foot diameter Aeroproducts propeller.

She was donated to the Civil Air Patrol in 1946, and I acquired her in 2001.

I’m not sure if she ever saw combat, because her military flight logs were lost, but I know for a fact that she routinely patrolled the California skies way back when.

Let me show you the controls.”

He nimbly boosted himself up to the wing and held his hand out to her. “Come on up.”

“Uh, is this a wise decision?” she asked, glancing between his hand and the wing. “She is nearly eighty-years-old.”

Pete laughed, “She’s stronger than she looks, and these girls were made to withstand this sort of thing, come on.”

Deciding to trust his judgment, she took his hand and jumped up to the wing at the same time as he pulled her up, causing extra momentum which propelled her body into his.

He caught them on the edge of the cockpit, and after a second, she realized that she was pressed up against his body, both hands resting against his…very solid chest.

She prayed that her suddenly pounding heart and the burning flush on her cheeks could be discounted as a reaction to her stumble.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, scrambling back to put some distance between them for her sanity’s sake, while trying not to fall off either wing edge.

“Eh,” he waved off, “that’s my fault, I should have said I’d pull you up,” as he shifted to kneel on the wing. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied breezily, “I believe you were about to show me the controls?”

“Mm-hmm, come here.”

They slowly adjusted themselves into a configuration that enabled them both to see into the cockpit, and he pointed out the many gauges—explaining each one—and the literal stick stick, which looked nothing like the controls of any aircraft she’d seen in person or in the movies, as well as her general flight capabilities and technical specifications.

A further glance to the right showed something she didn’t expect to see. “I thought the P-51 was a single seat aircraft?”

Pete absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck, “They are—I made a… few modifications.”

“Oh.”

“You want to sit in her?” he offered, gesturing to the pilot’s seat.

She was not about to pass up an opportunity like that. “I—wh—sure!”

He carefully helped her into the cockpit, and once settled, she breathed in and out while she absorbed this moment, and imagined her granduncle sitting in a seat similar to this one, looking out at the boundless sky. “Wow,” she reverently murmured.

“I know, right?”

“This is amazing, that aircraft like this is still around and still flying, I mean—this is history,” she said, getting slightly emotional.

“It is; she is.”

After a few beats longer, she sighed, and reached for his hand so she could get out, and he carefully eased her out of the cockpit, onto the wing, then both of them back onto the ground.

“Thank you, for showing me around, this was really helpful, Pete, I think this really helped me.”

“You’re welcome,” he nodded easily. “If I may ask, what kind of book are you writing?”

For the briefest second, she instinctively recoiled from the idea of telling the story, but then, some part of her heart said that Pete Mitchell was someone she could tell this story to. “It’s uh, a fictional version of my granduncle Joe’s love story; he was a P-51 pilot during World War II, and he was in love with a woman in the French Resistance named Céline.” She turned to look at Bianca’s gleaming fuselage. “But they both died in the war; she was killed by the Germans, and he got shot down saving his wingman soon after.

I never even knew until my first year of college, when my grandfather told me the story through the love letters my granduncle and Céline wrote.

When my grandfather was dying, I told him that I wished they had a happy ending, and… well, he told me to write it for them, since I was an English major.

So here I am,” she shrugged, turning to face Pete.

He looked grave and touched. “That’s… that’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, I have to admit, I’ve wondered if what I was doing was disrespectful.”

“I know quite a few people who deserved happy endings that didn’t get them,” he glanced into the distance, a wistful, pained look in his eyes. “If I can help at least two people who didn’t have their happy endings in this world get it somehow, I’m more than willing to help.”

She sincerely replied, “Thank you for the validation,” wondering what his story was.

“You’re welcome.

And uh… you know what?

Gimme a second.”

He leapt back onto the P-51’s wing, and rummaged through the cockpit, pulling out a flight log book and a pen, hastily writing something on a page, before he tore it out, and leapt back down.

“Here, it’s my number—if you had any more questions, feel free to call, I’d be happy to answer them.”

If she had been placed in a similar situation as this maybe twenty years ago, she’d have probably done something to embarrass herself, because this—things like this didn’t happen to her—they only happened in movies, but here she was.

He gave her his number—yes, it was if she had any research questions, but still.

‘Get a grip, woman, just because you didn’t see a ring doesn’t mean he isn’t in a relationship,’ she told herself, trying to project “Respectable Professional Woman”, while her inner adolescent was trying its level best to come out.

“Th—thank you,” she managed to get out, with only a minute stammer on the first syllable.

“I’m serious, call if you need anything—I mean—there’s not a lot of people out there who can tell you what it’s like to actually fly one of these beauties.”

“Be careful,” she chuckled, already determined not to call unless it was absolutely dire, “You don’t know if I might take you up on that offer.”

“It’s what I gave you my number for,” Pete winked, and she commended herself for keeping it together.

Deciding to quit while she was ahead, and while she still seemed like a normal human being, she came in for final approach, as her dad would put it, with, “Alright—I better go, I’ve already taken too much of your time.”

“It’s fine, it’s always a pleasure to talk to someone about this girl.”

“Thank you again,” she stated, honestly grateful, feeling the creative juices flowing and simmering in the background.

“You’re welcome.”

And with that, she walked away, exhaling evenly for so many reasons.

That night, she wrote and wrote just as she expected, and the story was flowing.

That is, until she hit another wall just before the next weekend.

And this one was even more stubborn than the first.

It didn’t help that she had written herself into a corner with this dogfight scene she was on—she had no way of knowing if the tactics were sound, and she was thinking of completely cutting it, but it seemed so stilted without it, and she had no idea of how to avoid writing this scene.

But one part of that thought, she realized, wasn’t true.

Her gaze landed on her coffee table.

The sheet of flight log paper with ten numbers written on them stared tauntingly back at her, daring her to call Pete.

“Nope, no, I am not going to do it,” she told herself. “No—absolutely not.

I’m sure he has better things to do than answer stupid questions.

No—I will not call him.”

The paper raised a nonexistent eyebrow.

“No!” was her battle cry, and she turned back to her laptop screen, but it offered no relief.

The depressing reality of her blinking, unmoving cursor cackled at her in harmony with the flight log paper.

It was like that healthy cereal ad from years ago, with the little girl in a prim uniform, enticingly calling “Donuts?”

However, after ten more minutes, the dictatorship of the blank page grew too cruel and harsh, and she folded like a house of whatever was more insubstantial than cards.

“Fine,” she muttered, snatching up the paper. “I’ll call, but if he doesn’t answer, it’s no skin off my back—I’ll manage… somehow.”

At least that’s what she told herself.

She dialed the number, heart pounding as the phone rang…

And rang…

And rang…

And rang.

She was just about to breathe a sigh of conflicted relief and hang up, but then the line clicked, and she heard a slightly breathless “Pete Mitchell.”

“Hi,” she blinked, cursing herself for not thinking through what she was going to say. “I don’t know if you remember me, we met at the Apple Valley Airshow—”

“__, right?

The writer.”

“Yeah, that’s me, you said I could call if I had any questions,” she scratched her head.

“Uh-huh.

I’m guessing you have one,” she could hear the smile in his voice.

“More like a lot, really.

I’ve unfortunately written myself into a corner, it’s this dogfight scene, and there’s no way I can currently remove it without sacrificing practically all of my progress since last week.

I just need to know if the tactics are sound.”

“Huh.”

“I—you know, I can figure it out myself, if it’s too much trouble—”

He interrupted, “No, it’s no trouble, I’m more than willing to help, in fact… uh, this might sound—weird and uncomfortable—or—both, really, but if you want, why don’t you come out to my hangar tomorrow, we can talk about this, rework your scene if we need to, without having to do video calls or text or email.”

“Oh,” she breathed, eyes wide.

“I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything,” he chuckled.

“I—thank you for the reassurance, by the way—but I mean, that’s a lot of confidence in how well I can write a dogfight.”

“It can’t be all that bad,” he assured.

“I’ll just prepare to be ripped to shreds,” she half-teasingly replied.

Pete snorted. “Even if it were that bad, I wouldn’t rip it to shreds—I save that for my new students.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know what’s worse, being torn apart or the porcelain treatment.”

“How about a balance, then?”

“I’d be very happy with that.”

“So… is that a yes to coming out to my hangar?”

“I… suppose it is,” she replied, before she could convince herself otherwise.

She was a mature, responsible adult, and she was capable of being said mature, responsible adult.

(And if time permitted, she was even capable of looking respectfully, when he wasn’t watching.)

(She was only human, after all.)

“Perfect, I’ll send you the address; I have to warn you, it’ll probably be a bit of a drive, is that okay?”

“That’s fine, after all, where else will I find someone with experience flying the P-51?”

“You could always try the local VFW post,” he joked.

“What are the odds my local VFW has a former P-51 pilot?

I’ll go with the expert I’ve already met.”

“Alright, alright, I already agreed to help, no need to butter me up,” he lightly said, humorously.

“Just send the address,” was her amused response.

And that was how she found herself on US-395 North making the three-and-a-half hour drive from her apartment in San Bernardino to the Mojave, praying that she wouldn’t somehow make a fool of herself today.

To be continued…

Next Part

Was part of this story inspired by Atonement?

Maybe.

I didn’t really have the movie in mind when I wrote the plot device, but I realized the similarity after the fact.

Analog flight computer

USAAF

Band of Brothers

The Apple Valley Airshow takes place every year in the town of Apple Valley, located in San Bernardino, California.

(I considered setting this story at the annual Miramar Airshow, which takes place at MCAS (formerly NAS) Miramar, but I imagine that Mav would probably want to avoid going to MCAS Miramar for obvious reasons.)

Roundel

I don’t think that most pilots would do very daring aerobatic stunts in a plane as old as the P-51, just because she’s a darn P-51, and she’s a flying piece of history, but this is Mav, he absolutely knows what his girl can handle, I’m sure he knows how to make something look more crazy than it actually is, and bottom line, let’s just suspend our disbelief, 😂.

Did I introduce Mav in that way just so I could use that gif?

Probably absolutely.

It’s a great shot, and I do not blame me.

“You in danger, girl.” Timestamp 1:35

All the information about the P-51 is taken from the information available about the model and history/registration of Tom’s P-51, except for the details of her name and the military flight logs being missing, as the history available for N51EW never mentions if she saw actual WWII combat.

She is registered in the FAA database with the serial number 44-12840, and her name since 2006 has been “Kiss Me Kate”.

(I know why she’s named this, and it hits something in my heart that Tom never bothered to rename her.)

Her name in this story will be explained later, but those who follow me on my main blog, @oh-great-authoress, might have a hunch as to why I named the P-51 “Bianca”.

The ad I mentioned was a real Kellogg’s Special K ad.

VFW

The travel time between San Bernardino and Mav’s hangar is estimated using the travel time from San Bernardino to NAWS China Lake, and then a further hour and twenty minutes from there.

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

#not me 👀 at men literally old enough to be my father #but my reader DEFINITELY is—and he’s not old enough to be HER father #bahaha 🤣 #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fic #top gun maverick fic #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #tom cruise

[heygerald]

Red Skies Warning: (POTC, 2003)

OFC x Captain Jack Sparrow

I'm back on my bullshit! Enjoy the plot bunny that is now taking up all my free time to think about. Might make this into a series? Might just fuck around. Who knows—that's the joy of life.

"What on Earth do you think you're doing?" Edwina asked with a sharply arched brow, watching as both Will and the pirate turned on their heels to gape at her. She suspected it was her presence that had them jumping in their boots, though she did note how Sparrow's eyes raked up and down the length of her frame while Will's simply widened in surprise.

"Ed—Edwina," Will stammered, before snapping his mouth shut entirely when he realized he wasn't quite sure what to say.

She supposed there wasn't much to say. After all, he was breaking a pirate out of prison. She doubted there was any sort of social etiquette to follow in this sort of instance—the catching a friend doing something highly illegal sort—and so the three of them simply stared at one another for a moment.

"It's not what it looks like," he said, after deciding that the moment had gone on long enough.

There was the sound of boots clattering on cobblestone, and she suspected that it most likely had.

"Really?" she asked still, a little too amused at his attempt to lie his way out of the situation despite the fact that they certainly didn't have the time for it. Edwina flickered her gaze towards Sparrow before allowing her brow to arch even further into her hairline. "Because it looks like you're breaking a stupid drunkard out of prison."

Will's mouth propped open soundlessly, eyes widening when he realized that there really was no way to argue that fact, but it was Sparrow who decided to speak first.

"I'm a pirate, lassie," he corrected her. "Not a drunkard. Not at this time of day, at least."

"My apologies," she said with an airy smile. Edwina leant her shoulder onto the cobblestone partition behind her before starting again. "It looks like you're breaking a stupid pirate out of prison," she echoed. Then lifted a challenging brow at Sparrow to ask, "better?"

He glared, hand waving in the air as if he were drunk, to declare, "you're quite mean for a woman."

"And you're quite ship-less for a Captain," she shot back, enjoying the way that his features clammed up irritably at her jab. There was another clatter of feet on cobblestone—this one much closer than the last—and Edwina gestured to the path to her right rather than the original path she had found the pair sneaking off towards. "Norrington already sent a patrol towards the servant's swimming hole. If you go that way you'll be in irons before you reach the beach. Come on."

She started down the less traveled path without bothering to check if they were following. It took a few moments before she heard the pair starting after her.

Will tugged her at the elbow. He was wearing that look of his—the wounded puppy type that often had her wanting to smack him across the cheek—and when he spoke he sounded both concerned and incensed. "You're not meaning to come with us?"

"Was that a question or a statement?"

"A question?"

"Then yes, I am meaning to come with you."

Edwina took half a step before he tugged her back a second time. He certainly didn't look concerned when he huffed down at her. "A statement, then. You're not to come with us."

She crossed one arm over the other with a hum. "And blacksmiths are not meant to scheme against the Royal Navy, so I suppose we're all doing things we wouldn't ordinarily do, aren't we?"

"You—"

"She's got a point, mate," Sparrow piped up. They turned to find him standing inches away, a finger in the air as he pointed loftily at something above them. "And, seeing as how we're doing things we normally wouldn't be doing, might I suggest that we get moving before we're all thrown into irons. That Norrington doesn't seem too keen on me, mate."

"Is that not something you normally do?" Edwina sniped.

He narrowed his eyes down at her, but she hardly felt intimidated. In fact, he was probably the least intimidating pirate she had ever met despite the fact that he currently had half the island looking to hang him.

He's either an incredible actor or magnificently stupid, she thought.

"Edwina," Will hissed as he pinched his nose. "You're not coming."

"I am."

"This isn't the sort of game we played when we were children," he chided, though there was something arrogant about the way he said it. As if she had been foolish enough to think jailbreak was something fantastical and fun. It was far too hot and humid for her to mistake this as any type of fun. "They'll throw you in prison right along us if we're caught."

"I hardly think so."

"And how do you figure that?" he asked incredulously.

"Simple. You kidnapped me. Against my will, you and the drunkard held me at gunpoint and dragged me to the docks alongside you as some sort of insurance policy. I was only trying to go for a swim when my dear friend turned on me."

He scoffed. "That wouldn't work."

"No?" she questioned, tossing a look towards Sparrow. "Don't you think it would?"

He didn't even pretend to think it over. Instead, he frowned at her; as if she were something distasteful floating in the bottom of his bottle of rum. "There's a word for women that lie, you know. Not a kind one, either," he taunted. Then, as dramatically as he could, Sparrow pointed at the sky. "I don't think He's all that fond of it either, you know. Thou shalt be truthful and what have you."

Edwina snorted. "I hardly doubt you're concerned with telling the truth. But, if that's what you'd rather," she made a show of shrugging, something petulant on her features, "I've no problem with telling the truth. Right now. I could certainly scream loud enough for the Commodore to hear. He'd probably enjoy it, throwing you back in irons, and placing Will right along side you. I'd say Norrington would even be up for a second promotion for his heroics."

Will's brown eyes darted all around them, as if assessing how quickly someone would show up if they heard one of her blood curdling screams, but Sparrow didn't seem to need any time to think it over. It seemed his mood changed just as quickly as the tide as he clucked his tongue at Will with a mocking frown.

"Kidnapping now, Turner, eh? Can't say I'm surprised, but I do like how quickly you've come to embracing the pirate thing."

Will gaped at him. "You can't be serious. You want to bring her?"

Sparrow paused at that and Edwina watched as he churned over the question in his mind for a moment. He turned to her with a look she couldn't quite place. "Can you sail?"

"I know how to tie a knot."

He hummed, inching closer. "Can you swim?"

"Certainly."

Sparrow tilted his head at her, pausing dramatically as he twisted the last question across his tongue as if testing it. "Ay. Can you fight?"

Edwina leaned forward until their noses were nearly touching, enjoying the way that his eyes widened for the breadth of a second as if surprised that a woman would willingly stand this close to a pirate like him. She smiled. "Like my life depends on it, Captain."

Sparrow grinned something mad in response.

"Welcome to the crew, love," he promptly announced before shoving Will down the path and pulling her right along them both. There was a bit of a hustle to his pace as they heard shouting in the near distance. "The two of you aren't—er, you know...?"

Will blushed something fierce, and Edwina rolled her eyes at his sudden muteness. "He should be so lucky."

"That's hardly appropriate, Edwina," came his scolding next when he felt both of their eyes upon him, and something about his response seemed to amuse Sparrow greatly. "We're friends, Sparrow."

"That doesn't mean you can't be—"

Edwina tripped him before he could finish that statement, and while he floundered into a nearby bush, Will pulled her behind a barrel as a pair of soldiers rode by. She could smell the saltwater in the air, could see it just off in the distance, but suddenly the fifty odd yards separating them felt insurmountable.

"You don't have a plan, do you?" she asked him.

Will hedged for an answer, but the way his eyes darted around was telling enough.

"I suppose the pirate doesn't either?"

The pirate in question joined them behind the barrel whilst brushing some dirt off of his shoulder with an irritable glare in her direction. "This attitude of yours is goin' to need to be fixed if you want to crew my ship, love."

"Oh?" she mocked, not bothered that they could be caught at any moment if it meant she got to knock him down a peg. "And which ship would that be? The rowboats over there or the bucket just off beside them?"

It certainly felt like he had something to say in response to that. Yet, when Jack followed her line of sight to a couple of overturned rowboats not too far in the distance, she watched something spark in the depths of his gaze.

Too soon did his toothy smile return. "A boat's'a boat, love."

Edwina turned to Will feeling her determination to join them already beginning to splinter.

"We're not going to like this, are we?" Will sighed.

The bell tower started tolling from the town square, and when Edwina glanced back the way they had come, she realized that if they were to have any chance at successfully rescuing Elizabeth, they would have to do quite a few things that she had never done before. And if that meant trusting a pirate of all people, then so be it. Edwina would rather hang herself than say no to the first adventure she had ever truly been offered.

"Alright then, Sparrow," she gave in. "What's the plan?"

#pirates of the caribbean #captain jack sparrow #jack sparrow x ofc #original female character #plot bunny

[archiesoniconline]

Sonic Universe Online #52 Behind The Scenes!

Hello, everyone!  Boy, it’s been a while since we’ve done one of these, huh?  But considering we finally managed to release this issue after its nightmarish production cycle, we decided that it was a good time to bring the “behind the scenes” posts back.  There’s a lot to talk about with this one, so get ready for a real doozy!

As usual, let’s start with the cover.  We wanted to have Bunnie and Scarlett as the focus, and RocketPOW! went through several drafts of what that would look like.  In the end, we settled on having them playing cards in the bar from Sonic Mania’s Mirage Saloon Zone to fit with the desert theme.  It’s also worth noting that we had Jack on the cover at one point but ultimately decided against it, since the story focuses more on his lackeys than himself.

Before we start on the actual story, I guess we should begin with the elephant in the room: Bunnie’s redesign.  Even though we technically first saw her new look in issue 51, we might as well go over it now.  Picking up from where the official comic left off, we knew that Bunnie had a redesign after being legionized, but the reboot happened before we ever got to see it.  And with the redesign of such an important character, obviously there was a lot of pressure to do her justice.  There was some old concept art by Tracy Yardley of legionnaire Bunnie, but we didn’t want to just take that and call it a day.  We had quite a field day with many of our talented artists coming up with their own interpretations of her redesign, including @miitoons, @riggo-draws, @drawloverlala, @fritzymagpies, Tim Campbell, CrimDa, DoNotDelete, and more that I sadly can’t remember anymore.  From the shape and function of her cybernetics, her overall color scheme, her clothing, her hairstyle, her weapons, etc., every last detail was meticulously gone over until we arrived at the final design taking what we liked most from each of them.

At first, we had gotten Tale to draw out the first several pages, and even though they were finished, he unfortunately had to step out of the issue and we had Gilgalad take over, better known as Thomas Rothlisberger, who we were lucky to have on the team before he moved on to the IDW Sonic comics.  For the sake of consistency (lol), we unfortunately had to scrap Tale’s pages so he could redo those as well.

Holly’s sickness isn’t elaborated on in the actual story, but the gist is that she’s a snow leapord who was roboticized during the First Robotnik War.  But after the Bem deroboticized her while she was in the desert, her body became sick due to being stuck in the inhospitable environment, which is an example of how misplaced many of the former Robians were being sent far out of their natural habitats, and losing the protection of their robot bodies was actually a detriment.

A Sonic fan with a good eye for detail may notice that the guard who takes over watching Bunnie after Scarlett is actually one of the unnamed members of Infinite’s Jackal Squad from the Sonic Forces prequel comic.  Since this cameo may or may not go anywhere in regards to Infinite in ASO, we opted against using Infinite himself since he’s too important of a character to pass off as a mere cameo.  If you want this plot thread to be expanded upon, let us know!

Since this is where we introduce Holly and her relationship with Scarlett, it’s as good a time as any to discuss the process of their creation.  With Scarlett, we wanted to introduce a character who would serve as a foil to Bunnie, another person struggling due to their bedridden lover, but with diametrically-opposed views regarding cybernetics.  Her design was actually taken from a random Sand Blaster who appeared in a single panel of StH #218, who we decided to turn into a full-fledged character.  Although her species was unknown during her single appearance, we decided to make her a fennec fox.  On the other hand, Holly was an entirely new design that we came up with for the story.  The LGBT aspect of their relationship was actually the idea of my editor for the issue, The Shadow Imperator.  I stated in the interview after the issue that I was the one who came up with their names, but that’s not the whole truth.  There was a whole team effort dedicated to naming the two of them, before I suggested Scarlett since there was an abandoned plot point about how Bunnie’s true name was at one point planned to be Scarlett O’Hare.  Our Scarlett’s full name is Scarlett O’Fenn, with ShadImp being the one to suggest adding the last name as well.  But since her last name didn’t come up in the story, I apologize for forgetting to mention it.  Holly was also one of several names I came up with, which was agreed on due to the sort of “snowy” feel it has to it.

In my initial draft for Scarlett and Holly’s conversation, I wrote Holly as being more openly pessimistic about her condition, outright stating that Scarlett would be better off if she was gone.  But since that seemed rather inconsiderate to Scarlett’s feelings, ShadImp suggested that I tone it down a little and have her only mention feeling like a burden.  He was also the one to suggest that I make sure their romantic relationship is mentioned as explicitly as possible, so there would be no room for ambiguity that might lessen the impact of their sexual orientation.

Scarlett taking off her hat here wasn’t actually in the script I wrote, but it was a smart move by Gilgalad, showing her letting her guard down around the one person she can afford to do so with.  To put it simply, Scarlett offers Holly physical support while Holly offers Scarlett emotional support, so neither one is one-sidedly supporting the other.  This scene also demonstrates that even though Scarlett is easily the most level-headed and compassionate Sand Blaster we’ve seen so far, some of the old bigotries and prejudice against cyborgs and robots that Jack instilled into her still remain.

Gilgalad had actually already penciled out the next couple pages, but since he wasn’t able to stick around for the full story, we decided that that the end of Scarlett and Holly’s scene was a good cutoff point for the drastic shift in art style.  Red Rabbit is an amazing artist with a style very similar to Patrick Spaziante, but it is still a jarring shift compared to most other artists on the project.  I had also originally written Bunnie mentioning not being very good at undercover missions, but when ShadImp brought up her successful operation tricking Battle Lord Kukku I changed the script to have her mention that instead.

At first, I was planning for the poker scene to have the characters holding cards that reflected their position in the conversation, such as holding a winning hand when they have the upper hand in the argument.  But since I have absolutely no knowledge or experience with poker, that idea ultimately didn’t come through in the final story.  This scene also serves to flesh out the Sand Blasters and show that none of them are blindly loyal to Jack.  Tex obviously has his own agenda, Avery just goes along with whatever’s the least troublesome, Shift wants to get his hands on new technology, and Jolt does genuinely want the city to open up to the rest of the world.

You may have noticed that instead of rocket feet like her old design, Bunnie now flies with a removable jet pack on her back.  If you’re wondering how that wouldn’t burn her tail off, it was specifically designed so that the fire trails would shoot aiming away from her tail.

Originally, during the car chase sequence Bunnie’s jet pack was just written to malfunction for no real reason.  But eventually, I decided to give it a more interesting explanation by adding in hints that Shift may have intentionally sabotaged it to trip up Bunnie, only to reveal that he was actually trying to fix it and he didn’t betray her after all.  This was also the portion of the story where Ink Pants took over for pencils, and then Lav after him.  Even though they’re all fine artists in their own right, hopefully this will be the last time that we need to include so many drastic changes in art style to illustrate a single story.

We almost had one more shift in art style, with @gendeerfluid​ penciling the last page.  In the end, Lav managed to finish that one as well, giving us a massive cliffhanger both figuratively and literally in the form of Jun Kun, the Iron King.

That’s about it for this one, folks!  Thanks for sticking with us all this time, and look forward to the conclusion of this story next issue.  Until then, keep on juicin’!

#archie sonic online #sonic universe online #issue 52 #behind the scenes #bunnie rabbot #bunnie d'coolette #scarlett o'fenn #holly #sand blast city #jack rabbit #avery #tex #shift e wolf #jolt the roadrunner #lgbt #poker #escape #jun kun

[sabrinariverdalefan]

I’ve Got My Eye On You

Xavier Thorp x Original character

(This is going to be many chapters long. I’ve been having this plot bunny in my head for weeks. It was time to put pen to paper.

Chapter Two

The next time Xavier made it into town was with Ajax, Enid, and Wednesday Addams who was hell-bent on solving yet another mystery. Straying away from the others he couldn’t help but think about that beautiful girl standing outside an AA meeting. What he certainly didn’t expect was to see her at the Weathervane at the counter with a couple of friends. They seemed to be in some animated conversation with one of the older employees who worked whenever that imbecile Tyler didn’t work. He tried to not seem obvious that he was staring at her, but his friend quickly noticed and jabbed him in the ribs. Xavier glared at him “What?”

“You’ve been staring at that girl for like fifteen minutes,” Ajax said with amusement in his voice. Here we go; some idiot remark in the making. “I bumped into her a couple of weeks ago. That’s it.”

“You’re staring at her like she’s your prey…” Wednesday commented idly as her own eyes never left the menu that they were inspecting.

“Am not…” He scoffed, but shut up as he noticed the employee walk away from the boys and girl only for the blonde to shout out in their direction “Hey Mike! It’s your birthday today right?”

Elizabeth watched her older friend turn around with a frown.

“Now Lizzie you know damn well I don’t want to be reminded of that.” A loud sigh left his mouth “You’ll get it when you turn thirty. And don’t you dare start singing happy birthday.” The guy warned in a low voice.

The blonde smirked as she got up and walked to the other side of the diner past Xavier and his friends. Not evening noticing him she sat down at an old piano and started pounding out a strange tune that certainly wasn’t ‘happy birthday’.

“Stop the clock, take time out. Time to regroup before you lose the bout. Freeze the frame. Back it up. Time to refocus before they wrap it up. Years are getting shorter. The lines on your face are getting longer. Feel like you’re treading water, but the riptides getting stronger.”

At least Xavier wasn’t the only one paying mind to the girl now. ‘Elizabeth…her name is Elizabeth…’ He let her name bounce around his head. Looking at back at the counter Mike had his hand over his mouth laughing. There was pure joy on his face as he called out “Come on Lilibet!’ Xavier couldn’t help but be slightly jealous. When was the last time he felt joy in his life? Still, the girl kept playing and belting out this strange song that became quite catchy.

“Don’t panic! Don’t jump ship. Can’t fight it, like taxes. At least it happens only once in your life! They’re singing ‘Happy Birthday’. You just want to lie down and cry. Not just another birthday. It’s 30/90! Why can”t you stay 29? Hell, you still feel like you’re 22! Turn thirty, 1990.”

“What an odd way to wish someone a happy birthday…” Wednesday remarked, yet she looked intrigued. “But it’s accurate…” Enid and Ajax simply were baffled at this impromptu performance. Xavier could see that the rest of the diner didn’t exist. She was singing this song for her friend. The way she’d move from standing to sitting as she pounded away at that piano like a professional was simply breathtaking. Yet she didn’t even notice him, how badly he wanted her to look his way, but her eyes remained glued to the person she was dedicating this tune to.

“Clear the runway. Make another pass. Try one more approach before you’re out of gas. Friends are getting fatter. Hairs on your head are getting thinner. Feel like a clean-up batter on a team that ain’t a winner. Don’t freak out, don’t strike out. Can’t fight it, like city hall. At least you’re not alone. Your friends are there too. They’re singing ‘Happy Birthday’. You just wish you could run away. Who cares about a birthday? But 30/90 hey!”

Elizabeth hit the high notes as the song wrapped and felt slightly dizzy. Smoking affects your lung capacity, but her voice never wavered. Even coming down from an early high, she still looked clean to the outside world. She had gotten so good at hiding. Fingers then left the keyboard as clapping could be heard from the other customers.

Turning around she took a bow before she headed back to the front counter. That’s when she saw him. Giving him a small smile Xavier watch her walk past and followed her with his eyes. He couldn’t help but follow her. Why did he wish she was singing to him instead of someone else? He didn’t even know her name until he heard Mike say it, and yet he found himself annoyed and jealous. The teen wanted to know what she felt like; what she tasted like. He knew that he could walk over to her anytime he wanted, but for now he watched in the distance, completely fascinated.

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #wednesday fanfic #wednesday netflix #fanfic #yadare #writing #wednesday addams

[dreaminggoblin-yells]

Labyrinth Meadows

Well, the pie is in the oven, I look presentable to society, so let's go diving into this old writing project that's Egg 28 in my Plot Hatchery.

@cljordan-imperium @thebejeweledwatercat @pheita @lurakha Here we go!

So, I originally wrote this in 2014, probably around the middle of the year. The back of the notebook has exam dates in it from when I was in school.

The entire archive file also has a few sheets of paper with another story allegedly set in the same world, and a different big A4 school notebook with a handwritten copy of chapter 1 on one side and empty space for corrections on the other, and some sketches and character notes.

But the focus is the old black notebook.

In last night's post I said little me hit all the YA Urban Fantasy tropes, and I think that is pretty much true.

red headed 17y/o FMC MMC who has black hair and is apparently magically young-looking but over a century old. He's also broody and annoyed at FMC and has an enemy of old who targets FMC to get at him. The two have little chemistry that I can see. FMC's parents are dead, and her grandmother dies in chapter 1 FMC's name is Autumn, named after the season she was born in. Autumn has a completely normal best friend The city is ~weird~ but everyone just rolls with it. There's an unwritten rule not to be out alone past midnight. Autumn breaks this rule the day we meet her. There is a magical second world, a city under the city that is, according to legend, the original Labyrinth Meadows. It has monsters that occasionally surface.

It also has LitRPG aspects with a skill system. At the time, I didn't know what LitRPG was, but I knew Choose Your Own Adventure books that had a character sheet with skills and inventory. My dad has a few of those and I like to go snooping through his bookshelves.

The skill and quest system appears as textboxes floating in front of Autumn. A casual skimming of the chapter doesn't make it clear whether only she can see it. Her first quest is for a killer bunny (think Monty Python and the Holy Grail, I'm pretty sure I'd recently watched that because it was on TV at the time.)

Now I gotta go get the pie out the oven, will continue in the reblogs

#yelling at clouds #labyrinth meadows #e28

[lmskitty]

Hi again......If you don't mind, can I ask, what are your top 10 (or top 7) favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series)? Why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before......Thanks....

Hi!!!

Tricky!

1. Jujutsu Kaisen

2. Gorillaz

3. Sailor Moon

4. Outlast

5. The Last Binding Series by Freya Marske

6. Neon Genesis Evangelion

7. FMA Brotherhood

8. The Magnus Archives

9. Fake (manga series)

10. Digimon

1. It brought me joy and fandom and friendship again and made me feel like myself after a very long time. I know the narrative can be traumatic but it also has these incredible moments that just feel you with awe (like Todo turning up to help Yuji fight or seeing Gojo do hollow purple for the first time) it just reminded me of everything I love about anime.

2. My first real fandom, the first thing I wrote proper fanfiction for. The lore and the music and the animation just amazed me when I saw it when I was 11 and I've not been happy with decisions they've made recently (overpriced merch in a cost of living crisis, NFTs to celebrate Plastic Beach?!?) I'll still always love them and be excited for new content.

3. First anime love, first time seeing a relationship with two women helping me to identify as bi (now I'd say pan) I grew up believing that to be a strong woman you had to disregard femininity and seeing Usagi be the strongest with her bunny drawings and her focus on friendship and love just rewired my brain.

4. I love horror, I was brought up with it but for a very long time nothing has scared me and I found horror media repetitive. Outlast genuinely scared me and I was SO happy and I love reading the character notes and comics.

5. I've talked about this series a bunch but A Marvellous Light was the first book I'd read in years that made me cry and just stayed in my head for ages. Everything I'd loved about harry potter but done properly.

6. I was at a sleepover at a friend's and someone stuck this on and everyone was talking and I was just glued to the screen because what the FUCK WAS THIS?!?!? I've watched it since with my husband and it still hits me so hard every time. It's such a powerful portrayal of depression and nihilism and how relationships can fuck you up. It's beautiful and I think it's one of the best anime's of all time.

7. The opposite of neon Genesis lol. Love and family and forgiveness and what it means to sacrifice for the people you care about. Devoured brotherhood with my husband and we were both in tears by the end of it. I'd also been told I couldn't have kids and we had struggled with a miscarriage and Izumi and Sig just hit me so hard. (I have a bub now tho it came out ok in the end) but the characters still feel so real and there's so many amazing moments.

8. I listened to all of this and played Minecraft with my husband till like 6 am on weekends. We would discuss at length our theories and it just holds a special place in my heart. It's perfect horror and John and Martin's relationship just means a lot to me. I related a LOT to Martin and loved the series and I've super been enjoying the Magnus Protocol too! Also that first fucking recording of Nikola Orsinov?!?!? We both sat still staring at each other genuinely freaked the fuck out and we still quote it at each other! "I mean, you can if you really want to, but you’re not going to like it." CHILLS EVERY FUCKING TIME!!!

9. I read a lot of BL manga with my friends (*old lady voice* back in my day we called it Yaoi!!!) And so many of them had terrible tropes and big hands. This was the first one I ever read that I still adore that had an amazing love story and plot. It was revolutionary to see an LGBTQ story not just about them being gay or coming out but it had real detective cases and murders etc and I still wish we could get a tv show of it.

10. When Gojo talked about Digimon I fell even further in love. It's the fucking best. I wanted to be Mimi so BAD as a kid my mum made me a Halloween costume of her and I thought I was so cool. My next tattoo is gonna be Lilymon. I grew up with it in the dub and it established my sense of humour for better or worse. The Digimon film is still my comfort film of choice. Matt was such a big crush I had when I was little and I wrote little stories about being one of the digidestined.

Those are my top 10!!!!

#gorillaz #jujutsu kaisen #the magnus archives #tma podcast #fake the manga #fake! #digimon #outlast #fma brotherhood #neon genesis evangelion #sailor moon

[aigoos]

Date Me | Oneshot Fluffy College AU Obikin | Rating: T | Words: 3,700~

Summary: Anakin was determined to get his professor to date him by putting "Me" in the date line of his exams.

This plot bunny idea was all due to Magnusbae's post about a college AU Obikin that would not leave me alone. Many thanks to Ineffableobikin for betaing and making it a lot better!  This is the first fanfic I have written since 2015.  I hope you will enjoy it!

*****

Why the kriff do I need to take history if I am a mechanical engineering major?

This was the thought going through Anakin's head as he sat in the back of the lecture hall, a bored and disgruntled expression gracing his handsome face. He glanced over at Padme next to him. Normally she'd sit in the front, but she was sitting in the back with him out of loyalty. She was poised and ready with her opened laptop and notebook with her favourite pen. Her posture was straight and perfect; Anakin was the opposite, as he slouched in his seat, with the laptop on the desk still closed. His notebook was at least opened, and he'd dug out one of those cheap pens that barely write.

"The least you could do is smile, Ani. Your expression could scare off a ghost at this point."

"Come on, Padme, you know I don't care for history!"

"And literature, and biology, and--"

"Hush," Anakin said, finally grinning. "I proudly admit that I don't care for subjects outside my major."

Padme giggled. "Yes, we all know you'd rather fiddle around with droids and other machines, but at least Professor Kenobi is excellent from what I hear. One of the best here at Coruscant University."

"Hmm. You say that about every professor, though. And may I just say that Professor Mace Windu from the last term was not excellent."

"Well, if you hadn't been tardy all the time--"

"Not my fault his class was at ass o'clock!"

"But you also did argue with him in our discussions. Rather aggressively," Padme continued, rolling her eyes in fondness. "I know he encouraged participation and healthy debates, but you didn't have to antagonise him about everything."

Anakin scowled. Before he could respond, the door near the front opened and in walked Professor Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Anakin's breath immediately hitched. He quickly sat up, and his mouth opened slightly as he took in their professor.

Kriffing hell. He's hot, he's hot, he's super hot!

Professor Kenobi was tall -- not as tall as him -- but tall enough. He wore a white button-up shirt under a soft-looking grey cardigan with a pair of chinos and loafers. His copper-coloured hair was styled with a side part, and his beard was neatly trimmed. Anakin would never consider such a boring style for himself, but on Professor Kenobi, it was absolutely perfect.

"Hey," Padme hissed softly and elbowed his side. "Close your mouth. You'll catch flies."

Anakin quickly closed his mouth, and he listened to his professor introduce himself. Later, had Padme asked, he would not have remembered a single thing that was said. What he did remember was that heavenly voice with the amazing Coruscanti accent. That voice soothed his soul, and all he could think was just how it would sound and feel if Professor Kenobi was whispering such pretty phrases right into his ear.

He watched Professor Kenobi's demeanour -- so posh but also warm and inviting. The way he patiently explained the topic and answered the students' questions warmed him. His intelligence shone through, and Anakin actually found himself wondering what would happen if he were to have a healthy debate with him. Would it be intellectually stimulating, or would it be a frustrating bantha poodoo of a yelling match like with that evil Windu? Anakin hoped for the first option. Professor Kenobi was already a million times better than Windu.

Anakin never believed in love at first sight -- but he believed in it now. He was stupidly smitten with his history professor.

*****

"Ani, you want my history class notes?"

Anakin nodded with a sheepish grin. "Please? I'll make it up to you, and I swear, I'll pay more attention in the next class."

"Did Skyguy fall asleep in class again?" Ashoka asked, reaching over to steal a roll off of Anakin's plate.

"Snips! Get your own food!"

Padme ignored their usual shenanigans and slowly ate her food before answering Ahsoka. "He's head over heels with our history professor."

Ahsoka's eyes went wide. "Huh -- Professor Kenobi?" Then she grinned slowly. "Well, he is quite easy on the eyes, if you like them more . . . distinguished?"

"Old, Ashoka. You can say it," Rex interjected.

"He's not that old!" Anakin said with a groan. "Maybe he's about ten years . . . older than us?"

"Old or not, Ani, just know that I will not be giving you my notes all the time. I'm not your secretary!" Padme handed over her notes, all colour-coded and organised.

"Yes, ma'am!" Anakin took the notes and vowed to ace the course so he could get Professor Kenobi's -- no, Obi-Wan's attention.

*****

Starting from the next class, Anakin chose to sit at the front. Not only did that please Padme, but it allowed him to be closer to Obi-Wan. He purposely chose the seat that was directly across from Obi-Wan's desk, and it allowed him to pretend they were sitting together like on a date. The closer proximity excited him, and he looked forward to every class just for that.

Several things about Obi-Wan caught his eyes, such as the way he would run his hand through his beard when in deep thought, the way his beautiful grey-blue eyes sparkled as he told the class about a topic he loved, the way he carried himself with confidence and ease that just oozed sexiness.

Every class, Anakin just fell more and more in love with him.

History, on the other hand, still bored the kark out of him. He adored listening to Obi-Wan's melodious voice, but all the facts, dates, and other tedious information went over his head. Still, he tried to pay attention, and he worked his arse off with their assignments.

History, though, was the least of his worries. Amongst his friends, they may jokingly call him The Hero With No Fear, but Anakin was scared and clueless on how to get Obi-Wan's attention and to start "wooing" him as Rex called it. Anakin had never dated anyone. He'd been happy enough with a romance-free lifestyle as he tinkered with his droids and focused on other geeky hobbies. Obviously, that was no longer the case, but he had no idea how to take the first step.

He asked Padme for advice, and she said, "Why don't you actually try to get into history and ask him some questions after class to start up a discussion?"

Anakin pulled a face. "I'm already struggling to retain just what he covers in class. I'm reaching my limits with this subject!"

"You could just ask him out to coffee?"

". . . That just sounds like it will come out of nowhere."

Padme sighed. "Well, you'll figure something out. You've got that mechanical mind. Use it to find a solution."

The ideas he got from Ahsoka and Rex were ones he'd only consider if Tatooine froze over and all the sand on that dust ball was turned into real diamonds. The less said about those suggestions, the better.

It was during their first history exam that Anakin had a moment of genius. He stared at the top where it said "Date:________". And instead of writing the actual date, he wrote "Me".

This is perfect! It's not over the top like some of those insane ideas Snips and Rex suggested, and this doesn't involve me having to think of history topics to engage him in a long discussion -- this will do!

With an excited grin, Anakin finished the exam and looked forward to their next class.

*****

During lunch with his friends, Padme brought up his happiness from earlier. "Was it my imagination, or were you actually grinning like a loon during our history exam?"

"Oh! Skyguy finally loves history and not just the professor?" Ahsoka exclaimed with a knowing grin. She elbowed Rex in his side and continued, "Think he's actually using our ideas on how to woo him?"

"Like hell, 'Soka!" Anakin managed to blush and look slightly squeamish. "I'd rather bathe in sand than consider some of those ideas."

"Were our ideas that bad?" Rex asked with a deadpan expression. "I thought our ideas would work. If anything, they'd certainly make a lasting impression."

"Nah, he's just a prude," Ahsoka stated firmly. "When it comes to dating and flirting and all those romantic things, he's more of an old man from ancient times, doing the whole courtship thing with flowers and candle-lit dinners."

Padme laughed. "There's nothing wrong with that, actually, but really, Ani, what did you do?"

Anakin glared at Ahsoka before answering, "I just put "Me" in the date line." And he saw all three pairs of eyes stare at him in various levels of surprise.

It was Padme who finally broke the silence. "Next class will certainly be interesting."

Ahsoka and Rex nodded together and said, "Keep us posted!"

*****

"Mr Skywalker, please see me after class," was what Obi-Wan said to him while putting his exam in front of him. Anakin didn't even look at the paper; his attention was completely on Obi-Wan's face. It was fleeting, but Anakin caught the slight frown and the confused look in Obi-wan's eyes.

Anakin's insides churned unpleasantly, but he shoved those feelings of dread aside. He had to pay attention. He was also curious as to what he'd received on his exam, so he looked at his score and grinned. A ninety-two was not bad at all considering that his last history exam score had been a dismal fifty-five.

But worries began to bubble to the surface again as he wondered what Obi-Wan would do after class. Would he yell? Would he be disgusted? Would he tell Anakin to get out of his class? Anakin chewed on his lip as his brain spiralled all over the place.

Padme's soft touch on his hand drew him out of the whirlwind, and he saw her worried expression. Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile and mouthed, "I'm fine," and showed her his exam score. She blinked and then beamed while giving him a thumbs up. Anakin glanced at her exam and saw the one hundred, and he was not surprised at all. He also gave her a thumbs up.

They both returned their minds to their history class when Cody, Obi-Wan's teaching assistant, started the slideshow for today's lecture. Anakin forced himself to pay attention, knowing he would face the music shortly.

*****

Everyone left the lecture hall, and Anakin found himself alone with Obi-Wan. Anakin remained in his seat, and Obi-Wan stood and leaned against his desk across from Anakin. They both stared at each other, one with dread and stars in his eyes, and the other with confusion and curiosity.

Anakin broke the silence. "What can I do for you, sir?"

Obi-Wan waved his hand at the exam paper still on Anakin's desk. "You wrote something . . . unexpected . . . on your exam."

"What -- the 'me' in the date line?" Anakin asked, suddenly feeling brash. "It was real."

Kriff me. Could I sound any more idiotic than just now?!

Anakin forced himself not to cringe, forced himself to look as relaxed as possible. He also told himself to not look stupidly eager. He didn't need to look pathetically needy.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, but he didn't say anything for a long while. So long that Anakin started fidgeting and he was about to say something when Obi-Wan finally asked, "Why?"

"Why?" Anakin echoed back in confusion. "Why what?"

"Why did you put 'Me'?"

Anakin blinked. "Because I want you to?"

"To . . . ?"

" . . . Date me?" Anakin stood up from his chair. "I want you to date me, prof -- Obi-Wan. I like you."

A frown appeared on Obi-Wan's handsome face. Obi-Wan crossed his arms before replying, "No need to prolong this farce, Mr Skywalker."

"Sorry . . . ?"

"You don't need to continue this joke," Obi-Wan replied.

Anakin looked at him with a stunned expression. "This is not a joke."

" . . . This is also not exactly appropriate since you are currently my student."

"I can wait until this term is over. I'd be happy to wait!" Anakin tried hard to keep the desperation out of his voice, but he was sure he didn't succeed.

"That's enough, Mr Skywalker. You may leave now."

*****

"He thought this was all a joke. Kriffing hell!" Anakin dropped his head on his arms and groaned loudly. "Why would he think it's a joke? I even confessed to him!"

"Hate to say it, but maybe you should have borrowed some of our ideas?" Rex said while he patted Anakin's back.

"Hell no!" Anakin exclaimed. "Don't even go there! I had no idea you and Ahsoka combined would come up with such super traumatising ideas!"

"Your loss, Skyguy," Ahsoka said, shrugging. "Don't tell me you're giving up already?"

Anakin lifted his head up and stared at his friends determinedly. "No, I will not give up."

"That's the spirit, Ani. What will you do next?" Padme asked.

"Let me think."

*****

Anakin's next idea was to write "Me" on the date line again on their next exam.

Cody wasn't there -- he was in another office grading some other things for Obi-Wan -- so Anakin dropped off his exam directly with Obi-Wan. He lingered as he watched Obi-Wan take his exam. He heard Obi-Wan's breath catch, and he met Obi-Wan's eyes, which were full of confusion. He leaned down slightly and whispered, "Not a joke."

To his immense disappointment, Obi-Wan didn't ask him to stay after their next class. That didn't deter him. If anything, it strengthened his resolve. Anakin did the same thing on the next exam, and he again leaned down as he turned it in, a bit closer this time, and said quietly, "Still not a joke."

Obi-Wan's eyes this time didn't look confused. Instead, Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side and gave him a slight smile and said, "Thank you, Mr Skywalker."

Like the last time, Obi-Wan didn't keep him behind after class. But Anakin felt like it was going somewhere.

"I think I'm winning him over," he told Padme.

"What makes you think that?"

"Last time he actually smiled and thanked me!"

" . . . But that wasn't really a smile. I saw it. It was very slight."

"Well, he couldn't beam at me like a loon," Anakin said matter-of-factly. "He's not the showy type."

Padme nodded. "That is true."

"I'm telling you -- I think I'll win him over." Anakin entered the cafeteria and looked for Rex and Ahsoka. "I'm trying to be patient. You know that's not my strong suit."

"Do I ever. I'm amazed by your patience, actually. Who are you? Did you get swapped out with a shapeshifter?"

Anakin rolled his eyes. "So dramatic! Why are we friends again?" Padme giggled at that statement, and they changed their focus to lunch.

*****

On the next exam, Anakin changed things up slightly. On the date line, he wrote, "Me please".

Anakin figured some politeness may help win him over. After all, it never hurts to say "please".

When Anakin handed in his exam, Obi-Wan's gaze immediately strayed to the top, and he raised an eyebrow at the slight change. Obi-Wan looked up into Anakin's eyes. Smirking a bit to hide his nervousness, Anakin leaned down even closer and whispered, "Still not joking. Please know that I am serious."

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, and Anakin could see a slight flush on Obi-Wan's cheek.

Score! Looks like I'm slowly but surely making progress! With that thought, it took every ounce of Anakin's control to not pounce on him like a loth cat. Anakin could only hope that with a few weeks left in the term, he would convince Obi-Wan to go on a date. He was not going to give up when he could sense victory was so near.

*****

"Mr Skywalker, please stay behind."

Anakin's heart beat sped up when he heard the request. He looked up at Obi-Wan in surprise. There hadn't been an exam the previous week. He remained in his seat while everyone else left. As he watched, Obi-Wan rummaged through his desk and pulled out a book.

"This is for you. I ran into Professor Windu, and he mentioned to me that you're a mechanical engineering major."

Anakin's eyes bugged out. "How did Windu know that?!"

"Professor Windu, Mr Skywalker."

"Sorry," Anakin said, not really sorry. "I mean Professor Windu."

"Anyway," Obi-Wan continued and handed the book to Anakin. "This is a book I figured may be your cup of tea. It focuses on how mechanical engineering affected and changed history at multiple points."

"Oh!" Anakin breathed out softly. "I . . . this sounds like it is definitely up my alley. Thank you for thinking of me." He accepted the book gently, and he briefly flipped through it with an awed expression.

Anakin looked up to see Obi-Wan giving him a gentle smile. "You're welcome, Anakin."

Anakin. Obi-Wan calling him by his first name was a much better gift than the book. With a huge smile, Anakin said, "See you next time."

*****

"He gave me a book. And, and! He called me 'Anakin'. Sith's hell, I think I am winning him over!"

His three best friends all looked at him with varying levels of disbelief.

"I still cannot believe your method is working," Ahsoka said before stuffing herself with another stolen roll from Anakin's plate.

"It's a shame he didn't need to use our ideas," Rex complained with a grin.

"I hope this doesn't mean I'll have both of them mooning over each other in history class. Thank goodness the term is coming to an end soon!" Padme said over a huge stack of books.

"And I call you three my best friends? Geez, thanks," Anakin said sarcastically. "Remind me to keep you all in the dark from now on."

Ashoka laughed loudly, nearly spitting out her food. "Nah, we know you -- you'll be over the moon and will overshare everything with us. Can't wait for the sexy bits!"

*****

On the final exam day, Anakin was nervous. Not about the actual exam, which hadn't been difficult for him. He had studied the material, so he was confident he'd get a good grade. No, what he was nervous about was what he had put on the date line. He had written, "Me please, coffee later?"

He had a good feeling about Obi-Wan accepting, but a part of him still felt nervous. What if Obi-Wan had changed his mind? What if Obi-Wan was just being nice? What if Anakin had read all the signs incorrectly and now he was just making a fool of himself?

Anakin was really trying hard not to work himself into a tizzy. He had to calm down and hope for the best. Taking a deep breath, he took his exam up to Obi-Wan. This time he didn't linger, but instead he made a quick exit. All his insecurities were piling up inside of him, and he needed to escape somewhere to calm himself.

The only place he could think of that would calm him down were the flight simulator rooms. He headed to that section of the campus, and he was relieved to find them empty. Just before he could enter one of the rooms, he heard someone calling for him.

"Ah, young Anakin! It has been a while!"

Anakin looked and saw that it was Professor Plo Koon, who was a kind of mentor to him. The two of them had bonded over a love of flying and similar inclinations with mechanical engineering. He forced a smile and said, "Hello, Professor. Good to see you."

"Is everything okay? You don't seem like your usual self." Anakin allowed Plo to lead them into one of the rooms. They took a seat, and Plo continued, "What's the matter, Anakin?"

"I'm not sure if I can talk about it, sir," Anakin said gloomily.

"Is it a matter of the heart?" Anakin winced at the question, and Plo gave him a gentle smile. "Ah, I was right. I will not press, but let me tell you one thing that a wise man once told me. 'Do or do not; there is no try'."

Anakin stared at him and then chuckled. "I see Dean Yoda has rubbed off on you."

"You cannot deny that it is a wise advice."

Anakin laughed some more. He already felt a bit more relaxed. Plo had a calming presence that never failed to soothe him. "Thanks, sir. I feel better."

"Excellent, my friend. Now, how about a few rounds in the simulator? Best two out of three?"

*****

Two days later, Anakin found himself outside of Obi-Wan's office. He fidgeted for a few minutes as he stared at the closed door. He knew Obi-Wan was in there because he could hear soft jazz music coming through the door. He took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in!"

Come on, Skywalker. You can do this. Grow some kriffing balls!

Anakin breathed deeply once more and he opened the door.

"Hello, Obi-Wan."

"Hello there, Anakin."

Anakin saw Obi-Wan at his desk, stacks of paper all around him. Anakin glanced at the stacks before asking, "Isn't Cody supposed to help you with all this?"

"He came down with the flu," Obi-Wan explained and gestured at the stacks. "Thankfully, despite what you see here, I am almost done."

Anakin came around to the side of the desk. Before he could lose his nerve, he quickly blurted out, "Could we grab some coffee later tonight?"

Obi-Wan gave Anakin a soft smile. "Still not a joke?"

"Never. Not a joke, Obi-Wan. I wanted to do this sooner, but thought it would be better to wait until the term was over. I also finally finished that book you gave me, and I would love to talk about it with you since I found some of the items in there fascinating. Plus, I want to get to know you more, know you outside of school, so please--"

"Anakin."

Anakin knew he'd been rambling and was glad that Obi-Wan cut him off. He looked deep into Obi-Wan's eyes. He saw mirth and . . . fondness? Hope began to grow in him. "Yes?"

"Dear one, yes, we can go have coffee tonight. As a matter of fact, I wanted to take you to Dex's Diner -- it's my favourite place to eat, if you haven't been."

"Y-yes!" Anakin stammered out. "What time and where?"

"Seven in front of the university's main gate? I can drive us to Dex's."

Slowly, a huge smile appeared on Anakin's face. "Great! I can't wait!"

Obi-Wan reached out to hold Anakin's hand and he squeezed gently, and that sent a jolt of electricity up Anakin's arm. Anakin squeezed back as Obi-Wan said, "Then it's a date."

~ Fin ~

A03 URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50978791

#Obikin #obikin fanfic #obikin fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #my fic

[shade-without-color]

Warmth

Note: So yeah I have been down with Covid, which has not been the best- but I have to make lemonade out of lemons, and recently @serial-doubters-club gave me a plot bunny idea which I am naming this Midokirin AU as 'For the earth crumbles, and where life sprouts by', which is a reverse Hades/Propsherne AU, which I would let you discover that, and I am craving for pregnancy reveal stuff, so enjoy this little plot thingie

In the darkness- Kirinmaru noticed Midoriko being so quiet, like as if a force stole her voice, instead she grumbled about her stomach twisting and turning, quickly covering herself with the sheets to find a small corner to throw out the contents, quickly Kirinmaru ran over, only combing her hair to a bun.

“Are you alright, my flower…”

Midoriko quietly rubbed the remaining vomit out of her mouth, repulsed by the acid building in her stomach. “I do not know, I…I….I….” Kirinmaru’s eyes softened at his beloved. “We will be alright….”, gently he lifted her up- which Midoriko felt ashamed that a powerful force like death came crumbling down like foals unsteady in their feet. He lovingly formed a small band out of his hands to tie her hair up, only rubbing small circles in her back to comfort her. “Do as you must….”

That night was a treacherous one, and Kirinmaru felt helpless at this silence, to see his Death suffered terribly.

And he desired the answers right now.

After Midoriko expel all contents, Kirinmaru quietly tucked her to bed, only giving a soft kiss on the forehead, allowing her to lay down in bed, only seeing her hand trace to her stomach. He quietly closed his eyes, allowing himself to transpire to another land, to see a beautiful palace where spring seems so eternal, and the one sitting on the bench is no other than his friend, Toga who is playing her lyre. “Prince of the Underworld, you finally came- sick of the darkness from Midoriko’s caves? It is nice that you remain so ever cheerful….”

“Well my cousin Mayonaka, I am afraid to ask him questions about gestating bodies, for he is conservative but instead I shall ask you…..”

Toga raised his eyebrows. “Go on….”, dropping his lyre, allowing Kirinmaru to sit down at his side. “I worry about my wife, Midoriko, my death- I noticed she has been irritable, all of her souls tremble and at nights, she tend to expel the contents of her stomach…Like she is conflicted…..I….I…”

“Since you descend down to the Underworld, o Prince, did you know….” Toga made a lewd gesture of a middle finger. Kirinmaru quietly thought of the passionate nights they have- without them speaking a word of missing each other’s presence, The only memory that burned in his brain, is that she screamed her name over and again.

“Yes….”

Toga gave a smug grin. “Perhaps, you express that carnal passions which is a worthy sacrifice to the goddess of love- that you manifest…you know….”

Kirinmaru thought to himself, he is used to see animals procreating secretly as a child, curious how they birth life- though he was sent away by his mother and father for seeing lewd matters. And by next spring, he watched the baby animals followed their parents. Then a thought came in mind, as he recalled that reasoning to his cousin Mayonaka that someday the fruit of their love soon bloom.

“And that result is….”

Without Toga finishing his word, Kirinmaru slowly allow the vines to wrap him and rot came over his body. The last thing Toga could glimpse of his friend was a curious gaze, and determination to find its truth. 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸 Kirinmaru ran over the long winding caves to see Midoriko sobbing miserably, covering her face in shame, her hair in disarray and her clothes stained with sweat.

‘DAMN IT KIRINMARU! DAMNIT KIRINMARU, DAMN IT”

“My flower….” He gently cupped her face gently, only giving her forehead kisses. “I…” He tried to touch her shoulders to see her wincing in pain. “DAMN IT YOU KNOW I HATE TO BE….”

“It…it…..” Kirinmaru allow Midoriko to cry over her shoulder, allowing her tears to stain his clothes. “Sh…sh….sh…I…” Kirinmaru felt a force that grown within her, a warmth that comfort both.

“One moment, let’s go to the spring to wash away those tears, my flower, it should calm you down….”

Quietly he held Midoriko, bridal style to see the souls of the dead frolic in their lands, unaware that Kirinmaru’s feet has grown little flowers in his path. He knew a secret spring that the dead grew unaware of, which he allow his death to strip her clothes to only dip in the cold waters, which she heaved a sigh of relief. He quietly observed her bathing in the springs, noticing her continuously wincing at her sore breasts. “I….I….do not know why, I feel so tired….and my…..”

“Yes, my flower…”

Midoriko smiled sheepishly. “My bleeds, they cease since you…came back…and….” Quietly that advice clicked with Kirinmaru. “I…..I…. Felt something grew within me, it feels like you…” Quietly she cupped her stomach, trying to feel that warmth of that…

That….

Midoriko found herself crying at that spot.

Kirinmaru smiled quietly. “We are indeed blessed…”

#writing #writers on tumblr #Spilled ink #Midokirin #kirinmaru #Midoriko #inuyasha fanfiction #Inuyasha #drabble #hades x persephone #greek myth au

[buckets-and-trees]

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!

I wanted to stop by for two things: I think I first read Salt and then I couldn’t control myself and had to read everything else you’ve ever posted. You’re so talented and I’m eternally grateful for you in so many ways. 💞💞💞

With that, I present to you something that made me cry laugh and couldn’t stop thinking about your despair over Royalty AU being demolished in the brackets last week:

Thank you my dear, dear, Chi! I'm so glad you're around to celebrate all this chaos with me! You don't know how much I appreciate our friendship bursting onto the scene. 💚

That shirt is hilarious!

I literally don't know what it is, but royal has just always always always been one of MY THINGS, from watching Disney's Sleeping Beauty as a kid (my first obsession - as a literal toddler), to The Princess Diaries (I watched the movies and read the first few books), to The Crown, and devouring nearly every Royal AU fanfic I come across (whether it's soft like @navybrat817's modern royal AU or @targaryenvampireslayer's dark series) and being maybe the biggest fluffy fangirl over my own royal Steve collection. And it will probably come as NO SHOCK for anyone to hear that there's a Bucky modern AU plot bunny kicking around up in Aspen's attic that someday will probably be trotted out.

You didn't specifically ask for a truth by bringing up Salt, but... FORGIVE ME IMMA GO THERE ANYWAY!

So I was pretty excited to write salt when it happened. I'd read a ton of mob/mafia, I'd written King which had Steve as a mob boss but it's like...such a background detail/hardly relevant to the story/just only really something that was important to me... and then I have a big chaptered fic with a Mafia Bucky that I started working on last summer, but... I was excited to finally do a mob/mafia story when it was announced for @the-slumberparty's March theme.

I was itching a little bit to do a series, and I wanted to have a straight up tougher Bucky, but I also wanted a very spirited reader, and I knew exactly what would go down for salt, but I had a pretty clear idea for their entire trajectory. Then I happened to have Burnt with Bradley Cooper come up on my Netflix suggestions, and I thought, "Oh, perfect, let's watch for some research," and I'm so glad I did watch it because I didn't want exactly that tone, but I was initially considering a more happy go lucky kitchen in the restaurant, but Burnt helped me with shifting that to give me the grittier edge. Some elements of Burnt, some elements of Hulu's The Bear.

I just wrote it because I wanted to, but it's also then become far and away my story with the most notes. Which just ... it's not that the number of notes matters, it's just cool to see that I put it out there and a bunch of people basically said HELL YEAH, WE LIKE THIS!

My intentions are to get the three follow up parts out by the end of summer. And I'm stoked.

Link to the List of Sleepover Games

#aspen's anniversary sleepover #sleepover truth #devour au #chi/vonalyn

[nebulousfishgills]

Returning the favor for the writing asks! (And you're right, there's SO MANY good ones!)

1, 3, 11, 13, 17, 20, 35, 54, 55, and 74 please!

I see ten numbers so we're just gonna assume this should in theory be split into ten asks but it's gonna be one doctorate thesis length post so be warned as usual and here we go!

1) Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chapter fics?

See already I have a cop out answer ready because I like doing both! A good portion of my multi chaptered fics started out as one shots, actually. A Song of Stars and Magic started as an alternative look at how The Avengers could have ended that spun way way way too out of control. 29 chapters and two plus years of nitpicking and adding and writing later...

As we know Diplopia started as a one shot before it, too, spun out of control and got six seasons and a movie. The Weirdo From Saint Valentina's is gonna get an additional three chapters and that started as a one shot (I'm very excited to show people what I have planned for that can of worms).

But, you know, Facade was always a longfic. I never finished it but I at least stopped at a decent enough stopping point. One could believe that's how I chose to end it if a) I didn't outright say I never finished it and b) it's not actually marked as incomplete on AO3. Time Variance Detected was a long fic by design because of the episodic chapters. One episode of the series was one chapter and that trend will continue with it's eventual sequel.

His Tenebris Moenibus was always a longfic. It's gonna have a sequel once season 5 comes out. It's kind of exciting but a little nervewracking that part of the anticipation that comes with Stranger Things' finale is also me being able to find out how Emily's story is going to end. I'm on the same page as my readers as of now. None of us knows how that will go and it's exciting and... oh good god it's also fucking terrifying.

But I love writing my small, stand alone one shots. Little nuggets of story. Ways to explore alternative ideas and plot bunnies that are too big for a simple idea but (in some cases, at least) are too small for a full, dedicated fic.

So... they kind of go hand in hand, really. I love the planning and complexity a longfic requires, but I love the bite sized freedom one-shots give. But one shots with me sometimes turn into longfics. So... one shots, I suppose, if you put a gun to my head and made me choose.

3) Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

It varies from project to project. Nine times out of ten, though, it starts out as one of my elaborate daydreams. I have to mentally plan everything at the very least before I write even if I don't write down those plans or outlines all the time. The ideas come in bursts, sometimes with listening to music, sometimes when watching a piece of media, sometimes with the Holy Grail of idea generation: the shower.

Most of any kind of "creative process" with my fics happens mentally. Sometimes I just get so many ideas for a fic that I have to make a bullet pointed plan or an outline. I have a server on discord that just has me in it where I send things to myself or write notes. It's just an alternative for a notes app, really. I have pages of ideas and outlines there. I remember doing this for Necrosis specifically when that last large piece of the narrative puzzle just came to me and then I got so excited I wrote out an outline I still continue to follow.

I wouldn't really go as far to say I'm a planner, though. Most of my fics are more spur of the moment.

Sometimes I have to research as well. I have wikis bookmarked on my laptop in a folder called "The Sacred Texts." The most notable time this happened was with Diplopia and I wanted to better understand these characters before I wrote about them... and now I know too much, go figure.

Ultimately it's kind of chaotic is what it boils down to. I get an idea, sometimes I plan it, sometimes I research it, and then I just kinda... let my brain do what she do.

11) Link your three favorite fics right now

In no particular order:

Necrosis

His Tenebris Moenibus

Instinct (largely because it's my highest kudo'd fic, an unexpected cult classic)

13) What's a common writing tip you almost always follow?

Okay, so I don't know if this is exactly a common tip, but it is THE end all be all writing advice I've ever gotten. A few years ago I watched a virtual book discussion for one of my favorite authors, Christopher Paolini since he had just released a new book ("To Sleep in A Sea of Stars").

Side note he had actually given us a sneak peek of the book a couple years before that when I went to an in person book signing of his when he released a coloring book for his Eragon series that I still have, actually, it's very cool.

Anyways, one piece of advice he gave was to plan out exactly what you want to write in your head throughout the day. So, you know, come up with dialogue scenes when you're eating lunch or how to start your story/chapter's opening paragraphs in the car etc. And then once it's "writing time" you don't have to waste "writing time" coming up with ideas right then, you just need to transcribe your thoughts from the day and then work from there.

I do it for every single piece of writing I put out, even in micro ways. Sometimes I get impulsive and post one shots I wrote in like, two hours, but the hour or so before that, I was laying in bed with music going, eyes closed just organizing and basically writing in my head. It helps me weed through my thoughts prior and saves me a lot of time in the long run.

Also because I fixate on my fics, I'm constantly thinking about them anyways so this advice is just how my brain operates anyways.

17) What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (Maybe a lack of inspiration or writer's block)

This happens pretty frequently. It's more like I have the motivation to write but I can't physically bring myself to actually type it out. Typically what I do is I just let it happen. If I'm de-motivated I won't be writing at my best and the product won't be at the level I would want it to be at. The dialogue and scene pacing would get clunky and then it just feels stiff. I'll eventually get my motivation back.

But in the meantime I'm doing more planning (daydreaming), I'm looking at pinterest for ideas, I have music going, whatever I need to help me not only get my motivation/will to write back, but with more ideas and inspiration than I had in the first place. More often than not I just need to find that one perfect idea that hypes me up enough to finish the chapter/one shot/what have you.

It was a huge help with Necrosis in particular since some of the filler chapters I trudged to get through, but I was motivated by the chapters that set up that big twist at the end or even those chapters themselves. That's another idea, I sometimes write the scenes I'm excited for ahead of time because I'd rather take advantage of that motivation rather than let it die and then leave more work in the future. I had those three particular chapters of Necrosis all completely done, and that's three whole chapters of work I was done with.

Basically, to sum up: Accept the fact that there will be times you want to write but can't. Find the time in between to come up with more ideas. Then, if you get motivation but for something other than that next chapter you need to write, just write that something else. Means less work in the future and it leaves room to experiment.

20) Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/Expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Well, corruption arcs, obviously. I'm a sucker for redemption arcs, of course, but there's something so cathartic about having a character arc involve going batshit rather than having a come to Jesus moment. But at the same time, usually my corruption arcs happen because of outside forces.

I like to take an optimistic approach to life, that nobody's born evil, it's their choices and environments that can fuck everything up. My characters never start out as evil, but typically the longer they have negative influences, the more it may seem like it. Like the juxtaposition between Olivia's downfall in SoSaM and Emily's spiral downwards.

We know something went wrong to cause Olivia to do horrible things, and it wasn't her fault. So there's a bit of space to sympathize with her because likely her real self is trapped inside of her mind, screaming to be let out and appalled at what she's done. She's naturally a good person with a tricksy streak, not a genocidal maniac. Emily seems more like a bad egg from birth, but that's because her life was set on a downward slope the minute she was popped out and given up. Then it's just nonstop abuse, tragically. St. Valentina's was a horrid place to live, two years on the streets, twenty years in Hawkins Lab... the Upside Down is arguably her best place of residence and you've seen how hazardous and desolate it is. I guarentee you'd lose your mind, too. And this isn't even mentioning my Mind Flayer theory.

I take the optimistic approach to a very pessimistic trope, but the secret is that I usually find the exterior corruption along the way. At first, the characters usually start by fucking shit up for no reason because I want to throw my action figures together and explore the consequences of poor actions before I feel bad and then decide to find the proverbial "Palpatine" in the Anakin to Vader fall from grace.

Of course, smaller things could be my blue rose motifs, my frequent uses of meta humor/references, and how sometimes you can tell I just remembered a cool word and use it three times each paragraph. Also just the Villain's Favorite Person trope, which with me goes hand in hand with the Corruption Arc. It's demented but there's an inherrent appeal in loving someone so much you'd do anything for them. Someone who's done horrible things being gentle only with the one they love. That sort of shit.

I'm sure there are others I'm forgetting.

35) What's one essential thing to remember when writing a villain?

Motivations and how they're not always one-dimensional. All the best villains are ones we can understand, sympathize with because we understand their motives. Sometimes yeah, it's fun to just watch a bad guy fuck shit up for the sake of fucking shit up, but Malekith-type villains are rarely all that memorable (in fact I bet I'm one of maybe six people who remembered his name was Malekith).

I like it when my villains are a little bit sad, wet, and pathetic, or I can mold them to be like that. Look at the characters I ship my OCs with, look at all their drama, their family angst, their abusive pasts, among other things. Even the villains I don't ship my characters with who I use as actual villains, I make sure to analyze their motivations and reasonings.

You have your Thanos types who are trying to do a good thing for the way wrong reasons. Like, my guy, just double the resources. I know some Thanos truthers exist, but I just can't quite see it.

See it hurts knowing Henry would probably agree with Thanos to some degree. I'm a hypocrite for disagreeing with Thanos and being like "yes king go off, fuck humanity" when Henry monologues.

Or, how about delving into something I've only recently been able to discuss because of spoiler reasons, arguably the most complex thing Stephenie Meyer ever came up with that's rarely mentioned and she didn't do anything with: the situation with Didyme. This is what Stephenie Meyer's website mentions about the event, our most thorough analysis on it:

"Once upon a time, a fairly young vampire (he had only been a vampire for a decade and a half) named Aro changed his young sister Didyme, who had just reached adulthood, in order to add her to his growing coven. Aro always wanted power, and because he himself had a potent mind-reading gift, he hoped his biological sister would also be gifted in a way that would help him rise in the vampire world. It turned out that Didyme did have a gift; she carried with her an aura of happiness that affected everyone who came near her. Though it wasn't exactly what he had hoped for, Aro pondered the best ways he could use this gift. Meanwhile, Aro's most trusted partner, Marcus, fell in love with Didyme. This was not unusual; given the way she made people feel, lots of people fell in love with Didyme. The difference was that this time, Didyme fell in love herself. The two of them were tremendously happy. So happy, in fact that, after a while, they no longer cared that much about Aro's plans for domination. After a few centuries, Didyme and Marcus discussed going their own way. Of course, Aro was well aware of their intentions. He was not happy about it, but he pretended to give his blessing. Then he waited for an opportunity to act, and when he knew he would never be found out, he murdered his sister. After all, Marcus's gift was much more useful to him than hers had been. This is not to say that Aro did not truly love his sister; it's just that a key part of his personality is the ability to destroy even what he loves in order to further his ambitions. Marcus never found out that Aro was responsible for Didyme's death. He became an empty man. Aro used Chelsea's gift to keep Marcus loyal to the Volturi, though not even Chelsea's gift could make Marcus show any enthusiasm for it."

That's surprisingly a lot of information and it really shows how much thought she has the capacity to put into these characters, yet refuses to, but I digress. All I did was take the Machivellian motivation mixed with the genuine love Aro had for his sister and just expanded upon that. Alas, actions do have consequences, and Emily's a little shit so go figure.

The point is, villains need to have good motives to make them stick.

54) What's your favorite part of the fanfiction writing process?

That moment when everything, every disparate piece and idea just clicks together and the plot finally comes forward. Usually I start with an idea and find the plot along the way. I think my most classic case would have to be Necrosis. I started with just "Diplopia Sequel" and then ended with:

And it was cathartic as hell

55) Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite?

Oh, god, that's hard, cause I don't typically write for characters I *dislike* writing for. And then that question changes depending on if you mean OCs or canon characters.

I suppose my favorite OC has been Emily since it's been a blast seeing what wacky shit I can do with her. Olivia's gonna be making a comeback soon, though, since Loki s2 is DAYS AWAY AAAAAA- But I missed working with her, it's been a HOT minute.

Favorite Canon is a broader arguement since there's so many fandoms and characters I've written for. Obviously the characters I ship with my OCs I enjoy because I have to be able to see them in a certain way to write them that makes me like them. It has be a joy expanding upon the Volturi though, I'm very proud of what I've come up with. Loki, Sylvie, and Mobius have also been fun and I'm very excited to mess with them again. Eddie was fun to pit against Emily and in particular I remember really enjoying writing the parent/child dynamics between Harry and Keira.

Take your pick I suppose.

74) You've posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you'd written it?

Well, obviously look for my trademarks, playing with morals, blue roses, meta asides. And nine times out of ten if it's a Canon x OC fic, there's a high chance it's a brain child of mine.

But let's very hypothetically say I was to post the one shots I hope to write about Caius and Athenodora's backstories anonymously. Since these characters are so open to interpretation you could probably pick out unique things specific to me about them. Thena has a penchant for swearing and will Cut A Bitch, Caius is a massive wife guy and is extremely horny...

You know come to think of it, these are pretty universally agreed upon ideas... except perhaps Thena's swearing habit, I will stand by the fact that she drops f-bombs like nobody's business.

But aside from all that, I think there's a certain diction and voice my writing has that one could probably pick up on overtime. I'd say assume if you think I wrote it, I probably did.

***

Oh my god I got this ask even before fucking July 5th/Doomsday and I'm just now finishing it I'm so sorry.

#i didn't mean to take so long but shit happens and brain no wanna brain #anyways here are your essays #fishgills speaks #fishgills ocs #fishgills writing #stranger things oc #twilight oc #avengers oc #spider man oc #beloved mutuals #writing asks #oc asks #ask game #my inbox is open

[suckmybussy]

okay i got interesting take

in my opinion, like 90% of straight romances/ships are FUCKING BORING, and usually try to spice it up, by adding more girls, this opinion i hold so dear, that i was on verge from.trying to strangle my friend, for saying <insert harem name> was really good romance.

But why could that be so? because lots of straight romances just follows base line of, "cute/shy" or whatever girl, and more dominant than her guy with interests like "i literally just exist in this series with no other purpose than wanting gf", and follow most basic set gender standards, and most basic made up relationship dysmorphia where girl is clearly bottom, and guy is the top/he "leads" the relationship, you get what i mean? 100% not, it wont stop me tho.

While yuri/yaoi ships always derive from most boring version of relationship that church people gaslit us into thinking is only valid way, by sheer fact that either both character fill same role or one of them has to not follow the most basic made up gender rules, like bottom.guy, or maybe huge girl who searches for little bunny girl etc. Like, just taking most basic romance plot ever, and genderbending one of characters by itself changes whole vibe so much!

But ofc, not all straight romances are bad, that would imply any romance is bad (i mean, there are few bad romances, like wanting to date children, but for sake of this ride of a post, we are talking about 2 consenting people of either similar age for teenagers, or just 2 consenting adults ok?), but the only good straight romances i saw, were the ones that just didnt really gave much fuck about being the most generic romance plot, and doing that would make any romance good (m/m, m/f, f/f etc), one of my favourite examples, would be violet evergarden! yeah, it does for the most part follow the rules of strong protective man, and small fragile girl (except for the fact that violet absolutelly kicks ass), but series itself isnt about 2 charcaters dating, Its about violet learning what love is, and not just romantic one, she learns about sibling love, parent/child love, love for world, love for work and many more! What makes it good is not us seeing them dating, its how we togehder with Violet slowly learn more about love, slowly growing attached to him, this love story is very beautifull, because its not focusing on that part.

(at this point i had hard time finding more proof of good hetero romances, so i had to dig throught list if stuff i watched etc) Also, one of my fave mangas of all time, was domestic na kanojo, where the romance being interesting, was enforced by, lemme check my notes, 2 sisters competing for their step brother, where 1 is his teacher and other is girl he lost virginity with. You can see im streching my arguments at this point huh. Whatever, in this series, what makes it actually interesting love story and not easy porn material, is all the hardships charcaters go throught, and questions it gives! Natsuo wanting hina, but knowing its just some stupid kids love, constantly hurting rui as resoult of his inner conflict about hina, wanting to get close with rui, and suddenly cutting it off because he is just a kid who is scared, of what might be, as i used to be kid, i very much know the feeling od wanting to do something, but being scared to commit, constantly swinging between wanting it, and being afraid, only hurting other in process.

okay this one is quite boring romance, but in interesting way so as per last argument, lets talk about "Rascal does not dream about bunny girl senpai" where mc gets the girl after like 2 episodes, and then we just see them, chill like cute couple, or get a bit jealous, its not much, but i find it interesting to see quite realistic (from standpoint of someone who's longest relationship lasted 2 months, including 1 month breakup), but she anime isnt about it, so seeing them being nice, realistiy behaving couple is nice addition

In conclusion, straight romances fucking suck and dont recomend them to me without 3 pages explanation why it doesnt suck, harems get instant no-no tho