#i'm gonna go back to the star wars tag now

[fellthemarvelous]

Aziraphale hate makes my brain hurt.

Like let's be really fuckin' for real here.

Neurodivergent fans have repeatedly said that Aziraphale is autistic coded. I agree with them. I have never been diagnosed but I wonder about myself. If only I could get a doctor to take me seriously enough to test me for it, but alas, I'm a 43-year-old woman living in the good ole US of A.

Those with religious trauma have repeatedly said that they identify with him as well. I'm one of those people. I endured 12 years of Catholic schools and just as much time being taught a very black and white view of things that I've had to spend more than 20 goddamn fucking years working to unlearn.

I find that my views as a survivor of religious abuse are often dismissed because people keep wanting to say "Aziraphale doesn't have religious trauma." Yes, thank you, I get that, but unless you've been indoctrinated and brainwashed into a very black and white view of the world, you probably don't understand the kind of feelings Aziraphale's onscreen experiences evoke in so many of us. Heaven might not be real, but the feelings of "God is always watching" still stick with me today even though I no longer believe in God. I have entirely denounced Christianity because of my own personal experience, and I refuse to allow people to try and guilt me or shame me for trauma that I didn't ask for. I wasn't given a choice.

As a child I was told that God was real and always watching everything you do (just like Santa Claus) and can hear everything you say and knows everything you are thinking. Do you know what I learned to do in order to cope with this overwhelming and anxiety-inducing information as a small child? I learned to censor my thoughts. I never spoke up, and I have always felt like I was putting on a show for people because I had to be who I was told to be or I would get into trouble.

Aziraphale said "poverty is a virtue" during The Resurrectionists, and as someone who grew up in the Bible belt and went to private schools, I was taught this very same shit by the Catholic church. He learned in that very same episode that "poverty is a virtue" is actually a tool of oppression to keep the poor poor and the wealthy wealthy. I know we all watched the episode. He went into that episode believing what he said, but by the end of it he knew it was actually utter bullshit. Aziraphale is not ignorant. He's highly intelligent, and he has never been too proud to admit when he has been wrong. He accepts that the information he learned before is not matching up with reality.

And it's so obvious some of you have zero experience with that type of indoctrination because of how very little empathy you show Aziraphale for his "mistake" of "choosing Heaven over Crowley" and "making Crowley sad" so clearly Aziraphale must somehow be "abusive" and "manipulative" and "selfish" and "self-centered" because he didn't choose to run away with Crowley at the end of season two.

First of all.

FIRST OF ALL...

Aziraphale has a mind of his own.

Aziraphale is always going to try and do what is right.

Aziraphale is an angel. He's a being of love. And the reason he's so "bad" at being an angel is because he actually wants to protect humanity. He has always loved humanity. He repeatedly has to contend with what is "right" versus what is "good" and "wrong" versus "evil". Yeah, he has flaws. He's an angel, not a goddamn fucking saint. He has lived on Earth for more than 6,000 years. He has seen everything. He loves doing human things.

He's obsessed with magic. It makes him so happy. He's not very good at it...well not when he's trying to put on a show for Crowley.

He chose to learn French the hard way, so even though he knows every single language in the world, he chooses to be mediocre at French. Something that annoys and amuses Crowley at the same time.

He loves to dance even though angels aren't supposed to dance, and dancing with Crowley was what he wanted the most.

He owns a bookshop and refuses to sell any of his books because they are books he's had for as long as there have been books. He will chase customers away from his collection, and Crowley understands how much they mean to Aziraphale because he refuses to sell any when Aziraphale leaves him in charge.

He and Crowley have been speaking to each other in coded language for more than 6,000 years. They have to be very careful about what they say because Heaven and Hell are always watching.

Heaven has photographs of Crowley and Aziraphale sitting or standing together throughout history. Hell had one photo of Crowley and Aziraphale actually working together and it was Aziraphale's quick thinking and how good he actually is at sleight of hand tricks that managed to get that photo out of Furfur's hands so he wouldn't be able to turn Crowley over to the Dark Council.

Aziraphale saved Crowley from being taken to Hell again. He wasn't able to save Crowley from Hell in Edinburgh, but he sure as heck managed to save Crowley from Hell during WWII. He took Crowley to his bookshop and showed Crowley that he stole the picture from Furfur. He saved Crowley.

You get that, right?

Aziraphale SAVED Crowley.

People always talk about how it's "always Crowley saving Aziraphale" because apparently heroic acts are only heroic when they are grand gestures. The sleight of hand wasn't heroic at all, am I right? It wasn't sparkly and showy. It wasn't interesting enough, therefore not heroic. At least that's all I'm hearing when people start with their "blah Aziraphale deserves to suffer because I have no imagination or ability to understand the media in front of me blah", and all these reasons he deserves to suffer is because Crowley almost got hurt.

Aziraphale did that without flinching and I watch that part closely every single time. He's not scared for himself. He's scared for Crowley, and he managed to hold onto that photograph. He did not fail Crowley. He protected Crowley.

And so here's another thing that we like to point out. The way that Aziraphale, an angel who is effeminate and male presenting, an angel who is soft and full of love, an angel who is kind and forgiving because he has empathy and compassion, is somehow painted as abusive and manipulative. He's not violent, but he could easily fuck up your world. He doesn't use his powers. We have no idea how powerful he is because we only ever see him do small acts. He's used to hiding. It's the only way he has ever been able to protect Crowley.

And I'm not saying that Aziraphale has actually saved Crowley before means that Crowley hasn't also saved Aziraphale. Like, you get that those are not mutually exclusive and their relationship is not transactional, right? They have spent their entire existence protecting each other but never actually getting to be together because Heaven and Hell are always watching.

Yeah, Crowley fell. We all know this. We are aware of this. He was the serpent of Eden. He gave humanity the knowledge of free will.

But what we don't talk about is what Aziraphale gave humanity.

What did he give them?

We all know what it is!

Let's say it together!

He gave Adam and Eve his flaming sword because it was dangerous outside the garden and Eve was pregnant and she was already having a really bad day. He showed them compassion and gave them his extremely powerful angelic weapon so they would stand a chance on the outside of the garden. He gave humanity the gift of compassion. It's just unfortunate that his flaming sword became a weapon of War.

And then what did he do after that?

Ooooh, yeah, that's right.

God asked him about it and he straight up lied to her and pretended he had no idea where he'd managed to misplace it. She didn't say anything after that. He told Crowley the truth though. He told Crowley the truth even though Crowley fell.

Yeah, we know Aziraphale has done some really fucking questionable things. He and Crowley both suck at passing for human in front of observant people like Nina. They're not human. They are still learning, but they managed to experience human history together despite being on opposite sides and their experiences with humanity are what has shaped them into the compassionate and loving duo they are now. One of them is not better from the other.

This, my friends, is what we call meeting in the middle. It's why shades of gray is so important. Aziraphale constantly breaks the rules. Crowley refused to play by Heaven's rules. It's the reason he fell. He doesn't play by Hell's rules either. These two dorks figured out how to cancel each others' miracles out throughout human history in order to have more time learning about humanity and each other because working all day every day sucks when there are so many new things to learn and experience with the people you love.

We know Crowley and Aziraphale both love each other. Neither of them are good at hiding the hearts stars in their eyes.

But here's what's really fucking annoying about the Aziraphale hate.

Aziraphale was already crying when Crowley grabbed him and kissed him. Aziraphale is trying so very hard to do the right thing. He loves Crowley. He does. But he also has a duty to humanity, and he has taken that job very seriously since the creation of Adam and Eve. He sent them out into the world with a flaming sword so they would have a chance at surviving beyond the walls of the garden.

And he knows that Something Terrible is going to happen and he spent all of second season trying to figure out what that Something Terrible was while trying to have some sort of more honest and open relationship with Crowley, but again, they aren't human, they are a demon and an angel approaching life from opposite sides who met in the middle and fell in love with humanity together.

He wants more than anything to tell Crowley how he feels about him, but he wants to do something grand for Crowley because Crowley has always been grand and dramatic and sexy and a little bit scary.

Crowley is impulsive and has a temper and sometimes says the wrong thing but he has always trusted Aziraphale because Aziraphale gave him a chance even after he fell. Aziraphale chose to shelter him instead of smiting him while they stood on top of that wall. He knew he was supposed to kill Crowley, but oops, he gave his sword away to the humans so he didn't really have anything to kill him with and Crowley is the one who created nebulas. The Pillars of Creation is Crowley's work and Aziraphale was there to witness that, but he watched Crowley more than he watched the nebula. He witnessed the pure joy on Crowley's face when he said "let there be light" as a nebula full of colors exploded before their eyes. He was fascinated by Crowley.

But Aziraphale is going back to Heaven even though he has made it perfectly clear he absolutely has no desire to go back to Heaven. He told the Metatron this during their conversation. He spoke these words out loud. They exist.

But then The Metatron said this....

The Metatron. The very same angel who told Aziraphale in season one "to speak to me is to speak to the Almighty." He's the boss. He's the big guy. He's used to existing as a giant head and he had to give himself a body so he wouldn't stand out on Earth. And he knows that Aziraphale and Crowley have been working together since the beginning. He knows they worked together to prevent Armageddon in season one, and now he's made it clear he knows they were working together long before that. And let's face it, Aziraphale really wants to know what this Something Terrible is that Gabriel is running from so he can try to prevent it from happening.

It makes sense that he would want to take Crowley to Heaven with him because he would be able to keep Hell from getting their hands on him again. Aziraphale hates it in Heaven. He doesn't want to go, but Something Terrible is happening and Metatron isn't taking no for an answer, and maybe Heaven won't be so bad if Crowley is there with him. At least they can fix Heaven together.

But Crowley can't go back. We all get that. We don't blame him for saying no. It doesn't change anything.

Something Terrible is about to happen and Aziraphale has to figure out what it is. He wants to change Heaven.

He is fully aware that Heaven sucks. He still has faith in God. His faith isn't in Heaven. He deserted his platoon in season one and threw himself back to Earth so he could figure out how to make sure the war between Heaven and Hell doesn't happen.

But see, here's the thing. Heaven is at the top. Heaven has all the resources. Heaven is responsible for the creation of Hell. Heaven is empty and Hell is overpopulated. Aziraphale knows this. Crowley knows this. It's obvious every time we see either place. Both sides are desperate to go to war and will not hesitate to destroy humanity in the process. This is the opposite of what Crowley and Aziraphale want for humanity. If anyone can change Heaven, it's Aziraphale. He's the only one up there who gives a shit about humanity as far as we know. No one else is going to speak on humanity's behalf.

Some of us are so busy getting mad at Aziraphale for going back to Heaven and giving Crowley a Big Sad. Newsflash: Crowley is not the main character of Good Omens. Aziraphale and Crowley are equals, yet we wanna hold Aziraphale to higher standards because he's an angel, and when he makes mistakes it's proof that he's the bad guy.

Holy mother of all things that trigger my religious trauma, let me tell you. I spent my entire life hating myself every time I made mistakes. I've had to teach myself that just because I mess up sometimes doesn't mean I'm bad. It means I'm human. I still struggle with it. I probably always will. So when you say that Aziraphale deserves to be punished for breaking Crowley's heart, you not only ignore that Aziraphale's heart is also broken, you're saying he deserves to be punished for doing what he thinks is right.

Wanting to change Heaven for the better is not a bad thing.

And some of y'all wanna see him suffer for going back into the lion's den that is Heaven, knowing that he is already an outcast, that they have already tried to kill him once, knowing that he is a deserter, that he has been lying to Heaven about a lot of things, and you still think he's blinded by Heaven? You think he's just so naive and that's the only reason he's going back. He doesn't show his emotions the same way Crowley does so it means he doesn't care as much. He's expected to consider Crowley's feelings over his own when making choices. Like holy shit if all of that hasn't defined my experience as a woman with religious trauma in this fucking society. He's expected to be subservient to Crowley and if he doesn't do what Crowley wants then he's being unreasonable and illogical.

What the actual fuck, y'all.

Like seriously.

I'm sick of this bullshit. I had to step away from this fandom because of how toxic some people in this fandom are. It's not chasing me away, but the fact that I chose to hang out in a a more toxic fandom that is already notorious for being really toxic over a fandom that claims to be more open-minded and welcoming should probably tell you something.

It gave me a lot of perspective, and yeah, I'm still gonna speak up against the bullshit Aziraphale hate.

People are entitled to their opinions, but the Aziraphale hate isn't an opinion. It's just ableist, misogynistic garbage. At this point we all know y'all say these extreme things about Aziraphale because y'all get more joy out of the harm and alienation it is causing others.

Keep being loudly wrong, but if you think I'm not entitled to challenge shitty-ass, harmful, hateful discourse, bite my ass.

I'm not the one who lost the plot in this fandom.

#autistic coded character #religious trauma #good omens #aziraphale #aziraphale defense squad #i'm in a mood #like i'm begging y'all to learn what empathy is #like goddamn i know i'm not perfect but at least i don't forget that the reason for everything in good omens is love #neil has said this several times #it's one thing to dislike a character #it's another to assassinate characters in ways that blatantly contradict what the narrative has told us #and try to pass it off as canon #if you wanna send me hate just hit the block button instead #i'll try to be really sad about it #and if you just have to send me hatemail at least have the courage to attach it to your name instead of hiding behind anon #i'm too old for this shit #i'm gonna go back to the star wars tag now #it's been a minute since i went off and today proved to be the perfect day for it

[pedroshotwifey]

Hungry Like The...

Pairing: Werewolf!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Smut, PIV sex, oral sex (f receiving), fluff, established relationship, no use of y/n, Frankie has a monster cock, im missing stuff but I want to go to bed so...

Summary: You and Frankie decide to attend an 80s themed Halloween party. Through all of the excitement, you must have forgotten what day the full moon falls on.

A/N: I'm gonna go ahead and say that I rushed the absolute fuck out of this one, but I think it turned out pretty good. I really kind of jumped outside of my comfort zone with this, so I'm kinda proud that I did that. That being said, please feel free to call me out on anything that might not make sense or anything that I should change at all because I'm half clueless with this kind of stuff. Please consider reposting and/or liking. Thank you for reading and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! <3

***

You have no idea where Frankie snuck off too. 

He claimed he was going to get the two of you more drinks, but that was about ten minutes ago. You’re well aware that it should have taken less than half of that for him to find his way to the refreshment table, pick up some drinks, and bring them back to you. 

Right now, though, you’re too blissed out to care—not that you have much to worry about with your loving boyfriend anyway. The lights are almost blinding as you spin around beneath them, but they transform into a nice glow thanks to the buzz you’re sporting. “Mony Mony,” is blaring through the speakers and you're in your zone as you swing your hips to the beat. 

You’re glad that Frankie had suggested that you two attend this party specifically. The only requirements were that you had to dress up as an 80’s character in order to fit the era the party revolves around. 80’s costumes, 80’s music, 80’s decor. Luckily for you, the 80’s is one of your absolute favorite decades, and you’re pretty sure Frankie knew that when he signed the two of you up. 

The dance floor is packed with people to the point where you can’t stretch out all the way without bumping into someone. Usually, that would irk you, but you can’t find it in you to mind tonight. It’s not like anybody else does. 

As you snap your hips to the beat, you look around at all the different costumes in the crowd. You see a handful of Star Wars characters, a couple of Freddy Kruegers, some Ghost Busters, and—of course—a shit ton of Madonnas. The rest, for the most part, are pretty original. 

You’re pretty proud of your own costume, to be honest. You had spent a couple of weeks configuring a custom-made Storm costume. You’ve been an X-Men fan for as long as you can remember, and it made you so happy to try on your costume for the first time a few days ago. It’s pretty damn spot-on. 

Frankie, on the other hand, had insisted on being a werewolf. Like turning into one once a month wasn’t enough already. You had simply rolled your eyes and asked him what he had in mind so you could make his costume. It was worth it to see the way he lit up, even though he’s cutting it close with the party’s theme. 

After the year he had, he deserves to be happy—even if it means you have to endure his stupid jokes every now and again. When he gets tipsy, his goofy humor always makes an appearance. It’s one of your favorite parts about nights out with your boyfriend. He never fails to make you laugh. 

Just as you begin to worry that he might have gotten lost in the crowd, you feel a hand spin you around. You’re getting ready to tell someone off until you come face to face with those irresistible brown eyes. 

“Hey there, Hermosa,” he says as he cuddles up to you, swaying you to the song. “Having fun, sweetheart?” 

You giggle as he bends down and nuzzles his face into your neck. Glancing down, you almost aren’t surprised to see that he doesn’t have any drinks. 

“Frankie?” You ask casually as you throw your arms around him. 

“Hmm?” 

“Did you find the drinks?” 

Suddenly, he stops moving and stands up straight again, a playful smile plastered across his face. 

“Guess not,” he says. “Found something to eat, though,” he winks and you playfully roll your eyes as he throws himself back onto you. As the song changes to “When Doves Cry”, he begins to dance with you. Frankie has never been the best dancer, but it's better this way. Neither of you take anything seriously as you push and pull your bodies together, giving eachother flirty kisses every now and again. 

You laugh as you bump into someone and flash them an apologetic look. Frankie really loves to bring out your careless side. You honestly didn’t know you were capable of being so care-free until you had met him. Sometimes he makes you feel as if nothing else matters but you and him. It’s times like these that you really realize just how lucky you are to have him. 

“Alright, baby,” Frankie says after a moment, bringing you out of your thoughts. “I’m going to go get us those drinks now.” 

Instead of answering him, you get up on your tip-toes and kiss him. He begins to wrap his arms around you again, but you gently push him off, giving him a faux stern look. 

“Alright, alright, I get it, baby, I’m going!” he says over the music before turning around to scamper away.

You have to suppress a giggle when he jolts as you deliver a light slap to his ass. He turns just enough to flash you a dirty look, and you give him one of feigned innocence in return, well aware he’ll get you back for that eventually if you continue to tease. 

“Hurry up, wolfboy!” you shout after him. 

***

Alright, you’re actually about to be pissed this time. 

There’s absolutely no way he lost you—or rather, you lost him—twice. He has to be playing with you, right? Whatever, if that’s the case, two can play at that game. 

You’ll just pretend like you don’t even notice something is missing. Maybe once he sees you where he left you, completely unaffected by his absence, he’ll stop being such an ass. 

Perfect. Perfect plan. 

You shake your head and dance as the song ends. You can have fun by yourself if your boyfriend wants to be immature. 

Well, it would have been a perfect plan. 

As if he could somehow read your mind—which you almost wouldn’t doubt at this point—you spot Frankie in your vision once again. However, this time, he’s not coming over to you. 

He has a familiar dark look in his eyes that immediately soaks you, despite yourself. You stop dancing because as quick as you see him, he’s gone again. You spin in a panicked circle as the song changes to one by Duran Duran. You almost laugh at the irony as “Hungry Like the Wolf” blares through the speakers. 

Your phone buzzes in the small pocket of your bodysuit, and you pause your quick search to look at it. Your brow furrows as you see that it’s a text from Frankie. What the fuck is he playing at? Quickly, you unlock your phone and open your messages. 

“Better start running, baby,” the text reads. You look up, your eyes frantically scanning the crowd around you. Maybe the song choice isn’t so ironic after all. 

“Don’t let me catch you… feeling hungry like the wolf tonight…”

You don’t stop to think before you make a mad dash toward the exit, your heart dropping to your stomach as you go. You get some pissed looks as you shove through people, your heart hammering in your chest and your eyes darting every which way. 

You have no idea where he could be at this point. Maybe he’s somewhere inside, having missed your exit. He could be trailing right behind you, ready to grab you at any moment.

Soon enough, it is revealed that he is, once again, always one step ahead of you. As soon as you step out of the doors, a large body is engulfing yours and carrying you to a secluded spot on the patio, though there’s nobody outside anyway. 

You would scream if not for the large hand that covers your lips when he grabs you. You know it’s Frankie, of course, but the exhilaration that comes from the scare really adds to the game the two of you just started. 

You ignore the heat simmering between your legs as he sets you down on your own feet and removes his hand from your mouth. Neither of you move, you don’t look up, he doesn’t crouch down. You just stand there, breathing heavily as Frankie embraces your figure. 

You can’t help but lean back into him, letting your guard down probably isn’t the best idea right now, but you can’t find it in you to care about that fact at the moment. 

The fresh air feels nice on your heated cheeks, but Frankie's front against your back feels even better. The music continues to play faintly behind you as you sway side to side, Frankie’s arms wrapped tightly around you, his head resting on your shoulder. 

You swear you could stay here forever. Actually, you could stay anywhere, as long as you had Frankie. But right now, you can’t imagine anything more perfect than this. As long as you have your boyfriend’s arms around you, you would do anything or go anywhere he wants to. 

Your body may be his, but you decided a long time ago that your soul belongs to him as well. He can pick it up and do whatever he wishes with it, and you know he could never do anything that would cause your trust or love for him to dull.

“Look up, sweetheart,” Frankie’s soft voice brings you out of your thoughts, making you open your eyes. You hadn’t realized they had slid shut in the first place. 

The sight of the full moon high up in the night sky confirms your suspicions. Frankie’s going to turn tonight. 

Fuck, you’re screwed, your subconscious automatically screams at you. 

You can't miss the way your panties dampen as the thought crosses your mind. Your body stiffens as you fight the urge to run, the adrenaline getting the best of you.

Frankie must feel the way you tense up because his arms immediately tighten around you. 

“It’s alright, hermosa,” he whispers into your ear. “Just means we’ll have a bit more fun than usual.”

You try but fail to stifle your grin at his menacing tone. Just because you know you’re screwed doesn’t mean you don't enjoy it. 

“Probably got less than ten minutes now,” Frankie says far too casually. “Let’s pick up on our little chase, yeah?” 

He lets you out of his grasp this time, and you turn around to give him a peck on his cheek, allowing your hand to brush past his erection as you pull away. The touch is just enough for Frankie to grit his teeth as he hisses out. The warning glance he gives you makes arousal burn deep into your core, only serving to make you more excited. 

“I’ll give you a head start, sweetheart,” he says, his tone giving you a warning, “I’d take it if I were you.”

With his word, you spin on your heel, ready to plummet into the forest, but you only get about a foot before he has a large hand wrapped around your wrist. Your heart beats louder in your chest as you turn to look at him, his eyes dark with lust. 

“Don’t let me catch you this time,” he says, pulling you close enough for his lips to flutter across your ear as he speaks. “I won’t go easy on you.”

You ignore the shiver in your spine as you pull back as much as you can. 

“Maybe I don't want you to go easy on me,” you whisper back, earning a slight growl from Frankie. He lets his hand linger on you for only a moment more before letting go, this time allowing you to back away. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard then, because I’m going to fucking exaust you when I catch up.” 

You smile before turning once again, pushing yourself into the trees without looking back. 

***

The sound of your heartbeat is deafening as you run through the otherwise silent forest. The steady pitter-patter of the organ combined with your ragged breathing and your frantic footsteps make a horrifying symphony. Even those sounds seem muffled, though, with the amount of pure adrenaline that courses through your veins and drowns out your senses. 

Frankie can’t be too far behind you now. You guess you’ve been running for about fifteen minutes. There’s no doubt that he has turned at this point; he proved it with the howl you heard bellowing through the woods a couple minutes ago. 

Since then, you haven't stopped to take a breath. There is pure fear in the fact that you have a beast on your trail, but also excitement in knowing what will likely happen once he catches up. 

For now though, fear is the dominant emotion. It’s prominent enough to keep you going even as your hair gets tugged by branches and your skin gets scratched and torn by twigs and thorns. None of it seems to matter right now just as long as you can keep your distance from the monster hunting you down. 

Suddenly, you hear a snap from somewhere behind you. The noise is sharp, a twig snapping beneath heavy weight. It reverberates all around you, sending a shiver down your spine. Soon after, You pick up on the steady thumping of what sounds to be an animal hot on your tail. 

The sound gets closer and closer even as you push yourself to run faster. Your entire body is shaking and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes. You can practically feel Frankie’s breath on your neck, the sensation almost more powerful than the ache overtaking your legs and abdomen. 

“Please, leave me alone!” You cry out the plea over your shoulder, your voice bordering a sob. Your gut is curling with a mixture of panic and arousal. The responding growl makes the tears you have been holding spill over and your knees buckle. 

For a second, you’re worried that you might fall, but you’re pushed into the ground before you have the chance to do it yourself. The weight of Frankie pouncing on top of you knocks the wind out of you, a sharp cry leaving your lips as your breath is taken. 

In the time that it takes you to get your breath back, Frankie has your bodysuit torn enough to pry off of your shaking body, and your lacy panties shoved–or ripped–down your legs. Luckily, the bodysuit was the cheapest and easiest to find component of your costume. You can feel a whisper of his claws against your skin as he drags scraps away from where he needs you most.

Your arms flail wildly, your fingers trying to grasp a handful of fur from the beast atop you. Frankie sees what you’re trying to do, and with a growl, he ducks down and slides toward your feet, away from your hands. 

Before you can question what he’s doing, you feel something thick, wet, and warm against your bare, soaked cunt. 

A high pitched moan tumbles from your lips as Frankie drags his tongue across your pussy before dipping it into your core.

The hot muscle digs deep into your cunt, curling once it's in all the way. You can feel his nose bobbing up and down against your ass as he starts to work his tongue in and out of your cunt.

“F-Frankie, fuck!” You scream, feeling your orgasm building embarrassingly quickly.

The way his tongue swirls and scrapes against your walls is absolutely delicious, and that combined with the tip of the muscle prodding against your g-spot? You’re fucking done for. 

You’re writhing as Frankie brings his tongue out to swallow down the slick he’s collected, and you can feel the way a combination of your arousal and his saliva leaks out of your pulsing cunt, coming down to collect at your clit and make you shudder. You’re so close to coming, a warm feeling that can only be described as pure euphoria making a home deep in your lower abdomen. 

Almost as soon as he was gone, Frankie shoves his tongue back inside of you, meticulously prodding all the right places. You’re gasping and moaning so loud you have half the mind to feel bad for whatever critters might reside in these woods. 

That thought passes quickly, though, once you feel yourself returning to the edge. Frankie flicks his tongue one more time and you’re suddenly convulsing around him. The high seems to go on forever, your toes curling and your fingers grasping at the leafy ground in front of you. 

The beast doesn’t pull away as you come, instead, he allows you to rock your hips back and forth in order to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. You don’t even notice that you moved your arm until you feel one hand entangled in soft fur, your subconscious mind telling you to hold him to you. 

You hear Frankie whine from behind you and you have to suppress the urge to giggle. He’s always liked it when you tug at his hair, and apparently, being in this form leaves no room for exceptions. 

Your body goes limp as Frankie backs away from you, making it easy for him to nudge you to prop you up where he wants you. Hands and knees, of course. He wastes no time in getting into position behind you, crowding you in with his massive form. 

The tip of his cock feels massive against your swollen cunt, but it only takes a few swipes of the beast’s hips before he is notched into your entrance. With one more thrust, he’s pushing in all the way, making you scream as your pussy stretches to accommodate his girth. 

Frankie lets out a series of whimpers as he starts a brutal pace, not giving you a second to adjust. Your hands come up to grasp above his paws, which are positioned on either side of your head, and then up a little. 

“F-Frankie!” Your moan comes out more like a screech, the pain quickly turning into a sick pleasure as he rips you open on his cock. Each time he thrusts, it’s accompanied by a puff of breath which fans out across your cheek. 

The sound of his whines and ragged breathing mix with the squelching noises coming from your cunt and the panting coming from your lips, everything combined making the filthiest symphony you’ve ever heard. 

Your second orgasm starts to build rapidly, your cunt beginning to flutter around Frankie’s unforgiving length. With each punch, the tip of his cock touches something heavenly within you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

You’re pretty sure you’re drooling, but you find that every limb has turned to jelly, preventing you from bringing your hand up to check. If not for the monster above you impaling you on his length, you would likely be flat on the forest floor right now. 

Every thought that had previously occupied your mind is forced out of you as Frankie effortlessly pries another orgasm from you. He doesn’t slow or pause as you squeeze around his cock like a vice. If anything, it only spurs him on and gets him going faster, if that's even possible. 

With each slam of his hips, you feel your body being sent forward, only stabilized by your palms, which are somehow still firmly planted on the ground. 

‘Oh god, Frankie,” your voice sounds hazy to your own ears. “F-feels so fucking good, Francisco.”

You hear him grunt at the sound of his full name, something you usually only call him in bed—or in this case, in the middle of nowhere. 

It does feel good, his cock feels absolutely massive. You know that it is definitely bigger than when he’s in his human form—the size of which should be considered supernatural in it’s own way. Right now, though, he feels bigger than ever, thicker, longer. The only thought occupying your mind at the moment is how badly you want to suck his cock. 

How the fuck does this man fuck you so good to the point where you fantasize about giving him a blowjob while he’s already inside of you? Next time, you’ll have to get his dick in your mouth before he shoves it into your cunt. 

Your eyes droop as your second orgasm morphs into a third, your body growing weaker with each movement from Frankie. You ignore the shaking to spread your legs wider to allow him better access, which results in him getting to a deeper spot with the new angle. 

Your mouth drops open as you begin to come again, a silent scream getting stuck in your throat. This time, as you constrict around his monstrous cock, you can feel his hips stutter. He’s getting close, which is probably a good thing considering you’re about to pass out from both pleasure and exhaustion. 

“C-come on, Frankie, f-fill me up,” you command through moans. It very obviously eggs him on because before you know it, he’s stilling inside of you, howling into the trees, and blowing his massive load deep into your core. 

The feeling of his cum painting your walls is fucking heavenly. Spurt after spurt of his warm seed fills you to the brim until it eventually starts to seep out around the base of his cock. If you thought you had felt full before, that was nothing compared to now. 

Frankie gives you a few minutes to calm down before he starts to lower himself to the ground, laying on his side and tugging you with him. Your body and mind are equally compliant with his request. 

As your eyes shut once again, you can feel Frankie starting to shift behind you, probably making his transformation back to his human form. Try as you might, you know you won’t have enough energy to wait for him to be done, so you make the most of it and snuggle into his soft fur. You know that you’ll wake up safe and sound in your bed, tangled with your kind, attentive, and very much human boyfriend.

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #smut #pedro pascal smut #frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #werewolf #werewolf smut #halloween #happy halloween #one shot #pwp

[gingersnappish]

Hi!

I’m Ginger: artist-nerd, citizen-scientist, make-garden-not-lawn enthusiast, and avid baker-of-cinnamon-rolls-from-scratch! I very much enjoy fandom! What is my weekly fanfic consumption like? High. Very High. Some of my current favs include: Star Wars (especially Kylux), The Witcher (here meaning I saw about an episode and a half of TWN, found the fandom, and wandered happily off towards Lambert and Aiden), LotR, sometimes StarTrek…..assorted others! I am passionate about creating things, too! Often, that means drawing fan art and/or comics. Actually, I’ve found myself stalling intermittently in that department over the past year or so. I’ve been almost exclusively drawing Kylux things using only Procreate, for a while now. Which I love doing! But I suspect doing just that one type of art for going on 4 years now is starting to have an effect of the breadth and depth of my creative well. So I’ve decided to change up how I create for a while! A good friend gifted me a sketchbook IRL and I want to fill it with traditional media drawings. I want to try drawing from more fandoms, try out new digital techniques and styles that maybe I hadn’t allowed myself before. I want to invest some time into art forms besides drawing, even - I’ve always enjoyed fiber arts and I’ve got a jack loom I’ve meant to finish repairing for a while. Once that is working, I want to learn to weave. And I want to share some of these things here! On that note, I suspect more than a few people who follow me on Tumblr are here because I have drawn a lot of kylux. Especially the long-form fan comic ‘Dying Is Easy Young Man, Living Is Harder’. WRT The Comic: Kraken and I are still fully intending to see it to it’s conclusion! Honestly, though, it’s been on unofficial hiatus for a while now and it’s likely to remain that way for a bit longer. Kraken is super busy with retraining and job related demands IRL, and I am also pretty swamped and trying to get back in a more sustainable groove artistically. The whole sitch doesn’t leave us a lot of room to create a big project like DIEYMLIH together, right now. I know firsthand how hard it can be to wait a long time for a story you enjoy to get finished - so I want to say ‘thank you’ to everyone being very patient with us! We will get there eventually! If you want to check if there has been an update or just re-read the kylux comic to-date, the best place to go is the DIEYMLIH Site

If you want more kylux themed stuff in the meantime, I’m still putting my Kylo Amidala and other AU stuff for them on my Patreon

If you want the whole complete collection of my art (kylux or other)…. I'm working on that. I’ve historically been really inconsistent with tags. I'm trying to be better about that and also go back and fix all my personal art so it is consistently tagged. It’s gonna take a while. Eventually!

#about ginger psa

[this-is-a-podcast-fanblog]

Continuity and Tonal Shifts in Season Ten

This is gonna be a really long meta describing some of my frustrations with the current writing decisions. I'm approaching these as someone who loves the show and wants it to succeed, and I'm not making any sweeping "the show is problematic" or "the writers are bad" statements, just that the writing decisions lately have been poor in my opinion and I need to express my thoughts on that.

So as a lot of people may or may not know, Fink and Cranor alternate writing episodes, and according to Patreon, they have minimal communication about what is going to happen in the next episode, giving the other relative creative freedom. This often works when the style of Night Vale is random, disjointed, and with a lot of left-field plot devices, but with this current plot line so grounded in literal stuff and reality, it is SO FRUSTRATING. Especially because Fink mentioned in a patreon post that he only backreads the past five episodes to maintain continuity - something that clearly does not work when your show is over 230 episodes long, has had tons of live shows, and expanded into three books. I feel like the last three episodes have had a very off-putting disconnect, and that makes this writing decision REALLY REALLY OBVIOUS in a glaring can't-overlook-it-anymore way.

There's no way to know which writer wrote which episode, but we'll say "odd writer" and "even writer" for continuity's sake. I have my personal opinion about which writer wrote what, but I don't want to share that here. It could be that Fink is odd writer and Cranor is even writer, or it could be the other way around, but what matters is that odd writer and even writer didn't communicate.

227, written by odd writer: Blake lures Cecil away with a made-up sob story and Cecil departs the station. Lubelle comes to the radio station and gives a long speech about Night Vale, condescends about Cecil's hold over the town, explains away the weather, says outright that she's taking over, and leaves with the ominous "show over, Night Vale, show over" closing tag. What's going to happen? Find out in two weeks!

228, written by even writer: Actually she just briefly broke into the radio station and left without a struggle and Blake was just tricking Cecil and let him go, and now Cecil is back and Lubelle hasn't taken over anything yet, nor kidnapped him. But science is going to be made illegal to stop Dr. Lubelle and the Univeristy, and that will really mess with Carlos! What's going to happen? Find out in two weeks!

229, written by odd writer: Science is illegal but the University decided to just straight up ignore it and continue with all of their stuff using a bunch of technical work-arounds and sheer numbers to overwhelm the town, so it doesn't really affect anyone other than Carlos, who by the way is barely in an episode that's supposed to be about his struggles. Anyway, Lubelle brought all of her faculty into town, so that's probably bad. What will they do? Find out in two weeks!

It's starting to feel like we're reliving the Star Wars sequel trilogy, except there's two JJ Abrams and neither of them is talking to each other. Every episode ends on this intense buildup and then it immediately fizzles away at the start of the next one. It's like getting edged by someone who keeps pulling their hand away so they can go on their phone and type "actually everything is fine now" before they get back to it.

There's one other thing I want to mention about this odd writer/even writer dilemma, which is episode 225. This was an odd writer episode, and in it, Lubelle asks Cecil to come down to the University for some "tests", an offer that he finds very offensive, but one that's punctuated by Dr. Jones snickering that Station Management has been explained away. It really feels like odd writer is trying to set up plotline where the University becomes interested in Cecil, whether that's for his connection to the town or his relationship with Carlos, and even writer just does not want to let that happen.

There's even a bit of a tonal shift, where odd writer paints Dr. Jones as cunning, "Couldn't be station management. They don't even exist. They've been, well... they've been explained." (episode 225) "Looks like Blake succeeded in tricking that fool away from his mic," (episode 227) and then even writer does an about-face and makes him cowardly instead, forcing odd writer to go along with that characterization; so odd writer decides to just write him out of the story without really doing anything.

The lack of communication between the two writers is becoming more and more obvious, and for the fans, more and more frustrating. There are also so many great fan-assembled resources that demonstrate every episode a character or plot point has appeared in, so I feel like it shouldn't be that hard for the writers to find their own system of continuity - or hell, just borrow ours and then throw in a "extra thank to the contributors of the Night Vale wikia" in the credits or something. You guys do this for a living! Is it so much to ask if we'd like you to be good at it?

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #joseph fink #jeffrey cranor #wtnv spoilers

[mingtinys]

Stained Glass

pairing : choi san x gn!reader

mafia!au , soulmate!au , angst , hurt/no comfort

warnings : language (like a lot) , depictions of blood and open wounds , mentions of guns (not fired) and general violence

word count : 4.4 k

requested ? no

a/n : this was a fic i originally wrote for an entirely different person back when i was in my star wars phase and just never published. but i liked the general plot and changed up a few things to ateezify it . brownie points if u can guess what character it was originally for 

[ part 2 ]

"You know, glaring at the clock isn't gonna make him get back any faster."

"Fuck off, Mingi." You mumble half-heartedly, eyes still glued to the analog clock mounted on the wall above Mingi, taunting you from across the room. Each second that ticks by twists knot after uncomfortable knot in your stomach, the feeling climbing up into your throat and nearly making you choke. It's been too long.

"Someone's snippy today."

You cut your eyes at the boy in one last warning, "I don't like being sidelined."

Mingi, long immune to your threats and sour attitude, stares back with an amused expression. "And I don't like babysitting, yet here we are– ah!" He shrieks as the blunt toe of your boot connects with his shin under the pristine mahogany table. The resounding groan followed by Mingi cradling his shin spreads a satisfied smirk across your lips.

"Why would you do that?"

"You know why."

"I'm never helping you and San out on another mission again." It's his pout that finally makes you feel a smidge guilty about kicking him. It wasn't his — or his poor shin for that matter's — fault you were in a bad mood. He was just the one unfortunate enough to be left with you and your anxiety-driven frustration.

"Sorry, Min." He seems decently pleased with your half-assed apology, a soft and empathetic expression returning to his otherwise sharp features. "I'm just worried, he should have been back by now."

"He's fine, Y/N." Mingi's eyes meet yours, genuine and comforting. "You guys have been partners for what? Two years now. You know he's more than capable of handling himself.

He's right and you hate it. Logically, it made more sense for only San to go while you and Mingi stayed back at the safe house and infiltrated their security to make sure he went undetected. Logically, San was the best choice between the two of you, he's been to this specific enemy base before and knows the layout like the back of his hand. Logically, the plan was sound and easy. "I'll be in and out in thirty, no sweat." He'd said when you tried to argue your case for tagging along.

But despite the mission being "so easy even a golden retriever could do it," — San's words — an uneasy feeling still settled into your gut the second he drove off. You don't like being too far from your partner, unable to provide backup or know his status. When you've been by his side every second of every mission for so long, it feels foreign being separated. Hongjoong had also drilled into everyone's heads the golden rule of always sticking in pairs, no matter how useless it may seem. It's a rule you and San have always followed; if not for the sake of saving yourselves from one of Hongjoong's lengthy, and terrifying, lectures, then because the two of you genuinely work well together.

You trust him to get it done, you really do. But his thirty-minute mission has long since turned into well over an hour with minimal communication and you can't help the gnawing feeling in your stomach. You shouldn't have let him go alone, this whole thing was stupid.

You huff, arms folded tightly across your chest and foot rapidly tapping the floor. "He's got twenty minutes before I go there and find out what's taking so long myself."  Mingi, who you expected to immediately shut down that idea and call you dramatic, doesn't respond, much less acknowledge the fact you spoke at all. You glance up, only to find he's gone from nursing his shin to smiling down at his phone, fingers happily tapping away at the screen.

A frown spreads to your lips, you weren't quite done complaining about the situation at hand. "Mingi," you deadpan. "Stop texting your stupid soulmate, we're in the middle of a mission."

He rolls his eyes and releases an exaggerated groan, but does as you ask regardless, setting his phone face down on the table. "No. You're in the middle of complaining about the mission. There's nothing for us to do anyways until San gets back." He takes a beat, dragging his hands down his face then jabs a finger in your direction. "And soulmates aren't stupid, you're just chronically miserable and hate love."

"I don't hate love," you defend. "I just don't see how you can justify bringing someone into this kind of life, much less have time for them."

Mingi stares blankly back at you as if he's calling your bluff. "Not everyone is as cynical as you. Now, Yeosang? He comes close, but you definitely take the fuckin' cake."

Cynical. You much prefer the term realistic. Because in your line of work, the chances of loved ones getting caught in the crossfire are near certain. You've witnessed it first-hand multiple times; soulmates used as leverage and bargaining chips between rivals, lovers left lifeless and brutalized in the name of revenge, their partners soaked in blood and begging for them to just wake up. The thought haunts you more than you'd like it to. Realistically, it's irresponsible and selfish to expect someone to just be okay with that risk. Even if the universe itself begged to differ.

Of course, you'd be lying if you said you'd never at least entertained the idea of a soulmate. In fact, when you were little, it was all you thought about. Constantly fantasizing about the moment you first touched them, skin to skin. Your black-and-white toned vision exploding into a beautiful array of vibrant colors. Everything about it just seemed so magical back then. But now, meeting your cosmically selected partner fills your entire being with nothing but dread.

You've gone through indescribable lengths to ensure you never trigger the whirlwind of colors waiting to be released, avidly avoiding skin-to-skin contact with everyone possible. You refused to even shake San's hand when Hongjoong first introduced the two of you as partners. The way you saw it, if you never knew who your soulmate was, they could never get hurt because of you. You would never have to lose anything dear to yourself ever again.

"Still," you finally respond to Mingi. "It just doesn't feel right to put someone through that. Make them deal with our shit lives, constantly in danger. I can't do it, especially not after what happened to Seonghwa's poor soulmate��"

"Stop." Mingi abruptly cuts you off, eyes wide as if Seonghwa himself would somehow hear your words from miles away. "You know not to talk about that." You sink further in your seat at his scolding, like a child who knows they're in the wrong but is too stubborn to admit it.

Mingi draws in a deep breath and releases it in a long and worn-out sigh. "You seriously never wanna find your soulmate? Like ever?" There's a certain undertone of pity in his voice that you've grown to resent whenever he brings up the topic of soulmates. Like he can't possibly fathom how one could be so content without one when his entire life revolves around his. Like you're some sad charity case he needs to heal so you can finally be "happy."

You refuse to meet his eyes as you speak. "Why would I want something else to lose?"

Mingi shrugs, "I don't know. To give our shitty lives even the tiniest bit of meaning? To have something worth coming home to. I can't really explain it, life just feels ... complete now."

"Sounds overrated."

"There's a bright, colorful, loving world out there, Y/N. You deserve to see it with someone by your side, even if you don't think so."

"I much prefer the grey tones. Thanks." With that, Mingi finally relents, allowing you the silence to descend back into your worrisome thoughts.

You don't get to dwell on them for long. No more than a few moments pass when a loud series of crashes and thuds startle you and Mingi alert. You lunge for the spare gun holstered on the underside of the table, knuckles white as your fingers wrap around the grip. Mingi has his own in hand and you signal for him to follow behind, he nods without protest

"Y/N!" A voice yells out. It's strained, yet unmistakably San's. Your heart stops, but only for a split second, then begins to slam aggressively against your chest, like it's catching up with your racing mind. It takes less than a second for you to discard your pistol and bolt for the living room, Mingi hot on your heels.

The room is a mess compared to just a few minutes ago. Picture frames shattered and face down on the floor, furniture recklessly shoved out of the way, and a shelf's contents spilled about. At the center of it all is San, stumbling around and grasping at anything and everything to keep his balance as he treks through the room. He's clutching at his left side with his other hand, small dark droplets of an unknown liquid on the floor outline his path. The same liquid coats his paled hand and the all too familiar scent of iron stings your nostrils.

You allow yourself half a second. Only half a second to reign in your frantic thoughts, shove your emotions to the furthest corner of your mind, and put on a calm and collected face, just as you've been trained to do. Just as everyone in Hongjoong’s organization has been trained to do.

"Help him to that chair." Mingi follows your command instantly, ducking under San's arm to let him lean all his weight on Mingi's shoulders.

"I need a med kit," San instructs, teeth gritted in pain but surprisingly calm.

You nod to Mingi, allowing him to handle getting san into the nearest armchair so you can retrieve the med kit from below the kitchen sink. When you return, San is slumped in the chair, head thrown back against the headrest and sucking in deep breaths.

You kneel beside him, on his left side where he's still clutching at the space between his hip and where his ribs end. You talk as you open the med kit and sift through the supplies. "Mingi, take the car and get Yunho, he can do a better job fixing whatever this is than I can. Fast."

Mingi doesn't nod or even acknowledge you spoke. He just grabs the keys from the kitchen counter and bolts for the front door.

San groans and attempts to reposition himself in the chair to grant you better access to his wound. "There's a piece of shrapnel in my side, you need to get it out. We can't wait for Yunho."

"I'm sorry, what?" You ask, whipping your head to look at him with wild eyes and a bewildered look of confusion. "Why the hell is there shrapnel in you?"

"Because something blew up," he says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Good to know he hasn't bled out enough to dull his charming attitude. "Now get it out."

"Because something blew—? Shit, San." It's ticking you off just how nonchalant he is about the whole ordeal. As if he didn't just come crashing into the safe house, dripping blood all over the freshly varnished hardwood. As if he's not in the worst pain imaginable while trying his hardest to act unfazed.

You pick up a pair of long tweezers and a miniature flashlight from the now ransacked med kit. Shooing San's hand away from his wound, you click the light on and start inspecting the jagged wound in his side. More blood oozes from the wound at the loss of pressure, staining the light-colored chair. Hongjoong isn't going to be too happy about it, but the aesthetics of the safehouse aren't exactly a top priority at the moment.

"It's an easy mission, oh I can just go alone. In and out in thirty," you mock. San shoots you a glare.

"Okay, okay I get it. You wanna get this thing the fuck out of me? Feels like it's ripping my insides apart."

"Just stay still and don't bitch out on me." Rather ungracefully, you slot the tweezers into his wound and start digging around. The method isn't the most effective, but then again you weren't exactly as talented as Yunho when it came to treating injuries. Sure, you've roughly fixed up a couple of wounds when out on a mission, but nothing anywhere near this bad.

"Ow . . . ow . . . OW!" San writhes in his seat, making his displeasure with your technique known loud and clear. " You wanna be a little more gentle with that?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Does me digging around in your fucking shrapnel wound hurt?" You snip at him. You really were trying to make this as painless as possible, but your hands are shaking and his incessant complaining isn't exactly a morality boost. "I'm not a medic, San, I don't know what I'm doing."  

"Literally anything else! Please!" His voice cracks, an indication of how unbearable the pain must be. You sympathize with him, you really do. But there isn't exactly a better option, so you continue digging, just a little less rushed this time, and San tries everything he can to stifle his groans. After a few more hopeless minutes of searching, you still can't find the shard.

"I can't see it. This flashlight isn't doing any good and I can't feel it with the tweezers." It's just one big dark mess in your vision. Perhaps Yunho or Mingi would be able to see some distinction in the colors with their soulmate-induced retinas, but this whole feat is growing useless with your lack of experience and poor vision.

"Then try again. You need to get it out before it goes any deeper." San's voice is slightly calmer this time, tone less abrasive and snarky, even bordering on comforting.

"I'm sorry but everything is kind of the same fucking color. It just looks like a dark mess."

"Then stick your fingers in there and try to feel where it is." He says it with such blunt confidence that the phrase catches you so off guard. You pause your actions and stare at San's face, eyebrows raised and waiting for him to say something like "just kidding." But he doesn't. He just stares back at you like you're stupid for not jumping into action without question.

"What?" You hadn't even chanced getting his blood on your fingers while using the tweezers, and now he wants you to just shove your hand in there?

"Do it."

"I'm not fucking–"

"Y/N, please!" There's an urgency in his voice and it strikes a cord in your heart. Against everything he's tried to convey from the moment he stumbled in — the brave face, the tough, arrogant act — he sounds scared. Underneath everything, Choi San is scared and that scares you.

"Okay, okay" you whisper, more so to yourself. "You can do this."

You grab the bottle of alcohol from the med kit and douse your hands in it, rubbing the cool liquid in. You should really be doing this with gloves, but they're conveniently m.i.a., so you do the best you can. With the flashlight gripped tightly in your non-dominant hand, you flex your fingers on the other, mentally preparing yourself. Just do it. Suck it up and do it. As every nerve in your fingers screams and begs for you to stop, you take a deep breath and—

In the split second between when your finger hovers just over his wound to when it just barely touches his skin, a chill shoots up your spine. The world goes from black and white to bursting with hundreds— no thousands, of vivid colors. Horrifyingly enough, the main color your brain registers is red. Dark, glistening red. You recoil, yanking your hand away like San's skin is made of hot embers.

So many different emotions and thoughts rush through your brain at once. It's overwhelming, and all you can do is match San's unbelieving expression. You've spent years avoiding this exact moment, and now it's happening at the worst time imaginable.

This can't be happening. This can't be possible. Choi San cannot be your soulmate.

San is the first to speak.

"Y/N— ah, fuck." He doubles over, hand flying back to hold his side, and squeezes his eyes shut. It snaps you back to reality like a bucket of ice water over your head. San's still injured. He's your soulmate but he's injured and oh God everything is so fucked right now. There are more pressing matters than sorting through your complicated feelings. So you compartmentalize the part of you that wants to run far, far away. The part that's filled with fear and panic.

The part of you that's always, in the deepest confines of yourself, seen San as a little bit more than just a partner. You bury all of it for the time being so you can revisit it once San is out of immediate danger.

"Come on," you coax, helping him to sit back up. "Don't forget this was your idea."

"Y/N—" He tries again.

"I know, San. Let's not worry about that right now, okay?"

He weakly nods. "Just get it over with."

You try not to think about it too much this time. Hesitation hasn't gotten you anywhere and you're not sure how much longer San can last.

San screams as you plunge your finger deep into his wound. It's warm and squishy as you fish around, the feeling so nauseating and vile you have to suppress a gag. Strings of curses and meaningless threats fall from San's lips as he squirms. Though you ignore them completely, too focused on keeping your lunch down as the urge to throw up surfaces for the fourth time.

What is likely just a few seconds of searching feels like hours. But your finger eventually comes into contact with something sharp and hard, it budges slightly when you knock against it. San jerks upward with a gasp, and you have to drop your flashlight so you can use your free hand to press against his chest and pin him down to the chair. On any other occasion, San could easily overpower you if he wanted. But the blood loss has made him weaker and there isn't much energy left in him to fight back.

"It's almost over, I promise. Hold on just a little bit longer."

Much to San's displeasure, you have to dig around again to relocate the piece of shrapnel. While your knowledge of the human blood vessel system is limited, you don't think it's deep enough to have cut an artery. The flow of blood is much more consistent with a knicked vein. Not fatal, but definitely painful and concerning with the sheer amount of blood leaking from his body.

"Okay, now stay very still." You instruct once you've found the shard again. Very carefully you take your hand off San's broad chest and reach back for the tweezers. You slip them back into the wound with surgical-like care and use your finger to guide them to the piece of shrapnel. It's easier this time to grasp the metal shard and once you have a hold of it you're able to slip your finger out. The resounding sucking noise is pure nightmare fuel when combined with the whimpers coming from San.

"Okay, I got it. Are you ready? This is gonna hurt a lot."

San nods, "I can handle it." It's very unconvincing.

You wipe the blood from your hand on your pants and extend it towards San. You aren't sure if he'll take it, and you're even more unsure of why you felt the need to offer it. Because he'll need something to hold on to while you rip a piece of metal from his side? Because he's your partner and you've never enjoyed seeing him in pain? Because he's your soulmate and it's the least you could do to comfort him? Whatever the reason, he takes it without hesitation, and you're happy for it.

"On three."

San takes a deep breath.

"One—"

Something halfway between a gasp and a curse breaks past San's lips as you swiftly, and not so gently, pull the shrapnel from his side. The sudden extraction has him crushing your hand in his grasp, though you don't have much time to process the pain as you drop the offending object and grab a wad of gauze to press against the profusely bleeding cut.

"What happened to two and three!?" He barks between short and heavy breaths.

"Would you have stayed relaxed by the time I got there?"

"Fuck you," he groans, words meaningless. You slip your hand from San's iron-like grasp and guide him down to the gauze you've placed. Another gasp involuntarily escapes him the more he presses down on the wound to slow the bleeding.

An awkward silence hangs in the air and casts a heavy blanket across the room. It's suffocating in and of itself, but the way San's eyes burn a hole into your skull is so much worse. You can't even bring yourself to lift your gaze from the bloody shrapnel on the floor to face him. The offending object doesn't feel so threatening now as it lays jagged and tinted red on the hardwood. It reminds you of how stained glass looks when shattered into pieces. Dull, delicate, haunting. A small distraction from the man you refuse to face, the man who is most definitely expecting something from you, but you aren't sure you can give him the answer he wants right now. But his heavy and labored breathing is making him hard to ignore.

"Um . . . Yunho should be here soon, I'm sure he can patch—"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" You feign innocence.

"Change the subject."

You rise from your kneeling position but keep your eyes trained on your shoes and arms wrapped protectively around your waist. Every neuron in your brain is screaming and pleading for him to just drop it. You're not sure any time will ever be a good time to have a conversation on the obvious, but they still sound a hell of a lot better than right now while he's still not completely out of danger.

"Now isn't a good time, San. We can talk about it once you're healed and—"

"No." He's firm in his stance. "Look, I understand if you need time to process everything, but this isn't something you can just ignore and make go away. We're gonna have to talk about it sooner or later."

You feel horrible. Because for every time you've made it known you have absolutely no intention of ever being involved with your soulmate, San has been right there on the opposing side. He's confided in you and Wooyoung countless times about just how much he desires to meet his soulmate. How he adores the idea of finding that perfect person to share a life with. It's truly unfortunate that person had to be you.

You're pretty sure you love San, that you've always loved San. But you just can't. The thought of him getting even closer along with the danger he puts himself in every day? You'd never truly be able to find peace or comfort in that type of relationship. So you take in a deep breath, hold back a flurry of tears, and prepare yourself for what will possibly be the cruelest thing to ever come from your lips. You prepare to absolutely and utterly crush San's heart and dreams into a billion pieces. You try to convince yourself it's for the best, but the guilt outweighs that feeling.

"There's nothing to talk about. I don't–" there's really no kind way to say this. "I don't want you as a soulmate. I don't feel that way toward you–"

"Liar." His voice is shaky, and the image of stray tears streaming down his face invades your mind. You've never seen him cry before, and you definitely don't want to now.

"What, did you think you'd be some sort of exception? Just because we're partners? You know my opinion on soulmates. I can't– I won't. . . I'm sorry it had to be me, you deserve better."

The universe must take some form of pity on you because before San can articulate his next thought Yunho and Mingi burst through the safe house door. "What happened?" Yunho commands, already dropping his duffle bag of medical supplies to the floor and kneeling beside San.

"He got hit by shrapnel, I dug it out and did the best I could but you'll probably need to disinfect and stitch it up." You rattle off everything you did almost robotically before making a beeline for the front door, and though Yunho is too zeroed into treating San, Mingi picks up almost instantly on the quake in your voice and tension that suffocates the entire house.

His hand shoots out to grab your arm. "Woah, what's wron—"

"Not now, Mingi." You bite at him, ripping your arms from his grasp before he even really had a hold of it. Shouts from San and Yunho arguing with each other fill the living room, trying to use it as a distraction, you attempt your escape again.

"San, stop being difficult."

"Don't fucking touch me! So you're just gonna leave—?" His words stop you dead in your tracks, frozen in place with your fingers ghosting the doorknob. "—You're not even gonna fucking look at me?" The room goes silent once more. Your skin itches from the number of eyes staring you down.

"You're a coward if you run now."

His words sting, though you're sure it's nothing compared to what you've done to him. Ripping a piece of metal from his side only to moment later rip his heart from his chest. You truly deserve every insult he throws your way.

"I'm sorry," You repeat. "It's for the best."

Your body feels numb like it's operating on autopilot as you hastily slip into the cool fall air and let the wooden door slam shut with a blunt bang.

It's for the best. He'll understand it one day.

[ part 2 ]

#san #choi san #ateez san #ateez choi san #san fic #san fanfic #choi san angst #choi san mafia au #choi san soulmate au #san angst #choi san x reader #san x reader #choi san imagine #choi san imagines #san imagine #san x you #choi san x you #ateez x reader #ateez x you #soulmate!au #choi san oneshot

[saruman-the-silly]

comfort

tags: copia x gn!reader, fluff, like a tiiiny bit of angst but copia is very loving and comforting hehe and gets super, super fluffly at the end

word count: around 600, maybe 700-ish?

-----------------------------------------

some copia comfort because it seems like the only thing I can write rn / kind of a part 2 to A Long Day :) any feedback you have is much appreciated! <3

------------------------------------------

You two walked to his room, holding hands. He opened the door for you dramatically, making you laugh.

"Damn, your place is huge!" You looked around Copia's room and flopped down on the bed.

"And damn your bed.. it's so soft," You sighed, just sinking into the soft mattress.

Copia chuckled at the sight of you laying in his bed.

"You seem to have found the best spot here. Now, you rest and I will take care of everything else, yes?" He ruffled your hair a little, before heading to the kitchen.

Your eyes started to feel heavy from all the stress you were having, and soon you were sleeping. Copia noticed, smiled and quietly put a pillow under your head.

"Rest now, amore mio. You need it." He leaned down and pressed a small kiss to your hair.

Copia looked at your sleeping form, and couldn't resist to softly run his hand over your cheek. To him, you looked like a gift from Lucifer himself. He spared one last longing glance at you, before returning to the kitchen.

----------

Your nap was not going great. You had been sleeping for around 20 minutes and now, you started to shuffle around, quietly mumbling to yourself.

"No, nonono, please, I didn't do it- no you can't do this! NO-"

Copia heard this and rushed to your side. He tried to gently shake you awake.

"Tesoro, wake up! It's just a dream, wake up!"

You woke up with a gasp, tears running down your face. Copia was there, wrapping his arms around you. You started crying, and just held on to him like it was the last hug you were ever gonna receive.

He just held you, and whispered sweet nothings into your ear. After a few minutes he pulled back to look at your face. You sniffled and tried to wipe your tears away, but he stopped you and did it himself.

"So.. do you wanna talk about it?" Copia asked gently, holding his hand on your cheek. You sighed, and answered while avoiding his gentle gaze:

"I've been just so incredibly stressed lately, everyone in the Abbey just hates me and nothing is going well, and I'm drowning in my work-" Tears had started to fall, again, but Copia grasped your hand and rubbed it softly. You took deep breath and whispered:

"It's just been rough being so alone all the time," you finally looked at Copia, "I'm just so lonely." You whispered. Copia's eyes were shining with unshed tears. He leaned closer, pressed his forehead against yours and whispered.

"Amore mio, I am so sorry I didn't realise the pain you were in." His gloved hand grazed your cheek softly.

"I will talk to someone about your tasks, sì? We can't have you doing so many tasks that you forget to take care of yourself."

He stood up from the bed, pulling you with him.

"Now, my mission was to help you feel better and relax, so now it's time to eat!" He led you to the kitchen, where he had set up dinner. You both sat down and started to eat. The food was absolutely delicious, and Copia blushed under your praise.

After you had eaten dinner, Copia led you to the living room and you sat down on the soft couch. He brought some fluffly blankets, and wrapped you up like a little burrito.

"There!" He exclaimed. "Now, we watch Star Wars." He grinned, and started the movie. He sat down beside you, and you scooted over, closer to him.

Even though you had kissed once, Copia's stomach was still full of butterflies now. He smiled at you and wrapped his arm around you. You snuggled further into him, relishing the warmth.

"Copia?" You asked quietly.

"Sì?" He replied. You shifted around until you were face to face with him. You leaned in close, until your lips where almost touching, and whispered:

"Thank you," and you sealed the moment with pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss.

-----------------------------

I'm not sure if I like this but decided to post it anyway

#ghost the band #papa emeritus x reader #the band ghost #copia x reader #copia x reader fluff #copia is my husband #cardinal copia #copia my beloved #papa iv #ghost band #ghost bc

[bluereo]

Part 2 my AU: Megatronus - The Fallen AU

Funny version how talking to Optimus's siblings went:

Op: I need you help, I can't defeat Unicron alone.

Eleven of them present in the realm of primes: ha ha nope

Op: okay then I'm gonna free Megatronus and he is my favorite from now.

Primes: :0

When Optimus gives Megatronus freedom he gives him also a deal. Something like "You help me and I will not put you back inside your prison. After we are done with Unicron you can go and do whatever you want as long as you don't cause any trouble" and Megatronus is like "...hello my new favorite sibling". They have a deal. Megatronus can't fight or kill anyone (autobots and decepticons have a peace for now) and Optimus will not put him back to his prison .

Everyone is completly shocked with sudden arrival of the Fallen, and this causes many many awkward situations.

Starting with Megatronus and Megatron. Like. I believe they have some similarities. They both want power, they are great warriors and have a little wild temperament. They would compete with eachother all the time. Megatron becouse he wants to prove he is better (especially before Optimus (yas I love Megop) ) and the Fallen just becouse he likes to tease younger. Bonus points for being overprotective older brother.

Or kids going everywhere after demigod listening to many wild and brutal stories from his time with the rest of his sibling. Bonus if he spills some tea about Optimus not always being so stoick and his past in the wilderness.

Or Rachet just being angry about the fact that Optimus never told anyone that he could literally talk or summon past primes. Or that he is literally the 13th.

Or Starscreem silently trying to make the Fallen join his side and help with ending Megatron.

I have so many ff ideas but I'm shit at writing them so here you go with some dialogs.

If someone wants to write something with this au you are free to do it. Just tag me

• Megatronus & human kids

Fallen: -and this is how we deafeted Unicron the last time!

Jack and Raffael, deeply terrified: . . .

Miko with stars in her eyes: Please tell me more.

I see Fallen as the older brother who already seen his mistakes and wants to change himself a little bit. Just to make sens to some of those below.

• Megatronus & Optimus (already with more then less memories from his past life)

Fallen: ...Show me your scars

Op: Why?

Fallen: I want to know how many times you needed me brother and I wasn't there...

Fallen: You have changed since I last seen you. You... have grown up.

Op: Grown up?... I suppose I had. Killing bots and almost killing myself few times must have changed me after all.

Fallen: So... you knew Megatron before war?

Op: I knew him. At least I thought I did. Once. A long time ago...

Fallen: What was he like?

Op: He was going to change the world for so much better...

_______

Sorry for missing for such long time. Pls interact repost and you can send me your ideas about it

Part 1:

#transformers prime #optimus prime #tfp #transformers #megatron #random thoughts #tfp optimus #orion pax #megop #Thirteenth #thirteen primes #the fallen #Megatronus - The Fallen AU #i still have no idea what im doing #imagine past primes in their space just sitting there like >:( #their lost chance to become favorite of the youngest #megaop

[rans-rubbish]

Memory • Xiao

Description: You promised him you'll come back, thousands of years later he still believes you. Is it finally time for you to meet again?

A/n: English in not my first language so sorry for any mistakes, not proofread. Also idk what to do for part 2 huhu T-T

Tags: [reincarnation] [angst/little comfort] [reader died]

Fire and explosion lit up Xiao's dim eyes, sparks of light making it seem like he held the galaxy in his pupils. Those same eyes looked at you, not with the usual soft and loving gaze but instead with regret and despair.

"Xiao... please dont look at me like that" you pleaded.

You reach out your hand to touch his cheek, where a few tears have started to stream.

He dared to be weak around you, even when he's at war.

"Dearest, keep your eyes open, will you?" He clutched your hand.

"I will, I will." you chuckle.

You look up to see the blood-stained clouds. The once blue sky was now red in colour, and reflected nothing but the misery of the world.

"Once the sky is clear and the dust have settled, promise to find me at our spot." You requested.

"I promise, i promise to find you even if it takes a thousand years." Xiao declares.

As you take your last breath, Xiao cant help feel infuriated towards the deities and gods, for dragging those who are innocent in a war full of violence.

~

Xiao recalls your last moments while sitting beside a lake.

After millenniums he still remembers all the little details. How can he ever forget you, when you were the only one who made his life worth living.

Ever since that war, ever since that moment he has promised to protect the innocent people of Teyvat. He knows it's what you would've wanted.

Whenever he felt turmoil, he would go to your favourite place. To your spot.

The place was tranquil and quiet, as if a leaf falling can be heared. Tall trees surrounded the area and lush greenery filled the territory.

A small, clear lake can be found at the eye of it. With small fishes and big boulders around it.

He'll never forget that time you tried taking a seat on one of those rocks and took a swim with the koi.

He also recalls that time you made flower crowns using the flowers around the forest.

And that time you climbed a tree and couldnt figure out how to go back down.

He misses those times, he misses you. A lot.

Xiao doesnt notice but after thousands of years, he's slowly starting to forget your face. When he tries to picture your features in his mind, he misses a couple details or sometimes he cant remember the spark in your eyes and how they reflected the stars.

While in a trip down memory lane, he lost track of time and soon the moon began to rise.

The lake was even more beautiful at night with the moon casted on the crystal waters.

He can only wish to stay here forever, but unfortunately he's gonna have to leave.

Songs of night birds and barks of animals filled the night, behind the chime of wild animals were the sound of breaking leave and footsteps.

He didnt think much of it as in can only be monsters, and he really didnt want to spill blood around this area so he ignored it and headed to the direction of Liyue's towns.

That was, until he heard a voice.

"Uhm hello? Is anyone there? Please I dont mean any harm! I'm just lost" someone called out.

Xiao can feel his heart racing, his mind was lost in thought. He feels like his chest is about to burst.

Is it really you?

He knows the chances are slim, and he doesnt want to get his hopes up. But part of him still yearns that it's you he's facing right now.

"Stop right there! Dont move an inch closer" He said, eyes wandering around, looking for the person who spoke.

Xiao spotted a figure near the trees, a floor length cloak covering their face and body.

"Please, I was traveling to Liyue but my horse wandered off to the forest! Now I cant find my way back on track." They said as they took of their cloth, trying to prove they're human.

As the cloak drops to the soil, so does Xiao's heart.

How can someone, have such similar voice and figure as you?

Could it be...?

You took a step closer to him leaving the shadows. The dim moonlight illuminated your face.

"Y/n?" Xiao whispered.

#reader insert #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact xiao #genshin xiao #adeptus xiao #adepti #genshin xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #xiao x reader #xiao fluff #xiao angst

[willameena]

i went to an antique mall today that had an impressive amount of star wars stuff (in addition to some amazing antiques). a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one ;) i took a bunch of pictures to show the friends in my phone :D

lego-wan!!

this one absolutely sent me. i mean, look at him and his pathetic eye bags

obi-wan and ezra being cool

qui-gon as a... muppet?

if these lights had a price tag, i probably would have bought them. if they're still there next week (oh yeah- i'm going back next week) i'm gonna take that as a sign and inquire

this hat?? is so rad??!

han has the cockiest, smarmiest look on his face and i love it so much

my personal favorite.. everything about this is just absolute gold. also. why has the world changed so much. why are we no longer getting promo posters for buying 2 packs of soda?? why??

and finally, the thing i actually did buy... guys. i'm never drinking out of another cup ever. other cups are just unnecessary now, i only need this pint glass.

#star wars

[neteyamb]

ashes to ashes: chapter three

pairing: loak x f!omatikaya reader

summary: as a healer, y/n had taken an oath to treat every patient with their best interests in mind. this hadn’t been a problem, until loak’s petty injuries become a routine. she has to swallow her pride and feign concern, feign kindness, and face the ugly hate that has been brewing between them for years. 

tags: enemies to lovers, slight angst, best friend kiri, mentions of blood, mentions of war, language

word count: 2.2k

notes: you know exactky as much as i do what will happen next. its a secret to the both of us, babe!

⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･

billie bossa nova

love when it makes you lose your bearings / it might be more of an obsession / you better lock your phone / and look at me when you're alone / won't take a lot to get you goin' / i'm sorry if it's torture though / that heavy breathin' on the floor / i’m yours, i'm yours 

nova – a star that suddenly increases its light output tremendously and then fades away to its former obscurity

when the RDA returned to pandora six years ago, young and promising navi warriors got beaten to a pulp left and right. some of them never made a full recovery. now familiar with human weaponry, the omatikaya were able to push back in the war significantly, but this didn’t come without the help of maiya. she was swift to open the doors of an additional healing hut. moat, as tsahik, had hers located centrally in the village while maiya placed hers on the outskirts; readily able to patch up any injured that limped in from the forest by foot. 

the raids became even more frequent, and maiya was quick to recruit new healers. you were seventeen, and roaming aimlessly with empty hands. while you were capable enough to be a warrior, she had convinced you it was better to have another healer than another soldier in the battlefield. at the time there were–what, three or four healers? and thousands on the frontlines? the ratio wasn’t effective, and she urgently needed help. you promptly agreed.

✶✶✶✶

humiliation twisted in your gut as she spoke. “i will not accept this behaviour in my own hut, y/n. you are too old for this.” you look down at your feet, ears ringing as her sharp voice filled the silent room. “do you know how bad it would look if my own apprentice was the cause of our soldiers’ injuries? i cannot allow it.” she rubbed her temple, sighing in defeat. you choked on the air in your lungs as if you were suffocating under the weight of her disappointment. “fix this,” she muttered, “don’t come back until you do.” 

✶✶✶✶

loak thunders into his family’s hut, arm bloody and face pinched. kiri eyes him from the corner, placing her yarn down carefully. “what happened? you’re walking like an orangutan, i can practically see the stream leaving your ears.” he didn’t appreciate the joke, instead flopping onto his hammock with a defiant grunt. “so broody! loak, c’mon. fess up.” he tries to swat her off his conscious like a bug, but she wasn’t having it. “i can’t weave if you’re gonna be mumbling and grunting every few seconds.” he rolls over to face her begrudgingly, and she raises her eyebrows. her words are firm, and he sighs, giving in. “y/n and i got into a little spat. i’m sure maiya’s getting her good right now for it.” he winces, awaiting her response. he knows how it sounds, but you were a little too good at aggravating him. everytime you’re within his eyesight, his gears start grinding like an explosion in slow motion. you were electric, equal to him in emotion as well as verbal combat.

kiri’s eyes fall on his wounded bicep, and she points. “is this the result?” he’s quick to ease her alarm. “no–no, this is unrelated. that’s actually why i went to see her.” her shoulders relax and she takes her seat again. “grandmother’s hut is far closer. you could just go there.” kiri picked up her yarn once more, fiddling with it as she spoke. loak’s gaze lowered and he chewed his lip, hoping that stubborn silence would end the conversation. “you know, if you just pulled your head out of your ass, she might actually like you. she’s cool like that.” loak suddenly felt restless. he abruptly got to his feet, heading out as quickly as he came. “yeah, yeah.” he muttered under his breath, trying to brush her observations off in vain.

✶✶✶✶

your eyes swelled in frustration as you left the tent, but you were too embarrassed to cry. this was your own doing. your feet padded on the dirt, steadily increasing their speed as you travel deeper into the forest. after running for what felt like hours, the air was bitter in your lungs and they heaved with effort. you crumbled beside a small creek, throat still tight like a vice enveloped it as you dropped your feet in the water. you were unmoving for several minutes. a flat stone flies past your arm, and you look in the direction it came from with trepidation creeping into your muscles. loak follows the flying stone with his eyes as it skips over the water’s surface, face stoic. you don’t relax at the sight of him, instead rigidly turning back to the creek as you anxiously run your tongue over your teeth. 

loak stands still for a moment, staring at the tension in your shoulders before apprehensively sitting down a few feet away from you, letting the water lap at his calves. eyes glued to the folded hands on your thighs, you ask, “why are you here, loak?” with quiet defeat in your tone. he begins absentmindedly moving his feet in the water. “i probably shouldn't have done that back there. it crossed a line.” you scowl at your hands, uncomfortable with his pity. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you bristle. there were never apologies, never any outright confrontations like this. not with loak. he throws his head back, sighing through his teeth at the clouds above as a silent plea for the virtue of patience. “cut that shit out. i know she yelled at you.” his eyes drop, watching as you twist your hands. “thanks for the pity, you can be on your way now.” you snap, challenging him as your narrowed eyes bore into his own. 

loak huffed exasperatedly, laying on his back as his feet swayed in the cool water. “when my dad found out the RDA was back, he really grilled us with training. more than before. i got yelled at left and right,” he licks his lips, aware of your now attentive gaze on him. “and it fucking sucked. i’m just saying, i get it.” you hummed lowly, pursing your lips and pinching your brows together. “you probably had it coming,” you inhale sharply through your mouth, “but yeah. it fucking sucks.” this was uncomfortable; toying with an unspoken boundary. you didn’t like the vulnerability that hung in the air. 

you bite the bullet. you knew you had to have a word with him eventually, for maiya, but you didn’t expect it to happen when you were still licking your wounds. “maybe i shouldn’t be beating people up in a healing hut.” laughter rolls through his torso, hands on his stomach. “you did not beat me up, y/n.” you allow a small smile to play at your lips, cautiously shuffling closer. if he noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. 

the two of you sat awkwardly by the creek for some time. loak confided in you about how he felt he didn’t belong in his father’s squad, and you did the same. the conversation was timid, unsure, but wholehearted. as you spoke, his eyes fell to the dip in your cupid’s bow before snapping back up to your bright eyes. it happened so fast, he was sure you weren’t aware. to put it plainly, loak was nervous. your closeness made his heart pound in his chest, and he struggled to control his breathing. he didn’t know where to look; your eyes felt too intimate, but if his were to wander it would be moreso. he restricted himself to watching the gentle breeze rock the water, but still your voice infiltrated his ears, your scent filled his nose. you were overwhelming, everywhere, and it made him uneasy. 

✶✶✶✶

loak had walked back with you to the village, tail stiff behind him. you now stood outside of maiya’s hut, fretfully alternating your weight on each foot as you listened to her soft hums inside. you were close to chickening out, but before you dejectedly turned back, you hear her sigh. “come inside, maite.” you suck in a breath before lifting the entrance flap, looking sheepish. “i am so sorry, maiya. it’s been resolved. please forgive me.” the words are escaping your mouth like vomit. she rests a heavy hand on your shoulder and rustles your hair with a soft smile on her face. “all is well. come, i need a second opinion on this paste.” she turns back towards the counter, mixing peacefully. you’re rooted to the ground for a moment, processing her words slowly, before stepping to her side. 

the sky had grown dark, and you put your fingers to your forehead to bid maiya farewell. as you walked home, something curled in the pit of your stomach. you were sure you had overshared with loak, and regret was creeping its way into your mind. only when you climbed into your hammock did it begin to unfurl. it was unlike him to reach out to you like he had, and you feel skeptical about the unfamiliarity of the situation. hopefully, it was a misnomer you could write off.

✶✶✶✶

it was noon, and loak was flying his ikran closely above the treetops alongside his dad, brother, and a handful of other warriors. the raid had gone as planned, but there were knicks from bullets painting his skin and he was almost positive there was blood running down his spine. as they landed, loak removed his queue from the animal and walked wearily with heavy footing towards his grandmother’s hut; the fact that it was closer than yours and he was exhausted was a bonus, but his main concern was the on-edge feeling you had given him the day before. had he made a mistake, allowing himself to be close to you? he didn’t have the energy to entertain that line of thought. loak peeks into the entrance to find his grandmother already working on several of his colleagues, most of which are substantially more injured than he is. moat sees his shadow on the floor and looks up, pulling a tight smile. “tìrol, i am afraid i cannot assist you right now. will you need help getting to maiya?” he grimaced internally, before responding, “no grandmother, i’ll be alright. thank you.” 

he departed swiftly, feeling pain shoot up his left leg with every step. you were prepared with abundant supplies, already tending to one other navi soldier. in the entrance, he watched your brows pinch as you stitched up a deep gash in the man's thigh. maiya wasped around you, analyzing your skill as she prepared gauze for the wound. loak almost forgot why he was here, why he didn’t come here sooner. his eyes drank in your graceful movements; after you expressed your lack of confidence in being a proper healer, he was sure you would go pale at serious injuries, but instead you worked fast and calm. he watched your hands caress the skin with calculated movements, watched as your smooth voice eradicated the fear in the warrior’s eyes. only when maiya took over with the gauze did you see him in the entrance, stricken with grief at your skill. 

for an awful moment, there were flashes of envy in his gut; he had devoted his life to reminding you that he was better than you, but you were here all this time actively making a difference in the clan while he disappeared into a sea of identical soldiers. and the way the warrior looked at you kindly, with blind appreciation–he had never been able to wear that look on his face with you. loak suddenly feels cheated by life; it was really that easy? his gut became heavy. you offer him a clipped smile, motioning him inside. feeling sick, he was grateful to take a seat on the mat, tucking his legs underneath his thighs in earnest. “how are you feeling?” you ask, already bringing an array of remedies to the mat. “tired,” he mumbles distantly. you trip over your words, embarrassed at his blunt misunderstanding; surely asking on his emotional wellbeing was too intimate? “i mean–well, are there–do you feel any pain anywhere?” he feels dumb, a blush beginning to raise on his neck. “my leg hurts,” he admits uncomfortably. you nod, holding your hands out apprehensively in question.

loak understands, unfolding his legs and pushing the left one towards you silently. you feel for any fracture or break in bone, and allow yourself to breath out when there aren’t any. still, you apply a numbing cream and move to his back. your fingers were so light on his spine they almost tickled, and he shifted awkwardly under your touch. he prayed wordless thanks that he wasn’t in need of stitches; he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. tentatively, you fill the heavy silence. “okay, i think you’ll be fine–” your breath hitches as you move around to his front, catching his dazed eyes with your own. your interactions with loak now felt clumsy, full of doubt and hesitancy, and you didn’t like it; you could no longer predict his thoughts, much less his next move. he clenches his jaw and brings a shaky hand to the floor, pushing himself up and moving his eyes away from you. “thanks, i’ll be on my way now.” you share a look with maiya as he walks off, still shaking.

⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･

notes: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

taglist: @weasleytwinwheezes

#loak x reader #neteyam x reader #loak smut #loak sully #atwow loak #loak x y/n #loak fic #loak imagine #avatar loak #loak x you #loak angst #loak fluff #loak fanfiction #kiri avatar #avatar way of water #avatar twow #avatar #atwow #atwow kiri #atwow fanfiction #atwow x y/n #atwow x you #atwow angst #loak slowburn

[orangeflavoryawp]

20 questions for fic writers

Ohhhh, haven't done one of these in a while. Thanks for the tag @esther-dot <3

How many works do you have on Ao3?

On Ao3? 91 But add to that, older fics on ffnet and other independent sites (oh Rolo Realm, my beloved), I think it's 102.

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

1,020,258

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Game of Thrones/ASOIAF, Mass Effect, Dragon Age, Naruto, X-Men, Star Trek, Record of Lodoss War, Sailor Moon, Harry Potter and several unpublished ones

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Almost all Jonsa, lol. - From Instep to Heel - A Violence Done Most Kindly - Wool and Tallow - Shepard Sees the Sky - Hallowed

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

Always, but it takes me time. I used to be very secluded, still am sometimes, and it took me effort to reply to comments and build relationships and community. I don't want to lose that. It's also important to me that readers understand how meaningful even a single comment is. So yeah, every comment, I try.

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

Alright, so there's a lot of contenders for this one. I'm not even gonna try to list them off.

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

Probably either Interlocking or What Grows in Winter? I don't write a lot of 'happy' endings, I would say. Mostly I write endings that have either hope or closure, and that can come in a multitude of emotions, but those two fics are probably the most light-hearted of my works so I'm going with that.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Sure, but honestly, not nearly as much as I expected. I've never really gotten someone trying to get into an argument with me. It's really just those one-line trolls that mass comment on a fic out of nowhere with stuff like 'Die parasite' or whatever.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do! I can actually say that now, lol. It's semi-recent for me, I guess. Considering how long I've been writing, at least. At the moment it's just het smut, but who knows what the future will bring!

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

Nope. Dislike crossovers, actually.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Several, actually.

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

No, and I don't plan to. Don't think it would work well.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

I honestly can't answer this. Like... honestly. But the two couples I've spent the most time actively writing for would be Jon/Sansa (Game of Thrones/ASOIAF) and Storm/Wolverine.(X-Men), so there's that.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

It'd be between Rocks and Shoals and Sheparding Men, but I'm more hopeful that I'd return to Rocks and Shoals. Both are Mass Effect fic.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Characterization and emotive language.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Setting and exposition, for sure. Also, paring down a scene, lol.

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

I've thrown in a commonly known phrase or two, but I don't like it being used regularly. There's too much variance on how to show translation in fic, and I find it often breaks the pace of the piece trying to do so, anyway.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Oh geez, thinking back, probably Xena? Though that was unpublished. First published fandom would be X-Men.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Damn, that's hard. But I'm probably going to have to go with Reckoned from One Midnight to the Next for the way it changed my writing style going forward. Perhaps the most formative of my pieces. Close runner up would be A Violence Done Most Kindly though, since it's also pretty formative for me in how I tackle plot now, and I'm really proud of the intricacies in that one.

This was pretty fun! Tagging for those interested @theoriginalsuki @jonsaslove @amymel86 @barbex @hawkeykirsah @vorchagirl @razerathane @tlcinbflo @foofyschmoofer @goddesstiera @joufancyhuh @sailorshadzter

#writing #fanfic #tag game

[margowritesthings]

Te Beroya: II

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Mandalorian!Arthur Morgan x reader crossover: Star Wars x Red Dead Redemption prompt: 48. “For someone who acts like they hate me, you sure find a way to get me alone a lot.” + 52. “Just because you're pretty, it doesn't mean you can just get away with anything." / "You think I'm pretty?" + 56. “I-I don’t know if I want to yell at you or fuck you.” + 89. “Be careful, sweetheart. Do you really think that's a good idea?” + 90. “You’re playing a dangerous game, girl" word count: 3719 words warnings: sexual innuendos, star wars swears, brief mentions of trauma from readers past authors note: it's here! One last little chapter before I go into full moving mode. Not sure when the next one will be, but Im workin on it!! I love these two crazies, Im not gonna lie. And yes, I went toally ham on that prompt list, but its the best. As always reblogs/likes are appreciated, and if you wanna be tagged in the rest of the series let me know!!

beta read by @cowboydisaster, divider by @saradika

The look shared between you and the 10 foot tall bantha says more than words ever could. 

“I am not riding all the way to Mos Espa on a bantha.” You announce, going on instinct to fold your arms in defiance across your chest, before realising your hands are bound. It frustrates you even more and you huff, one more mishap away from stamping your foot like a child.

Arthur seems unphased by your tantrum. Amused, even. 

“Well, you got two choices, Princess. You can ride up there with me, or I’m sure Boadicea here will gladly drag you along behind…” You roll your eyes, sighing in great defeat, hating that you’ve lost so much control of this situation so quickly. And of course he’s named the damn bantha. 

“Your ‘choices’ suck, you know that? It’s not a choice if one of the options is death or getting dragged across the Dune sea by my broken limbs.” 

Maker help him, he laughs, taking that as answer enough and hoisting himself up onto the saddle by the stirrups. You watch on, unimpressed, as he places his helmet back on and it hisses quietly.  He extends a hand out to help you up and shuffles back in his seat.

When you figure out how exactly this is going to work, you feel your throat dry up, more so than it already is from 18 hours exposed to the elements of the desert. He wants you in front of him, where your back will surely press up against his chest, literally caging you in with those huge arms to keep his hands on the reins. All that contact… 

“No way. We’re not gonna both fit on there.” You shake your head, taking a step backwards. Arthur doesn’t flinch, knowing if you ran now you’d be dead in days, especially with those cuffs on.

“You shoulda’ thought about that before you tried to knock me out and run away, little mouse.” 

Anxiety bounces around your frame at the idea. Ever since that night, the one that changed everything, you hate being touched by others, especially in such close proximity. But what choice do you have? It’s getting hot, and you’re not sure you’d survive a trek across the desert on your feet… Plus, possibly more terrifying than death by sand, he was just touching you everywhere, during your fight. And somehow, you didn’t hate it. It wasn’t like every other time you’ve been touched… The feel of his hard body covering the length of you, his bulge prodding firmly against your thigh as he pinned your wrists down deep into the sand… 

You’re getting distracted. 

“Urgh. Fine. But don’t get any ideas, beroya.” You lift your wrists, letting him grab your hands to help you mount Boadicea. When you swing your leg around, it settles you into the saddle, up close and personal with your captor. His hard chest presses firmly against your back, thighs around yours and crotch in serious danger of grinding up against your ass with each step the bantha makes. You think back to the fight, expecting to regret it, but instead find yourself trying awfully hard not to think about how thrilling it was to have a big, bad bounty hunter on top of you like that…

Maker, what has gotten into you?!

Well… nothing. Maybe that’s the problem… you swore yourself away from all of that after you were shown just how cruel the Galaxy can be, all too focused on the plight of survival once you became such a high value target. But now… well, it’s clearly messing with your head, because there is no way in hell you should be thinking about the hard-on of the man destined to be your end… You make a mental note to get laid once this is over… If this is over. 

When Arthur clicks the reins and Boadicea the bantha starts to walk, you clamp your jaw shut and your breaths come out as sighs, in an attempt to show him just how furious you are at this turn of events. The grinding of your teeth is all part of the act, you tell yourself, and not at all a method of distracting yourself from the ripple of muscle you feel pressed flush against your back. You can feel him breathe, could swear you can feel a soft thrum of his heart as the scent of campfires and cigarettes infiltrates your senses. He’s all consuming, in the most infuriating ways, shuffling logic right out of your mind. 

There’s a tension in the tiny gap between you, one that spikes every time Boadicea moves in a way that presses your ass further up against Arthur’s crotch and you’re sure his breath hitches at each point of contact.

“So-” He starts, his voice sounding almost strangled, “How’s a pretty little thing like you end up on the Outer Rim’s Most Wanted list?”

Ah, perfect. Small talk about life’s greatest traumas to distract you from the fact you now know your captor has the biggest dick in the Galaxy. Unlucky for Arthur, you’re not exactly in a sharing mood, so deflection it is.

“Sorry, beroya, the tragic backstory package is locked behind a level of friendship unattainable to the likes of you.” As an added effect, you move your wrists around so the metal of the cuffs clinks against your belt. A reminder of the situation, if you will. 

“Aw, shucks, and here I was thinkin’ you liked me.” He’s all bravado, slapping his thigh comically. You don’t laugh. “Well, just so you know…” He leans closer, and his breath tickles the back of your ear sending a shiver all the way down your spine, “I don’t like you either, princess.” 

Now that does draw a smirk from you. Ugly words are one thing, but biology doesn’t lie, and Arthur’s is screaming the very opposite. You adjust yourself in the saddle again, feeling that very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing against your flesh.

“Coulda’ fooled me, cowboy.” 

Being situated in front of him, you don’t see Arthur’s hand coming, don’t realise whats happening until gloved fingers wrap around your neck, thumb and forefinger pressing firmly against the pulse points on your throat. You gasp just in time to capture just enough breath for the Mandalorian to trap in your lungs. He’s so close you feel the cool metal of his helmet against your skin, the way he’s holding you forcing you to crane your neck back into him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, pretty girl. Be careful, mesh’la. Do you really think that’s a good idea?” His warning is growled into your ear, slightly gravelly through the helmet, and you swear you’ve never felt a heat burn so fiercely everywhere. Fuck, the way he’s holding you is possessive, wanting… It ignites a very dangerous flame you’d rather not address, but the way you squirm, that little whimper that escapes your parted lips, says everything that you’d never admit aloud.

You couldn’t even if you wanted to, especially when he squeezes just that bit tighter and you feel your heart beating in your flushed cheeks. A witty retort would be just in character, but words fail you as your binded hands attempt to scratch uselessly through the leather of his thick gloves. Boadicea continues her trek, unaware that you’re all but soaking the poor girls saddle through.

“Just cause you’re pretty, doesn’t mean you can get away with just anything. Not with me, sweetheart.” You hear every rasp in his voice, the years he’s lived and fought branding it like scars. When he relinquishes the pressure, just a little, the blood rushes back into your face and you know it’s your turn to talk. He’s expecting obedience, and you’ll be damned if you comply, even if he holds your lifeforce between his thumb and forefinger. 

“You… You think I’m pretty? Gee, Arthur, I don’t think you’re supposed to-” He doesn’t let you finish, the frustration at you manifesting into another soul quaking growl as he squeezes harder.

“Do you really think that behaving like that is going to get you want you want, you little brat?” 

…Kriff. You’ve been labelled as difficult before, but never in a way that leaves you panting like this. Fuck, this is not how it’s supposed to go. He’s going to have you killed, and yet your panties are soaking through. You’re losing the last scraps of power you once clung to so vehemently… but Maker does it feel good…

“Listen here, Princess. I ain’t blind, alright? You’re a pretty girl. But I ain’t stupid, either. Half the time I can’t tell if I wanna kill you or fuck you, but that don’t mean shit, cause ever since I got those binders on you, you’ve been mine, alright? So shut that pretty little mouth of yours before I shut it for you. Now, are you gonna behave for me? Or am I gonna have to force you?”

The defiance that blazed in your eyes dies there, your mouth opening and closing pathetically as you fail to find something to say. All you can do is nod, the small movements he’ll allow of you, at least. 

“Good girl.”

You gasp out for the dry air of the desert, and it feels like being washed under a stream after the longest drought. Your fingers rub over the reddened skin of your neck, easing the ache just slightly. 

Arthur grabs the reins again, smacking them lightly to speed Boadicea up. 

You say nothing, trying desperately to extinguish whatever the hell is happening between your legs.

Half the time I can’t tell if I wanna kill you or fuck you.

I can’t tell if I wanna kill you or fuck you.

…kill you or fuck you

The words swim around your mind for the next few hours of the silent, torturous ride. The desert air is hot, but you’d rather marry a wookie than ask for the water your throat is crying out for. The tension between you and Arthur hasn’t dwindled for a second, and you’re putting more blame on that than the suns beating down on you relentlessly for your flustered state. The only relief you get is from knowing its just as hard for Arthur… literally. Knowing he’s just as uncomfortable, all thanks to you, is all the consolation you need. 

The skies are starting to cast an orange glow across your skin as the suns both begin to reach the horizon. You’re not too far out from Mos Espa now, but Boadicea is slowing significantly, and you can tell she’s ready for a break, so it doesn’t surprise you when Arthur swings his thigh from around you to dismount. He leaves you sitting there for a moment while he pulls off his helmet, hanging it next to the saddlebag that he pulls an oat cake out of for Boadicea . 

“There, there, good girl…” he coos to her, patting her thick fur. His words of praise bring you right back to when he said that to you, and it infuriates and arouses you in equal amounts to remember the moment. You hate yourself for it. It’s a vicious cycle that leaves you dizzy. 

Eventually, after petting the only woman you’re sure Arthur Morgan will ever love, he returns to you, holding out a hand to help you down,

“M’lady.” He nods sarcastically and you roll your eyes, making a point to slide off the saddle without his help, landing less than gracefully and taking a second to steady yourself. Arthur shakes his head as he watches you, before turning back to the saddle bag and pulling out a variety of things you’ll need to camp. 

“We’re stopping here?” You ask, voice a little hoarse from the dehydration and protestful lack of speech. Looking around, you can’t see anything but sand. You’re less than enthusiastic about a night here, alone with him, but you’re not exactly the one making the decisions here.

“Well, unfortunately for us, your highness, the palace was booked full, and we’re in the middle of the Dune Sea.” He explains while he starts to unroll the singular bedroll. You sit down in the sand, crossing your legs beneath you with a childish pout on your lips. Oh, how you wish you could get these damn binders off. They’re so uncomfortable, and it’s been hours. 

Arthur gathers enough dry wood from around the area to build a decent fire, dusting the sand away and setting them up like he’s done this a thousand times over. You know the feeling, so long ago forced out from your home and set on the run for the remainder of this lonely life. It makes you wonder if Arthur has a home of his own, a family. Watching him as intently as you are, seeing those tired eyes… somehow you know he doesn’t. Maybe once, maybe in a different life… but you know the look of loneliness well, you see her every time you come face to face with a mirror, and he embodies it. As sad as it is, it makes sense. A loving family man just wouldn’t be cut out for this kind of life.

There’s only one sun left now, the skies above a stunning gradient from orange to purple, all the way to the inky blues on the other side of the horizon. It takes Arthur no time at all to have the fire going, positioning his bedroll out next to it. He gestures for you to sit on it, but you’re stubbornly deciding the sand a few feet away would be better. Arthur snorts,

“Suit yourself.”

He returns one last time to the saddle bag, pulling out some cans, a flask, and a pouch of something wrapped in cloth. By the time he sits beside the fire, it’s roaring

“Hungry?” He asks, extending an arm to offer you the flask. A hesitation, while you decide if you’d rather kill your pride or die of hunger and thirst. It’s a tough choice, but you eventually nod and take the flask in both hands. It takes you a second to figure out how to open it with bound hands, and Arthur seems to take great joy in your attempts, until you manage to squish the flask between your knees and twist the cap off. It takes a lot of restraint to not gulp the whole thing down when that first drop hits your tongue, but both of you still have a ways to go before your destination, so you don’t. The pass back is reluctant, as is the tiny ‘thank you’ you mutter under your breath.

“Oh, look at you, princess, finding your manners.” He takes a sip of his own, starting to unwrap the little parcel to reveal some slices of meat and pulling a knife from his holster to crack the tins open. Part of you wants to prove his point, to growl at him and fight back, but you’re pretty damn hungry, so you stay quiet, silently plotting another escape.

As Arthur starts to work on the food, pouring beans into a little metal pot, he glances at you, finding amusement in your tantrum. 

“You gonna come join me for some food or keep sulkin’? Either way’s fine by me, I’ll have your extras if you don’t want ‘em.” It doesn’t take very long at all for the beans to cook when he holds them over the flame, the aroma reaching your nostrils soon enough. Even for just beans, it smells good, probably cause you haven’t eaten since back in the Cantina, which feels like 3 lifetimes ago right now. Your stomach grumbles pointedly, and you’re forced to swallow your pride and gracefully stand, stomping sand everywhere as you sit right on the edge of the bedroll, as far away from Arthur (by mere inches) as possible.

He raises a taunting brow, “For someone who acts like they hate me, you sure do find ways to get real close to me.” Line thrown, hook absolutely smothered in bait.

The fury in your eyes gives the campfire a run for its credits, “Well if that isn’t the Quacta  calling the Stifling slimy- you’ve been all over me since the Cantina, rubbing your cock against my ass for the last day!”

You know the victory is Arthur’s with the way he smirks at your outburst, like winding you up is his favourite pastime. He’s holding back a laugh, you can tell because his crows feet crease deeper and his lip twitches. Hook, line and sinker. 

There’s a pause, surely being spent figuring out how else to annoy you, before Arthur picks up a slice of the jerky he brought and offers it to you, “...Want some meat?” 

… You’re going to kill him in his sleep. 

Too hungry to refuse, you snatch it off him and take an aggressive bite, the eye contact you’re shooting lasers with never breaking. Maybe it’s the hunger talking, but it tastes so good you almost moan. Almost, though your furious facade might have broken for just a moment. He’s waiting for gratitude, but you have other ideas. 

“I’m not fucking you.” You announce, so out of the blue that Arthur almost chokes on his meat. Now that’d be a sight to see…

“You said you didn’t know whether to kill me or fuck me,” You explain, I’m just telling you ya’ ain’t got chance of either.” 

The offended guffaw you’re after never comes, in its place a look so intense you feel flames lick at your toes and travel up between your thighs. 

“Listen, mesh’la,” He growls the sarcastic term of endearment, and you vibrate, “Just cause I can’t decide if that pretty throat of yours deserves my blade or my cock doesn’t mean you’re getting either. I’ll have you, but only if you’re on your hands and knees begging me for it. I’ve got your fiery little temper worked out, and I know just what fuels it. Don’t worry, little one, you’re safe… for now.”

Dank farrick, how does he do it? Every attempt to rile him thwarted, leaving you flustered, wet, and with your jaw so slack you could catch flies. Maybe silence is the best option, to give him none of your words to twist and pull into whatever this tension between you is. 

You’re not going to fuck him. 

He’s literally holding you prisoner. 

You’re not going to fuck him. 

He’s bringing you back to them. 

You’re not going to-

“Y’alright there, princess? Keep lookin’ at me like that and I’ll think you’ve changed your mind.”

“You’re infuriating.” You spit back, finishing the last of your jerky with another angry bite.

“And here was me thinkin’ we were becoming friends…”

“What?! No. Nu-uh. No way.”

“Well I ain’t leaving you to run off on me. I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s up for debate…” you mumble, just loud enough for him to decipher your words. You’re not helping your case, Arthur holding his hands out expectantly as he awaits your compliance.

“Arthur,” you start, realising you’ve never actually said his name out loud before, liking the way it feels forming on your tongue, hating that fact. “Neither of us are gonna sleep a wink if I’m strapped to you.” 

He has little other choice. You know that, knowing there’s no way he’d trust you to not stab him in his sleep and run away. Smart guy, considering you’d already considered that very plan extensively. But no, he had to be difficult. He’s already stashed his knife with Boadicea, who is laid too far away to reach.

“Hindsight is clear as day, Princess. Maybe next time don’t try to run.” Pfft. Next time. There won’t be a next time, thanks to him. 

Running out of patience, Arthur takes a step towards you, and you take one step backwards. He reaches for the binders and you lift them away. It’s a dance, one he quickly tires of and grips onto your forearm before you can move it. 

His touch burns your skin, even through the gloves, and the fight leaves your body near instantly. His grip is firm, bruising, almost, and that devilish part of you enjoys it.

Would being chained to him for a night really be so bad…?

“Fine. Whatever. But keep your hands to yourself, mando. And you better not snore.”

“Of course, of course… wouldn’t wanna interrupt that beauty sleep, now, would I?” He sarcastically huffs, wrapping rope around the middle part of your binders that keeps your wrists together. Watching him twist and turn the rope around his huge hands does something to you, and you start to wonder if this man can do absolutely anything that won’t turn you on somehow. You’ve gotta knock this off, it’s getting dangerous, especially considering you’re about to share a bedroll tied to him. 

His rope isn’t the longest, giving only a few feet of space between the two of you as he loops it through his belt and around his own arm, knotted so intricately it would be impossible to untie without waking him up. An expert in rope tying… of course he is.

Pushing thoughts of other uses for that skill of his far, far away, you watch your escape plan fall apart before your eyes, every detail somehow preemptively thwarted by Arthur’s actions as if he could read your mind. Maker, you hope he can’t, they’ve been pretty much in bed with him since he bought you that drink back in the Cantina. 

Arthur sits down in the sand, the rope tugging at you to do the same. Notably, he leaves the bedroll for you, situating himself on the ground as far away as the rope will allow. And they said chivalry is dead…

“So we just… sleep? Here?” Your brows are pulled together, a sure sign of how displeased you are at this whole situation. 

“Well I could read ya’ a bedtime story, but some say I don’t get the voices quite right…” By the time you go to glare at him, he’s already laying in the sand, gazing up at the sea of stars. You sigh, taking that as answer enough. 

Silence, just for a moment. 

“G’night, princess…”

“...Goodnight, beroya.” 

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #star wars #tha mandalorian #crossover #star wars crossover #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction

[kittlesandbugs]

Fanfic Writer Questions

Tagged by @sidestepping & @askweisswolf, ty for thinking of me!!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 62, but if you unstack the one shot compilations... 138ish? if I can math right.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 119,010, and the bulk is FHR lol

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently Baldur's Gate 3 and Fallen Hero, previously TWC, Dragon Age, Mass Effect/Andromeda, Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic 2

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Gonna cheat a little and do one per fandom because this is heavily slated towards Mass Effect Andromeda just from age lol

Sleep it off - Mass Effect, Shepard/Aria T'Loak, Shep gets drunk at Purgatory and Aria babysits her

Little steps to the side - FHR, Chargestep/Argentstep/Chargentstep, currently 55? little one-shot fics, usually prompts, sometimes tiny ideas I get in my own head

Space snippets - Mass Effect Andromeda, Jaal/Ryder, a few prompt one-shots that picked up big steam when it finally went Explicit lol.

Bottles of Thedas - Dragon Age Inquisition, Solavellan, 20 short one-shots inspired by the collection of booze you can pick up off the ground throughout the game (minus the Warden mixes)

Business and Pleasure - Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic 2, Exile/Luxa, a re-write/better ending for Luxa gift fic for an exchange

5. Do you respond to comments? I am absolutely terrible at responding to comments because I see them in my inbox and I'm like oh yeah I'll reply to that later when I have time and then.... six months go by... the shame happens... I love every comment I get and I am so sorry alkdsfjoajsdfl

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ehhhhhhhhhh most of my fics are in-between things, not really stand-alones on their own. Probably the one I milked the hardest for the ending of it specifically is Words not spoken (FHR, Chargestep, Ortega visits Riley's apartment post-Heartbreak)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Again.... in-between things... the Mass Effect Andromeda and TWC fics are largely feel good fluff, so most of them?

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not that I'm aware of, lol

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Typically fluffy and/or hurt/comfort character exploration, although sometimes I feel a need to go for a whump

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I haven't written a crossover since I was 13. I'm 37 now. I don't remember. It was pre-AO3 time for sure. XD

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not that I'm aware of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but I've written fanfics to fanfics by @ellstersmash and @sidestepping because they're both so talented and I Felt The Compulsion

14. What's your all time favorite ship? Whatever I'm currently writing for, in this case... any combo of Chargentstep aaaaaaaaaaand Durgetash lol

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Me, staring at my endless folder of WIPs, some of which having not been touched in five years

16. What are your writing strengths? Character explorations, snappy dialogue, short and sweet and punchy

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Writing long-haul, we're here for a good time, not a long time

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Love it when other people do it! Very rarely do it myself!

19. First fandom you wrote for? Megaman X back in.................. 2000-ish? Very bad self-insert script fic lol

20. Favorite fic you've written? I think Time doesn't heal (FHR, Chargestep, all the Rangers and Riley experiencing the 3rd Heartbreak anniversary) is one of my biggest brain moments for writing fic, but Bottles of Thedas (mentioned above) has a special place in my heart for being the first and perhaps only large project I've finished.

Gonna taaaaaaaaaaaag... @astarien, @the-rebel-archivist, @gingerbreton, @rab-bitly, @catastrofriend

#meme #thank friend!!! #writers meme

[onthewaytosomewhere]

20 questions for fic writers

alright i've been tagged on this a few times so guess it's time to do it....i mean i do luv tag games :)

thanks for the tags @taste-thewaste @agostobuwan @tailsbeth-writes

How many works do you have on ao3?

13- one of which is 25 fics i posted as chapters for a holiday/seasonal themed december thing - most my early work is elsewhere and i didn't do any writing for a good chunk of years lolz

What's your total ao3 word count?

76,771 (most of this was written since nov '23)

What fandoms do you write for?

RWRB currently may dip my toes into 911 at some point (my only non-rwrb fic on ao3 is marvel lol)

Top five fics by kudos:

Ring on His Finger, Putty in HIs Hands (firstprince)

Third Times a Charm? (Darcy Lewis/Clint Barton)

i've got you acting like you want more (firstprince)

- like the way you work it - (firstprince)

gotta sign 'em all (firstprince)

Do you respond to comments?

yes

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

the only thing i can think of that would be angsty towards the end would be Santa Tell Me from my Holiday Bits and Bobs - it was pretty much 1800 words of angst

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

probably the second hand unwinds - it was one of my hey sweetheart fics and is pretty much just shy of 3700 words of alex being a sap (and the boys being cute girl!dads)

Do you get hate on fics?

um not hate - but recently a weird 'that couldn't have happened cuz of yada yada' kind of comment

Do you write smut?

LOLZ - that's like most of what i write *gigglesnorts*

Craziest crossover:

don't have any of these

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don't think so

Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

not yet! but i'm super excited to work on the one with @agostobuwan💚

All time favorite ship?

omg - i don't know that's too hard - i can tell you current fave is firstprince but my all time fave might actually be HP/CharlieW - maybe? or if we're going off amount i've read for it hp/dm or kirk/mccoy oh or bagginshield

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i had always planned go back and do more for my darcy/clint fic and make it into a series, but those ideas that got written down lamented away in a doc and are gone now lol

What are your writing strengths?

um....i don't know do i have these - i can write smut fairly well

What are your writing weaknesses?

i usually hafta go back and make sure i didn't just get uber prose-y and included enough dialogue - unless i'm doing it on purpose

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

cool if it works for the character - i really like when there's a translation somewhere - unless it's obvious what it means

First fandom you wrote in?

wrote in and posted somewhere - HP - followed closely by Idol RPF - i dabbled in other things that never got posted tho b4 that (the usuals for any 'lil geeky girl - star wars, star trek, angel, buffy

Favorite fic you've written?

idk - maybe something in your mouth cuz it just came togther so quickly and was fun to write (even if i intially thought it was gonna be smuttier lolz) or maybe my silly lil fairytale baby just say yes that topped out over 20k it's my first RWRB actual AU posted that wasn't just a small ficlet

alright so few quick tags to: @typicalopposite @adreamareads @inexplicablymine @stellarm

@sophie1973 @suseagull04 @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @itsmaybitheway

#tag game #writer tag game #omg some parts of this were so hard #and sat open on my laptop for a bit as i forgot about it #ooops #oh well

[sergeantnarwhalwrites]

Saz and Elliot Big Post

Here's some Saz and Elliot stuff. I'm still fucking around with this. And I'm still iffy about this scene with Saz and Elliot. Been rewriting this off and on and am playing a dangerous game of using what I've written in my notebook as guidelines and not a draft XD. Let's go Fucked at Five. Note also I really like fucking around with the narration.

Tag list: @outpost51 @nanashi23 @winterandwords @jezifster @kk7-rbs @aether-wasteland-s @dumbthunder @manathen @the-void-writes @liv-is (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!) 

Elliot looked up at the bear morpher. Close enough to rest face first in Saz's chest. Careful to not hit her with the one antler staying strong. The other sadly tossed after the exhaustion of being taunted by the much larger deer morpher, Ian, for having it secured with tape. Keeping his face hidden in her hoodie he raised his arms to Saz's face.

"I gotta tell you how this is gonna work." Elliot squished Saz's face uncaring of the minor resistance, "So I gotta get a standing of how well you can handle yourself in a fight. And that's a perfect time to work on your morphing."

"So you're gonna beat on me? Wow. I know I'm sturdy but there's gotta be a better way." Saz rested her hand on top of Elliot's head mirth in her tone not yet bothering to push him off just yet.

"Love the enthusiasm." Elliot grinned against the fabric, joy flowing off of his sarcasm, "You basically joined a war effort. So you have to get used to it."

Saz starred off for a moment. Yeah she had done wrestling back when she was "human". But the bear morpher was conflicted. Fairly so. She shifted the focus back, with a suck of the teeth.

"How's fighting you supposed to help with my morphing?"

Elliot finally pulled away from her. Hair frazzled from the movement.

"A lot of people first morph in high stress situations. You know. Anger and fear can play a big part too." The deer morpher flinched a little catching onto the quick souring of Saz's mood, "Your's was a... Bit unnatural. But you should still be—"

Saz rolled her eyes, her closed fist hitting her chest, "I was drugged. Say it how it is. I was drugged with some mystery pill and I—"

The bear morpher sucked in a harsh breath and released it shakily. Interrupting herself. There was no need to recount what happened. She was drugged, she morphed for the first time ever, got tranqued, and almost killed. Almost? Her teeth sank into the throat of and her claws has to puncture some organs. There was so much blood. She could almsot remember how violently she reacted to the taste when she had returned to her human form.

The bear morpher squeezed her eyes shut now clasping her hands together. She grit her teeth, squeezing her hands together as tight as she could.

The deer morpher moved in cautiously. He knew how easily he could make the situation worse.

"Saz."

Saz opened an eye looking down at Elliot.

"If it makes you feel any better the way I'm gonna piss you off will definitely replace all that other stuff." Elliot tried, offering what might just be true.

The bear morpher opened her other eye. A small snicker slipped past.

"Don't you already do that?"

Elliot laughed, "Glad you're feeling better asshole."

Saz hummed shortly, "I don't. Not really. But I'd rather not spiral in front of you."

Elliot huffed at that one, "We'll have to talk this out eventually. Especially if that's what's in the way of you morphing."

Saz slowly sat. Her arms outstretched behind her. Focusing on the subtle pull in her shoulders.

"Thought you said it was a stress response."

"And I said when you first morph, usually."

"So there's exceptions?"

"There's always exceptions."

Deer and bear stared at each other blankly. Bear sighed exasperated.

"So it's complicated and not set in stone. So what makes you so sure fighting is the way?"

"Two birds one stone Saz. You're more than welcome to find someone else. I'm not the best with this stuff." Elliot stated honestly.

"You're very lucky you're my best friend." Saz said unamused.

Elliot shot up a double thumbs up, "Get up. Guard up."

Saz groaned and stood. Arm in front of her face and an arm tucked in at her side. She grunted out a soft ready.

Elliot rolled his head around his neck. Already used to the uneven distribution of weight jutting out of his skull. He moved in quickly throwing a couple of punches to test Saz's block. Noting that it was solid but had a lot of gaps.

His fist lodged itself into her side. She staggered in the direction of his follow through. Grunting when his fist met her jaw. She hissed at the pain turning her back to him when she saw another punch coming.

He grinned a little glad to see he faked her out and went for the back of her knees sure she'd crumple. Saz stood strong, maybe a small shake in her next step. That wasn't important. She grinned this time. Turning around to face him, tackling him to the ground.

He briefly panicked. Laughing involuntarily when he felt Saz's hand cradle the back of his head. Sure to not let his skull hit the ground without some sort of cushion.

She moved quickly, sitting on his stomach. Elliot's laughs came out on wheezes. Gasping when her hand clasped his face. A pleased hum slipped past Saz's lips.

"Again."

Elliot's remaining antler broke off. Saz moved off of him and hoped he wouldn't notice. Or wasn't as attached. Prepping for the next match.

#writeblr #long post #random writes #doodles attached at the bottom

[mylittleredgirl]

i'm sure the main tags do not want to hear my thoughts about my strange new worlds and related fandoms marathon, so i'm back to tagging things #trekathon. if you also do not want to hear them, please filter!

this is the part where i confess my sins (i have literally only watched the pilot of strange new worlds and have been faking all along) (because of that thing where when i will love something too much i need to stand on the other side of the street and watch it through binoculars) and then:

q&a:

"no need to shout, ensign spock" is the funniest deep cut alksdjglsj

it was so funny i had to text my ex immediately

HI HOW ARE YOU HOPE YOU'RE ALIVE so remember how fucking funny the cage is

i was going to say that "unsentimental" is probably not how i would have described captain dad under my currently understood definition of that word, but then i realize this is about "the cage" versions of these characters and i'm loving the nuance

i really don't want to ship pikeuna but i'm probably gonna aren't i

"why don't you want to ship pikeuna little red?" well see pike/vina first wired my brain as a youth and then took it out, cleaned it, and updated it to a new operating system in discovery season two

also i'm so sorry the we the people demand it become canon now discourse is tiring even from across the street with binoculars

star trek ships aren't supposed to become canon they're supposed to make you chew drywall and exchange mimeographed zines through the mail for fifty years

feel free to refer me back to this post if i start signing change dot org petitions about this next week

i miss the definite article on "the enterprise" when will she return from the war 😭

so seeing the elevator shaft makes me realize that the terrifying cavernous spaces and weird lack of spatial logic inside the new trek ships probably arose because someone was like "wait how do the turbolifts actually just go wherever?" and then hollowed out the ship like a jack-o-lantern as an answer

since i'm already here at the beginning of smiley spock's adventures, i think the cage is next?

#trekathon #i'll have to think about which discovery episodes belong in this #yes i am still across the street with binoculars i'm just kind of sticking my toe off the curb and watching for traffic