#my favorite thing that I’ve ever written

[tinypandacakes]

So I took this last week to really clean up my outline of Trapper, Keeper. It has…expanded a bit. It’s looking like it will be closer to 28 or 30 chapters than the original 22 in order to properly capture everything.

This entire story was crafted around like 2 scenes I wanted to write, but has become so much bigger. It’s turned into less of a porn with plot idea and into plot with porn…(there will still be escalating and gratuitous smut because I am weak for this man and want to write it :] )

💕 it’s my favorite thing I’ve written, and this is the most fun I’ve ever had working on a fic. I am blown away by all the support I’ve received. thank you 💕

#trapper keeper

[devnmon]

Reason on the Common Tongue (of you lovin' me)

Dutch Van Der Linde x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve taken another man in camp out for drinks while Dutch was busy and unwilling to take the night off. Who’s to say he’s forgotten where you’d gone by the time you return?

warnings: oral (f&m receiving, sir kink, noncon(?), rough!dutch, dom/sub roles, unprotected piv, orgasm denial, cumming inside (not recommended for irl experiences), sweet aftercare <3

a/n: anyone else insane about dutch van der linde? just me???? anyways just wanted to say this is filthy and also one of my favorite things i’ve written. i say that everytime i write something new but i truly love this fic. [who would have known this was going to be my first fic for rdr2.] also huge shoutout & credit to my moot jay @bandittlikemee for everything she’s done to help me write this fic. youre truly a genius bestie! also this is set in the clemen's point camp!

Dutch Van Der Linde was a busy man. So much so that he didn’t have time to get up to ludicrous activities such as drinking the night away in the Rhodes saloon. It was another sweltering night in Clemen’s Point; nothing exciting had happened for a few days on account of lying low to skip out on any facetime with the Pinkertons. Since you’d been itching to get out of camp, and your ever-so-important leader wouldn’t spend a singular night with his partner drinking and dancing, you offered the trip up to a familiar gunslinger instead. 

With a wave towards his tent, the two of you were off to the local saloon on the back of Arthur’s horse. It was long after dark before the two of you returned; you had been more indulgent than your companion, practically making Arthur carry you out to his horse before you got too inebriated on the drink. Being swept off your feet like Arthur had done felt like flying, especially when he sped up his horse on the ride back to camp. 

“Whoo! That was one fun night, Mister Morgan. Even if you didn’t let me out on the dance floor.” 

“Don’t you dare get sick on this horse b’fore we get back to camp.” 

“I ain’t drunk!” you called out. 

“Yeah, and I ain’t a gunslinger.” Arthur joked. 

You both boasted with laughter and quips during the ride back into camp, fairly shortened by Arthur’s ability to ride a horse, and soon enough you were entering the clearing. 

Dutch, spending his night nursing a cigar, perked up once he heard your familiar laughter in his ears. He knew the minute you’d left camp with Arthur, it was a mistake. Were you to blame? Or was he? Surely you could’ve known all he was combatting at the moment; the leader of a powerful gang, the Van Der Linde’s, had more on his plate than you could even fathom. Moves, and countermoves, he’d say. All in good time, Dutch has a plan.

To find out you’d left camp with Arthur of all men, his son, whom he’d raised since just a boy– was he a fool to you? Did you underestimate all he was capable of? Did you think him a fool?

He’d show you, indeed he was not. 

Dutch took another deep inhale of his cigar, the tobacco filling his mind with a haze of your figure. Then he’d remembered who you’d been spending the time with. Another laugh escaped your lips, louder than usual, and his dark eyes found you sat on the back of Arthur’s horse, reaching toward the cowboy for assistance in getting down. He can’t help but glue his eyes to your waist, accompanied by Arthur’s hands for what seems to be a moment longer than he’d like. 

Sat in silence, he's almost as red as his vest when you approach the tent. 

“Hey, baby. Wish you came with us t’night. I almost punched a man for makin’ a crude comment toward me. You would’a loved to see it, the guy basically pissed himself when Arthur threatened ‘im.” You're slurring your words while babbling on incoherently; your balance is shoddy at best, and he doesn't even say anything until you mention his right-hand man. 

"Have fun drinking with Arthur, dear? Was he able to... satisfy you?"

"Mhm, Arthur was very kind to me tonight." To even suggest you'd be satisfied being in the company of anyone else but him makes Dutch furious. 

"Did he... rustle your feathers, dearest?" With the way he punctuated his words, you're a bit confused by what he means, since the drink's gone to your head.

"What'dya mean?" you ask, batting your eyelashes at him by chance he'd forget Arthur was by your side all night instead of him. Dare you poke the bear. 

"Did he–" he let out a breath of smoke, "Was he such good company that you'd forgotten about me? Your leader?" The grumble in his voice fans the flames in your chest; if you weren’t warm from the alcohol, you certainly were now. 

Your glazed eyes make out the vision of Dutch, his silhouette darkened by one lamp still lit. When he starts sauntering towards you, step by slow step, you know he's not amused by all this Arthur talk. 

"Mm, no, never." Your intoxication doesn't help you sound convincing, though sober you knows Dutch loves the reassurance. 

"Sounds like you're lying to me, my love." 

He flicks his cigar out of the tent and watches as you stumble to sit down in a chair facing him. Then your mind pulls you back to the events at the saloon– drinking with Arthur and watching him dance drunkenly to the piano– you're giggling at the image. But Dutch.. he's not finding this funny. 

"What’s laughable, right now, dear? "He asks, accentuating the h sound while tilting his head at you down with his dark eyes. 

"Jus'... Arthur was so fun to be with t'night. An’ I missed you... wish you'd come with us, handsome."

"Well I had to tend to more pressing matters, my darling. You'd only understand if you weren't so piss drunk right now. Maybe I ought to teach you a lesson about what company you should be keeping."

Dutch takes a seat on his cot, his right hand tapping the corresponding thigh. As if instinctual, you lunge yourself over to him and take your rightful seat. 

Dutch has always been intimidating, it was one of the reasons you've become enamored with him. But when he narrows his eyes and guides them down your face and figure, close up? you're blushing out of being perceived by such a man of power in this world. 

"What're you giggling about now?" he inquires, holding your head with his palm so you'll make eye contact. 

"You're jus' so handsome, Mister Van der Linde. My sweetest, the most dashing man I've met."

"You, my dear, are adorable,” he began, and with a click of his tongue, he continued, “But, I still don't believe you. How ‘bout you… make it up to me, hm?" 

At that point, you can already feel him hardening under you in his lap, and you clench around nothing. For the first time tonight, your voice shakes. 

“What.. would you have me do?” You swallow nervously, wavering your eyes from his for a moment; he ordered your gaze be brought back to his immediately with the clearing of his throat. As if to check you for disobedience. 

“On your knees… now.” Dutch’s voice lowered, his words putting a spell on you once spoken. Sliding down to your knees, your hands glided over his thighs for just a moment, letting the friction spike his legs with another level of desire to show you who you belong to. 

“Don’t tease me, darling… lest I have to remind you why you’re on your knees for me.” Dutch’s eyes darkened once you were firmly on your knees, tongue darting out to wet your lips. It was as if a Greek god asked you to bow down to him and solely him– Dutch’s physique and natural manliness only contributed to that image of him in your mind. 

Your hands reached for the button of his pants, pulling them down his muscular thighs to see his growing hardness underneath the cloth. For a minute, your palm brushed against his girth, earning a grumble from the man above you. It wasn’t lost on him the way you were acting, all innocent like you weren’t aware of the way you were making him burn for your touch. 

Once your hands had them down far enough, the dark tuft of hair from his mound came into the light, which opened your eyes wide upon pulling it all the way off. Dutch’s length sprung upwards and caught your eye, especially frustrated and swollen, much like his growing displeasure with your actions. Freed from the confines of his pants and undergarments, his cock stood tall, lying well past his navel against that black vest of his. 

As your grip surrounds his base, Dutch clears his throat once more whilst observing every move you made. Your thumb runs along the prominent vein sticking out and moving your hand up his length. He’s certain you aren’t aware just how vexed you had gotten him. 

“Get to it.” he spat, enunciating every part of his words with that sharp wit and tongue. Without another second to spare, you licked the pearling precum resting on his tip, before enveloping it with your lips. Luckily for you, he filled your mouth quite nicely, his fingers running through your hair to grip tightly at the back of your head. Tongue running down the underside as you began to ravish him with your lips, he took the advantage to push you down a couple inches more. 

With his tip almost nudging the back of your throat, you push down another inch or so and bobbing up and down on him to your heart’s content. The alcohol-buzzed vision of him, burning brighter with each inch you took further past your lips. Dutch rolled his shoulders and neck out in a slow motion, locking those gluttonous eyes of his back onto you with a smirk. 

You came up for air with a pop of your lips, his erection shining under the warm light from your saliva. 

“So big…” you whispered, stroking him with your hand and going back down for another taste. This time, Dutch was not simply fooling around; his hand forced you down rougher this time, the back of your throat welcoming him once again. It was ravishing to be put under the control of a man such as Dutch; the power he held over you was maddening and traveled to your head every so often. With the tip kissing the back of your throat after each shove down his length, your eyes begin to well up. 

“Takin’ me so deep, love, you’ve got tears in your eyes. Now I have truly seen it all.” Releasing his hard grip for a moment, you come off his cock and wipe them away like they aren’t anything special. 

“I’d do much more for you, sir.” You choke out, lips swollen from just his cock, and you press a kiss to his tip before sticking out your tongue and swallowing him whole again. The hand that was once gripping your hair was cupping your cheek, the other had undone two of his vest buttons, leaving his broad torso on display in just that white and blue striped shirt. 

This time Dutch chuckles in that deep gravel of his, surging your heat with a plethora of warmth. His chest broadens with every exhale of fervent breath, the slow burn of dissatisfaction eating him up inside. Beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead, the knot in his groin tugging at him ever so slightly. 

You let his length fill your throat wantonly, pushing yourself down enough to take every inch. Your nose became buried in the dark patch of curls he’d kept tidy, clearing his throat once more while relishing in the warmth of your tongue against him. 

“You’re gonna taste me for days, sweetheart. Gonna – fuck – gonna remind you who you belong to. Make it so you don’t forget this time.” Dutch’s right hand combed through your hair, controlling your mouth’s movements down his shaft, saliva messily covering his skin. A particular thrust of your head in his grip pushes your nose into his curls, making you gag around him. It’s not much to remind him why you were his, the raw class he omitted an infectious disease; it just so happened to be you found under his spell. 

Repeatedly, your head moved up and down his cock, Dutch gripping your hair and taking what he deserved. After all, you did take another man out to drink. How dare you not bask in the appreciation of his company otherwise? Dutch had no discretion– no temper to waste on explaining himself to you. You should have known he’d get mad. 

On spur of the moment, his controlling movements halted and your tongue swirled around his tip. A feral growl erupted from his chest, painting your cheeks pink before releasing him to catch your breath. 

“Mmmph, Dutch…” comes out as a whine, shifting the weight you’d been sitting on. 

“What now, dearest? I don’t think you deserve to complain after what you’ve done.” His words manifest a wave of arousal scorching your skin and mind– Dutch was torturous in that regard. When he clicked his tongue, you knew there was only a matter of time until he truly took control. This was only the beginning of a very long night. 

Dutch had a way of changing the temperature of a room with one fell swoop. To you, it was a life altering experience being under his discipline, especially in this setting. 

Another whine escaped you, words eventually choked out, “I’m sorry, Dutch…” 

He solely chuckled, sitting up and raising your chin with his index finger. 

“That’s funny, my dear. You didn’t seem sorry when you stormed off and took Mister Morgan as company.” He sneered, the permanent smirk on his face, becoming bigger by the second. You clung to his words like water coating a piece of cloth, soaking up every syllable for a smidge of satisfaction. 

“Please, I’m so…” you trailed off, your thoughts whisked away when you heard him chuckling. 

“You’re sorry?” 

Nodding almost instantaneously, he clicked his tongue. 

“Fine. As much as I’d love to fill that sweet mouth of yours all night long, I’m itching for a taste of your perfect cunt. Come here.” 

Two fingers motioned you towards him, tongue sticking out to wet his lips, while inclining his head at the vision of you still kneeling for him. Dutch didn’t miss the slightly pained sound as you relieved the weight on your knees, knowing they’d most likely be bruised tomorrow. He took incredible amounts of pride seeing himself in the bruises, teeth marks, and spend he left behind on your saccharine skin. 

Your swollen lips wet from your tongue, sensitive thanks to the friction against his length moments ago. Still shy of that dark gaze when he too stood, a forefinger and thumb brought you right back to him. 

“I need you to know…” he spoke breathlessly, crushing your lips to his in one motion. Dazed by his sudden affection and the thick tension in the room, you drowned in his taste.

Unbound by any other attachments, your soul was his. 

Dutch’s lips pressed against yours were fervent and skillful, a new taste of himself on you. By the third peck, Dutch had forced his tongue into your mouth, venom coating your mouth. Intoxicating. 

His right hand finds your waist, pulse hammering in your chest as that broad figure of his flooded your visual field up close. 

 “... that your actions have consequences.” His grip tightened around your jaw, tobacco on his breath as he spoke. 

“Just because I don’t wish to accompany you to the town saloon for a drink does not mean you’re permitted to take the next desperate fella in company who’d so easily strike you from my arms.” That slight growl in his voice paired with the liquor in your system triggered the heat at the apex of your thighs to burn hotter. 

“Arthur ain’t like that–” you slurred, getting cut off by a hiccup; a clear sign you were still not understanding how gravely Dutch was taking your little excursion out of camp. His voice was nothing but otherworldly, smooth and rich with charisma and magnetism. No surprise you obeyed his every word without question. 

“I don’t remember asking for excuses,” he spat, smirking, “Let’s get you out of this dress..” 

Those calloused yet talented hands of your leader find the back zipper quite easily, wasting no time by pulling it down your shoulders roughly. The fabric was tight, but with the level of Dutch’s strength, you wouldn’t put it past him to create a few rips. His movements were followed accordingly, still ravaged with the current indignation he held upon you. 

Once you met his eye, seeming to shrink a bit more when looking up to him, that foreboding glare into you was similar to putting a flame near a stick of dynamite. There was no telling when he (or you) would explode. That dashing face of his created another spark inside you, one bold enough to pull his lips to yours once again. A hand grasped the back of your neck tenderly, the first soft action Dutch made upon your skin. 

Don’t fall into his touch… you tell yourself. But the drink was too strong, and his venom made its way into your bloodstream. There was no turning back. 

Aphotic, tantalizing eyes studied you, the only way you could sense his willingness to please after the fury that still embodied him. 

“Satiate me...” he beckoned, walking you backwards to his cot where your knees met the side. Adhering to his plea, your back found the fabric and sighed amongst the sight of him above you. His hands never left your body, sliding down your back to the side of your leg, then moving to your inner thigh with the slightest touch before gripping it with his broad palm. 

Suddenly the thin chemise was much too hot against your skin. 

“Dutch, please…” you begged once again. 

“Ah ah… that’s Mister Van Der Linde to you, my sweetness. You’ll receive the right to say my name when you’ve earned it.” His voice was like honey, eager fingers tugging at the white cloth. Dutch didn’t need permission, he gladly took what he believed to be his, no matter the cost. You swallowed thickly at the cool air prickling your skin with the tensity and vigor the man before you withheld. 

“Yes, sir, Mister Van Der Linde…” you professed, breathlessly. 

Dutch’s cock twitched upon the sir that fell from your lips. He chuckled, tightening his grip on your undergarment and dragging it down your skin. Your chest was exposed to him first, keen skin still layered with sweat and goosebumps while your nipples hardened against the nighttime air. You were just as he expected, breathing heavily and quivering under the first touch of his fingertips. Impatient, the garment was dragged down your legs by the older man and discarded on the floor. 

Dutch’s hands parted your quivering thighs, calloused palms from years of using a gun gripping around you firmly. You could practically feel the flame of his gaze make its way up to the tuft of hair making an appearance from between your legs. He slid both palms up your legs, parting them accordingly so that your slick caught the light. Focused on his face, you notice his walnut eyes catch yours, immediately heating your cheeks. 

It was meant to be; Dutch was your siren, luring you in with each word he manifested, every spill of his cherry wine words onto a white tablecloth. His mouth neared the thick curls protecting your supple skin from harm, a similar style in which Dutch protected his people. 

“Such a divine sight laid out for me like this. I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to, have you come back to me.” The baritone and rumble in his voice was like nothing you’d ever heard before. He was quite honestly a man starved, no matter how angered he was at what you’d done. 

Before you knew it, Dutch’s nose was poking your clit the slightest bit, meanwhile he’d pressed his tongue through your folds and covered himself in your taste. You gasped, your breath coming in ragged bursts as everything you’ve ever felt for Dutch comes flooding back in the blink of an eye. Each stroke of his tongue was another day you’d spent by his side, loyal to no other. 

Your leader, your lover, your siren. 

Nothing else filled your senses, except for Dutch Van Der Linde. 

Those dark brown eyes were lidded against the lack of light, his tongue skillfully drinking in your sweet nectar as if it was his last meal. You danced across his taste buds and he groaned, the vibration sending your hips rolling against his mouth out of impulse. Exhaling sharply and continuing to breathe shakily, the tip of Dutch’s tongue circled around your sensitive clit. 

“Fuck– sir… oh god,” He pressed a chaste kiss to your clit, breath hitching in anticipation. The flat of his tongue ran kitten licks up your folds, each movement sending a jolt coursing through you. Before you could protest, he ended another stripe up your cunt with a tantalizing drag against your sensitive bundle of nerves. It was particularly frustrating when he hummed against you once more. 

“Hope this is reminding you,” he swallowed, “of where your loyalties lie. To whatever man you can get your hands on? Or me, your leader? The sole individual responsible for keeping this entire group pieced together?” 

It was a no-brainer. 

“You– fuck… My loyalty lies with you, Mister Van der Linde. I promise… never to take another man in company… again.” You breathed, in disbelief at how composed he was; you were a downright panting mess, but a goddamned sight laid out like this for him. 

Upon your hips stuttering against his tongue, Dutch shifted closer to your core, hooking his large biceps around each of your thighs and gripped with his overpowering strength. The cool gold of his rings was a contrast to how hot your skin ran under his touch. That tongue of his circled around your clit repeatedly, until he pulled away to admire the mess he’d made of you in such short time. 

“Fuck– oh god…” your nails ran through his jet black hair to grip at the back of his head. Dutch’s mouth worshiped each part of you equally, sticking his tongue inside you every so often; it was driving you mad. 

Thinking himself clever, he pulled his right arm from gripping around your thigh. His rings ran across the vast expanse of your skin, trailing the chilled metal close to where you were most sensitive. 

His amber eyes glanced upward, past the natural curves of your breasts to your fully blissed out expression; your eyes were scrunched together, mouth hanging open with bated breath. The haze of intoxication still coursing through you sent ripples of pleasure surging up your spine. 

“I’ve decided to let you redeem yourself, my love. What would you say to that?” Dutch inquired, using that philosophical tone of voice he’s picked up from reading and quoting Evelyn Miller often. 

“I’d do… anything to have you. To please you, to bring you bliss, sir.” Your breath quivers at the point of offering yourself to him in a plea to finally satisfy you. 

“I’m not quite sure if you’re deserving of it– just yet, that is.” Maintaining eye contact with you, Dutch stood himself up to undo the buttons down his shirt and let it lay open under his red-backed vest. 

“Been… been so good for you, sir. Please,” you implored him an inch further, watching his broad chest heave with deep breaths. His hand adorned with two thick gold rings heads straight for the belt buckle around his waist. 

“Have you understood, yet, my darling? How I must be torturous? For it is the only way you’ll learn never to disobey, betray, leave me?” Dutch’s prophetic stance above you was truly enticing, the vibrato of his words coaxing another whimper from you. 

“I’ve… understood, sir,” you eyed the belt coming undone within his skilled fingers and exhaled in relief. 

“You’re going to have to do better than that to convince me. Speak, girl.” The astounding heat, not only flowing through your veins like hot magma, but also flooding your head and hazing your mind with him. Interested in what you had to say, he waited for your response and discarded his belt. 

“Sir, I’m a fool… a fool thinking anyone else could satisfy me in the ways you do.” your voice quivered, breathing heavily and watching his hickory eyes study you. His black pants found themselves in a pile along with everything else he’d discarded from your body and his. “My leader, no one else can replace you, you’re the only man made to save people in the ways you did… even me. We’re– I’m so lucky to have you. And I’m– I apologize deeply for my actions, sir.” 

He’d be hard pressed to admit the praise wasn’t intoxicating him at this moment, a growl erupting from his chest among his length stood tall against his exposed torso. 

“Well, isn’t that nice. An admittance of your mistakes. Such a lovely difference from the snark I’d been given earlier. Hopefully you’ll learn your lesson.” He gripped the base of his cock and crawled above your supple figure on his cot, noticing your sharp inhale once he was fully perched above you. Dutch’s free hand parts your thighs, making room for his tip to slide through your folds, stopping below the little bundle of nerves that ached for any kind of stimulation. 

It was easy for him to pick up on your sharp, quickened breaths upon his close proximity, scrunching your eyes shut to avoid that beckoning gaze of his. 

“If this is going to work, my love, you must look. Observe how I split you open, how you take my cock, how I fuck you.” He snarled, pecking the side of your face with open-mouthed kisses. Your eyes fluttered open as if second nature, meeting his gaze while pushing himself completely inside of you. 

His length filled you to the hilt, every ridge and groove of him welcomed by your warmth. Dutch breathed a moment with you, smashing his lips against yours to swallow the whimpers you omitted. Your hands ran up his chest, dragging your fingers through the thick chest hair to Dutch’s broad shoulders. He shrugged off the shirt and vest upon your hands sneaking under the cloth, leaving him fully bare to you. 

The first drag of his cock against your insides manifested another filthy moan to secrete from your lips while he pushed back in. 

“Sir–” you gasped, his natural musk clouding your senses. Dutch thrusted into you deeper, kissing that special spot inside of you to send you seeing stars. Quick as light, his thrusts picked up pace, setting a steady rhythm with his hips. 

“Say my name.” Dutch’s voice in your ear echoed through your head like a mantra, the only thing bombarding your senses being him. 

“Oh god, Dutch–” you choked out, his name on your tongue only spurring him on more to push deeper. 

“Yes, that’s it, again.” he spoke between thrusts, clenching around him while pulling groans of his pleasure into the air. His cock has molded to your walls, relentlessly beating such a punishing pace. 

“Dutch… ah-!” His name in your throat like a jewel only spurred him on more, humming approvingly and latching onto your neck with the sweet sucking of his lips. There was absolutely no chance of Dutch letting you get off easy without any showable marks. He had an inkling all the men in camp would think twice before making any advancing remarks toward you– lest they forget who you belong to. 

A glance downward had you turning lightheaded– did he really always look that dashing? You’d become tantalized watching his girth disappear and reappear at least a dozen times before his fingers brought your gaze back to him. Each thrust of his hips was dizzying, picking up the familiar groans in your ear once again. 

In this moment, you were completely and utterly his, transcending into a place of physical surrender and letting the world fall away. A particularly rough thrust had you calling out for him again, his hand coming up to wrap around your throat. 

“Got myself such a good little whore, ain’t that right? One who knows her place is with me– your only leader.” You could scarcely manage a nod upon reveling in the touches he gave you. 

Dutch was maddening, luring a groan from him once he saw how far gone you were. It was immensely overstimulating the minute Dutch’s right ringed hand dragged up your torso to the pebbled nipples standing upright from stimulation. Goosebumps expelled across your skin as the knot in your stomach began to tighten, walls fluttering around his length aimlessly. He leaned down again to the side of your face, breathing heavily above you. Slowing to deliver deep and agonizing thrusts, Dutch only drew out your orgasm further, as if he read your state of overstimulation like an open book. His fingers twisting your nipples, those smacks of his hips against yours– your sheer bliss in the center of it all. 

Your hand fisted his dark waves at the nape of his neck, another grumble aligned with his thrusts. His pace wasn’t as merciful as you hoped it would be, the sting of his precise and rough thrusts pricking tears in your eyes the same as before. You were at such a heightened state that you weren’t able to control what left your mouth anymore. 

“Daddy… I-I’m gettin’ close..” you whimper, running your other hand up his bicep to grip desperately. He felt the pride well in his chest upon his skill to pleasure you like this while also making you cry. To see you in such desperate of situations fueled his ego like a bonfire. 

“Oh, are you, my love?” he began, snaking his hand down to your navel and pressing his hand against it. The tip of his cock poked just the slightest bit against his palm. “Feel how deep I am inside you, darling, and know that nobody could fill you the way I do.” 

Dutch’s deft fingers moved downward to rub at your clit, throbbing incessantly upon his first touch. The whimper you let out was like music to his ears, filthy and drenched in content of being pleasured by him. 

By the expression on his face– he’s impressed at how well you held back from letting yourself go. It’s Dutch’s realization then that you’d always known you were his to touch and please like this, more than any other before. Dutch Van Der Linde is the object of all your desires; continuing to orchestrate bliss under any means possible. 

Every ridge and vein of him massages you in such a euphoric way, and it’s not too hard for you to be sent over the edge. It’s as if every inch of you explodes in that moment, allowing each morsel of stimulation; his fingers twisting your nipples and on your clit, the sensation of him throbbing inside you, and the sound of his voice in your ears; come together to send you gasping and moaning over his cock once again. 

You can’t hear much else other than the wet slide of him inside you, walls slick as his once steady rhythm grows erratic, forcing his thrusts to become harder and harder. An ache like this would always have a way of satisfying you in more ways than most. Dutch’s groans became visceral as he thrust one more time into you until he too was sent keening over the edge. His hips stuttered, white ropes of seed coating your walls while riding out your high to the sounds of Dutch’s melody of sweet groans and praises. 

Both of you breathed heavily as the moment passed, your grip on one another grounding you back to Earth. 

“Now, say ‘thank you, daddy’.” he snarled in your ear, keeping himself sheathed inside you while moving his hips the slightest bit. 

“Thank you, daddy..” You swallowed, breathless upon his capability to have just come down from his high and keep that cocky attitude. 

“Well, what are you thanking me for, doll? Be specific.” Dutch cupped your cheek, his thumb running along your skin lightly. 

“For… reminding me who I belong to. You.” Your lips crashed against his once again, the passion and heat of the moment still rung in the air. 

“That’s right, my darling.” He pulled out of you, lying beside you with a smug grin on his face. The two of you laid in the warmth your body heat offered, catching your breath. Cool air continued to seep into the tent, a drastic difference than the heat you two shared. Dutch was the first one to break the silence, your alcohol dazed mind still fluttering from such intense contact. 

“Oh, my darling, are you alright? You were ravishing tonight.” You glanced over, his forehead glowing with sweat in the warm lantern light. 

“Yeah, I’m good, baby. After all that, ’m glowin’. You sure know how to make a woman stay loyal.” you smirked at him, struck by his handsome face in the light. 

“I’m sure,” he chuckled, “Hope I wasn’t too hard on your precious body, my love. The last thing I would want is to injure you or push a boundary I should not have. Tell me.. dearest.” Dutch sat up, grabbing your hand with one of his, caressing your wrist with his thumb. His hair was disheveled in the most perfect way, afterglow still apparent on his cheeks. 

Warmly, you beamed at him, “Of course you weren’t, not if I made you mad in the first place. Not at all…” 

Your words brought a smile out in him, and you caught it just before he pulled you in closer to an embrace. That skin on skin contact fueled every desire for him you had since meeting him. When he noticed and made you his– that was the real luck of the draw. So many women chased after Dutch Van Der Linde as a dream, something to grasp onto as an escape from their lives. But for you, it was all so very real. 

“You are mine, my love. Don’t ever forget it again.” Dutch’s voice tickled your ears once more, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before grabbing a nearby blanket to cover your body from the chill of night. 

“How could I, my leader? No one could possibly compare to the man before me. I love you.” You sweetly spoke to him, one of your palms lying against his chest lovingly. 

“I love you too, my sweetness. I’m so overjoyed to hear you’re loyal to the right man.” He chuckled, pressing another kiss to your cheek and letting his forearm wrap around your waist. 

“That I am.” you replied, laying your head on his chest with content, sleep overcoming you from the exhaustion and haze your body had been through with the night’s events. Warm and safe in his arms, your heart was Dutch Van Der Linde’s.

#signed rye #ryesff #devnmonwrites #devnmon writes #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde smut #dutch van der linde #dutch rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #dividers by benkeibear #dividers by peachesboard #dividers by rookthornesartistry

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi! So, I've only ever written short 1—3k one-shots and it's part if my new year's resolution to finally write a longfic. I already have an idea of what I want to write, a complete rewrite of one of my favorite shows' horrible seasons, but I have no idea hoe to outline a big story or what to do! Please help a gal out?

Fan-Fiction: Embarking on a Longfic

Start with a brainstorm... if you haven't already, sit down and do a big ol' brain dump about what happened in the horrible season and what you'd do differently. List every single thing you would change and how you would change it. Think about how each change will ripple through the story and affect other things.

Make some decisions... re-writing a bad season can mean everything from sticking with the original season arc but making changes here and there, or creating a whole new story arc. You might even decide to cover some episodes but not others. Look back at your brain dump and figure out what you're going to do the same and what you're going to do different.

Create an outline... there are all different ways to outline, but one of the simplest ways is a beginning to end summary. For a TV show, you can think of each episode you want to keep (or the event in the episode) as a chapter, then summarize each "chapter" to create an exhaustive beginning to end summary. You may need to do a little planning and plotting as you go to fit things together if you stray from canon a bit. If you create a whole new season arc with all new events, you will need to do some old-fashioned plotting.

Additional plotting... once you have your beginning to end summary, you might want to flesh things out further by making a timeline combined with a scene list. This can help you layout when things need to happen, and then you can do a short summary of what needs to happen in each individual scene.

You can head over to my Plot & Story Structure master post for more help with plotting and outlining. Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

#wqaadvice

[valyrfia]

40 q's: 8!! c:

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Cheating, I'm going to share something from a WIP that's been languishing in my drafts for a long time. I'm proud of it for many reasons: managing to make the dialogue sound true to character, good prose around the dialogue that also furthers the themes of the WIP, and a shift in discussion topic that I think felt quite natural. Snippet below the cut.

“I don’t get it,” Max says–Charles doesn’t really know when she appeared in her room. She’s developed a habit of doing so over the past couple of races, almost like a particularly persistent poltergeist. “Why are you beating yourself up about this?”

“I’m in the middle of a contract war,” Charles says, exhaling. Her head tips back, hits the lacquered wooden headboard with a light thud. The ceiling is ornamental–swirls of white plaster around the light fixture. She wonders whether Max’s is prettier, it probably is–only the best for the world champion after all.

Max snorts, her hand skittering up Charles’s side and poking her in the ribs, her fingers are bony and lukewarm against Charles’s ribcage through her thin-worn sleep shirt. “And they would be stupid to sign Carlos over you.”

Charles looks to her right, Max is splayed out next to her lazy, insolent, lying on her side with one hand tangled in her short golden hair, propping up her head.

 “I think you’re forgetting that Carlos is a man.”

“So?” Max rebuts, quick and sure, “You’re the better driver.”

A derisive snort leaves Charles’ throat,  “When Seb left, I asked to be named Ferrari’s first driver. Mattia started laughing. He thought it was a joke.”

Max scoffs, her eyebrows furrowing inwards. “Fuck him–

“He’s right,” Charles interrupts, catching Max’s fingers from where it has stilled on her ribs. “A woman leading Ferrari?” Charles snorts and shakes her head, laying Max’s hand back down to where they belong, her side of the hotel sheets. “That’s not how things work, not with Ferrari. I have to respect the tradition, the narrative, the story.”

“Write your own,” Max says, stretching out and flopping onto her back. Her blonde bob falls around her face, the dark blue of her Red Bull t-shirt riding up, devastatingly chiaroscuro against the white sliver of her stomach. Charles can’t help her eyes slipping down, down before she reigns them back to meet Max’s own. Max smiles, a self-satisfied smirk. “It’s what I did, and I’ve won three world championships since.”

Charles thinks back, the murky times when she was stuck down in the lower formulas, and Max was struggling with a car and a teammate that resented her. How Max would bare her teeth and snarl at everyone who came near her, the Red Bull PR campaigns of that time–Max in little red and blue dresses almost too indecent to mention. 

She suddenly remembers a rumour that circulated around the paddock during that time, shifting to sit upright next to Max’s torso she asks, “Did you ever sleep with Daniel?”

Max is an open book, it’s one of the things Charles finds herself liking about her. Every single twitch and blink and breath is so easily readable. Which is why when Max’s eyes widen in surprise, but her mouth presses into a thin line, Charles knows the answer before Max even says it. 

“Once,” Max huffs.

Charles tilts her head slightly, “I thought you said you only liked women?”

Max shakes her head, laughing. “I of course do. But I was young and-” Max hesitates, her hand coming up behind Charles’s back, her fingers warm as she lightly traces a pattern around, into the dip of Charles’s waist. Charles bites back the urge to shiver. 

“I thought, I had never tried it with a man, and the speculation at that time was not too nice and I thought it would be easier, really, if I could with a man.”

“But you couldn’t?” Charles asks. 

Max laughs, “I’m not like you, Charles,” she says. “I’m not imagining that your first time was a work of art either. But when I tried it just didn’t work, and the next thing I knew I was crying.” Max’s smile is wide, like she’s recalling a funny story, not something that makes the pit of Charles’ stomach snarl in something that feels a little too close to protection. “My body knew before I did–it’s always been the way I think.”

#lestappen #anon #asks

[mostmagical]

was in desperate need of some serotonin today, so here's some quick post-reveal bed-sharing

Words: 1K+ Summary:

Marinette wakes up to a bump in the night. It’s her boyfriend (and not in the way you’d think).

Thump.

The sound tore Marinette from her sleep. She shot straight up in bed, frantically scanning the area for danger. With a start, she realized she wasn’t in her room. Memories were returning slowly as she recalled deciding with Adrien to spend the night at his for once, both too tired after the long day to trek the extra few blocks to hers.

She gasped— Adrien. Her hand patted down the area to her immediate left, seeking his warmth where she was used to finding it. A steady rhythm from her heart beat against her rib cage as she turned to see his side of the bed empty.

“Oof,” a soft sigh breathed from the floor.

Marinette was leaning over the edge in a flash, finding her boyfriend rubbing his eyes as he slowly sat up.

“Adrien!” she gasped. “What happened? What are you doing?”

His eyes flickered to hers, bright even in the dark, and he chuckled. “I think” —his hand moved to massage his side, low by his hip— “it was a well-timed kick to my side.”

Her heart dropped in her chest. “What?”

He laughed again, pulling himself back onto the bed and taking her into his arms. “What kind of dream were you having, Buginette?” he asked. “Must have been pretty intense.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she said, pushing against his chest so she could continue looking into his face. Mirth danced through his green eyes. “Are you implying that I kicked you out of the bed?” she asked disbelievingly. “Why are you so calm about it?”

“Oh. It’s not the first time.”

“What?”

Adrien shrugged. “Well, usually, when we’re at your place, I just kinda end up pushed against the wall? The loft has that nice built-in baby gate, lucky for me. This is the first time I’ve actually fallen out.”

Her jaw dropped open. This was mortifying information to receive in the middle of the night. “Adrien,” she said sternly, taking his shoulders in her hands and staring intensely into his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me I kick you every night?”

“It’s not every night,” he replied dismissively. She gave him a look. “Okay, it is most nights, but still! Not every night!”

“I don’t care how often it is!” She shook his shoulders, his body pliantly rocking back and forth with her movements. “Why wouldn’t you tell me so I can stop? I must be ruining your sleep!”

“I don’t mind.” He smiled, the picture of innocence. “I think it’s cute.”

Marinette wanted to growl, but she knew it wouldn’t be nearly as intimidating as she wanted it to with the red she could feel all over her face. She groaned, dragging her hands down her cheeks until the skin stretched. “What’s wrong with you?”

Again, Adrien gathered her in his arms, this time with Marinette accepting the embrace. She curled up against his chest as she felt him press a delicate kiss to the crown of her head. “It’s an honor to be your punching bag,” he joked.

“Adrien,” she groaned, thunking her head against his shoulder, “shut up.”

“Sorry.”

“Wait, no, that makes me feel worse,” she hastened to say. “I need to apologize to you! I’m sorry.”

He chuckled again, his warm breath tickling her forehead as it passed through her hair. “Like I said, I really, really don’t mind.”

“Why don’t you mind?” She pouted, tilting her head up to look at him. “Doesn’t it wake you up?”

“Sometimes, yeah, but–” He sighed as he seemed to look for the right words. His mouth tilted in a half-smile. “I like knowing you’re still there with me.”

All the embarrassment drained out of her as she noticed his tone change. “Do you think I would go somewhere?”

“Technically, no,” he answered honestly, “but sometimes… in the back of my mind…”

She frowned. “You get anxious.”

He took in a breath. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Marinette wrapped her arms around his midsection, pressing her face into his worn cotton t-shirt. He smelled of citrus and the fresh linen scent of her Maman’s favorite laundry detergent, making her smile. He smelled of home.

“I’d never leave you, Adrien,” she murmured.

“I know.”

“Especially not in the middle of the night.”

He laughed. “I know.” His arms tightened around her as he laid their bodies back down against the pillows. “We’re a package deal. A bonded pair.”

“Exactly,” she huffed. Leaning up on one arm, she poked him in the chest. “But you really should have told me I was kicking you in my sleep. I feel like a jerk.”

“A cute jerk.”

“Stop calling it cute!”

He waggled his eyebrows as he grinned at her. “It’s not my fault that everything you do is cute.”

She growled frustratedly. She wanted to be angry, but instead she pressed a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You’re so annoying.”

“Annoying and cute?”

Rolling her eyes, she leaned back onto his chest. “Yes,” she huffed.

Adrien laughed again, the sound reverberating in her eardrum. She loved the quiet moments like this where she could hear everything— his laugh, his breaths, his heart beating in his chest. The arm wrapped around his middle tugged him closer, and in response he squeezed her tighter against him.

“Seriously,” she mumbled, “wake me up next time. I don’t want to kick you out of bed.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” he whispered back. She opened her mouth in protest, but he spoke again before she could, “Sometimes it’s just a little nudge. Like this:” His foot connected with her shin under the blankets, gently pushing against her with featherlight pressure.

“Oh.”

“See? Nothing.”

“But–”

“And the kicking,” he interrupted, knowing exactly what she was going to say, as always, “I don’t mind, because I can always tell when you’re having a dream. And I like knowing that.” His thumb was brushing over the exposed skin on her shoulder, lulling her back towards sleep.

Against the siren song, she shook her head. “Still, if you ever want to wake me up– even just to talk, I want you to wake me up,” she whispered.

“Now, I know that’s sleep-Marinette talking.”

She would have rolled her eyes if she thought he could see it. “Ha ha,” she said sarcastically. “I mean it. I’d gladly lose a couple hours’ sleep for you.” She turned her head to press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Especially knowing you would for me.”

“I would. Anytime.”

“I know.”

“Okay,” he mumbled into her hair, his lips brushing her scalp, “I’ll try not to let you attack me inexorably again.” She heard him breathe deeply, his chest expanding beneath her head.

“You’re lucky I’m so tired right now, kitty cat,” she mumbled, her eyes sliding shut.

“Yeah, I really am. I love you."

"Love you too..." she managed before sleep pulled her back in, warm in Adrien’s arms.

#‘nicole didn’t you write post reveal cuddles earlier this year?’ YES. AND I’LL DO IT AGAIN #ml fanfic #adrinette #adrienette #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #love square #ml #my writing #actually probably one of my favorite things i’ve ever written if i’m honest

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: Bakugou dies but comes back to life, “comes back wrong” trope, implied fighting, angst

When Bakugou died, you’re not sure how you went on living. Grief had taken over your life, sat you in the passenger side while it cruised off the highway into icy waters. And even then, you couldn’t find the energy to drown.

It’s why there’s a sudden uptick of energy when you’re promised to have him back. Some top scientists contact you months after his death, tell you to hurry down to the headquarters labs, come and rejoice for what you’re about to witness. And you’re horrified, to say the least.

“This isn’t my husband.” Are your first words when you walk in, watch the figure on the other side of the glass examine its own hands. It looks like your husband but—but his hair isn’t the right shade of blond all over. His nose bridge had a slight bump after a scuffle with a villain. He had a scar on his hand but—but it never looked like it was to sew a pinky beside the other fingers.

“Is that really my husband?” You ask next in disbelief, slowly entering the room. Bakugou’s head snaps up, his eyes a little brighter than you remember but—they hold so much emotion. So much memory, so much panic, so much guilt.

“I left you.” He mutters, his voice raspy and ragged, and you wonder if it’ll always be like this now. It makes you cry a little harder than it should, but you only embrace each other. He’s cold and his shoulders don’t hold the same mass and his back doesn’t carry the same scars. There’s one, jagged and rough, running down his back, and you think, you think that’s where they slipped a new spine in.

“Welcome back home.” You tell him, weeks after meeting him again, new and not totally—Katsuki. He’s stiff and he doesn’t immediately take off his boots when he enters, and it worries you. Makes you think if you’ve just let a stranger into your home, one that has stolen your dead husbands face. Makes you wonder if he’ll be as loving as Katsuki once was, or if he’ll become your monster looming over you with the guilt of not being able to rest anymore.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You whisper against his mouth one night, a little while after he’s moved back. You don’t know why you lay under him, why you let him nestle himself inside of you, why you let him hold you against his chest. Katsuki always ran his hands over your cheeks and neck whenever he held you like this, but this…man, only holds himself up with his hands resting beside your head. It’s alien, how he looks at you, how his hips are methodically measured with every thrust, how he kisses you every 8 seconds. You wonder if he’s more robot than Frankenstein monster.

“Why did you come back to me like this?” You ask him one night, barricaded in the bathroom away from him. You can hear his sobs on the other side, his pleading to be let in. He tells you he never wanted to come back if he had to be like this, that he’s sorry, please let him in, he misses the warmth of your skin, he’s never been so cold before, he’s never liked the cold.

“Is this considered cheating?” You ask yourself aloud one night, when Bakugou is forced back to the lab when he becomes too…un-Bakugou. To sleep with a man that is your husband in every way but? Your husband has been dead for a year now, and yet you stroke the chin of the man that tries so hard to be him everyday, but fails so miserably at it every time.

“I’ll come back to you right this time.” Bakugou promises to you when he’s strapped down to leave for the lab and before he’s sedated. But you don’t believe him—you never did. Your husband is dead, and this animated corpse has been nothing but a cheap mockery of everything you’ve lost and something you will never truly get back.

#I was writing this and then checked my dash and saw another post about this #and felt so guilty and almost didn’t post it aidjdkfj #but I love this trope too much to delete it!!!!! #I’ve written about this in my published book before and it’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever written #there’s just such a deep heartache about having to grieve someone #and then the grieving process being interrupted by the one you lost #and battling with their death even though you still look at them everyday again #but it’s just not right?? it’s not the same?? #they have the same face (kinda) but it’s truly not hem #not them* heck #it reminds me of a convo I had in a psych class about making a new cloned version of yourself #where the question was ‘is the clone/new version still you? or are they an entirely new person now?’ #and at first I said they’re still me you know? they have my face n body n memories #but my prof told me no!! after they have been cloned they are sentient and are now their own person making new memories apart from you #and I thought that was soooo interesting and it makes me fall in love w this trope every time #you’re my person but only a version. you’re who I love but a newer person. you’re not them. you’re everything I’ve missed about them #so heartbreaking I LOVE ITTTT #sorry I’m rapping it’s the sleep meds kicking in #okay bai #bakugou treats! 🍬 #—new treat in the streets! 🍫

[jmeslovr]

Random jegulus snippet <3

He doesn’t know why he keeps ending up here, why James is always the one there to pick up the pieces, but he’s endlessly grateful for it. Regulus isn’t sure he’d be here if it wasn’t for James. It’s a scary role to play in someone’s life.

Regulus lifts his head from James’ shoulder but doesn’t pull back. Tears still spill down his cheeks, but they’re silent now, and James still wipes them away as they form.

He wants to say something, but he can’t, so he sits in the moment, breathing the same air as James, keeping eye contact. He looks down at his lips, and it hits him just how close they are; it’s possibly the closest they’ve ever been.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs quietly, the filter that’s usually present gone.

James freezes beside him, and he’s pretty sure he hears his breathing hitch. “Then kiss me.”

Regulus smiles sadly. “I can’t.”

Pain flickers across James’ face, and Regulus wants to kill himself for causing it. “Why not?”

Regulus can’t breathe. “You know why, James. I can't. Not yet.”

James shakes his head, pulls him in tighter; rests his forehead on Regulus’ like he’s afraid of him running away. James’ arms are tight around his back, holding him in. “You don’t have to keep denying yourself things that will make you happy, Regulus.”

He lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes. It’s all too much. Not enough. He wants James to consume him. Regulus wants James to sink his nails into his chest and pry it open so he can take his beating heart for his own. Maybe then will Regulus have a meaningful purpose.

Regulus keeps his eyes closed when he responds. Seeing James is too much. “I will take from you, and take, and take, and take until there’s nothing left. Until you resent me for needing too much. For being greedy.”

One of James’ hands moves to cup his cheek, and that’s when Regulus opens his eyes. He wants James to pull him in and never let him go. “It’s all yours, Reg. Please just— let me love you.”

Regulus is crying again, and he’s afraid that he’ll start hyperventilating if he opens his mouth. There is something clawing at his throat, desperate to get out. It sinks its claws into his flesh, uncaring at the pain it causes, and climbs. It gets stuck somewhere along with the words he leaves unspoken. Regulus is sure that his guilt takes the form of it.

Regulus wants nothing more to give in. To start this with James. To stop tiptoeing around each other, ignoring the feelings they have. But he knows he’ll ruin it if he does now.

He thinks he and James could be a perfect fit. James has a savior complex and Regulus craves too much. Regulus probably needs to be saved. James probably can’t go a day without trying to fix him.

The truth is, Regulus has a carnal need for James so deep inside of him it’s intrinsic, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. If he lets it out now it’ll kill them both.

So they’ll wait. Regulus will keep healing, and James will keep waiting. Just a little longer. Just until Regulus learns how to pick himself back up, until he doesn’t need James to do it for him.

Eventually Regulus speaks again, his voice raw. “You know I can’t now. Will you wait for me? Just— it won’t be long, but I need to get better. Please wait for me.”

James doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he finally nods his head yes as he wipes the remaining tears off of Regulus’ cheek, just like he knew he would. James always says yes to him, especially when he knows he needs him to, so why would this be any different?

#anyways #jegulus #jegulus snippet #regulus black #james potter #this is probably my favorite thing I’ve ever written #the layers :)))) woe #this is my sad trans reg wip #he’s sad #and trans #that’s the fic basically

[wander-wren]

presumed death literally the trope of all time. you’re telling me i can have the grief and horror of character death AND have the happy ending too??

not to mention the possibilities after “dead” character turns up again.

maybe they have no idea their loved one thinks they died, and they show up all nonchalant only to realize things have gone horribly wrong. maybe their loved one thinks they’re a ghost/hallucination/trick and won’t accept them.

maybe they do know their loved one thinks they’re dead and they’re choosing to keep up the facade for their safety. watching from afar, unable to comfort them.

maybe they faked their death and believe their loved one is in on the scheme when actually that message was never received.

maybe, in the process of whatever almost killed them, they forgot about their loved one/old life/etc, and aren’t aware they have anything to return to.

maybe they “died” thinking no one would notice their absence, leaving their loved one full of regret for things unsaid. perhaps their loved one heals and moves on, only for “dead” character to return.

and just, augh, the aftermath. waking up to find “dead” character gone and assuming it was all a dream/they really did die. the codependency. the anger, even, that they didn’t come back/let themself get hurt/lied. maybe guilt if their body was abandoned by their comrades, only to learn that they were alive all along.

name me a trope that does more i’ll WAIT.

#wren wrambles #presumed dead #fanfic tropes #fanfiction #i’m working on a fic with this premise #i’ve written it at least once before as well #AND it’s in one of my books #i also play with the other trope of ‘presumed dead by everyone but [character]’ which is also so so good #the DENIAL?? #esp if that character gives up and it becomes normal presumed death #i actually had to stop adding to this bc i kept thinking of things and i was like shh wren youve made your point #anyway this is my favorite trope ever but i dont actually seek it out a lot but maybe i should #it’s devastating done well tho so i feel like i would need some lighter fics on the side to take breaks lmaoo #devastating but also happy

[nonas-third-tantrum]

sharing my mall santa gideon fic again because ‘tis the season

#this was my first tlt fic and it sparks joy to this day #top five stupidest things i’ve ever written which means it’s also a top five favorite #tlt #the locked tomb #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #tlt fanfic

[shostakobitchh]

How's that WIP going with little Ariel, exhausted Daddy Snape, and the monster in the closet?

Stay hydrated.

It’s become a monster - no pun intended. I had posted some progress of it here a while back. I did title it though! It’ll be called “the splintering.”

I’ve had to work on it in small, isolated sections, because it has become a metaphor for grief and got very heavy at points - little Ariel discovers the monster in the closet, Snape doesn’t believe her, and the monster starts to - change.

This is all in the aftermath of Lily’s death, which happens a year prior to the story, meaning that Snape and Ariel lost her when Ariel was 7. So I had to create a whole backstory about THAT and what happened - why Snape survived and how him being involved from the beginning changed the trajectory of Ariel being Marked - and even Harry makes an appearance.

It’ll be around 10 chapters, 100k words. I will be working on it heavily over the summer and would like to start posting in the fall (but we’ll see). I’m trying to make most of the headway on Aim & Ignite right now because I need to get PoA moving here, I’m already so behind with my outline. 😫

“Stay hydrated,” is very good advice - I literally forgot to eat yesterday. My students just came in this morning and said “Whoa, Mrs. B, are you okay?” and the answer is no children, I am alive but barely breathing LOL.

#sam speaks #writing until my hands fall off #the splintering #ask #update #it is truly I think one of my favorite things I’ve ever written #but of course I have overcomplicated it by making it multi chapter LOL

[romanromulus]

i’ve always wanted to narrate my own work so I’ve decided to make a podfic of “with my teeth” because it has so many different voices and little asides and the theater kid inside of me is just dying to perform. i’m rlly excited just thinking about it, I love the breakneck speed of that fic and the way it just builds and builds to a sickening crescendo. plus this gives me a chance to break out my herbert impression :)))))

#I’m not a huge fan of my voice tho so I’m gonna try some vocal training beforehand maybe. but maybe not. #does anyone even listen to podfic anymore? either way this one is for me because the fic itself only has like 20 kudos. which is a shame #because it’s my favorite thing I’ve ever written but also with the subject matter it’s understandable. anyway! #be on the lookout for adam’s big debut. I rlly think some stories are just MADE to be narrated and this is one of them :)))

[counting-unfortunate-stars]

Oh my darling, child of autumn, dance with me in wooden shoes

Along the edge of what once was and what soon could be

See you in my prayers

In the limn of sunlight behind a gleaming statue

The voice of a silver cross told me I was no saint

But tell me, beloved, when your hands are coated in blood

What difference does it make if it is your own or someone else’s?

Oh dusk-lit child, drape yourself in the red-brown-gray of a winter twilight

Gild your hair in copper

And teach me that fire and light are one and the same

Won’t you twirl with me between what is known and what should be forgotten

And catch me when I fall to either side

Hear my hymns

From the edge of the forest where the small things scurry and the shadows walk

And sing my refrain in a silence born of snow

My darling unholy child

Won’t you teach me what it is to be sacred

#tasty tasty religious imagery #possibly my favorite thing I’ve ever written #can’t think of a title rn #poetry

[my-chemical-aromance]

i’d say that i’m an artist and you are my muse, but no work of art could ever compare to you

words neither, as i could write thousands of letters, sonnets, and poems but that would barely be a toe-dip into the vast pool, the endless ocean of everything

that is you

if i could i would rip my heart out, and give it to you full of sugar

i would drain every drop from my veins to paint the perfect portrait of you

if i could pour my heart, soul, sweat, and blood

maybe i could capture a drop if the beauty that eeps from your every fiber

i would puke up all my guts just to eat you whole

or fall into little pieces

to fulfill your every meal

i would kiss you

over a strawberry milkshake

so i could taste the most sweetest things

wrapped in two

every breath i breathe, is a silent whisper of “I love you”

#this is one of my favorite poems i’ve ever written #its only a part of it #the actual poem is longer but #idk #i dont want to post the whole thing #i wrote this for my partner actually #its my favourite thing #i love my partner #poetry #poem #short poetry #short poem #writing #writer #love poem #love writing #arolovic #qpr #queer platonic #love #yearning #original poem #my poem #my writing #my work #original work #art

[rainypebble07]

Sometimes, I miss superspy byler 😔

#I want to write shady business all over again #it was such a fun era for me #my favorite AU ever #shady business has my entire heart #I’ve simply never written better #I’m sorry everything that came after #you’ll never compare #superspy byler #byler #stranger things #byler fanfic

[honeyedlashton]

The Panty-Dropper

5.3k Lashton One-Shot

Tooth-rotting fluff, tooth-rotting smüt, domestic bliss, 60’s au

“Why don’t you let me take care of the house for you? That way you can stay at your leisure—preferably in my line of sight reading your dirty little romance books,” Ashton taunted.

“What?” Luke’s protest was like a squeak, “You’ve been working all week! You can’t take over completely!”

“So have you,” Luke felt his husband’s warm golden wedding band carve against Luke’s supple flesh through the thin barrier of the linen dress. “Besides, how am I ever supposed to make up for last night’s little fiasco?”

The image of helping Ashton scrub the charred remains of their dinner off the pans flashed across Luke’s mind.

“That wasn’t your fault entirely...”

“Luke,” Ashton shook his head to quiet him. “I owe it to you. Let me make up for nearly burning down the house…Take the day off,” Ashton urged.

Or

Ashton discovers a little old sexy-joke recipe from his hardworking housewife with his name all over it—literally.

#I came back #I’ve been working on this one for months now #so glad it’s finally done #I’m really proud of this one #also this is my crack #this one is for swan and all the domestic lashton lovers out there #please understand that this is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written #thank you to swan for all of their help with this #they make this community go round so it’s dedicated to them #I love this trope too #married lashton #got my eyes in the back of my skull #okie enjoyyyy #scholarly #otp: i’m fond of you #luke hemmings #lrh #ashton irwin #afi #5sos #lashton #lashton fic #5sos fic #calum hood #cth #michael clifford #mgc #my fic #more stuff soon

[visualheresy]

a moodboard for chapter 2 of my aeon fic “Of Things Unseen.” it will be written from ada’s POV.

First chapter can be read here on AO3.

#it still needs a few weeks of heavy edits #but it’s my favorite thing i’ve ever written for aeon #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #ada wong #leon x ada #ada x leon #resident evil #re4 remake #resident evil 4 remake