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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 4 months

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invisible string

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: this is about to be super self indulgent but could you by any chance do a spencer reid x barista!reader maybe he keeps going back to the same cafe or something and memorizes like little facts about coffee or something lol i love your writing so much!!

Summary: Spencer keeps going back to the same coffee shop not because of the coffee but because of a certain someone that never fails to make him smile.

Square Filled: invisible string by taylor swift for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

“I need a double shot espresso and a strawberry refresher,” you call to your coworkers. You’re working the register when a tall man walks up to the counter. Man, he is super cute. “Hi, what can I get for you?”

“I don’t come here often but I hear you don’t take large cups? What are they called?”

“Venti?”

“Yeah, that,” he chuckles. “What do you recommend?”

“I personally love anything caramel. It gives me enough sugar to counteract the bitterness of the coffee.”

“I’ll do that, then.”

Man, he is clueless but he’s so cute. You’re not sure if this is a bit or if this is who he actually is but you like it.

“What kind of coffee do you want?”

“Hazelnut Americano with caramel drizzle.”

“You got it. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Name?”

“Spencer Reid.”

He pays for his coffee and you start making his order since there is no one else in line. You write his name on the cup and walk to the pickup section and call his name. The way he bounces over to the counter is kind of cute.

“Have a nice day, Spencer,” you grin and hand it to him.

“Thank you. You, too!”

The next day when Spencer comes in, he is more confident. He’s still nervous since he finds you attractive but he’s not going to let that stop him.

“Hey, I remember you. You ordered the hazelnut Americano yesterday,” you smile and greet him. You yawn and cover your mouth. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter how much coffee I drink, I am still tired.”

“Did you know that coffee was discovered by an Ethiopian goat herder?”

“I did not but it makes sense. He needed all that energy to round up all the goats. What’s your name again?”

“Spencer.”

“Yes, that was it. Sorry, I have a terrible memory.”

“I have an eidetic one.”

“What is that?”

“An eidetic memory is the ability to recall an image from memory with high precision—at least for a brief period—after seeing it only once and without using a mnemonic device. I have an IQ of 187 and can read twenty-thousand words a minute.”

“So, you’re really smart?”

“Yes,” he chuckles.

“Okay, come back tomorrow and I’ll have a fact for you.”

“Deal.”

There is a line forming behind him so Spencer quickly orders and leaves just as fast as he came. You have to wait an entire day to see him again and this time, you have a fact lined up for him.

“Hi, Spencer,” you smile. “I think I got a good fact for you today.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Did you know that ketchup was once sold as a medicine?”

“In the 1830s, it was believed that the condiment could cure almost anything, including indigestion, diarrhea, and even jaundice,” he nods.

“Alright, smarty-pants, I’ll have to try harder tomorrow.”

“I have one for you about coffee. Did you know that bees love the taste of coffee?”

“Is that why they always fly near me when I’m having my morning coffee in my sunroom?”

“It might be.”

Another line is forming so you grab his coffee order and move on with your life. The only thing you’re looking forward to now is Spencer when he comes in. He shows up the next morning at the same time he’s been showing up, and you find yourself smiling because of him.

“Spencer! The usual?”

“Actually, get me your favorite drink.”

“Are you sure? You’re not allergic to anything?”

“Nope.”

“Coming right up.” You ring him up and accept his cash. “I have another fact, and I think it’s a good one. Did you know the Vikings discovered America and not Christopher Columbus?”

“Yes, approximately five hundred years before Christopher Columbus, the Scandinavian explorer Thorvald, brother of Leif Erikson and son of Erik the Red, died in battle in modern-day Newfoundland.”

“Okay, you’re good.”

Spencer blushes at your small compliment. “My head is filled with facts that I can’t seem to forget like coffee beans are actually the seeds from the coffee plant’s berry-like fruits. The coffee plant is a shrub that grows in tropical climates in parts of Africa, Asia, South America and North America. It produces an edible berry-like fruit known as a coffee cherry, which typically contains two coffee beans. These beans are then processed and roasted to create the coffee we know and love.”

“I did not know that.” You really like talking to him but every time he comes in, there is a line forming behind him. You have to move on so you put in his order. You turn to your coworker who barely begins to make his order. “Can you take this? I want to make his cup.”

“Sure, smitten kitten,” she grins.

You grab the empty cup and make your favorite drink for Spencer. When you’re done, you write your number on the side of it in hopes he will use it.

“Spencer?” He walks up to the counter and you smile. “Here you go.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here.”

Spencer doesn’t notice your number until he gets to his car. He smiles which makes you smile because that is a good sign that he likes what you did. The next day, he comes in with someone. He hasn’t used your number yet but maybe he’s nervous. The man with the dark skin encourages Spencer to make a move on you, and he pushes him toward you.

“Hi, Spencer,” you smile.

“Hi. This is my friend and coworker, Derek Morgan.”

“Hi, Derek.” You turn to Spencer. “I got one for you. I really think I’ll get you this time. Did you know that in Ancient Egypt, the New Year celebration was called Wepet Renpet?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Wait, really?” you gasp.

“Are you serious?” Derek asks Spencer at the same time as you.

“I’m sorry, yeah, I did.” You tip your head back and laugh. “While we celebrate New Year’s Day on January 1, the Ancient Egyptian tradition was different every year. Meaning ‘the opener of the year’, Wepet Renpet was a way to mark the annual flooding of the Nile River, which usually happened sometime in July. The Egyptians tracked Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, to time their festivities.”

“You know, one day, I’m gonna get you. I’m gonna know something you don’t.”

“I’ve been barking up that tree for years now,” Derek chuckles. You and Spencer look at him and he nods in understanding. “I’ll go wait over there.”

“What can I get you two?”

“Caramel Macchiato and a Hazelnut Americano.”

“Is that all?”

Spencer looks at Derek who nods in encouragement.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” he stutters.

He blushes as he talks which is super cute.

“I’d love to.”

“Great. I still have your number. I was nervous about using it but I will now.”

“Don’t wait too long,” you grin.

There is something pulling you and Spencer together, something of an invisible string.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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mooishbeam · 4 months

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『♡』 The Remarkable Machine Who Learned How to Love

♡ featuring: toji x f!reader

♡ cw/tw: none, a little angst but a whole lot of fluff! wc: 1.6k+

notes: i was thinking about this all day and decided to whip up somethin in a couple hours. hope u like :P art by manuel_juju on twitter! comments and reblogs are appreciated!

In a kill-or-be-killed world, Toji reached the top of the food chain—unfortunately, staying at the top is a thousand times harder than the climb. And when he looked down, there was no one to catch his fall.

Before Toji met you, he was as aimless as a speck of dust, carried endlessly by an unpredictable tide of winds. He followed the cracked and crumbled path bespoken for lost souls like himself. Destined to be nothing but a vessel, a hollow man of sturdy muscle who worked himself to the bone, filthy jobs common men wouldn’t dare consider, because who was there to stop him anyway? Was there anything left for men birthed from hopeless circumstances, raised by broken homes to turn to lives of criminality? He couldn’t find an answer. He wasn’t equipped with the empathy to understand why guilt gnawed at his conscious; why whenever he ate takeout in his dimly lit apartment, it spilled out the chasm in his chest.

It was much easier to complete the task, to trudge to a check cashing facility to retrieve money he couldn’t care less about. Perhaps he’d walk this earth alone forever, constantly watching over his back from a fear of daggers shooting from every direction, waiting to strike at his most vulnerable. It was only a matter of time.

Or maybe he’d allow his sins to surpass him. Accept the peaceful release of death and pay the price of a vacant funeral service.

It was all but irreparable, until he walked into his usual convenience store and encountered the new clerk at the register. It was past midnight, and Toji placed the quick meal on the counter. When his tired eyes panned up from those frozen noodles, his heart reset, a part he thought died amidst the torment. It skipped across his ribcage, stopped until a fleeting breath pulled him back to reality, to the intense fluorescent lights and your warm welcoming smile. There wasn’t a single altercation that stole the air from his lungs the way you did.

Life hadn’t torn you apart yet.

Your eyes didn’t break away, unexpected, as Toji was used to people hanging their heads near him. He’s aware of his threatening stare and intimidating stature; it’s what keeps him alive. And you were unbothered. You scanned his item, and flashed those pearly whites that sent a nosedive straight to his stomach, “I’m a big fan of this brand!”

Toji remained tight lipped, unwilling to sift through difficult emotions and experience a feeling he believed himself to be undeserving of. He nodded, and somehow you continued, “Shouldn’t eat so late, though. Messes with your stomach.” A puff of wind pushed from his nose before he could stifle it. “Are you a doctor in the daytime?” You chuckled and bagged, “Sorry, slow day.”

He arrives the same week, searching for a couple of beers to bring back to his apartment. You were in an obviously dangerous position, with one foot off the step ladder as you attempted to push a bottle of cleaner onto the highest shelf. It was a fight between gravity, and the opponent nearly won before his hand grabbed the handle. “Oh! Thank you” you smiled. It was sunnier than the last and reopened the stitches he’d been struggling to sew since that moment.

Toji suddenly had countless excuses to go to the convenience store. Sometimes he’d enter for a snack, and you’d discuss your favorite chips, other times he pretended to need items just to hear your voice ramble about a niche topic you knew too much about. When his heart thrummed off kilter, and his mind became consumed with thoughts of the pretty night-shift cashier, a piece of him demeaned. How embarrassing it was, to be attracted to the scripted kindness of a service worker. Toji barely recognized he had favorites, let alone desires. So why did he have such an unwavering desire to see you?

He’d snatch a pack of noodles one day, a subconscious grin at the joining of your eyes. It didn’t matter if the twinkle in your gaze wasn’t exclusive to him; for a second, it felt like someone cared, and it was fulfillment he couldn’t shake.

You leaned over the counter on your elbows, “Did you know there’s over 35,000 ramen noodles restaurants in Japan?”

“I didn’t, but that sounds like a lot of options.”

“Mhm, you should try one. The real thing is way better.”

“I’m sure. I don’t really go out to restaurants often, so…”

“Me neither”, there’s a lengthy pause, and you finally blurted, “maybe we could go together!”

He was stunned. Lost for words, really. It wasn’t possible, a girl as beautiful as you who wants to be seen with a stone-cold machine in public. It had to be a prank, a fabrication by fate to taunt him. You grew an anxious smile, “Hah, sorry, I overstep-“

“I want to.” You stiffened, and he found solace in your shared nervousness. “O-oh! Great!”

Toji’s first date with you had been a disaster, though. He’s heavy handed by design, and it’s no different in his daily life. His strength leads to instances of clumsy behavior. He expected you to be appalled, disgusted, or at least judgmental.

You never shunned him. When he held your hand too tight, you slightly unclasped it. He wanted to retreat, to stuff them in his pockets and remain at a safe distance. But you interlocked hands and spoke soft, “It's okay, just try not to hold so tight.”

He swung the door open for your entry and almost shattered the glass door on the opposite wall. “I appreciate your enthusiasm” you giggled.

He was afraid to even hug you—he might underestimate his strength and crush your sternum. Toji walked you back to your place and turned to leave. “I’ll see ya around.” Despite that, you guided his calloused hands around your waist, slinked into his broad body, and embraced him. Every aspect of you, foreign but comforting—little breaths fanning his shirt, fingers brushing along his back, sugary perfume wafting in his nose.

It was heaven on Earth.

Now years have gone by, and instead of bleached walls and silence greeting him as his eyes crack open in the morning, he smells the familiar scent of pancakes, pans clattering on the stove. He waltzes into the kitchen in a hazy state and admires the aching back of his very pregnant wife. You have a hand assisting your lower back and another on the wooden spatula scrambling eggs.

Toji dropped his past for you after the engagement. He cashed his last check and disappeared from the underground circle without a trace. He was aware if he continued the path he was heading, the result awaiting him was six feet under. The outcome was unimportant, however, you—the image of tears streaming down your face at his poor volition, your figure keeled over his gravesite under dewy grass and wailing for his return to no avail. He couldn’t stomach it. He had to protect you and commit to the next stage of his life. He’d never tell you about his previous work. It was for the best. He’d be selfish, just this once.

One sock is different from the other, wearing loose shorts and a random shirt sitting above your massive belly. It’s his preferred version of you. Your stomach and thighs adorned in stretch marks, shaped like tiger stripes that declare your strength through each dip and curve; It's his greatest honor. You’d take on the complications, unending exhaustion, and hormone imbalances to bless him with a child. Toji hasn’t let you lift a finger since you got pregnant, opting to handle all the household tasks, borderline subservient to the mother of his child. So, his mouth twists when he sees you up so early.

He stands behind you, hands trailing from your upper thighs to your stomach, then the small of your back. You lean into him while he massages circles and whisper a tiny “Good morning.”

“Ya could’ve woke me up” Toji mumbles, kissing your temple. He wraps around to the underside of your belly, mindful of his muscle, and lifts it carefully. His respect for you increases tenfold with the heavy weight on his palms. You hum a pleased noise, sudden relief from your back. He carries it and smooths his thumbs over the taut skin.

“You’re a late sleeper, and I haven’t made breakfast in a long time.”

“Ya don’t have to do a thing, y’know.”

“I know. But I wanna do this for you”, and he grins. It’s quiet, standing in the warmth of your bodies, sunshine glowing through the window to cast an angelic gleam on your face.

Then he feels an imbalance of pressure along his fingers and mild wriggling within your tummy. Toji traces the movements, seeking to play a game with his unborn child. Sometimes it scares him, to bring new life into a world that almost smothered his light. He worries that he’ll end up on the same road as him or he won’t be a good enough father. The journey of parenthood is a long, laborious one. You’re always learning, and Toji’s still processing the basics. It’s complicated, he trips and falters; yet you’re there to support him, through thick and thin, sickness and in health.

What was he if not for you—his pillar, his source of happiness and comfort. You’d given him everything to wish for and infinite reasons to stick around. An iron criminal, bested by no mortal, chipped away by compassion and gentle hands.

“You can let go if it’s too heavy.”

I can stay here forever.

#jujutsu toji #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #jjk x reader #jjk

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vernasce · 1 year

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𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞

Jealous!Luffy x Reader

header credits ?

Summary: Perhaps the summer heat was finally getting to his head, making him feel delirious and restless, or perhaps it was the way the summer season looked so good on you, with sweat trickling down your neck and the strings of your bikini trying their best to keep you covered. But one thing was for sure, what bothered him most, despite his obliviousness, was the look Sanji kept sending your way and his unwillingness to leave your side the whole day.

Content warning: 18+, NSFW, established relationship, smut, implied breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, jealousy, possessive behaviour, markings, female reader, female-bodied reader, not proofread, ooc?

Jealous!Luffy who sat on his special seat on the Thousand Sunny, watching intently at the interaction before him with his back leaning against the lion's head and arms crossed behind his head. The captain’s precious straw hat resting on his head tilted down, hiding his glare directed at Sanji.

Jealous!Luffy who was stuck watching the interaction before him, how you have Sanji wrapped around your very finger, catering to your every beck and call. He saw how Sanji was looking at you, at the way he was ogling at you, practically undressing you with his eyes.

Jealous!Luffy who recognized the look Sanji was giving you. Hell, it was the same look he gives you everyday. Though who can blame him for wanting to devour you when you were perched up on the beach chair, looking like an appetizing meal, tempting and delicious.

Jealous!Luffy who was starting to get restless from how you were sitting there looking pretty and taking every single compliment Sanji gave you with a smile on your face. He was getting frustrated from listening to your adorable giggles whenever Sanji complimented you or showed his chivalry. A tiny green monster forming in his heart while he sat from his seat unmoving, watching another man treat you like you were his when you belonged to Luffy.

Jealous!Luffy who will always be a child at heart. What belonged to Luffy, after all, was his. He did not like to share, nor will he ever share. These were merely the captain’s orders.

Jealous!Luffy who finally had enough. Getting off from the lion's head, Luffy made a beeline towards your direction. Ignoring the curious looks his crew members sent his way, he grabbed you by the forearm, pulling you up from your seat. Despite your protests and questions, he made his way towards the women's cabin with you following behind.

Jealous!Luffy who can be impatient at times, kicking the door open and throwing you on the bed. He can be so impatient, forgetful too, about locking the door. But you can't blame him, can you? Not when you look breathtaking with your bare back against the bed, clothes hastily taken off and thrown across the room, and your hair sprawled across the sheets, framing your beautiful face. There was no need for him to tell you what to do, it had become routine work.

Jealous!Luffy who can be so mean at times, coating himself with your slick and shoving his cock inside your warm cunt. But he couldn’t help himself, not when your silky warm walls were clenching on his cock, and especially not when he had you shivering and crying underneath him, begging for more. He couldn’t help himself when the squelching sounds the both of you made sounded so divine, or how the drag of his dick against your spongy walls felt like heaven.

Jealous!Luffy who worshiped your very existence, marking you as his for others to see. He left bruises and bite marks across your delicate skin, decorating every inch of you his hands or mouth could find. His grip on your hips never weakened, nails digging into your flesh and leaving behind crescent shapes. He continued with his assault. Kissing, licking, and biting from your neck and collarbone to the valley of your breasts.

Jealous!Luffy who increased his pace, becoming harder and faster as he desperately chased after his and your release. You arched your back, clenching impossibly tight on his dick, pulling him in as you come undone. But Luffy was not done with you yet.

Jealous!Luffy who kept fucking your poor cunt over and over again, chasing after his release. Until finally, he had come. The tip of his dick touching your cervix as he released his seed deep inside your cunt. Your name rolling off from the tip of his tongue like a prayer.

Jealous!Luffy who watched your sensitive pussy spill out his cum, unable to keep it all stuffed inside your hole. Using his right index and middle finger, he played around with the mixture of his and your cum, spreading it across your pussy lips and pushing it back into your hole. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he happily cleaned them, humming in approval at his satisfied hunger.

#luffy x reader #luffy x you #luffy x y/n #monkey d. luffy x you #monkey d. luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x y/n #luffy smut #monkey d. luffy smut #luffy x you smut #one piece x reader #luffy one piece #luffy #monkey d. luffy #one piece smut

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pursuitseternal · 4 months

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“Dexterity Check First, My Sweet:” finger-licking smut 🔥with Spawn!Astarion for “Bites in the Night” part 9

Astarion x f!reader | E | 3K of finger fucking licking smut

Summary: Flaming Fist soldiers on your heels, caught red-handed trying to steal some food, and your Vampire Rogue has one place in mind for you to hide: Sharess’ Caress. Where better to spend an hour laying low together than a pleasure house… where he can tutor you on the dexterity skills that got you into this mess

CW: Vaginal fingering, finger licking, breast play, anal fingering, generally arrogant Spawn Astarion, Act 3 spoilers if you squint maybe…

Ao3 link | Series on Ao3 | Masterlist

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“Can’t you run any faster?” Astarion hisses at you, eyes narrowed as he glares over his shoulder, leading you down alley after alley in Baldur’s Gate. The clanking of armor still echoes behind you—the Flaming Fist still trailing.

And you, you’re hustling, but it’s harder given your wardrobe. “This was your idea,” you pant, aggravated in reply. “You said ‘Wear a dress for once, darling. No one will suspect us if you look decent for once…’”

His hand shoots out from the shadows, pulling you into a darkened doorway. His chest heaves, lock picks in hand. “I know what I said. It’s true, my sweet. You do look decent for once. It’s not my fault you can’t use those hands for anything subtle and smooth that isn’t my cock.”

He flashes a quick smirk your way before picking open the door you both press against. That smirk that melts your innards and makes you quiver instantaneously.

Turning, you keep an eye out for the soldiers who caught you stealing from the vendors. Of course after weeks in the Shadow-Cursed lands, food and gold were scarce. What little you still had only stretched so far in the City. So, you and your Rogue decided to take a… new course of action. One he swore was foolproof… easy… something he did a thousand times over hundreds of years… And he had insisted you look ‘decent’ in a dress for it.

Which was how you now find yourself squeezed against some alley door, panting, and afraid of being arrested as the soldiers who caught you nicking food from the stands close in.

“Hurry, Astarion,” you elbow him in the shoulder where he crouches beside you. “They’re coming.”

“Darling you can’t rush art,” he sneers in reply.

“It’s not art, it’s crime.”

“Maybe next time, you'll not get us caught then. Maybe you need some lessons on just how to expertly use those fingers…” he pauses, even as the clanking of armor draws even closer. He stands quickly, spinning you both, pinning you hard against the planes of the door as he crushes you against the wood. His mouth devours yours, your eyes filled with nothing but his pale skin and mussy, silver hair. Your every sense is consumed by his taste in your tongue, his scent in your nose, his wiry body bearing down, covering you completely.

That passion, that ardor steals your breath, lost in the sound of his breath in your mouth and the wet working of his lips, his tongue with yours.

So distracted you barely even notice the flurry of guards rush right past you until they have long passed. Barely noticed that he’s hidden you from their sight in his distraction. Kept you safe. Then he breaks, his devious smirk at your arousal only makes you pant harder. “You clever devil,” you rasp, trying to swallow. “Kept us hidden… and clearly you do enjoy this dress.”

“What would you do without me?” he taunts, reaching for the handle of the door, letting it creak open behind your back. “They’ll be back, we need to lay low for an hour or two…” that wicked gleam in his eyes only darkens. “How fortunate that we can hide here…”

You turn, taking a step inside the door. Instantly, you recognize it from your adventures so far. The scent of perfumes and sweat, of alluring flowers and dirty bodies all at once. Thick crimson curtains draped over every wall and door, ready to soften the cries of orgasm and the sounds of sex.

Sharess’ Caress.

“What better place to hide than a pleasure house?” he gives you that feline grin that more than announces his intentions for how to pass an hour or two. “Oh, what a shame we will have to hide away… just the two of us… away from everyone else back at camp…”

“Did I call you clever?” you roll your eyes, despite the way your belly floods with heat. “I mean sly, cunning…”

“And very, very hungry,” he interjects, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you towards the stairs. “Starved practically…”

“How do you know where you’re going?” you hiss from behind.

“You forget so quickly these are my hunting grounds, my nocturnal domains. How fortunate you get me of my own free will during the daytime,” he quirks back at you over his shoulder as he turns down a hall and then another. “You’ve been dancing with a professional,” he smirks, breathing deeply as he draws to a sudden stop outside a door. “But you already knew that, my darling. Already experienced the fruits of my practice on the unworthy…”

“Gods,” you pant, “and you think me worthy?”

“Most worthy, my love,” he chuckles softly, turning the doorknob beside you. “Won’t you come and find out why it’s a pleasure house, my sweet?”

You smile, devious, “Emphasis on the… come?”

“I’m in such a good mood to be here with you, my darling, that even your unrefined wit won’t put me off or… soften… my regard for you,” he giggles, leading you behind the curtain that covers the entryway. Its fabric is thick, a dense sort of velvet, darker than blood.

You stumble into the dark, and instantly those hands… those strong, lithe, dancing hands, catch you. You hear so many other voices in the distance, a cacophony of moans and slaps and screams. You turn, looking for Astarion, an edge of… surprise in your heart. Surprise that warms quickly into a heady fear as he leers at you.

The soft light only makes every angle and cut of his face sharper, his skin almost lustrous, those hands leaving your grip to already begin to tear his tunic from over his head. Earth-shattering. Ruinous. He is beyond handsome.

And he’s yours.

“You can’t stop staring, darling…” he rasps, drawing closer in, closing in around you. The skin of his chest, the way every muscle and vein is familiar to you, it makes you force a swallow. “Not that I'm complaining, of course,” he gives that short burst of giggles to punctuate. “But we really… really must do something about those hands of yours.”

He catches them together in just one palm, his touch cool despite the growing heat that caresses your skin. “Strength doesn’t come from brute force all the time, slashing and twisting…” he breathes. You gasp, moaning suddenly as his other hand has already managed to somehow slink into the hitched hem of your skirt, his touch barely ghosting up your inner thigh. “You needn’t be so gruff and commanding all the time, darling,” he purrs. “Let your fingers find their own way, one by one in that merry dance…”

“Gods,” you groan, as indeed one by one they slip into your folds, sliding in so easily with how drenched you already are for him. He flashes that sideways grin down at you, eyes narrowed as he is savoring the way you shudder at his touch, at the way your mouth hangs open suddenly to feel him pleasuring you. “Please, more,” you sigh, arching back to find something to brace your body against. “I want more inside me, I want you inside me.”

“But I am, darling,” his grin only twists higher, “and this is my lesson for you, so you had better listen and learn.” His hold on your hands tightens, his thumb massaging over their backs, deftly and rhythmically stroking your taught muscles. His legs stride between yours, hips pressing hard against you, making you back until you smack the your knees on some soft furniture. But quicker than breath, he steadies you. Fingers slipping from your folds and your body to unbutton his breeches.

You don’t even need to look to know his cock stands at the ready, and you giggle as he presses it into your waist, so hard you feel its twitching through your gown. “Already?” you tease, feeling a blush sweeping over your cheeks and up your neck.

“Well, you’re going to need something to practice on…” His eyes gaze at you, glazed with desire, that crimson shine almost a bright red as the lights from the candles around you flicker and flame. “And, I will too,” he adds, voice thick in his throat as he takes the ribbons of your blouse in those long, lean fingers. “Something to play with, as an example of course…”

His breath is heavy, each inhale and exhale almost deafens you. He is close but refrains from brushing against you, nothing more than the way his fingers pull those thin laces of bodice, one by one.

Slowly. Painfully deliberate.

His gaze never wavers, doesn’t even have to look to know where to grip, where to touch. Until at last, the panes of your bodice split, your breasts achingly hard to feel the free air, the rush of his heavy breaths caressing them.

You try to catch his mouth, to bring him into a kiss, but he only shoves you back down to your heels. “Tch, tch,” he sucks his teeth at you, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “This isn’t a lesson for your mouth. Your tongue is already so good at sucking and swallowing, my pet.”

Oh, you shudder. His words alone push you to that precipice of need. Not to mention that constant washing sound of the pleasures around you. It makes you whimper to be denied.

“Shh,” he chuckles quietly, one long pointer finger on your lips to tap gently. “Think about how enjoyable it will be to put these skills into practice daily… nightly too…”

Your brow raises, mischief swirling in your belly as you quickly part your lips, drawing that finger between them to suck it hard.

His cock pulses against your belly, his mouth groaning loudly at the warmth and wet you swirl around it.

“Eager and naughty. You belong in this pleasure house, my love,” he growls. Slowly, he lowers himself to sit on the seat behind you, a settee you realize, covered in softest velvet. Your breathing grows rough, every inhale you make is filled with the perfumes of the house, masked heavily by that fresher scent of his skin.

Your mouth waters, his hands rucking up your skirts, clawing around your hips as he settles you on his thighs. He throws the skirts behind you, ensuring he has complete control, a perfect view of your soft-curled mound, your shaking thighs. But he leaves you aching, your pulse pounding as he can feel your folds soaking his skin and throbbing as you grieve the emptiness inside you.

His fingers seem to dance in the air as he reaches for your body, where your breasts hang so exposed. So easy for the taking. Fascinated, hypnotized by their dexterity, you watch as each of his fingers moves, of its own accord, each playing across your skin. His touch is delicate and deliberate.

The muscles of his hands clench, each movement visible as the candlelight caresses that masculine outline. Light warming his pale, pearl-like skin. Shadows following the ridges and trails the veins make over the backs of his hands, weaving gently up his arms.

You can’t resist, bringing your own touch to dance along those protruding blue lines. Mimicking the soft and commanding pressure he makes as he cradles your breasts, one in each hand, fingers twirling and plucking your nipples hardened to pebbles in his masterful touch. You can’t help it, can’t control it as the rhythm of his touch on your breasts alone sends those shivers of pleasure down your spine, your body under his thrall as climax pours through you. Hot and wild, you buck on the limited friction of his thighs, your cum coating that flawless, smooth skin.

And he giggles. With a little extra effort, he tweaks your nipples as you ride out the remaining waves. “Oh my sweet, see what skilled fingers alone can do?” he croons. His hips buck beneath your still-trembling thighs, making his cock jolt where it stands. Little trickles of his seed already leaking from that tight little slit. You want so badly to lick it clean, to quickly shove that hardness deep inside you to cool your burning lust. But you smile, taking it in your hands, not to be outdone by your arrogant, insufferable Rogue.

Plying that same silken yet commanding touch, you sweep a single finger up the trail of his precum, gathering it on your fingertip before slipping it in your mouth. Sucking it clean.

He groans, watching. His hands slide down your sides, holding your hips hard against his thighs. “What a good student you have become,” he praises in his honeyed tones.

You pull your finger from your pursed lips with a resounding pop. Licking the rest of those fingers one by one, you begin tracing just the soft pads of your fingers up and down his twitching shaft.

For hells take you if you weren’t about to stun him senseless with your fingers alone.

You keep your eyes on the motions you make, smiling harder each time his hips buck under your touch, cock twitching and jolting as you beat it in your grip. Maybe it’s the sounds that surround you, the wet slap of flesh, the moans of a hundred paying patrons, but your mind fills with a naughty idea.

Pausing, you clamber between his legs, pressing him wider with your knees. As he has done to you countless times.

“Just what are you doing, my sweet?”

You ignore the question, using a single hand to tug softly on the wrinkled silken skin of his balls. Gods, they feel tight and heavy in your palm already. Driving him closer to his own bursting release with each stroke you make.

“You’ll find out…” you grin innocently, meeting that flaming scarlet gaze of his. His tongue drags over his fangs, hunger lurking behind every clench of his body. The soft pads of your fingers slip further beneath him, following the hard seam of his erection until you brush the pert little hole of his ass.

Astarion hisses, arching his back as you press around it just a bit harder, circling it as he has done to everything on your body a million times.

“Darling…” he groans, raising his hips to let you in more. “Testing your dexterity on all of me, are you?”

You slip your touch inside, feeling him clench as you mimic the way he caresses you. The way he fucks you on those talented, eager fingers of his. You savor the way he growls, head thrown back against the velvet of the settee as you crook inside him deeper. For a moment, you forget all about his cock. Savoring the way you make him shake and quiver around your digits for once. But then, he clenches so hard around your finger deep in his ass, his cock ripples, thickening as you push him further towards the edge. He thrusts over and over into your other fist.

“Hells…” he pants, forcing his head up to meet your smile. “Where in gods names did you think to do that?”

You smile, so innocent and pouting and coy. “You’re not the only one who can read a book, Astarion…”

“Hgnf…” he grabs your wrists, the veins of his arms protruding even more as he flexes, pulling you down to collapse on his chest. “Lesson learned. Now I’ll claim my payment, it’s a brothel after all.”

No resistance is left in your body, too wet and hot and aching for anything other than letting that cool shaft of his cock to pierce deep inside you. And it does, sheathed so tightly in your cunt you cry, begging for more. Your scream could shake the walls, muffled only by those thick curtains.

“That’s right, my darling. Be loud, let them all hear you, hold nothing back like you do for me around the others,” he hisses low in the throat, hands tugging your dress apart all the more. All the better to let your breasts swing free with every unbridled buck of your body.

You groan, so loudly you’re sure you hear the curtains shaking.

And you do, as they pull back to open wide, the clatter of metal armor crashing through the soft slap of flesh. “Flaming Fist,” a cold voice startles you, anouncing. You gasp, clutching your bodice to hide the ample swell of your bosoms, burying your face against his chest as Astarion sits upright.

“What is the meaning of this,” he snaps in disgust and sneers in disdain, that commanding edge of his voice is dominating and cold. “I’ve paid good money for this, and you have no business to intrude on either my time or my pleasure.” He chastises, bracing his arms around you, curving you slightly around his side.

Hiding you.

“I’m sorry sir,” the soldier insists, far more timidly than before. “We’ve been trailing a thief we were tipped off today who would be pinching food stores from the markets today. We suspect she may be hiding here.”

“Get out or pay me the 500 gold I’ve already wasted by spending time speaking with you!” he bellows, gesturing roughly towards the door. “No one here but an angry, wealthy patron and his whore!”

That did it, sending them scattering and clattering as they shut the curtain firmly behind them.

You go still on his lap, a suspicious, scouring look on your face as you meet his arrogant, guilty eyes. “Tipped… off…”

His smirk curls wickedly to one side, shrugging demurely, a single hand splayed on his chest to feign innocence. “How else am I supposed to get you to accompany me here, say… Oh darling, I’d like to take you to a pleasure house so I can loudly fuck you away from prying eyes and listening ears?”

“You’d be surprised just how charismatic you might be if you checked, if you asked nicely…” you grind on his still throbbing cock, “…if you tried saying please.” You lean forward, pressing your hands on his chest to shove him back down. “Perhaps you could benefit from some lessons on asking nicely…”

That handsome face quirks, twisting harder as he smiles at you. “Dexterity check first, my sweet,” he purrs and crooks his finger against your clit. Reminding you just why you’re here.

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desertfangs · 5 months

Note

Since you write a lot do you have tips for people who want to write more?

Hi, anon! I can sure try and tell you some of what works for me!

Ignore advice that you don’t find helpful (that includes these tips!)

Writing is a process, but your writing process is always going to be unique to you, so if something doesn’t work for you, trying to implement it is only going to make you miserable. Like some people will tell you to write every day, but sometimes the pressure of that is going to be too much. Basically anything that doesn’t work for you, chuck it in the bin. You don’t need it.

Put your word processor in full screen

I write in Scrivener, which has a “composition mode” but you can also just put your document on full screen to minimize distractions. That way it’s harder to flip over to check Discord or Tumblr or whatever. Of course, I still exit out of full screen every time I need to look something up in the thesaurus and then I end up spending 15 minutes screwing around on the internet so you know, it's not a perfect system.

Work on several things at once and don’t be afraid to step away if a story isn’t working

Granted, my writing method is like throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks, so I tend to start a lot of stuff that fizzles out after a few paragraphs (or a few thousand words 😭😭) and I know juggling multiple things does not work for everyone.

I personally usually need at least 2 current WIPs, so I can switch to the second when I get stuck on the first. This means even while I’m ruminating on one fic, I’m writing another. But I have friends who literally can’t write on more than one project at a time or their brains will explode, so again, it’s just about what works best for you.

[BRACKETS]

If you’re stuck on something like a detail or a fact you need to look up or a piece of dialogue (“How the fuck would Lestat respond to THAT?” is my constant refrain, my cats are tired of hearing it), just put something in brackets like [Lestat replies with something flirty or witty] or [Fact check if X] or whatever it is, and then you can move on and keep going and not lose your momentum.

Set a Timer

If you're struggling to make yourself focus and write, set a timer for 10, 15, 25 minutes (whatever increment of time works for you!) and write until it goes off. You can keep going after if you're on a roll, or your can stop for a while, but it will get you into the mindset of writing. And even if that's all you do that day, hey, you wrote for 10 minutes!

Kill your need for perfection and that critic in your brain

I am still working on this but it’s true! You can make your WIP more perfect in editing. The old adage that you can’t fix a blank page is correct. And honestly, a lot of times I will write something and think ‘ugh this is no good’ and then go back and read it weeks later and really dig it. Or I figure out what it needs to make it better. (Or sometimes it still sucks and we just pretend it never happened.) But no one else has to see your first drafts! So don’t stress about making the first draft super good or agonize too much over word choice. Just get words on the page and worry about making it better later.

I hope you find some of that helpful, Anon!

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #answers in the desert #anonymous #thank you for the ask #no idea if this is useful to anyone else but it's what works for me

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pretty-red-garnet · 8 months

Text

Sparkly Blues

Daryl Dixon x fem! Reader • Pre-apocalypse/Prison • Fluff/Angst

I’m not really sure how I feel about this one. I kept going back and forth about it and deleting parts and then rewriting and blah blah blah. But it took way too long to write, so I’m posting it anyway lol. I hope someone enjoys it. Also! I’m taking requests! So give me some for our love Daryl. <3

You had met Daryl by bartending. You were new to the town and it was the only shit job you could manage to get. You were staying in the small Georgia town to take care of a sick family member, and all the money you could get was needed. Even if the job sucked.

It was the hot spot for the local bikers. The patrons you were forced to deal with were all seedy, loud, and rude. You had to stop a bar fight at least twice a night, and got groped and flirted with at least a thousand times. You had only been there a few weeks and you were about to quit. If you thought your sick aunt could make it back to your home town, you would've packed her up in a second.

But then Daryl showed up, in toe with his rowdy older brother. They sat at the bar, and one flash of his sparkly blue eyes and you were hooked. Your heart did one hard thump and your knees just nearly buckled. Damn he was cute.

"Hey, give us two pints!" His brother demanded, his eyes also blue but lacking the sparkle the younger man had. Lacking what made his eyes so pretty. His were empty and had blown pupils. His demand broke your daze, and you rushed to give them their beers. You smiled lightly at Daryl, who just avoided your eyes. You could just barely see in the dim lighting his face was a little pink.

At closing, you questioned your coworker about the brothers, mostly to learn more about the cute quiet one. She paused her wiping a table to look at you with confused eyes.

"Merle and Daryl? They've been coming for years, they go on hunting trips a lot though. That's why you haven't met them," she explains.

"Sooo... who's the quiet one?" She gives you a questioning look with a brow raised.

"You mean Daryl? Daryl Dixon?" She had asked.

"Is Daryl the really cute one with pretty blue eyes?" She laughed and rolled her eyes. "What? I'm serious!"

"Y/N, he's a Dixon," she said, like that was all the explanation you needed. You raised your brows at her to keep talking, she rolls her eyes. "They're no good. Believe me."

"He seemed plenty nice to me..." you say with a shrug. "Quiet, shy, he even thanked me! I mean I think it's the first 'thank you' I've gotten since I got hired."

"Daryl isn't bad I guess. He doesn't really talk to anyone." You nod and when she stops talking, you nudge her. "Y/N believe me, maybe he was ok today, but he's gotten in his fair share of fight. He doesn't say much, but when he does, it's usually yelling. And he's Merle's brother, who you should really stay away from."

"Damn," you mumble with a sigh. "He's really cute though." She laughed and slapped your shoulder.

"This isn't the place to find boyfriend material." She sighed dramatically and fumbled with something behind the bar. You looked at her with a puzzled expression. "But it is the place to drink!" She slams a hefty bottle on the bar and you laugh.

When the weekend rolls around the Dixons come again. You try to snap yourself out of your daze and do your work, but it's a little hard with the handsome stranger sitting there and your coworker snickering whenever you so much as glanced at him. When closing time came around, you grabbed the wet towel you were cleaning with and snapped her behind with it.

"Can you blame me?! Have you seen his eyes?!" You snapped at her with a red face, but she only laughed even harder.

This little routine continued for another two weeks. Stealing little glances at the man and your friend laughing and poking at you until you were red as a firetruck.

One night though, during a busy Friday night, your friend called out. You were all alone managing both the bar and waitressing as she did. You scurried to the bar from the backroom as you heard a loud ruckus and yelling. And to no one's surprise, it was another bar fight.

This time it was the Dixon brothers against another two biker assholes. Merle against one and Daryl the other. You yelled and shouted at them to stop, but no one was letting up. Daryl was almost underneath the biker he was fighting, and so against your better judgment, you stepped in.

"Alright, alright! Enough!" You shouted and tried grabbing his arm that was just about to wail on Daryl. He looked back just a split second before breaking his arm from your grasp and slamming it back into your face. You immediately stumbled back and onto the floor clutching your head, where he got you with a big metal ring right in the temple.

Finally, an older, more respected biker stepped in. He broke up the fight and shoved the two bikers— who you assumed must've started the fight— out the door.

You reached up a hand and slightly panicked when you pulled your fingers away and saw blood. Your vision was a little blurry and you looked up blearily to who crouched in front of you, only to see the prettiest eyes imaginable.

"You alright?" Daryl asked. You nodded in a daze, but his brows furrowed in concern still.

"Y-yeah. I'm ok." He nodded and reached his hands out to help you up. Even in your state, you can see his knuckles are bloodied and busted.

He helped you to sit on a bar stool before walking off, and you took a quick glance around. It was just about closing time now, so most were gone. All that remained was the older biker that broke up the fight, a few stragglers, and Merle bragging that he won the brawl.

"Everybody out! Come on," Daryl calls out. The stragglers filter out the doors pretty quick, still probably buzzing from the excitement of the fight.

Daryl retuned to you with a little first aid kid. He grabbed a clean wet towel and wiped at the blood on your face. If you weren't still seeing stars, you'd probably be having a conniption right now.

"You gonna fix up the girl, baby brother?" Merle asks with a sickening grin. Daryl just hummed a yes. "Don't come home without getting some tail first!"

"Shut up, man!" Daryl yelled, turning to him. He turned back once he was out the door and his checks were a little flushed.

"You need a hospital?" He asked a moment later, recovered from Merle's obnoxious comment. His tongue was peaking out of his lip in concentration as he puts a little bandage to your cut. Oh boy.

"No, no," you stammer out. Now that you were beginning to recover from your state, you realize you were completely alone with him, and he was helping you. Being all gentle while he wipes your face softly, close to his face, staring into his eyes... this is heaven. "I'm ok. Thanks."

He nods, biting the inside of his lip. He closes the first aid kit and stashed it where it belongs behind the bar.

"'M sorry you got hurt," he mutters. You just give him a small smile.

"It's ok. I know you didn't start the fight." He shuffled back over to you and hovers awkwardly. "And you cleaned me up. Thank you."

"My fault anyway," he says with a shrug. He still didn't meet your eyes.

"Well," you start, but hesitate. Daryl looks at you and waits patiently for you to continue. "I know a way you can repay me. If you really want."

"What's that?" He asks.

"Drive me home?"

From that day forward you and Daryl were somewhat inseparable. He always came to the bar if you knew you were working, sometimes even without Merle which you appreciated. He gave you the creeps, even though Daryl had assured you he wouldn't do anything to you. He also might've threatened to knock him out for you if he ever stepped out of line.

Despite your coworkers concerns, Daryl was pretty perfect— even if a little rough around the edges at times. He was sweet, and while Merle and most of the other bikers looked at you as if you were meat, Daryl always looked at you so genuinely. So sweetly.

He even drove you home most nights now ever since that first night you both really talked. He learned your car broke down, and between your aunt's medical bills and your job's shitty pay, you couldn't get it fixed. Daryl had tried to fix it, but the part you needed was way too pricey. He didn't like that you walked home at almost three in the morning, so he drove you after every shift. Even if he didn't hang out at the bar that night.

You were pretty positive Daryl was the greatest guy you had ever met. So kind, and attentive, and always doing his best to help you with whatever you needed. Helpful without expecting something in return.

When your aunt eventually died, a few months after being close with Daryl, he was the first one you called. You were in hysterics, and he sped over to the hospital as fast as he could just to hug and hold you.

He stayed with you for days, made your meals, even hunted so you would have fresh meat for him to cook you. But mostly, he stayed by your side like wet on water.

Daryl wasn't the best with comforting people, or really with emotions at all, but he tried. And you always appreciated it. Even if he didn't know what to say, and he'd just hold you tight and let you cry. Or played with your hair when you couldn't sleep. Daryl was better with actions than with words, and you didn't mind a bit.

It was during this time that you knew you didn't just care about him as a good friend, or even as a crush, but was in love with him. You loved how caring and loyal he was, how you were completely comfortable with him and knew you could always rely on him.

"Daryl, I need to tell you something," you murmured, you voice cloudy with tears still. It was only a week after your aunts passing and while you were getting better, you had a really rough day. Memories flashing through your mind and making it nearly impossible to get through your day without breaking down.

"Hm," Daryl hummed. You felt the vibrations in your chest, as he held you close to him and stroked your hair.

"I love you," you said, nuzzling your face in his neck, too scared to see his face. To see that he didn't feel for you that way. Or try to push you away. You couldn't look at him.

Hesitantly, he gently pulled your face away from his neck to look at you. Your eyes were still red and rimmed with tears, which he brushed away with a thumb. You were scared to see rejection, but when you worked up the nerve to look at his face, you saw anything but.

You saw pure love.

"Daryl," you called.

"What?" He said from the other room, shortly before entering the living room where you stood. He was shirtless, wearing only jeans. His hair was still damp from his shower and you took a second to take in the sight before voicing your concerns.

"I don't think you should go on that hunting trip." You looked back to the news, who was reporting about strange serial killings around the country, now hitting Atlanta. They were eating the bodies.

He walked up to stand by you. You looked at him in worry. He smiled and brushed a hand down your face gently.

"That's Atlanta. If anything, me and Merle will be safer from those freaks in the woods," he says and presses his lips to yours to smooth away your worry. "You should come, too."

"I can't." You level him with a serious look. "My coworker is sick with some flu, I'll be taking care of the bar all by myself."

Daryl pushes his face into your neck and lays down kisses on your neck, moving down to your shoulders, then chest. You adore the scratchy feeling of his stubble on your delicate skin.

"Come on," he complains into your chest, and you giggle a little at his whining. "They can close the bar for one goddamn weekend."

"The money doesn't hurt either, Mr. Dixon," you tease. He pulls away to look you in the eye, hands on your hips and that same soft and genuine look on his face that you fell in love with to begin with. And those eyes. Despite all the years you've been with the man, his sparkly blues were still the prettiest thing you've ever seen.

"Fine," he obliges, but he still with a little frown. You wipe it away with a firm peck and a caress to his cheek. His eyes close momentarily, soaking in the feeling, before opening them again. He gazes at you with half lidded eyes, so lovingly and tenderly. "Whatever you say, Mrs. Dixon."

That morning was the last time you'd seen your husband. The flesh eating 'serial killers'—which you now are reanimated corpses— made their way to your small town while he was gone. You tried to stay as long as you could, but soon a herd trying to make their way into your house and you couldn't stay.

You tried to get to where the Dixons were camping, but was too late. They were already gone for god knows how long. And so you moved around, trying to find him. You had no clue where to look, you weren't a tracker like Daryl, but you tried.

You moved through the woods and stayed at cabins you found, or made a little camp with cans on wire surrounding it so you can hear anything coming. Daryl had taught you that, when you stayed at a campground with him once where there were larger animals roaming around.

You missed him.

You missed how he could always ease your worries and calm you down. His gentle touches and soft kisses. How soft he was with you. The way he always looked at you with love and care. You missed all of him.

You're ashamed to think that maybe you'll never find him. Or maybe he only lives in your memories now. Maybe the last time you saw him was truly the last time.

You could still see his eyes in your mind whenever you tried to sleep. You stayed awake most of the time now.

You move around an abandoned gas station. It was your little camp for the moment. It had four walls and the doors held well enough, for now anyway. It's been almost a year of this now. Of moving around trying to find Daryl, with not even a clue. You needed to hunker down for at least a week, you're growing too weak and exhausted.

The gas station was littered with dirt and grime, along with some candy and other snacks that weren't scavenged. Some water bottles were still in the coolers, but barren shelves took up most of the space.

You're moving some of the shelving to the door, hoping that blocking it would keep the monsters out. If they didn't hear or see you, maybe they'll just wander by.

You set up a blanket in the corner and throw your pack down before laying your head on it. You take a deep breath and try to fight the tears. You can't do this anymore. You can't just survive anymore. Is there even a point? Tears burn at your eyes and you close them shut.

You must fall asleep at some point, because when your eyes fly open to voices, it's bright out.

"There's something blocking the door," a woman says, trying in vain to push the doors open. You grab your gun quickly and rush to hide behind some shelving.

"Hang on, let me try," a man says, before you hear more loud screeching from the metal shelves scraping on the floor. You point your gun in front of you, really hoping you don't have to use it.

You hear footsteps, and see light streaming in now that the shelves weren't blocking the sun. Your hands shake a little on the gun.

"Seems clear," the man says. You hold your breath. Maybe they'll just leave. You peak ever so slightly over the shelve to see the two. Ones a Asian guy, and the other is a pretty brunette girl.

"Glenn," she says, and points over to your blanket and pack. "Someone was here."

You slink back down, slowly and carefully. You can hear as the two begin to walk cautiously around the tiny store. The guy—Glenn— begins to walk around the shelf you're hiding behind, so you try to move to block yourself from his sight. But you didn't see the empty can by your foot, and kick it, causing it to roll out in the open. Shit.

"Whoever's back there, come out!" Glenn calls out. "We won't hurt you, just come out slow."

You weight your options in your head, but decide to walk out. They looked put together and well kept, maybe they had some sort of camp? A stable enough place that they wouldn't kill you for a can a beans and a half empty bottle of water?

"Put the gun down," the girl says, flanking you from behind while the man is in front. You oblige, and the gun drops to the floor with a metallic thump. Your heart beats a million miles a second.

"You have a camp?" Glenn asks.

"This is my camp," you answer. Your hands were raised slightly in front of you, not wanting to startle them in any way and end up with a bullet between your eyes.

"What about a group? Are you with anyone?" He asks. He eyes your warily, but they seemed kind. The girl walked out in front of you, her gun in hand but not held up. They didn't seem malicious. Maybe this could work out?

"No, just me," you answer. He and the woman give you a long look.

"We have a camp, answer our questions and we can take you back," the girl says, holstering her weapon. Glenn lowers his but keeps it in his hand. "My names Maggie, and that's Glenn." You nod, and your eyes dance from one to the other. They didn't seem bad, but you can't be too careful nowadays.

"How many walkers have you killed?" Glenn asks.

"I don't know," you say with a shrug. "I've been moving around a lot, so a bunch I guess."

"How many people?" You gulp at his question.

"I shot a guy trying to rob me, not sure if I killed him." The man nods, and you wonder what's going to happen to you. They have a camp, but is it safe? Even if it is, would you go? Daryl could still be out there...

"Our camp is a prison not far, you can come back with us," Maggie says, a kind smile gracing her pretty face. "What's your name?"

"Y/N, Y/N Dixon." The couples eyes fly open, their jaws drop slightly. "What?"

"You wouldn't happen to know a Daryl Dixon, would you?" She asks, and your heart just about burst right out of your chest.

"Yeah, he's my husband," you say, excitedly. Your heart is thumping almost painfully against your ribs. "You know him?"

"Daryl's married?!" Glenn shouts out. Maggie thumps him once on the shoulder and gives him a stern look. "What?"

The whole trip to the prison you thought you were dreaming. Maybe this isn't happening. I'm asleep still. Daryl is gone.... You still tried to hold onto hope, your chest tight and fingers anxiously drumming against your leg.

Maggie and Glenn were sweet, both with matching grins at the idea of yours and Daryl's reunion. They asked questions along the way, how you'd met him and how long you were married. You answered them all happily, almost to the point of tears.

When the car drove up to the prison fences, you looked around in awe. There were animals and crop gardens, kids running around the fields. It was something you never thought you'd see again.

A man opened the fence for you three, and a grey haired woman followed after seeing you step out of the car. The man had a beard and cowboy boots on, and he smiled warmly when he saw you. The woman had a look just as kind.

"Rick, Carol, you'll never guess who this is," Maggie says, a huge smile plastered on her face as she jumped out of the car. They both give you a second glance and look at her a little confused, and the man— Rick— nodded for her to continue. "Daryl's wife."

"Oh!" Carol gasped, a big smile on her face. "So nice to meet you! I've heard so much about you!"

"Only good things I hope," you say. You're still buzzing, and your eyes fly across the field in hope of catching a glance of your husband. Your heart flutters, your knees feel weak, and you still feel this may be a dream. A figment of your imagination.

And then you see him.

Your eyes widen, and with one last glance at your four new friends, you book it towards him. Your feet barely touch the grass as you bolt towards your husband.

"Daryl!" He turns sharply at the sound of your voice. He's half bent over his bike, hands full of grease and grime, and still he's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. He stops in his tracks for just a second before running to meet you in the middle.

You jump into his arms, his grease caked hands rubbing all over you but you couldn't care less. His fingers tremble where they lay on your back. Your face is shoved into his neck and you relish in the feeling of him.

"I thought I lost you I—" he says, cutting himself off, like he couldn't even think of it. "I looked for you everywhere."

"Me too," you say, voice laced with tears. This has to be a dream, it has to be. Your burrow your face even deeper into him and tighten your hold. "I don't want this to be a dream."

"Shh, it's not," he murmurs lovingly in your ear. "I promise, I'm right here."

Tears flow down your face even faster. Negative thoughts still plague your brain. Daryl brushes his hands down your back, up to caress your shoulders, before moving back down to clutch at your hips. His touches become more desperate and clingy. You think he's never going to let you go, you never want him to.

Finally, you muster up the courage to look at him. You slowly peel your face away from his neck. Daryl presses a kiss to your forehead, resting a hand on your cheek softly. You look at him with matching tear stained faces, smiling. Gently, you push his grown out fringe away from his face.

He's smiling, probably the happiest you've ever seen him, even with tear tracks down his pretty face. And when you finally lock eyes with those sparkly blues you've only seen in your dreams for so long, you know he's really there.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #daryl x you #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl x reader #twd

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m-ayo-o · 6 months

Text

₇ play nice [II]

18+ // explicit threesome ft. boyfriend Toji and friend Satoru doggy // squirting // male x male oral + a lil cnc // one use of a slightly degrading nickname towards gay men // f x m oral wc 1300 part one ♡ part two ♡ part three chapters m.list

Meanwhile, Satoru pushes you onto the mattress on your knees, making a ponytail with your hair in his hand, sliding the other up your spine.

“S-satoru–” you let out a little whimper, feeling his grip getting tighter.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“N-need you,” you stammer, feeling empty without a fat dick inside you.

“I know, I know,” he coos, sliding his tip up and down your lips, “jus’ wait for your man to get here, need to see his face when I fuck ya, ok?”

“Satoruuu” you cry for him, your impatience making you wild.

You hear Toji entering the room behind you, slapping his friend’s ass as he steps past.

“Fuck her nice and hard.” He knows what he signed up for. He may as well make sure you can feel good.

“Hah,” Satoru gives him a cocky laugh as Toji gets up in his face, “I know how to treat a woman.”

“Mm,” Toji looks his friend up and down, watching him slide his tip through your entrance. “Just do it right,” he utters and seals his lips, their tongues pushing together fervently.

You arch back to catch a glimpse, seeing Toji pull away with Satoru’s lip between his teeth. He gives his ass a squeeze then gets himself positioned at the top of the bed, pumping his dick and watching you head on.

He’s loving your expression now Satoru’s pushing all the way in. You realise how long he is, and feel that amazing curve to his dick that gets you spreading yourself wider, eagerly taking every inch until he slots up against your cervix. Sure, Toji gets there too, but this feels different. Where he’s pressing is igniting a new kind of pleasure inside you, especially when his long fingers find your clit.

He circles and taps, eager to get you dizzy before he even starts to move.

“S-satoru–” your voice comes out shaky, the unfamiliar feeling building up. It almost feels like you need to pee.

“Ah– w-wait, S-s– uuhh–” your voice dies, feeling his hips start to thrust.

Oh fuck, the way he’s pressing on you inside, perfectly nestled against your g-spot, is making you feel drunk.

He starts off slow and sensual, rolling his hips, his fingers trained on that soaked bundle of nerves.

“Ugh, fuck,” he groans, “oh pretty girl, I’ve got to– fuck, need it a bit harder now…” he warns you, his hips starting to pump with more force.

“Shit!! Oh, fuck!” you scream, to his pleasure, your body jolting with each thrust.

“That’s it.” You hear Toji again, while he watches your expression get stupid.

“‘M not done yet,” Satoru picks up his pace with an arrogant laugh.

He leans down over your body now, your eyes fixing on Toji’s and flying wide when you feel the man behind you getting deeper.

Satoru presses one hand into the mattress, his lips finding your ear in this more intimate position. He starts to whisper, telling you what he’s going to do to you, telling you how you’re going to feel.

And your mind bends.

You convulse and grip him, the dark haired man letting out a breathy chuckle seeing your eyes roll back.

Satoru keeps rutting into you, keeping nice and close, pressing on that disgustingly sensitive spot.

It’s building now, with each long orgasm, every time his perfect cock slides through you, you’re getting closer to a new release.

“Toruuuu–” you whine for him, “I, I can’t–”

Toji watches you catch your lip between your teeth.

He’s never seen you look so confused. And sure, he’s worked thousands of orgasms out of you– but his friend’s methods are different, but proving quite effective all the same. He continues jacking off, impatiently enjoying the show.

“You can’t…” his fingers and cock are relentless, “what?”

After your third orgasm you suddenly feel more relaxed, like you’re melting.

Then it hits you.

“T-Toru, Toru w-wait–” you panic, feeling your body snap and release hot loads of liquid as you hit your next climax.

“That’s it,” the white haired man coos in your ear, then leans up again to watch you spilling over him.

“You did it, pretty girl,” you’re dripping. He’s got it all over his lower stomach, he can’t help but slide a finger through your hot mess, “fucking perfect.”

Now it’s his turn.

He fucks you harder, letting out cute moans of your name.

But to his displeasure, Toji’s free hand finds your arm, gripping and tugging you away from his friend. You fall forward, losing your balance as Satoru slides out of you, letting off an agitated groan.

He grips at your hips now, pulling you up to fuck back inside you.

Toji tugs again– his friend’s blue eyes flashing dangerously as his cock slips out again.

“Not here,” Toji warns, feeling the telekinetic grip over his neck.

He finally gets his friend off you, pulling you up and sinking into your dripping hole– you feel at home on his lap, his familiar girth spreading you wider.

“C’mere, you twink,” his gaze shifts behind you, to the man who’s sulking, too full of himself to jerk off, “let me suck you.”

You hear him huff, Toji watches his eyes roll.

He remembers the last time the man gave him a blowjob, thinking of how rough and dirty he was.

“Come sit on my chest”

Satoru can’t refuse any longer, desperate to get his dick wet again.

So he perches in front of you, now you can steady yourself on him and start moving up and down Toji’s length.

He spreads his legs over Toji’s body, who sinks down a little and grabs his friend’s hips.

“Don’t look too eager…” Satoru glares and grips the headboard.

Toji only smirks and swallows him whole, taking him all the way back, letting off a pleased hum when the man starts to groan and buck his hips.

Meanwhile, your hips are getting sore as you’re used to Toji doing the work for the most part. You whimper and grind over him, feeling your legs seize up and your arms tremble. You have to pull away, sinking to your knees and taking his length in your mouth instead.

Toji groans, entering your hot mouth, feeling your tongue over him, while he delivers the same pleasure to his friend.

“I’m not cumming in your mouth”

“Hm,” we’ll see about that, he thinks.

The white haired man starts to pull out, Toji’s strong grip only yanking him in to make for a particularly rough thrust into his mouth.

“Ngh– fuck, no–” Satoru whimpers, his hips starting to move on their own now he’s deepthroating the man, hearing him gag with those icky swallowing noises.

Toji’s about to tip over as well, his hips starting to buck into your mouth in tandem with his friend’s.

Satoru groans and thrusts, his head falling against the wall in front while his legs spread wider, fucking Toji’s face.

“You want my cum so bad??” his voice cracks with a little sob, one hand now finding the man’s jet black hair and forcing him closer to his pelvis.

If Toji could smile right now he would be grinning like the fucking cheshire cat.

He is loving every moment of his friend collapsing, submitting and losing his mind, his eyes getting a voracious glint as he swallows every inch.

“Ugh– you’re, you’re a fucking– ahh, animal–!”

He cries and sinks his cock into the soft spot of Toji’s throat, reaching a long, hard orgasm.

His hips slow down while he watches Toji’s eyes roll back, groaning with his mouth still stuffed, enjoying his own release. You and Toji both swallow, the sticky, salty cum sliding down your throats.

Satoru pulls away, planting his ass back on Toji’s chest, watching him groan with satisfaction as you clean up the leaky mess on his tip.

Toji gives him a sly grin, wiping his mouth. He always gets what he wants.

chapters | m.list | pt. 3

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #female reader #18+ content #toji imagine #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #satoru x reader #satoru smut #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #toji x satoru

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year

Note

Bullet train au tangerine x fem reader where lemon and tangerine partner up with two other siblings and this time instead of tangerine dying fem reader loses her brother and she’s devastated and he’s all im going to fuck this train up for hurting my girl. 🥺 some comfort from tangerine to reader as well please!!! Tangerine then acts soft towards the reader

hii!! I love it!! this turned out angsty and sad, I hope that’s okay. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

ace of hearts

tangerine x f reader

readers code name is ace, twin brother is spade

wc || 1k

warnings || quite sad, might be a little heavy for some. death of readers brother, mentions of blood

a/n || I had a complete brain fart, for some reason I thought the deck of cards were diamond, heart, spade and ace. turns out, it’s ACE OF (…) not the actual card name😭 I forgot about ‘clubs’ but we’re gonna pretend that ace is a name of card, okay? or that it has some deeper connection and meaning to her brother lmao

masterlist + rules

taglist

Everything seemed to fall apart the very second the bullet train travelled past Tokyo Station. Everything you thought was under control, seemed not to be.

Ever since then, it all felt like some kind of progressively sick game; it started with the disappearance of the briefcase, then the death of the son, which was later followed by unexpected fights with others who also wanted the case. Everything right down to the very moment when you hear the unnerving sound of a gunshot a couple carriages down.

You’ve heard many gunshots in your time, but none of them scared you the way this one did. There was this daunting feeling throughout the entirety of your bones that told you it was something different to the thousands before. Pushing past the twins, you dart through the aisles, bustling through the cascade of people that were running away from the noise in fear. Stumbling your way in, you see him. And your heart crumbles.

Falling to your knees beside your twin brother, clutching his stomach while you applied pressure directly over his wound, trying to keep the blood from pouring out. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay.” You say softly, your voice breaking as you look around with tear-filled eyes. “We’re gonna get some help, okay? It’s gonna be fine.” You assure him, but in actuality, you were reassuring yourself.

You hear a couple soft gasps from behind before feeling their presence join you shortly after. “What can we do? Quick.” Lemon says panicked, searching around for ways to keep the blood from gushing out.

“I don’t know.” You whisper, staring down at the painful expression that was spread across your brother Spade’s features.

“Where you going?” Lemon shouts, calling after Tangerine.

“To find the twat that did it.”

Turning your attention back to your best friend, your worried eyes darting over his face as you watched him attentively. Pushing a little harder over his wound when you notice his blood seep through the gaps in your hand. “It’s not working.” Your voice breaks as you quietly sob. “It’s not working— why isn’t it working?”

Lemon shimmies off his jacket and rolls it into a ball. “Count of three, we swap places. Okay? … one, two, three.” Sliding your hands away so that Lem could apply the pressure, you cup your hands around your brother's face to keep him calm. Staring down at him with eyes riddled with fear.

“You need to get off the train.” Spade says quietly, eyes fluttering as his head grew heavy in your hands.

“Not without you. We’re gonna get help... you’re gonna be okay.”

“No… please. Just leave me.” He sighs, holding into your hand that was resting against his face. Gripping you dearly as he looked up at you. “Please, you have to get out of here.”

“Just, no. We’re getting you off.” You say defiantly, holding his face stern to emphasise your words. “I can’t lose you… I won’t lose you.” Whispering in broken speech as you gaze down at his stomach.

“How is he?” Tangerine anxiously questions, rushing towards you as he shook off his now blood-splattered blazer. Lemon turns around to face him, slowly shaking his head with a pained smile.

“Just leave me here… please go…” His speech becomes slow and strained as his eyelids grow heavy. Fluttering every once in a while, until they didn’t.

“No.” You sob, softly shaking his head. “What you doing? Come on, that’s not funny.”

“Ace…” Tangerine says softly, kneeling beside you. Brushing slow circles over your lower back.

“He’s okay, he’s just resting his eyes.” You reply, your words coaxed in denial.

“Darling… he’s not.” Stroking higher up your back, gently urging you towards his embrace.

“He’s fine. Lem, what you doing? Put your hands back.” You heavily exhale, cupping back over his stomach. “Come on, he’s losing more blood.”

“Oh, honey,” Lemon says quietly, delicately removing your hands.

“We still have time.”

“We don’t, sweetheart.” Tangerine responds almost regretfully as he twists you around to face him. “He’s… gone.”

Whispering. “No.”

“I know.” His bottom lip hides a sympathetic wobble as he cradles your head, pulling you towards him. “I’m so sorry.”

It was at the moment when the fog cleared and you finally realised that you had in fact just lost your brother. Your other half. Sobbing into the Tangerine’s chest as he embraced you tighter, wrapping his arms around you as if his only goal was to shield and protect you.

“He didn’t want to do this job in the first place.” You wail into his shirt, sniffling as you pull away. “It’s all my fault… if I didn’t push him to say yes, he wouldn’t be dead. If I had just—“

Tangerine sadly shakes his head, his eyes darting across your saddened face. “No. Don’t say that.”

“It should’ve been me.” You whisper, wiping your snotty nose on the back of your hand. “… should’ve been me.”

He cups your face, clutching your cheeks for you to meet his eye-line. “Please don’t say that.” His words were stern yet tender.

“Come on love, we gotta get you off.” Lemon quietly adds, checking the time on his watch.

“I can’t leave him here.” Lacing your hand into your brother’s, holding him like you couldn’t let go.

“I know, I know.” Tangerine nods slowly, looking over your doleful face. “Lem’s arranging a pick up in Nagoya, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah sweet, we got some guys that are gonna pick us up.”

“I’m gonna— we’re gonna look after you, alright? It’s all sorted.”

“What about Spade? I can’t leave him.”

“Love, it’s sorted. We’ve got a plane arranged. Right?” Looking back at his brother to confirm. “Yeah, they’re gonna take us to the plane base, and then we see how it goes from there, alright?”

Turning around you avert your attention back to your brother's lifeless body, stroking his face. Mumbling. “Okay.”

hii, I won’t be doing a part 2 to this :( I wanted to keep it so the ending was how you wanted it to be. either reader joins the twins and they become a group of three, or the reader leaves the job entirely and moves abroad. I wanted it to be an up-in-the-air ending, hope that’s okay:)

——————

@tangerinesgf @kpopgirlbtssvt @ch3rries-n-cream @earth-elemental18 @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @thewinterv @navs-bhat @ilovetangerinewithallmyheart @theredvelvetbitch @randomawesomeperson102 @lov3lypeaches7 @princess-pebbles-things

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x you #bullet train tangerine #tangerine and lemon #tangerine bullet train #tangerine fanfiction #lemon and tangerine #tangerine angst #tangerine imagine #tangerine blurb #tangerine comfort #tangerine x y/n

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multifan2022 · 6 months

Text

Golden Lies 9

PART 1 PART 8

Masterlist

You thought it would've been harder to find the small ragtag group. But it really wasn't, the boy from 8 was loud and yelling most of the day. So loud that while they were walking, they couldn't hear you following behind them. You listened to them talk, slowly forming a plan on how to take them on. Who would suffer most and who would die quickly.

“It's amazing, they are so oblivious she's right behind them and they have no idea!” Caesar said laughing as he watched. He had never been so intrigued by the games before. He wanted his little goddess to win, so much that he had the little butterfly sitting on his desk. This alone spoke to how amazing the people thought you were. Caesar VERY rarely every showed such blatant support of one specific tribute.

It didn't take long to learn that the only one who wanted to slowly kill Beck, was like he said the boy from 8. That solidified the plan in your brain, the two girls would die quickly but the boy would suffer. He would suffer for as long as you could stretch it. You would get revenge for Beck.

Night fell after an entire day of stalking, they were looking for you, without knowing that you were right behind them. It was clear they only made it this far because of their alliance with the careers. A small camp fire was made as they argued about whose turn it was to stay awake.

In a twist of fate, it was the boys turn.

The two girls fell asleep almost instantly but you still waited. Watching as the boy's eyes opened slower and slower, until he too fell asleep. An hour or two after he fell asleep you walked slowly putting your machete away. Two of the throwing knives you had left were pulled out.

Both lodged between the Axis and Atlas of their necks, spinal cords severed instantly. They died with very little to no pain and almost instantly. Their cannons went off and you were already standing behind the boy from 8. So when he jumped from his place, he didn't even have time to notice his teammates were dead.

The handle off your machete slammed into the side of his head, hard enough to knock him out. You went through the bags gathered around them while you thought about how you were going to kill him.

Impalement?

The blood eagle?

Death by a thousand cuts?

But when you pulled out a knife used to cut fish, one that had fish scales on the handle and 4 engraved into the blade your mind was made up. So you put the knife, green apples, and a few bottles of water into your bag. Cleaned off the throwing knives and put them away. Then drug the boy far into the woods, the opposite way of the cornucopia.

You knew you were going to need a lot of space to keep the others from hearing him. Somehow you got him into a sitting position, then used a cuff knot to secure his wrists. Then another knot with a separate rope around and through the cuff knot, and over a thick tree branch.

Hoisting him into a standing position was another challenge. But you managed to and secured that around the tree. His legs were then tied together so it would be harder for him to kick at you. When you were done you stepped back, satisfied with your work. You climbed the tree, finding a comfortable spot to sit and rest. Just waiting for what would happen next.

~~~~

Newt Pitwillow, the district 8 male tribute, jumps awake as the sound of birds chirping near him. He's disoriented, his head hurts both inside and out. His muscles feel stretched and strained. His shoulders are screaming at him to relax but he can't. Blood is slowly dripping down his arms alerting him to pain in his wrists.

A voice somewhere above him scared him as he looked around, finding you sitting in a tree. "Ah, you're finally awake.. I didn't think I hit you THAT hard." You smirked at him while cutting the green apple into slices and eating it off the blade. "But now that you are awake, the games can continue.. I'm sure this grew very.. boring for those watching."

Newts breathing picked up as he watched you hop down from the tree. Every step you took towards him increased his heart beat. "Why.. Why are you doing this!? Where are the others!" He screamed as you stopped just a few steps away from him.

"Well.. The careers are at the cornucopia, far away from us. And the two girls you were with are dead. Don't worry I killed them quickly, unlike you I normally have a conscience. "You kept eating the apple with a smile on your face as you enjoyed the panic and confusion on the boy's face. It brought you a sick amount of joy that this was going to be far more painful than what he did to Beck.

"If you killed them like that, then why am I here!" He yelled trying to pull at his arms, but they were secure. You laughed and pointed up at the knots with your knife "You like that.. Learned it at one of the survival stations.. Don't think this is how they thought we would use it but hey.. Live and learn right?" Newt started kicking and struggling again, his legs raising combined to try and lash out at you.

You let him continue to wear himself down, knowing that eventually he would stop fighting. And when that came he looked at you with tears in his eyes “Why.. Why do this? Why not just kill me?” Casually you tossed the apple core to the side, walking over to the bag by the tree. Drank some water before pulling the fish knife out and turning back to him. “Because.. It makes for a good show.. People like pain.”

“Oh we are hearing the same words repeated back to him that he said to that poor little boy from 4! What a turn of events from our little goddess!”

"Shes turning into the Goddess of Death and I am. Living. For. IT." The other broadcaster said as he smacked the table to show his enthusiasm.

You watched the color drain from his face as he remembered having said that. “Only your pain.. Well.. It's about to be a lot worse than his was.” You stepped forward holding the knife up so he could see it. “Recognize this? I'm going to assume you took it from one of the tributes from 4, because it has their number on it. It's for cutting fish. It solidified my choice when I was thinking about torture methods.”

“You see, years and years ago, a victor from 9 wanted to open a small training center. He thought because of our strength from the fields, if we could just train a little more we could have some more winners. It was a nice thought, he filled this huge room with books. Some of those books were about forms of touture our society doesn't use anymore.”

Goosebumps raised on Newts skin as the cool metal skimmed his arms, the calmness in your voice only scaring him more. “Eventually I outgrew the normal books teens read, right? So I read up on these, the one I really wanted to do to you.. I don't think I have upper body strength. It's called the ‘Blood Eagle’. It's when you open someones back and remove their ribs from their spine, pulling their bones and skin outward to form a set of “wings,” and remove their lungs from their chest cavity.”

“My god.. That's gruesome. It would've been amazing to see, I'm so excited to see what she has planned.”

“But like I said, I don't think I have the strength to snap your ribcage away from your spine. But I have something else in mind, something that will kill you slower. Put on more of a show, I'm sure you understand.” You said nodding with your lips pursed before smiling. You didn't know how to feel, that weird part of you had completely taken over. Maybe it was just your survival instincts on full blast, but then why hadn't you killed Newt immediately.

Because you wanted revenge, and that was what confused you. But you boxed it away inside your head and focused on the matter at hand. “SO instead of breaking your bones, I'm going to flay you..” The smile that took over your face as you stepped towards him was chill inducing. Newt was scared, the people of the capitol were perched so closely to the end of their seats that one stiff breeze would push them off.

The mentors in the training center where shocked. They had seen a lot of things happen, a lot of mental breakdowns. But none like this, they were use to the ones where someone shut down. When they curled into a ball and cried until they died. This was scary, it was like looking at a completely different person.

Even just the way you stood was different, the tilt to your head, the look in your eye. You didn't seem like you. They were nervous that you would win, but you would be insane.

Back across town, Walking back into the groups large penthouse was Seneca Crane. All it took to convey the sucuess of his trip was a smile and a nod. The same smile that was paused and stopped on their wall. They would find a way to get this image printed and hung here as soon as the morning light filled the sky. The same smile was shared between all the men.

They had found her..

The one they would ruin.

@avis15 @liballer @avoxrising @notplutos @asapkyndall @wolfstarfate

#finnick imagine #finnick odair #finnick x oc #hunger games finnick #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x you #the hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair head cannon

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kyiratodoroki · 8 days

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Yandere!Hawks/F!Reader

Content Warning: Not much to note in the intro (brief grope by a villain? 😂, language). The content will grow darker as we delve deeper. The story revolves around a yandere version of the number two pro, so possessiveness, stalking, violence, nonconsensual acts (and other adult themes), gaslighting, and love-bombing are all potentially on the table for starters. I'll try to catch all the tags in each chapter, but there is a possibility that I'll miss something. Proceed with caution? 😂

I'll Keep You Safe

🌹🌙

Hawks was the number two hero in Japan for a reason. Raised and trained by the Hero Public Safety Commission, he did his job perfectly. His good looks and natural charm made people love him, and he was never left wanting for someone to keep his bed warm. Lovers came (several times) and went (rarely by choice), and he never gave it a passing thought. The hero didn't let anyone get under his skin, never allowed himself to feel anything more than simple lust.

That is, until you came into his life.

He'd met many of his flings on the job, and you were no different. Some no-name villain with a chip on his shoulder decided to use you as leverage while trying to escape a robbery; a tired tactic utilized time and again by the most desperate and least creative criminals in the underground. It was impossible for the hero to ignore the indecent way the man gripped your body with one hand (obviously) groping your breast and the other at your waist (slipped beneath the hem of your shirt). With a little assistance from his feathers, Hawks made quick work of the deviant then let the cops take over once the situation was secure.

Like any good pro, he made sure to check on you as the bad guy was lead away in cuffs. He saw how you trembled from head to toe, hair tousled and clothes wrinkled. You looked up at him with wide, teary eyes and a flushed face. Your lips quivered slightly as you thanked him over and over for saving your life. He responded with his signature smile - the one that had graced every magazine and newspaper in Japan - then brushed a stray lock of hair from your cheek as he asked if you needed an escort home. For the sake of safety, of course.

Before you had the chance to accept his offer, some guy appeared from the crowd of onlookers and pulled you into his arms. Hawks chuckled, patted the kid's shoulder, and told him to make sure you got home in one piece. Both of you said thanks about five more times before leaving the scene.

A week later, Hawks found himself still thinking about you. Everything seemed fine after the incident, but there might have been something small the medical team missed, and the potential for lingering mental trauma definitely existed. Civilians crossed paths with villains on a daily basis - many of them suffered worse ordeals - but it was the memory of your expression keeping him awake at night.

You were a pretty girl, even with puffy eyes and a dazed stare. No. Scratch that. It wasn't that you were pretty despite crying. No. You were beautiful, and the terror added a facet of allure that made you unforgettable. Distracting. Every time he caught a glimpse of something that matched the shade of your eyes, he paused, and the sweet quiver of your voice had stolen into his dreams more than once.

His best efforts to forget you were a failure because no matter who he was fucking, he imagined your face looking up at him and your body writhing beneath his. Hawks tried to figure out the reason - aside from the obvious - why he was so taken with some random girl. He'd saved hundreds of them over the years and met thousands.

What made you different? He needed an answer.

Finding a name and address was easy, Your work location was a little harder to get without raising suspicion. He wanted to keep the information handy in case he (inevitably) decided to check in. Standard protocol didn't require heroes to follow up with the victims they saved. The people in charge actually discouraged any type of continued contact, but there were no specific rules against it, especially if the meeting was "accidental". So, while the Commission didn't approve of the extra attention he gave to some of the lovely little birdies he rescued, they looked the other way when it happened and cleaned up any messes left in his wake. He figured it was the least the H.P.S.C. could do. They'd made him into the man he was after all.

#yandere hawks #mha #mha hawks #mha fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #hawks x reader #yandere #dark fic #i'll keep you safe #stardust black fiction

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historia-vitae-magistras · 8 months

Text

Part Seven: Findings

First Installment: Here.

Last Installment: Here.

Current Installment: You are here!

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson.

Red Sail Hall, 2 days Later

Gravel began the conversation. Tires crunching over the drive appeared just before his brother’s old green Renault Clio sedan turned onto the drive, headlights low but visible between the plants currently in their roost on the windowsill above the sink. Fucking hell. He poured whiskey into two mugs of tea. The vehicle would likely contain the balance of both his siblings and his children not currently missing or half passed out on the old table.

“Matthew,” He turned away from the window and pressed the steaming mug of tea into his boy’s fingers, handle first. He was slumped over the table, too stubborn to sleep in a bed despite the blanched cast his face and the ever deepening hollows of his eyesockets. He rested on his arm and half on the pile of documentation in front of him. Every sheet of paper had come from what felt like a thousand government departments, a thousand places that didn’t know Alfred existed, or at least not officially. Matching and rematching data, looking for any number, any letter or any word out of place. It was more something to keep him busy than it was useful. He had fought leaving D.C. like a shuttle to Dulles was the same as serving as pallbearer.

Matthew roused with a start.

“Wha—?” He’d been properly asleep. Arthur felt guilty, but shuffled papers out of the way and gestured to the mug.

“I need to tell you something.”

The grogginess disappeared. He pushed his glasses up and sat straight, eyes wide, sparking with hope. “What is it? Alfred?”

“Maybe.” Arthur said. It was, but he didn’t know how it could be. Not yet. “There... there was the suggestion of a slight anamoly.”

Matt stared at him, the flat look that spoke of annoyance he rarely verbalized. “Yeah. He magically disappeared out of his space suit. We knew that.”

“Beyond that.” Arthur shut his eyes. “It was reported to me your brother may have… been a part of a slight breaking of— well it may have involved certain—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Rhys didn’t knock, he never did. Privacy hadn’t been much of a concept when they were young. He had archival boxes in his arms and they exchanged a look as the other two removed coats and boots. It was awkward when they stood, hesitant. Jack at his sister’s shoulder, Zee’s brow furrowed, doing the calculus of what she would find acceptable. He offered tea, giving himself a way out. He needs the scotch anyway, his mug almost empty. The world had long been spinning with Alfred as the axis, but a glance left, beyond him to Matthew and she let decades collapse and he suddenly had both of them in arm.

He squeezes them. Jack is so tall, warm and bundled into a sweater and unusually solemn. He’s too bloody big to hold properly but Arthur tries anyway, suddenly desperate for the certainty of the physical. But Zee he could still hold, if only barely. It was awkward, how long he held on. He didn’t want to let go. Three children in his sight, two in his arms. Three. That'd been normal once. No longer. Zee hugged him harder than she normally did, usually giving one quick and then slipping away. She knew what was in that box.

When he let go of her, he took up the whiskey decanter and poured and drank two glasses before turning around again. A surgical sheet had been laid on the table, Matthew watching, bewildered as his days work was brushed aside.

“Is that a skull?” Matthew asked, but only looked mildly surprised.

“There is…” Arthur filled his mug for the tenth time in two hours and stood to turn. He jolted, seeing his second son, tall and sharp where his mother had been— His fist went down by his side. “There was some evidence—” He couldn’t quite say it.

Zee took over, laying ribs out as anatomically as was possible on a flat surface.

“He finally let them open up the back garden for a testpit hoping they’d find some old knickknacks and they found two corpses. And one’s him.” Rhys said.

Matthew went pale. Arthur drank. “Ones— what?”

“The chalkies went around back and dug up the old man’s extra meatsack from another dimension.” Jack clarified. Arthur polished off the rest of his whiskey.

“It— it’s dad?” Matthew collapsed into a chair, looking pale. “How is that possible? How the hell do you even know?”

“Well, seeing as our genetic material can’t be tested.” Zee pointed to a slice along the small jaw line. “We removed a tooth, and a bit of the ossified cartilage.” She pointed to the sternum and Arthur put the tip of his tongue at his back molar and shut his eyes, bidding his chest to stop hurting. He couldn’t quite remember losing that tooth, it was probably before Rome had pulled away.

"The radiation confirms the date to about the 9th century but more importantly.... Solar flare radiation is very distinct."

"That doesn't imply— how do you know it's—" Matthew's voice trailed off. Several pairs of eyes aimed at him.

“We ested for oxygen isotopes and radio carbon dating and had a discrepancy between the first century and the 10th I couldn't explain with marine carbon circulation. It's him."

He needed more whiskey.

"How did it die?" He bluntly stated.

“The cut went right through the ribs.” Arthur watched, but did not allow himself recoil as Zee’s hand came down at a violent angle. Her palm and fingers flattened into the approximation of a blade and landed on the table between two pieces of bone, human ribs worn smooth by time. Supposedly his ribs. He forced his hands to stay at his side.

Zee said more, arching her hand over his spine. He couldn't hear her words but he remembered that blow. It had only been a day and change since Washington DC and nearly 5 days since the void of his missing firstborn had opened up wounds that had not existed since before Alfred did annd he wasn’t sure if he had slept more than an hour since. He crossed his arms to hide the tremor. From exhaustion or horror he did not know.

When he shut his eyes, he didn’t see his daughter’s hand but the head of an axe. He would not remember that blow, the bite of steel into his body, slicing his ribs and opening his entire body. Shoulder to the other hip.

Someone cleared their throat.

He had understood just why Magnus had named his axe undvargr. Wound-wolf. Someone cleared their throat again. He snapped back to reality. It had sheered the skull. His fucking skull. It did not have a jaw and the empty eyesockets stared at him, over the landscape of bones.

“What?” He demanded. “What are you looking at? Is it me or not!”

Rhys looked at him, concerned in that hard way of theirs, the one that equally said ‘get a bloody grip’ as much as it did ‘I’m sorry you have to see this.’ Jack was staring, his hand hovering over Zee’s shoulder, as if he was… not afraid but uncertain.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Arthur’s head turned sharply. Matthew was suddenly there, from nowehere. At his sister’s elbow, opposite Rhys. He’d put himself where he always been once upon a time. Between his father and his siblings. Mortar between the bricks.

“Don’t be stupid.” His hand went to his back and he conceded to gravity, falling into a chair. “I’ve dug up the back garden at thousand times since ten-eighty-something. My corpse hasn’t been rotting under the bloody tudor rose for a thousand years. Your brother slid out of reality and whatever that is,” He pointed to the bones. “Slid into it.”

“And that brings me to my original point.” Zee cleared her throat. “The radiation signatures match a solar flare. Not 9th century."

"What does that even mean?"

"Alfred popped off out of our reality and the old man's body popped in."

#my writing || cacoethes scribendi #the dangeld axe to grind: the viking age time travel au #axe

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reigenkills · 1 year

Text

MISSION FROM GOD TO FILL THIS TAG, GOD BLESS. THIS IS A SERIES NOW I GUESS

also this is on ao3 for easier archival

The nice thing about being entrapped into such an outlandish job such as capturing Death is that your clients hadn't paid you beforehand. They barely thought about reimbursement for your exploitation, really. They were more smug about the fact that they had leverage on you and eagerly sicced you on the personification of death.

But, while you went penniless from the encounter, you had no binding contract, magical or otherwise, which means that now that you have no obligation to do anything for them, you can sail halfway across the ocean with them none the wiser.

Duloc used to be one of the biggest kingdoms this side of the hemisphere. Ever since its ruler's untimely demise, however (eaten by a dragon, or so the rumors say), the resulting power vacuum had thrown the whole place into chaos with lesser aristocracy staking claims here and there, lobbying assassinations at each other while everyone else tried to stay out of the way.

But it's been years since Lord Farquaad took the slip n' slide down a giant lizard's throat. The kingdom has mostly stabilized, with sovereign villages here and there, while the fighting mostly took place on aristocratic lands. And where there's a semi-safe village and a shitton of espionage, there's an open job market for people like you.

You find yourself the cheapest inn available, ditch your usual all-black attire for locally-made clothes (a lot harder to track where you're from when your stuff's locally sourced - you are not getting compromised by a shirt tag), and start hitting the seediest bars you can find. In a land with this much unrest, there's plenty.

Predictably, you're not the only mercenary on the hunt for a job. Duloc's mostly merc country now, and the barmaid helpfully tells you where to frequent and who to talk to. There are even formal guilds here, though until you get a better feel for the land and the political climate, you think you'll go solo.

Your first few weeks aren't too bad. There's jobs from big wigs and commoners alike - from farmers needing wolves chased off their property to jealous lovers with too much money putting a hit on some poor schmuck. The most challenging thing you have to do is going to the mountains to bring a pair of brothers home after their camping trip goes awry, and their worried family puts a job out to find them when they don't come home. Turns out they got scared by some deer and ran deeper into the woods, getting lost in the process.

It's nothing you're not used to. At least no one's given you an assassination job, but you're new to town. Everyone's still getting a feel for your presence too - par for the course.

Three months into your stay in Poisonapple, Duloc, a hysterical parent barges into your new favorite bar, already drunk out of his mind and begging people to help him. Muffet, the barmaid, winces and mutters, "He's still at it?"

"He's done this before?" you ask.

"He was here yesterday," she says. "Poor Elrick's gotten tangled up with some rich family up north. I heard they got him tricked into pricking his finger on a cursed spindle."

"Oooh." You suck in a breath through your teeth. "True love's kiss not work out?"

"If his love even knows what's happened to him." Muffet shakes her head. "His father's been asking people to find some way to undo it, but - " She looks around, then leans closer as she whispers. "You ask me, I think Elrick's love's been locked away in some tall tower to keep 'er away from trouble. Weeks' worth of journey and the boy'll be bones by the time anyone comes back."

"Royal types do tend to do that, don't they?" you mutter. "Thought that solution fell out of popularity after Fairy Godmother herself kicked the bubble."

"Eh, where there's a vacancy in the market, there's a thousand other people waiting to fill it," Muffet says. "Competitors just had to take over the niche."

"Yikes." You knock back your drink, turning around in your seat to watch the poor old man plead, hands wringing as he begs for someone, anyone, to save his son.

You'd give it a shot, but like Muffet said, intel gathering would take days alone. The human body isn't designed to be unconscious with no food or water for that long. You don't even know how long Elrick's been knocked out, how long he has left.

"Can't they get someone else to do a counterspell?" you ask Muffet. "Like Sleeping Beauty?"

"Fae are hard to find around these parts. Witches too. Lord Farquaad chased everyone magical off the land a few years ago and very few have decided to come back since. The constant fighting between them aristocrats ain't helping."

"Yeah," you say. "Guess it'd be easier to find a witch and buy time than getting that true love's kiss, though."

Elrick's father suddenly turns to you. You freeze, and watch in horror as the man begins to stumble towards you.

"You - you know how to help my son?" he asks. "Please - "

"Uhhhh." You turn to Muffet, who wipes down the counter and dutifully keeps her gaze away, minding her own business. You're all for minding your own business, encourage it in fact, but come on. Traitor.

"Please," the old man says. "He's only sixteen - "

Fuck. Of course he is. Or course it has to be some young fucking kid.

"I don't really know, I was just…throwing ideas out," you say, tugging on the collar of your shirt. "See what stuck."

"B-but you're a witch, aren't you?" The old man eyes the red of your cloak, a new piece you'd gotten to replace your older one. While people in Duloc dressed much more colorfully than from your old town, the colors you now don make it so easy to identify you.

People know what your look like because they've been keeping an eye on you. You have a red cloak. You have two guns holstered on your belt at all times. You have a spellbook you carry in a satchel everywhere.

"I'm not very good at it," you admit.

"At least try."

"I could make it worse. I don't know how to use magic," you say. "Is it really worth the risk?"

The old man pauses, his brows furrowing, before he nods. "Anything," he says. "I just need someone to help."

"Look," you say. "Messing around with magic I barely know is a recipe for disaster. If I mess up, I'm not just gonna be trying to break a curse, I'm gonna have to drag your son back from the jaws of death. Does that sound any better?"

"Then just drag him back, witch," the old man insists. "Rally against death if you have to."

Your eye twitches. This is why you hate talking to people. This is why all your work is through written correspondence and why you talk sparsely. People always forget to suggest and go straight for commands. Where are the manners?

You turn around, mouth clamped shut, tapping a nail against the grain of the counter while the old man shouts behind you. A few people later come to drag him out.

You ask Muffet for another drink with the biggest glass she has. She gives you a raised eyebrow as she slides one twice the size of your forearm at you.

Whatever. You need to get a little reckless, burn off some energy. It's fine. Just as long as the person you're now supposed to rally against doesn't show -

"That could have gone better."

Son of a bitch.

You slam the glass onto the counter a little harder than you should. In the corner of your eye, Death flashes a smile.

"What can I do for you this evening, señor?" you ask, fingers twitching.

"What was your last command? Rally against Death?" He turns and leans am elbow on the counter, resting his face on one paw. "How are you gonna do that, peque?"

"I am trying - " your hands itch. " - not to."

"Can you actually fight your curse?" he asks.

You resist the urge to bang your head against the counter. As much as you're trying to control yourself, he's not making it easy when every word that comes out of his mouth makes you want to maul him.

He snickers. Your nails scratch against the grain of the counter as you turn back to him.

"Oh? Something's happening." Death leans over, hunching down to your height so you're nearly nose-to-snout, red eyes tracking every twitch and tic of your face. "What are you gonna do, peque? Bite me?"

You bite him.

"Son of a bitch!"

In your defense, he'd suggested it, and he was the one who got the brilliant idea of sticking his nose within biting range. You get a mouthful of freezing fur and snout, and then he's pulling you off of him like a leech. You snarl, grabbing fistfuls of silver fur to hold on, but he's much stronger - and he pulls you off with a comical pop!

He punts you across the room. You tuck your knees in and roll, landing on your hands and feet. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Mierda!"

You spit out the fur in your mouth - it tastes like ice chips for whatever reason. What the hell. "Hey, you asked for it. Gift of obedience, remember?"

You stand and watch him actually pause and consider it, before he glares, remembering he'd phrased it as a question and not a command. He reaches up to rub his snout.

"You're lucky you've got a while to go." He glances over your head. "Otherwise, I'd make you regret that."

"Hey, I was told to rally against Death. Can't hold that against me, can you?" One of your hands is already itching towards your gun. You look to your hip in distaste, your fingers twitching again.

"Don't."

Despite how annoying he is, you visibly sag with relief, sighing as the uncomfortable urge to just maim disappears. Your hand drops. You straighten and smooth out your cloak.

"That's way better," you mutter.

When you turn back to Death, he has his head tilted, his now-lopsided hood revealing the end of an ear. That's actually kinda cute, if he was, you know, not built like a brick shithouse and has rows of needles in his mouth.

"What?" you ask.

"I could just tell you never to attack me again," he says. Your hackles raise. "But that'd be less funny."

You raise an eyebrow. "What am I, entertainment TV?"

He snickers.

"Asshole."

"Brat."

You sneer, before marching back to the counter to drop a few pieces of silver onto it. You have no idea where Muffet's gone. Out back for a smoke break, probably, since you were the only customer left by the time Death showed up.

"Might wanna keep away from these parts, old man. Some of the folk up north are getting restless and desperate," you say. "My previous clients weren't the first people to think about chaining Death. There's always people who want more power."

"I know, peque. I've been here longer than you," he says with a chuckle. "You keep your eye on not getting turned into a dance monkey again."

You turn and flip him off. He laughs, and the candles in the room flicker, bathing everything in darkness for a second.

When the lights steady, he's gone.

#puss in boots death x reader #puss in boots x reader #muerte x reader #puss in boots the last wish #fic #fanfiction

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lu-is-not-ok · 9 months

Note

loving the analyses! could we get ebony stem/ya śūnyatā tad rūpam, if your inbox isn't too full? keep up the good work!

Well, I can fulfill one half of this request, considering I already talked about the other Outis E.G.O for... Way longer than was probably necessary.

That being said, let's dive under the cut for this.

So, let's start off with Ebony Queen's Apple. Or, rather, Snow White's Apple, the Abnormality Ebony Queen's Apple is an Abberation of.

The story of Snow White's Apple is a very interesting twist on the fairytale, focusing on the experience and feelings of the apple that poisoned Snow White.

This apple, created by the witch's rage and curse, was left abandoned after it fulfilled its purpose. Lonely and festering hatred towards the princess, the same feeling the witch was experiencing, it waited to rot away and disapper... But it couldn't. No matter how much time passed, how much the apple was crushed or eaten by bugs and birds, it would continue to exist.

Surrounded by the bodies of the birds and bugs its poison killed, the apple began to ponder its existence, until one day it sprouted enough of a stem and leaves to move from its spot. Thinking of the princess who was woken up from her poisoned slumber by a prince, the apple decided that it was a princess in its own right, but didn't need a prince to be woken.

The main theme of this abnormality is loneliness and jealousy mixing together to form an intense, "toxic" hatred. There's also this interesting idea of immortality and its negative connotations, being that the apple wished to effectively die, but would never rot, instead stewing in its own loneliness and the harm it inflicted just by existing. There's also this interesting idea of a role reversal, of the apple that inherited the witch's will and feelings becoming a princess in its own twisted way.

Now, that's all nice and good, but what about Ebony Queen's Apple.

Here, I would like to briefly rant about the fact that the wiki for Limbus Company contains all the MD Events, all the Abno Logs (though not always with proper assignments who said what), all the detailed Battle Info... but. For SOME FUCKING REASON. It does not include the text for mid-battle events. IT SAYS THE EVENTS ARE THERE!!! BUT DOES NOT PROVIDE THE FUCKING TEXT!!!!

Thank you, shitty fandom wiki, this is useless! You're making my job Harder!

In fact, I'm going to bring up those events as the First Thing, because they actually have the most thematically relevant details out of all of the information we have.

Ebony Queen's Apple has two mid-fight events. One that always activates on Turn 3 of the fight, and one that activates when its Head part is broken once and brought down to half health.

Let's start with the first one, perhaps the most interesting one.

It begins by describing Ebony Queen's Apple as "a heart torn into thousands of pieces", and how it burrows and tangles itself underground to hide itself from all eyes. Already, we have this repeat of the idea that the Apple is inheriting feelings from someone else, being that person's heart rather than just an apple cursed by that person.

This is followed by another interesting line, giving the reason for someone to pull up these roots as "there is no wound that can remain unearthed". The wording of this is kind of odd here. The word 'unearth' means to find something by digging something up from the ground, so for something to remain 'unearthed', it has have already been found and dug up.

Which... doesn't make sense when you first think about it, because it's giving a reason for digging something up by telling you that... something can't remain dug up? Unless, you connect it to the previous line. A wounded heart should not be seen by all eyes. No wound can remain unearthed. Ebony Queen's Apple is very much trying to hide its pain, and that's why the Sinners have to pull on these roots. Reveal the Apple's own pain. Because it by itself never would.

When the Sinners proceed to give each other looks, another interesting sentence follows. "Being coiled in piercing, sharp pain was something to avoid even in one's dreams." While, on the literal level, this is obviously meant to refer to the Sinner being bound by Ebony Queen's Apple's roots, I do wonder... Is it also referring to the pain the Apple itself is experiencing and trying to hide?

The skill check is a Wrath Advantage, with the additional flavor text saying "The dry earth must be upturned. Which Sinner was up to the task?". It's interesting how Wrath, the Sin of defiance, is the one that does better at upturning reality, if you will. But, that's not directly related to the Abno, so I won't dwell on it for too long.

What follows a successful skill check is the Sinner digging up the roots with their bare hands and coming to some... interesting realizations. To quote the text directly:

"In their hands were the doubts of others. The Sinner realized... That while the injury may heal, distrust might take deep root in their heart."

This, I think, is the reveal of what the source of Ebony Queen's Apple's pain is. The Apple has been hurt before, and while no physical injury or pain remains, there is still that pain of distrust, that pain of fear over being hurt again. The coiling, sharp pain that took root in the heart that the Apple represents. And that same pain that the Apple tries so desperately to hide.

Now, let's talk about the second event, which I have to rant about again. There is. Very little online info about this event, as usually one can very easily skip it because of how easy Ebony Queen's Apple is to defeat. The only footage I've found of it is in a Solo video, with the person pressing the Skip button, so if I miss any text in that event, this is why.

And no, I couldn't check what the event was on my own, because by the time I'm writing this Ebony Queen's Apple is no longer available in thread luxcavations, and I'm not going to be doing a whole MD for the chance of finding the boss or waiting a whole week just to be able to confirm the event text. I may be insane, but I'm not that insane.

So, in this event, when the Sinners look up at the Apple's face, they gaze upon "the weathered memories within". Again, there's this idea of the original harm that was done to the Apple took place such a long time ago that its memories have become weathered. It could also refer to the pain and distrust being what made those memories weathered by them, everything the Apple can remember now tainted by these feelings.

Another interesting line in this event is the following: "When the apple browns, cracks, shrivels, and attracts lowly creatures... That is when it has met golden bliss." There's that same idea of the Apple seeking death just like Snow White's Apple. How rotting away and becoming one with the earth, finally letting go of this pain, is the one thing this Apple considers as true bliss.

Upon succeeding the skill check (Pride advantage for taking advantage of the Apple being lost in bliss, btw), an interesting line is said. "The fruit was emptied of its lifeblood long ago; only futility remained."

It's a very evocative sentence to me. It gives the image of Ebony Queen's Apple being a sort of walking corpse, something that should have already died, but something within it was keeping it clinging to life in futility. Was the moment the Apple got hurt enough to begin its distrust the moment it lost its lifeblood? Was that pain and distrust the thing that kept it going in futility?

Now, let's take a look at the actual battle info. Don't worry, this one won't be as long as the MFE one, since Ebony Queen's Apple doesn't have as much to ramble about regarding its Skills and Passives.

Ebony Queen's Apple uses two different Sin Affinities - Gluttony for attacks done with its Stems, and Pride for attacks done with its Roots. All of the Apple's body parts have two attacks each, with the exception of the Head, which only uses a single Affinity-less defense skill.

Starting with the Stem attacks:

Pale Stem - The appearance of Snow White's Apple's stems actually plays a notable role, as they are constantly described as looking like they are dying and withering, yet they're still alive and growing. Likewise, I think it is worth pointing out what Ebony Queen's Apple's stems look like as well. The descriptor of 'Pale' combined with the almost skeletal appearance in its design proper gives the image of a plant that has been dead for so long its color and structure is unrecognisable. And yet... it's still alive, despite all odds.

Distrust - In case we didn't pick up on the idea of distrust from the mid-battle event, this attack would absolutely clue us all in. Incredibly straight-forward, not much more to say here.

Now onto the Roots attacks:

Root Spike - This one is so straightforward that I don't think there's much to read into here. You could probably read way into it with the idea of distrust and how it connects to the idea of taking root, but... Nah. I think this one is just a simple physical description of the attack. They can't all be deep.

Shared Pain - An interesting fact about this specific attack is that it only starts getting used After the mid-battle event (wiki says it only enters the pool after both events but I'm Sure I've had this attack happen after only the first one, so *shrug*), which has some interesting implications.

Recall that the first event involves a Sinner digging up Ebony Queen's Apple's roots, effectively exposing the pain and distrust it feels to everyone around it. And this action is what lets the Apple use the Shared Pain skill... If you can't hide it, make a show out of it, I suppose.

Now, onto the last one, the Head's defense:

Vain Fruit - Now, I think this is a very interesting skill name, as it could have a double meaning. Vain could mean someone with a lot of pride, an excessively high opinion of oneself. However, vain could also mean something useless, futile. In a way, I think both of these apply.

On one hand, Ebony Queen's Apple absolutely fits the Limbus definition of Pride. Hiding and trying to ignore its own pain for the sake of keeping up appearances, doing something for its benefits while ignoring the negative consequences. On the other, we are directly told that the Apple's continued survival is futile, there is no life left in it, only pain and distrust. Its continued existence is in vain.

So, I think the description "Vain Fruit" fits it quite perfectly actually.

Now, I'll take a brief look at the Passives as well.

An Apple's Twilight is an interesting one. When used figuratively, twilight can describe a state of gradual decline, or a state that is obscure and hard to define. In a way, I think that's exactly the state Ebony Queen's Apple is in. Not quite alive, but not yet dead either. In the twilight of its life, you could say.

Entangling Roots is clearly connected to the first mid-battle event, where the Apple is described as tangling itself to hide its pain. These roots are what entangles the Apple, and by pulling them out, this Passive is turned off premautrely.

One Sole Root is an interesting one, because I think it comes back to the idea of Pride/Vanity. That everything is about keeping up Ebony Queen's Apple's image, keeping up that one single root that matters. Note how the Roots are the part of the Apple that is covered up by its dress, and how "breaking" the Roots doesn't necessarily break the roots themselves, but exposes them by breaking the dress covering them.

So, let's finally mention the Abno Logs, shall we?

Something very interesting about Ebony Queen's Apple is that it's noted to not be immediately hostile to the Sinners, rather trying to communicate with them telepathically. It's in stark contrast to Snow White's Apple, whose hatred and poison would actively harm anything within its vicinity.

Even more interestingly, Ebony Queen's Apple asks the Sinners to "Bring Snow White", which leads Faust to realize this Abnormality has some connection to Snow White's Apple. However, something about this is interesting - it's very clearly talking about Snow White, the princess, not the other Apple. Do both of the Apples have some sort of connection to that princess?

The next Log mentions something interesting - Faust speculated that Ebony Queen's Apple could potentially 'believe itself to be a "noble".' Consider how Snow White's Apple began to believe itself to be a princess after spending a long time thinking about her. Likewise, Ebony Queen's Apple seems to have done something similar, instead beginning to believe itself to be the evil queen, potentially also after thinking about her for a long time.

...So I have a theory here. A Lore theory, if you will.

The Snow White's Apple is an Apple who took on the heart of the witch (which, if you somehow don't know the story, is the Evil Queen in disguise), but decided to become like a princess after being hurt by her.

What is the chance that Ebony Queen's Apple is the opposite of that? An Apple who took on the heart of the princess, but decided to become like the Evil Queen after being hurt by her.

It would explain a lot, in fact. The reason why Ebony Queen's Apple isn't initially hostile towards the Sinners? Because at her heart, Snow White isn't a violent or malicious person, it's the persona of the Evil Queen that the Apple took on that is violent. What character in the fairytale would be the most likely to develop high levels of distrust? Snow White, who's being constantly hunted down by the Evil Queen through a variety of deceitful tricks. Why would the Apple look like it's been dead for a long time? Because Snow White was put into a coma, seemingly dying due to the Evil Queen's actions, before she was brought back to life.

So... decoding Ebony Queen's Apple is nice and all, but where does that leave us themes-wise?

Well, distrust is the most obvious theme here. Specifically, the pain one experiences and feels the need to hide because of the fear of being hurt again. There's also this similar idea of immortality, but in this case it's specifically the futile attempt of living after one's death, literal or figurative. A walking corpse, if you will. Finally, the role reversal theme rears its head up again, though in this case it's about a kind, soft-hearted person becoming malicious and selfish, so as to never be hurt again.

And now, we get to the big question. What does all of this mean for Ebony Stem Outis?

Well, let's look at the Awakening attack. In this attack, Outis uses Ebony Queen's Apple's Root Spike attack, which by itself doesn't tell us much. What is interesting is how she invokes this attack. The motion she makes puts to mind the leader of an army, directing their troops forward with the decisive raise of a weapon.

However, the more interesting part here I think is her dialogue line. "If this is to seize victory…" So, those who were here for my Ya Śūnyatā Tad Rūpam analysis might have an idea of where this is going.

This, I think, is Outis expressing her own justification for putting on the persona of the 'Evil Queen', of a brave, selfish commander. It's to seize victory, whether it's about the Smoke War, whatever ulterior motives she has in her current position, or perhaps even something far more personal. Because, if you win, you can't lose and be hurt further, right?

After all...

Outis has proven herself to be quite familiar with this idea, hasn't she?

Now, onto the Corrosion.

Here, the idea of Ebony Queen's Apple representing something that is already dead is further cemented, as Outis's face turns completely skeletal upon becoming Corroded. Interestingly enough, the animation she uses here is the Apple's Shared Pain attack. Perhaps Corroding under the influence of this Abnormality shows enough of her vulnerabilities for her to decide to unmask just enough to use that attack?

The dialogue line here is also very fascinating. "Just a little more…", said in a notably pained manner. Just how desperate is Outis? Just how much pain is she pushing herself through to continue on? How many 'just a little more's has she been clinging to this whole time?

Just like how Ebony Queen's Apple's attempts to keep living after death are futile, Outis's attempts to continue on despite what happened in her past are also futile. No amount of pushing through and inching forward will lead her to where she wants to be. No amount of telling herself that the Oddyssey had a purpose will actually give it one.

Finally, we're at the point where we can do some Sin Analysis.

Ebony Stem is a Gluttony-affinity E.G.O, and it's a very clear yet very interesting case of one. The hunger is very much there, but it's not what one would usually associate with Gluttony on first glance.

The hunger for survival is there, but it's not literal. In this case, it's the striving towards surviving without being hurt, surviving despite the pain distrust causes. Likewise, the hunger for progress is also there, in this case it's for trying to move forward despite what happened in the past, to keep inching 'just a little more', even though it's clearly futile, with no end in sight.

This futility, I think, is what truly makes this a Gluttony E.G.O.

Now, as for the necessary Sin Resources, they are as follows (ordered from needed most of to least of): Pride, Gluttony, Lust, Gloom.

Pride is quite important to Outis's character, and especially to this E.G.O, as she requires a whole four of it to use it. While the whole idea of her ignoring the harm she inflicts on others to get what she wants still applies here, I think there's another layer to this - ignoring the harm she experiences in doing so.

One of the main themes of Ebony Queen's Apple is how one tries to hide and ignore the pain and distrust one feels for the sake of the appearance one puts on, an incredibly Pride-coded action. Likewise, Outis has to hide her pain and insecurities to be able to put on the persona of the strong-willed, merciless commander, a highly Prideful act by Limbus's standards.

Gluttony follows after, with Outis requiring three of it to use Ebony Stem. Due to it being the Sin Affinity of the E.G.O, most of the points I made while talking about that still remain. Outis needs to wish to survive without pain and keep moving forward despite it being futile to use Ebony Stem, simple enough.

Then, a surprise guest.

Lust. Outis requires two of that Sin to use Ebony Stem. While Lust often represents indulgence, I believe this case is very similar to the case of Lust in Ya Śūnyatā Tad Rūpam. It represents Outis's dedication to her personal goals, how she has to be willing to do anything to fulfill them to gain access to this E.G.O. Plus, there is that additional layer of her wishing to not be hurt, though that can count as several different Sins depending on the context, and it's something I would put under Gluttony for this E.G.O specifically.

Finally, there's Gloom. Outis requires only one of it to use Ebony Stem. It's a small, but nonetheless important part of this E.G.O. I believe Gloom here represents the pain and trauma that led to Outis developing this behavior in the first place. The harm that was inflicted on her in the past, and the distrust that clings to her afterwards. It's a small part due to Outis's highly goal-oriented nature, causing her to focus on other aspects of Ebony Stem, suchs as reaching the goal of victory... But that hurt is still there. That piercing, sharp pain coiling around her heart, that she's always aware of at the back of her mind, no matter how much she wishes to hide it.

Of course, her Passive here being named Stem of Distrust only drives the point home even further.

Something interesting about Ebony Stem Outis's Sin Resistances is that, while very close to Ebony Queen's Apple's, they're not exactly the same. Both the Apple and Outis are Fatal to Wrath and Pride, as it's what can easily tear down their masks - the will to defy their commanding presence and tear it down, knowing that exposing their pain will hurt them in the process. However, what they differ in is the Sins that are Ineffective (x0.5) against them, and the ones they Endure (x0.75).

For Ebony Queen's Apple, its Ineffective Resistance is Gloom, and it's Endured Resistance is Envy. Meanwhile, for Ebony Stem Outis, the Ineffective Resistance is Gluttony, while Gloom is Endured.

I think the reason they're protected from the influences of those Sins is, well... They're the reasons why both the Apple and Outis put on those personas in the first place. They're both protected from Gloom because the whole reason they act like 'Evil Queens' is to avoid getting further hurt, with it being much more important to the Apple.

The Apple endures Envy because its pain likely comes from the influence of a single person - the real Ebony Queen. As such, by mimicking her, the Apple is effectively ensuring that it won't be as hurt and influences by her as it was in the past. Likewise, Gluttony is Ineffective against Ebony Stem Outis as that's the main reason she puts on this mask, to continue moving forward, to keep on living after what happened, regardless of its futility.

There is... certainly something going on with Outis that we don't fully know about yet. Something about her two Gluttony Affinity E.G.Os having themes of distrusting other people, and all of her E.G.Os having some form of idea of putting on a front that's far more aggressive or selfish or commanding than the real self might be...

Girl, what is with you.

#tearychildren #ask #lu speaketh #limbus company #outis #outis lcb #ebony stem outis #lcb analysis #i will say #this new format i've been doing with e.g.o analyses #where i go far more in depth than i used to #is extremely fun to write #maybe once i'm out of requests i might revisit some of my old analyses #the roseate desire one especially feels somewhat dated #as i've written that one before my opinion on what each of the sins means was solidified #but who knows #anyway enjoy another essay length analysis

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twistmusings · 1 year

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May i request "how do they act around their crush" for the dorms heartslabyul and savanaclaw please?

How would Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw act around their crush?

CW: None

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts

Crushes hit Riddle super, super hard and they always surprise them when they happen. It's pretty rare for him to catch feelings, but when it does, he's never prepared for it. He just notices how badly his heart starts racing and that he's staring at them and that's when it click that he has feelings for them.

He tries to keep it low-key that he does have feelings for them to see if the crush is something that will peter out or not, but most of his friends and the other members of Heartslabyul catch on pretty quickly. For one thing, they don't often see Riddle lose his focus like that, so when that happens it really narrows it down to a handful of things that could cause it.

He will find his own ways to get closer to them. Asking them if they would like him to help them study for tests or if they need any tutoring would be a big one. He knows that he's intelligent and if he can leverage that to spend a little more time with them, then he will.

If asked, Riddle won't deny that he has feelings for them, but he will try to deflect. After all, it's still too new for him to know entirely how he feels and he doesn't want to be uncertain about how he feels when and if he decides to persue them.

He may try to flirt with them, though he is not all that good at flirting. Courting might be a better word for it: he will bring them flowers and small gifts whenever he can, and he is exceptionally chivalrous to them.

He probably ends up kissing them on impulse before he feels entirely ready to ask them out and nearly losing his damn mind over it because that wasn't what he planned.

Ace Trappola

Ace is a disaster with a crush. Being the only person among the others in the first year who has had any dating experience, he's nervous because of that. He knows that he didn't handle his first relationship with any sort of grace or nuance, and he's really afraid of finding himself going down the same path again.

He vehemently denies having a crush to the people around him and it doesn't work in the slightest. They know. They can all tell how he feels because he wears it on his sleeve and keeps giving them puppy eyes whenever they're not paying attention to him.

He basically goes through the five stages of grief for a crush. Particularly denial and depression, but he literally does go through all five stages at one point or another.

He self-sabotages terribly. He wants to have things work out but he also will intentionally do things to make his own life harder. He has some pretty high standards, too, and when he can't meet them he ends up super frustrated at himself and moody.

He sort of distances from his crush, and will give them excuses that don't make a whole lot of sense whenever he gets a bur up his ass. A crush really makes him a flaky friend.

Deuce Spade

Deuce both realizes and doesn't realize he has a crush. How can he possibly do that, you may be asking? Well, obviously he just assumes that he's very, very attracted to their personality platonically. He thinks that they're on the path to be super best friends. He gets so excited to see them and he thinks their smile is the best thing on the planet, so it's hard not to see them differently from everyone else. So, when he has the realization that he does have a crush, it hits him like a train.

He is teased about it by Ace approximately eight thousand times on the average day.

After he realizes he has a crush, he has such trouble talking to them. He still tries, but he trips over his words and freezes up when they ask him a question sometimes. He tries really hard not to be obvious about it, but it's a pretty stark change.

He's not possessive by any means, but he is protective. He cares so much about them that he's physically incapable of keeping is mouth shut if he hears someone shit-talking them and can't keep his hands to himself if he sees someone trying to intimidate them either.

He sort of takes a page from Riddle's book and will bring them gifts. Maybe not bouquets, but small things like a cool acorn or flower he spots on the way to class or something he brewed up in potionology that he feels like will be something they will find cool or helpful.

It takes him a long, long while to work up the nerve to ask them out.

Trey Clover

Crushes are very, very slow-burn for Trey. He recognizes the signs and definitely has a few moments of "I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me." leading up to him actually, finally admitting to himself that he has caught feelings.

Trey is a carer-- he wants to take care of the people he cares about, so he starts doting on them a little more than he has in the past. Makes sure they are eating and encouraging them to do things that will help make them feel good.

Of everyone, Trey is probably the one most likely to be able to successfully keep a crush under wraps. I think the only person who would probably clock him on it would be Chenya. Even Riddle would probably have a hard time tuning into the fact that he's acting differently around them.

He won't take long to ask them on a date, though it probably blindsides them because he really has no clue how to flirt.

Cater Diamond

Cater is very, very open with his interests. If he has a crush, there's probably rumors within the hour that they're going to get together because Cater can't keep his mouth shut and no one else at NRC can mind their own business to save their lives.

He is flirty. His lines don't always land-- in fact they're pretty cheesy most of the time-- but he definitely will keep pushing the bounds of what is considered friendship and what is considered romantic.

They will be starring in his Magicam feed a lot. Pictures with him, pictures of just them enjoying food or a drink, and pictures of them framed by pretty landscapes. They're always tagged with things referring to them as a best friend or generally complimentary.

On the same page, he will go out of his way to spend more time with them. Planning little "dates" which are tiny day trips or food tours or whatever else is new and he wants to try. He likes to take them along with him when he goes to experiment with the new trends.

He will ask them out, but wants to save it for an important occasion. Maybe Valentine's day or a dance or party. Regardless, he wants it to be memorable when he asks them out.

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar

He is noticably softer towards them than he is toward others. He isn't nearly so prickly, and he doesn't even realize he's doing it.

Leona is a bit older than the other students, so he's used to getting crushes at this point. However, he's never really had the time or energy to give them a shot until now, so his experience with dating really ends there.

He is used to people showing interest in him, not the other way around. After all, even being a second born prince is still a prince. What he likes the most about them is that they don't treat him differently due to his position, and since they don't he's still going to treat them more or less the same as he always has. He doesn't want them to feel like he's infantilizing them. They don't need taken care of unless they ask for it-- they're independent and self-reliant and Leona would be a fool to take that away from them.

He definitely hits on them. Playfully flirt-fighting mostly, but from time to time he will pull out something genuinely smooth to use on them. He always loves when he sees his flirting land and seeing their reaction.

Leona will ask them out, but probably at the worst possible moment. Either a) when he's in an emotional rut and is grouchy and wants to lash out at people or b) when they two of them are in some kind of peril and don't have time to talk about any of it.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie knows he has a crush pretty early on. He's not used to feeling taken care of an admired and that was novel. He realizes quickly how much he likes to be around them and how comfortable he feels with them and he's like "Oh, I guess this is just how it feels to realize you're kind of in love with someone."

He flirts a little bit, but it's rare enough and subtle enough that they probably don't notice about 70% of the time, and the other 30% of the time it's unclear if he was flirting or if his choice of words just made it seem that way.

Ruggie will do things for them that he would never do for anyone else. At least, not without being under duress or being obligated to by a job contract. Cooking them home-cooked meals is usually the most notable one. He is a pretty great cook when he puts his mind to it!

He probably won't ask them out, at least not while they're in school. He's a little too reserved and cautious to do all of that. But, if he's close to graduating and realizes it's now or never, he will do it now. He wouldn't want to let them slip through his fingers. He's not the sort of person who misses out on opportunities when they arise.

Jack Howl

Jack is not the sort of person who wears his feelings on his sleeve. It's hard to even know if he has a crush on someone even if he is inwardly having a minor panic over it. Usually the quickest way to tell how he's feeling would be to look at his tail, as that's the part of him that's hardest for him to mask as indifferent.

Jack is exceedingly slow to realize and come to terms with his feelings. He likes them, but before he can comprehend anything beyond that he has to figure out precisely how much he likes them. It's about the time that he starts asking himself if he would like to kiss them that he realizes "Oh, shoot, that's a crush."

Jack is not a flirt. In fact, he tends to backpedal if he does flirt, so instead he will simply... ask them to spend time with him and if they would like to do things with him throughout his day. Even if it's just running errands together or something-- he treasures every moment he gets to spend with them, no matter how small.

Jack is another one who will absolutely refuse to admit he has a crush to anyone else. Actually, they could probably be married for upwards of five years and have a child on the way and he would still be too shy and stubborn to admit he has a crush.

Jack will ask them out after a lot of careful deliberation and planning. After all, wolves are monogamous, so he wants to be very, very sure that this is what he wants before he acts on it.

#answered;;#twisted wonderland #twst #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #deuce spade #trey clover #cater diamond #leona kingscholar #jack howl #ruggie bucchi #romance #fluff

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dbh-bb · 3 days

Text

Yet More Questions

As we come up to the final sign up deadline for Artists we've been receiving a lot of questions about how much we expect by June 1st, so we wanted clarify some information for both artists and writers

ARTISTS

Oh my god, how much do I have to have ready to submit by 01 June? What will the form ask for?

The form will ask you to submit the following things:

Identifying info (obvs), including whether you are a minor

Your willingness to be paired with a minor

A sketch, layout, or concept of your art

The premise of your concept for the story

Ratings you’d be happy with on the story

Things you really don’t want to see in the story

Let’s break down a few of those.

Sketch, layout, or concept of your art:

This should be substantial enough to get your idea across to the writer. It does not have to be finished or near-finished (although it can be if you’re there). If you work in a medium that takes significant time to generate, or where the concept of a “sketch” is hard to apply (such as 3D render art, gifs, or fanvids), do your best to express what the idea is. This could include a storyboard, a rough sketch, stick figures, and/or references/examples to show what you mean. We want the writers to get the general idea of what the final art will look like.

We will ask these submissions to be in standard formats (i.e. .png, .jpg, .gif, etc) that can be accessed on anyone’s computer without the use of special software. Your final art can be in your preferred format.

There will also be a text box where you can describe what the final art will be, like you might for an alt-text.

Premise of your concept for the story:

Artists aren’t just sharing a sketch, they’re sharing the concept behind that sketch. The concept of your story should be enough to give your writer a good direction to head in, without being so limiting that you’re ‘ordering’ a story rather than planting an idea. Yes, you can give ideas for bits of dialogue, and scenes, and major story beats and character dynamics. We want you to be either providing a jumping off point that a writer can build from, or full on working with the writer to tell a story. You need to give them enough that they can write ten thousand words from it, so we want more than the idea for the scene you are depicting yourself and a pairing.

That being said, this isn’t an opportunity to demand a very specific story out of a writer; that’s called a commission. There should still be room for the author to help shape the story as well. As Atro said, you’re giving them the blueprints; they’re building the house.

Things you don’t want to see in the story:

This is where you can let writers know anything you really don’t want added to the story. Including your personal specific do-not-wants is a way to help writers pick which stories they want to bid for. For example: “No X/Y, I prefer X and Y as platonic,” or “Please no background A/B.”

Keep two things in mind: first, writers are not allowed to add any of the AO3 Big Four to a story unless the artist suggests it first. Second, we do expect writers to work with the artist’s concept. So you don’t need to list out every single possible thing you don’t want.

What if my idea is risque, or even extreme?

We’ll make sure you get into the version not provided to minors, and you’ll have the same space to explain your concept as everyone else. Sometimes having a more extreme concept makes it harder to find a writer …but sometimes, you find that one person who does see your vision! All we ask is that you remain flexible in case the idea has to evolve to find you a match.

I’m not a writer. How much do they need for 10,000 words?

In writing terms, 10k and up is a novelette or a novella — either way, a short novel. Significantly, this will introduce plot. Now sometimes people think “plot means an entire movie” and it might not — sometimes the plot is “X and Y on a date.” Sometimes the plot is porn. But 10,000 words gives you both room to play with moving pieces.

Example for artists who don’t write: Let’s use a very generic concept: a heist fic. You want the Jericrew on a heist. THESE ARE ESTIMATES DONT COME AT ME based on mods being old enough to remember when a drabble was 100 words exactly, but in general:

~3000 words will get you a scene. A dramatic scene or a confrontation! Cool! But a single scene.

5000-7000 words is a bit of the plot. Maybe the heist itself. Or a bit after the heist. More details, some repercussions.

~10,000 words will cover… let’s say planning the heist, executing it, and a bit of what comes after.

A full mystery novel is usually 70,000-90,000 words.

I’ve seen heist fics that break 200K.

This is why the minimum is 10,000 words — we want to generate deeper works where things happen. And the artists get to start the process this year. For those of you who wanted to make multiple arts and are limited by our writer count: this is your chance to think of other artworks you’d like to make within this concept!

WRITERS

How much information / freedom am I going to have?

First: We ask that writers do not add any of the AO3 Big Four to a story unless the artist suggests it.

Second, see above for the information artists are being invited to share, to get a feel for it.

Third: There will be a variety of offers to choose from. Some artists might have a much more vague concept, while others might have a lot of the story in their head already. Remember that writers get to pick in this scenario. So if you prefer jumping into a fully-formed idea, look for those. If you prefer a less-firm idea where you can really collaborate with your partner to flesh it out, look for those.

Artists are expected to understand that their concept is a suggestion, not a commission. So even if an artist sounds like they have a narrow view of the story they want, they know that they need to work with their writer to make it belong to both of you. Even at low levels of collaboration, we’ve seen this work out so that both contributors can be happy. So if there’s an idea you love but/and have suggestions for, go for it — there’s a good chance your artist will be happy with all your enthusiasm.

#detroit: become human #detroit become human #dbh #dbhrbb2024 #reverse big bang #fanart #fanfic #big bang #dbh big bang #detroit become human reverse big bang

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