#Not tagging it with the number of the chapter because it's not translated yet

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 3/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Word count: 9.4 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: König takes liberties with his mouth. Dubcon is at its most dubcon in this chapter so please tread carefully <3 The actual smut happens in the next (and last) part. Long chapter because these two just can't behave!!

The days are getting warmer now. 

The sun warms the tent during the day, and the sound of birds searching for a mate threatens to drive you to madness. They sing during nighttime, too, and you miss the sturdy clay walls of your hut that blocked at least some of the sounds from outside. Now you are barely sheltered from wind and rain that beat the tent every now and then and can escape the swelling song of spring and lovesick birds to nowhere. König only snores with steady content as you mull over your strange fate there in his cozy bed, wondering how crazy it is that he never lets you go when he sleeps.

If König has an early council, you spend the morning eating breakfast in bed while studying odd parchments the translator gave you. The old man was quite insulted, not because you asked, but because you showed interest in the documents that, apparently, were of least importance to him. 

You don’t care that they’re “only” travel guides because they’re filled with Roman letters and numbers and usually illustrated with pictures of columns. You don’t understand a word they say and how those strange papers could ever be a travel guide to anyone, but you like to trace the letters and pictures with your finger. König clearly understood your fascination with them: he left you this morning with another smile, which told you he only thought you were simply adorable this way. He tried to tell you that the letters represent towns and the numbers tell the distances between those towns, but they still remain bizarre pieces of paper to you.

Men pass by occasionally; you can hear it from how their gears clonk and clatter and swish. You can hear the soft thump of sandals on the dirt, but you pay it no attention because you’ve always trusted that you are safe here. As long as you stay inside the tent, no one will touch you, even if they can currently see you because the flap is left open a wink. 

The only times his men witness you are when König takes you out for a walk in the woods so that you can take care of your bodily needs. Everyone can see that your hands are never tied, your face is never bruised, and your posture is still that of a proud, unbroken woman. And everyone looks at you with both hunger and wonder. Apparently, you are an even tempting spoil because you are not yet spoiled. 

The special treatment was rubbed in your face one time when you passed by a Roman soldier disciplining his slave, a woman who had shared your fate and clearly was having the worst of it. The other half of her face was unrecognizable, but the man kept beating her, and you stared in horror as whatever deed she had done to anger the man was now being punished far too cruelly. 

“Romans very dumb,” König said from next to you without even shedding a glance at the morbid scene. No one seemed to give a shit about what was happening to that poor woman, but you would never have expected such a comment to come from König’s mouth. When you asked him what he meant by that, he only shrugged and said: “That man piss on his luck.”

You wonder if the only reason why you haven’t been raped yet is because you are some sort of a lucky charm to him. The mere thought has the effect of making your blood boil, but some distant, tender voice inside you reminds you that König is not Roman. He does not share Roman customs, even if he fights with and for them. Perhaps slaves are treated differently in his land. Perhaps in there, it is considered an outrage and an insult to the gods to beat a woman, free or not.

Whatever his reasons are for not beating and raping you to death, it was a tremendous stroke of luck that König found you first. You dropped right there on his feet when he was victorious, so of course his men allowed him to take you as his: you were clearly a gift from the gods. But now that time has passed, you understand you are by no means safe if you wander outside this tent. König can protect you only when he is present or when you are safely tucked away in his own personal space. 

It’s a false feeling of safety, however, because you soon learn that out of sight is out of mind for these soldiers. Now that you are on display, sweetly and neatly on the bed, a tiny little wrinkle forming between your brows from studying the peculiar parchment, you are like fresh livestock on the marketplace, even inside the tent. You notice that someone else is in here with you only when you hear the sound of munching and turn. 

A relatively big soldier is standing in the doorway, eating an apple, watching you like he would rather have a bite out of you.

And you thank all the gods and stars above you, all the spirits and the Mother below you, that he doesn’t even get to take a step before a sword impales his chest.

König kills his own man so casually that all the thoughts of him falling to the gentle side of giants disappear instantly. He even twists the sword inside the broad man from daring to cast eyes on you. And you probably should feel bad for him… But you don’t. Not at all. The apple falls into the dirt and rolls away, but the man slumps into the threshold of the outside world and the safe womb of the tent, like an offering to guardian spirits - or to you.

You look up at König, eyes wide only because you are yet again speechless, but this time because of odd, bashful gratitude. 

“No touching,” he says without even blinking – it sounds like a stern explanation.

“No touching,” you agree with a whisper. König only nods, wipes his gladius clean on the dead soldier’s cloak, and carries the body into the woods.

…

You don’t know if he has lost some of the favour he enjoys among the Romans after killing one of their soldiers. You suspect he has not. Actually, you are sure his reputation only soared for it. He just showed everyone that his prize is not to be touched: you are not to be even looked upon. Romans probably respect such a thing.

A few wagons arrive one morning, carrying various supplies for the soldiers. There are many other items too, completely unrelated to warfare but all to do with pleasure and gambling and trade. You assume König gets to pick his favourites among the first soldiers, if not the first soldier, from the abundant cargo that arrived, because he brings his spoils to you with boyish excitement. There is close to nothing there for himself: only a thick, heavy cloak, made of dark wool with lush fur on the shoulders. It looks like something a northern king would wear, and you find yourself quite happy for him, but the other items he’s carrying are clearly all hand-picked just for you. 

There is a dress, a pair of sandals, a bone comb, some fruit and a large, round copper dish. It serves as a mirror as you change into the dress – a Roman one, dyed ocean blue – just to appease König and get him off your back. It hurts your heart to see how happy it makes him to see you accept his gifts. He holds the dim, uneven mirror in front of you when you get the dress on, and you’re feeling strangely meek: you’re not even sure if you have put it on properly. The bone comb is milk white and has two horses carved on it – it reminds you of the offering that was never made to appease the Great Mother because it couldn’t have prevented the Titan from coming to your lands. It’s another odd omen: black horses now turned to white, but an omen for what, you can’t say. 

And then… he kneels. 

König falls at your feet and starts putting the Roman sandals on, tying the strings around your calves so gently that it makes you feel like you’re made of clay. The sandals are not the kind he wears: they’re made for women, apparently, because they’re so skimpy and delicate. The strings reach the upper part of your calf, and when he’s done with you, happy to have now clothed you in Roman garb, he caresses your thigh and presses a kiss above your knee. 

And he looks up at you like you’re everything but his captive. He looks at you like you’re a queen. He stares at you like he’s the slave here.

“You like?”

The soft rumble catches you off guard, as does the fond caress he gives your leg. He doesn’t even try to move his hand upwards and under the dress; he just admires you from the ground, looking a bit foolish while crouched there at your feet. You swallow arduously and nod. What else are you supposed to do? 

He smiles with his eyes and gives you another kiss. He presses it on the sensitive part where your calf meets the inside of your knee. He even raises his hood to do it, and you finally feel his breath as his lips meet your skin, hot but tender. You fight the urge to shrink from him, and despite it only being a soft peck, a lover’s touch, the kiss leaves a burning sensation on your skin.

Then he tucks your dress down, like a slave who simply stole a little kiss from his mistress. You’re rendered weak and silent before such reverence, but then the playfulness returns as he raises one finger, as if telling you not to say a word because he just had an idea. You look at him with odd curiosity as he crawls on all fours and reaches for something underneath the bed. You panic a little, fearing he might notice that you’ve been there, too: rummaging through his things and throwing the pieces of jewellery back there without caring to ensure that they are placed back in the same position you found them in. But he doesn’t seem to care or notice.

He tries to offer you the golden pendant first, the one that has three discs on it. It’s a little too much, and you shake your head, fearing you will upset him by declining his gift. He tries to offer you a more delicate necklace next: full of cute, filigreed beads, but you shake your head again. He wishes to give you a trinket so badly that you finally raise your hand and graze your fingertips over a leather string holding a few chunks of amber. It also bears the claws of some animal: fox, perhaps. He looks very pleased with your choice and puts your new possession around your neck. You reach for the copper plate yourself this time and hold it up to see how you look in your odd Roman dress and your humble but powerful new necklace.

“Sehr schön,” König says behind you as you take in the wobbly image. He is so, so happy - you have never seen him quite so happy. It looks like he thought this to be the prettiest, most compelling piece of jewellery too; as if the gold and beads were simply currency for him, too. As if it was obvious that you would be interested in bones and sea gold instead of the gold of men. Then he pulls out something from under his tunic: another leather string that has a large hunk of bone hanging from it. He’s presenting it to you like he wants to show how you two are now very much alike.

“What is it…?” You ask, trying to determine whether the bone came from an elk or a deer.

“Bear cock,” he says proudly while dangling it in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world for a man to carry the penis bone of a bear around his neck. “Makes man strong in battle and bed.”

“I don’t think you need that,” you whisper while looking up at him. It’s your first joke to him, and he laughs. Heartily.

“Kleine Fee. You have only seen me fight.”

He puts it back under his tunic as if it’s his secret amulet now. You really don’t think he needs any more luck in war, or in any other… field. He seems like the kind of man who can pleasure women all day. It’s a bitter thought, somehow, and makes your heart feel heavy. You wonder how many women he has had already when you have refused to open your legs for him.

“We can try how good it works in bed,” he offers, as cheerfully as ever.

Oh. 

Oh… 

“I’m—I’m hungry. I think I need to eat something,” you summon an excuse out of thin air while raising your hands against his chest to keep him away. As if you could get your breakfast down after him saying things like that…

“Hungrig? I can feed you,” he suggests, still in the happiest of moods. Then he sweeps you off your feet and carries you to the table. He’s ever generous today: you get to sit on his lap as he starts to feed you grapes.

And you didn’t think he’d actually, veritably feed you. But that’s exactly what he does. You get an entire meal: ripe fruits, a thick handful of bread, a fine slice of fat, delicious cheese. Wine to wash it down, and then some more grapes. He holds them gently on your lips until you open your mouth a little so that he can push them onto your tongue. He watches with utter content how you eat everything he offers you. He even gives you a few bounces with his knee, and every now and then, he gropes your tits: just squeezes them and plays around with them while you eat.

It is quite evident that this man really, really likes your boobs. Perhaps that is why he carries the statue of Great Mother around… To your horror, you realize the piece of carved wood is not an idol of worship for this man, just a lewd image he probably digs up and looks at when he wants to stroke his cock.

Gods... This man is even worse than you thought.

You begin to pout again, and he draws you flush against him, seeing that he somehow managed to make you displeased. Unaware as to what could have caused this, he gives you another bounce and tries to find the reason for your sudden change of mood.

“Are you fed now?”

“Yes,” you mope even more as you realize you would very much like him to continue feeding you even if you’re full. To just… do that thing with the grapes again. Just a few more.

“Gut. We have to leave soon.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “To fight.”

The camp is packed up in such haste that you find yourself under the sun in practically no time. You stay as close to König as possible without being glued to him, seeing that the new dress and hairstyle you made with the comb is high currency among the war-torn, lust-filled soldiers. Someone gives you a long whistle, which is followed by a few harsh comments you luckily don’t understand, but all the stares are cut off when König stops preparing his horse, rises to his full height, and wraps his fingers around the handle of his gladius.

You don’t get a single look after that, not even a sideways glance. Everyone acts like you don’t even exist.

The army moves at a slow pace at first, leaving a heavy dust cloud behind. It’s a fine day for travelling because there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. Everyone seems to be having a good time except for the slaves, and König is the only one who is vigilant, watching his surroundings at all times, head turning from side to side, hand never leaving his sword. 

You get a horse – his horse – and a lot of hateful stares from the other women, none of whom you have ever seen before. Captive girls from other villages, you presume, and they all hate you now because you get to ride a strong black stallion while they have to march in a dust cloud with their hands bound and their feet full of blisters. Their captors don’t give much thought to feeding or giving water to these poor women, mainly because they’re too busy laughing with each other and having hearty gulps from their wine sacks. You wonder if these men have ever fed these women a single grape during their campaign.

König, on the other hand, marches next to you like he’s your servant. He offers you his waterskin, his wineskin, too, and as the march goes on, an awkward knot starts to form inside your belly.

He’s behaving so oddly. You can’t find any other reason for his behaviour than that he simply has no full understanding of Roman customs because he comes from somewhere else. (Mountains, he said, when you asked him.)

You only now notice that he has servants but only uses them to pack or set up the tent. Other high-ranking officers and commanders have their servants with them at all times, tending to their every need. König is the only one who behaves like a foot soldier: he pours his own wine, gets his rations and supplies himself, lights his oil lamps without help and never lets anyone else touch his armour or swords. 

The servant he uses the most is the translator, a slave who’s clearly responsible for teaching König more and more of your words. He also serves as a mediator when König gets ready for another battle. You have naively wanted to forget the reason why these men are here in the first place, and as you see König putting on his full armour the next day, tying the swords on his waist and leaving to search for his shield, you feel like bursting into tears or a scream. You look away as he gets dressed, and refuse to give him a single kind look that morning. You stand with your hands crossed over your chest as he’s finally ready and fetches the old man to the tent again.

The Roman soon stands next to him as König takes a step and falls on one knee before you.

“He asks you to bless him,” the old translator says – weary and bored.

You stop breathing for a second and look at König, there at your feet again, head bowed, leaning on one elbow placed on a strong knee.

Bless him… For going to slaughter another clan? Give your blessing to him leaving people fatherless, childless and homeless? 

Is this some sort of a joke?

“Are my words… correct? Master asks that you give him your blessing for the upcoming battle.”

You bite your lip in frustration. You want to put your hand over this proud warrior’s head and send him away with words of might and fortune, but even the thought of wanting to do that is about to make you sick.

“I will do no such thing,” you say coldly and earn a sad, confused stare from König, who raises his head to look at you with a horrifying, pleading gaze. This man doesn’t beg for anything from anyone, and yet here he is, in his full armour, armed to the teeth and looking like the God of War again, asking for a kind word or two. You turn away, not because you deny him, but because you can’t stand to be under that defenceless gaze. The Roman sighs behind you, and from the clatter of König’s gear, you can hear that he has gotten up and is about to leave. 

You turn again, only to face his withdrawing back. Tense, and already beaten.

He grabs the satchel, the one that holds his Mother, but stops to look at it like it’s simply an ordinary object instead of a powerful entity. Then he places it back down on the table with a sigh. You look with horror as he leaves for war without taking his amulet, idol, fate, source of luck and joy – whatever the statue represents to this man – with him.

It doesn’t take long before you regret you didn’t give him your “blessing”. 

It somehow feels wrong that he left without it. You’re his captive, but he has fed you, clothed you, kept you warm. He has practically done no harm to you except hold you through the night and have a few gropes at your tits, which you haven’t found harmful at all… The least you could do to thank him is to lay a hand upon his head or sword before he left. Just a simple little gesture, not even a true blessing… Just a little something would have sufficed, to help him go into battle with a slightly lighter heart. 

Because as much as you loathe this man, you don’t actually want him dead. You don’t want him to march into battle and think you wish him ill. You don’t want König to get careless just for the sake of feeling miserable about the thought that his little slave girl despises him.

Because you don’t despise him.

You just don’t… like him. 

And he’s your captor still. Why should he deserve your blessing?

But the image of him cutting through his enemies with sorrow and bleakness in his stare, walking into a spear just because he’s had enough of life and more than enough of difficult, uncaring, ungrateful women, makes your heart bleed. He could’ve taken Mother with him since he didn’t get a good luck’s wish from you, but he chose to leave even Her behind. As if his faith had failed him, as if the few things and people he has ever placed his trust in have now abandoned him. 

The night rolls in, and the moon crosses the sky slowly, so slowly, as you wait for his return. The old Roman looks at you sideways every time you peek outside the flap and sigh. Your guard is a weak, old man, but you reckon that if you were to escape, the tired slave would simply follow you out of the camp and tell König which direction you have gone so that he can hunt you down when he returns. The few Romans left to guard the portable garrison would probably seize you and take you as their plaything before you managed to set a foot outside the vallus, and even if König came back to claim you, you could be a bloody heap by the time he returned.

And it’s not even caution keeping you inside the tent. You don’t actually think about fleeing at all. 

In the dead of night, you go to his satchel and pull out the statue of the Great Mother.

“Dear Mother... Great Mother. Please let him have his victory. Please let him come home unhurt. Even if he fails, please let there not be a scratch on him as he falls. Please, please, please…”

You improvise your prayer as you go, thinking about something to offer Her while being captive and not having access to most of the resources you would normally go to.

“I’ll give you my next moonblood. I will give you amber and fox claws…”

Your heart hurts, knowing you just promised the necklace König gave you as your sacrifice. But it’s a small gift for his safe return, and you renew your prayer, over and over again, while squeezing the Mother between your hands and pressing Her against your forehead.

You’re not sure if She can even hear you, because haven’t you wished this man dead not too long ago? You return the Mother to her satchel and pace around the tent, about to go mad. When the first horses arrive, you almost run outside to see if you can see or hear him coming. Soldiers march into the camp: there is so much din and racket outside that you know this is the least opportune moment to go outside and show yourself to the survivors who clearly have their morale and cocks up high from the recent battle. You wait and wait and wait, thinking about whether your god is among the wounded, being carried to some other tent where they treat injuries. You go and sit on the bed; you rise up and sit on the table. Then you go and press your ear to the fabric of the tent and try to listen like a fox. 

The flap is, blessedly, finally drawn aside, and you hurry to meet whoever has arrived. It’s König – of course – breathing heavy, looking slightly high-strung but primarily unscathed, and you forget yourself completely when running to him.

“Are you hurt!?”

He takes off his helmet and takes in a good breath of air, eyes melting into pure love when he sees you.

“Nein. Not a scratch.”

You swallow your relief – of course no one can get to this man. Your fears have been stupid and ridiculous. But in the deepest chasm of your heart, you thank the Mother three times. You promise to deliver her your sacrifice as soon as possible.

“You fear for me?” He asks, so excited again that you have to dig your nails into your palm so that you won’t go and clutch him and cry from joy. You don’t nod or shake your head; you only stare at him with what must look like a frightened deer stare.

Your giant comes to hug you so tight you can’t even breathe. Then he lifts you into the air, and there is nothing you can do - there is nothing you even want to do but to be there in his stout embrace. You’re so relieved that he is alive and unhurt that there are tears in your eyes, and he sees them, and smiles.

“Don’t worry, little Fee. Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen.” His voice is throaty and parched; apparently, he has shouted his throat raw on the field. 

You almost say you’re sorry that you didn’t give him your blessing, but seeing how pleased, triumphant, and gleeful he is causes you to shut your mouth and shut it tight. It’s enough that you have babbled prayers for him all night, praying your knees and tongue sore.

König returns you to the ground and leaves, only to return with ample loot. Two slaves carry in a small but heavy jute sack of coin, a tiny chest filled with honey, two bottles of scented oils, three gorgeous jugs of milk, a beautiful bronze sword, all laid there at your feet.

“Für dich,” he says, throwing a wide arc with his hand to gesture that all this is now yours. You watch all the stunning, lavish, extraordinary gifts, again picked with care just for you. You remember how there was not a single coin in this tent before you were dragged in, no bronze, no gold, no milk nor honey. No fine dresses, no stolen, scented oils. How many families did he have to kill to bring all these fine goods for you?

“I don’t want your loot,” you whisper on the brink of tears.

“What…do you want?” The smile in his eyes fades, and it stabs your heart full of pain. “More sea honey?”

“No, I–”

“Slaves?”

“No,” you step forward. If only you two could have met some other time, in some other place… “I just…I want my freedom.”

“What will you do with freedom…?” 

You finally get to see what König is like when he argues. He cannot understand your logic; he can’t understand what more he must do to satisfy you and make you happy. 

“Your chief is dead,” he says bluntly, causing your head to feel two times too small for your anger and pain. 

“You don’t have to remind me,” you blurt, equally bluntly. Because whose fault is that? This man is a thick-skulled, thick-cocked idiot.

“You have no husband. No village.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Why angry?”

“Because you are infuriating,” you almost shriek.

He looks at you, lost and confused, not knowing how to calm you down or make you pleased again. And it must be confusing: some gifts work, some don’t. Other times, you look at him lovely and sweet; other times you sulk and pout. You have luckily stopped your crying, but now you have suddenly decided to yell at him?

He approaches you after seemingly coming to the conclusion that you must want him to either pet or fuck you. He tries to raise his hands to touch you, but you push him away.

“Don’t you fucking dare grope me again!”

He withdraws quickly, now utterly nonplussed. If you don’t even want to be held, then what is he to do? This goes against all the laws of this world: he has arrived, triumphant and joyous from the battle, clearly favoured by all the gods, above and below, and favoured in full. The only one who doesn’t grant him a boon is you. His head tips to the side - it always does that when he’s curious or thinking hard. Then his eyes light up with understanding, and you know you’re about to hear more nonsense coming out of that oafish mouth.

“You don’t want me to fight?”

“I don’t…care what you do,” you scoff.

“Ah. You hate Romans?”

“Yes, I hate Romans. I wish they would all die. I hate their stupid battles and their stupid campaigns. And I hate you too,” your spirit rises with your words, your voice gaining volume and strength as you hurl all your frustration at him. 

And he’s shocked. Not at your first declaration, nor the second, not even the third. It’s the last sentence that clearly drives a dagger straight into his heart. 

He steps back, nearly toppling a milk jug as he pulls away from you. Then he mumbles something under his breath, something in his own crude language. The words are muffled by the mask as he scratches the back of his neck and leaves the tent without even taking his blood-stained armour off.

His name, the name that sounds so foreign to you, never leaves your mouth. But the following words do.

“Wait, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

Not all of it.

He’s out of the tent by then, and you’re left with your beautiful gifts, your bitter sorrow and regret. You sigh and look up, hoping you could see the sky and whisper your inquiry into the night air. 

Why on earth did you two have to meet like this? Why does he have to be so thick-skulled and so… So him?

You calm your racing heart and start to organize the loot he brought you. You have never liked messy places and have done your best to keep this tent from getting cluttered. You taste some of the milk he brought you and inhale the sweet scent of those oils; you dip your little finger inside the honey jar and have a taste. The golden liquid tastes like the food of the gods when paired with milk. You put the blade on the table where König usually keeps his swords and settle to wait for him. 

And you have to wait for a long time, so long that you eventually withdraw to the bed, alone and with a heavy heart. When König finally returns, you can hear he has had a drink. More than one, too: he has probably drunk an entire jug of wine alone. He doffs his armour with curses and sighs, and lets it drop on the ground with a sloppy clang that makes you jolt under the furs. He eats something very noisily while throwing his helmet somewhere to the ground too, burps loudly, and sighs again: so deeply that it makes your heart burn. After getting rid of the tunic and his sandals – an operation that takes him more than a while – he crawls on the bed with a heavy breath. Your heart is at your throat as the stench of wine hits you, and his hands are clumsy and stern when he comes under the same fur and reaches for you.

“König—”

Your whisper ends abruptly as you are pulled against a familiar, broad chest. He growls at you for being awake – or at himself for waking you up with a drunken racket.

“I don’t… I didn’t…” you start weakly and have to clear your throat as he huffs against your neck, listening to what you are trying to say. 

“I don’t hate you,” you finally whisper.

He grumbles against your back and buries his masked face in your neck. The arm around your middle tightens and tightens, and you hurry to praise his gifts.

“The honey is delicious. And the oils are–”

"Fee… Du machst mich verrückt."

He speaks through gritted teeth while panting laboriously in your hair. You're relieved to hear sorrow instead of anger in his voice, but it’s his body that makes you arch your back and guide your bottom to meet his crotch.

The biggest mistake you’ve ever done, surely, because the whole body behind you grows taut. He gives you a tight roll of his hips, pushing his cock against you with immediate fervour. His balls meet your bottom, tight and heavy: you have gone to bed in your ridiculous Roman dress because you were feeling cold, but you can still feel them. You can feel all of him.

“König… We–We need to sleep…”

You sound like a bitch in heat, not at all like a woman who wants to stop wherever this heated cuddle is spiralling into. König is letting out noises you didn’t even know a man could make, and it makes your cunt wetter than ever before: tight and throbbing and embarrassingly needy. You try to remind yourself that this is not the proper time or way, that you don’t want it to happen like this: with the smell of wine and blood and dirt and sweat surrounding you, with him soon thrusting that cock between your thighs and shooting his seed on the bed before he can even get it in. You don’t want him when he’s drunk, and you don’t want him when he’s clearly a bit angry with you still. You place a weak hand over his, the one currently wrapped around your middle like a bond. 

“Please, I mean it…” 

“Not the time for sleep, little one,” he rasps on your shoulder, mask dragged aside and mouth breathing hot against your skin. His voice is gentle but his body is not: it turns out he has only been waiting for the slightest little cue to have the permission to take you. Unfortunately for you, moaning and grinding your hips against him is more than just a cue.

“Göttin der Erde... Gib dich mir.” 

He grunts odd, boorish words on your shoulder, leaving you breathless with another tight roll of his hips. It feels like a spell or a chant, the way he speaks. You want nothing more than to give yourself to him, and fear that whatever tie has been knotted between you two, whatever shackle has bound your souls together, has also granted him the ability to hear your thoughts. He must’ve heard them, or then he must smell the change in the air, because he rolls you on your back and pushes a knee between your legs.

“Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen,” he mutters more incantations in your neck, broad thigh forcing your legs further apart. He doesn’t even need strength to coax them open: they drag up and aside by themselves. 

“Ah–Why can’t you talk like normal people…” 

You sigh your silly thoughts out into the night air, and your fierce giant turns his head a little, now right there next to your cheek.

"Normal? Was ist das…?"

Your lips draw into a quivering little smile – you just can’t help it. Him lying half on top of you, asking what the word ‘normal’ means while smelling like an entire wine house just burned down makes your lips and heart flutter. Your soft laugh makes him raise his head a little, drunken, half-lidded eyes now fixed on you.

“The opposite of you?” You offer innocently and try not to laugh, but it’s no use. You start to snicker, then giggle, and the way he growls only makes things worse. 

“You little–I will go crazy because of you,” he whispers, drunk as a heartbroken man can be. Your own heart seems to open with a flood.

“Then go crazy,” you whisper back. 

And gods… He takes your sigh as a permit to go absolutely berserk. He crawls on top of you and rips your dress apart from the middle with both hands, exposing your breasts to him and the cold night air. There's a weight in his gaze that turns your nipples hard; a gaze of promise, just before he descends.

He attacks you like a starving man, devours and licks and sucks your breasts until you shake and moan on the bed, until your hands come to cradle his head with greed.

“I will make you scream tonight,” he pants roughly on your tits – you can feel the words on your skin. You’re veritably afraid that this man will swallow you before he even gets to the main event, which is no doubt to satiate the need to fill you with potent seed. He doesn’t exactly caress you, no: he gobbles you like your body is an entire feast, the generous kisses almost turning into bites when he reaches your hips.

“No–no teeth, König,” you try to whimper, somewhere on the borderline of tension and lust.

"Fee... I promise I'll fuck you like king. I'll fuck you until you cry.”

Your head goes blank from his words; from terror and love and lust. There's no time to decipher whether you should be afraid, because he scoops up your thighs, grabs you like a wrestling partner, and draws you against his face.

“Wait—What are you–”

Your words are cut off as he drives his nose up your cunt and breathes in your musk like it's divine incense. It doesn’t matter that you’re still covered by the skimpy dress he just ripped to shreds: the fabric is so thin that he could be virtually sniffing you through sheer gossamer. 

There’s no escape now; he can feel how wet you are. He can practically taste it.

“König—”

You can't understand why he would want to push his face there, so you mewl and try to push him away – very weakly – but he’s immovable, glued to your scent down there, panting into your warm, wet cunt with harsh breaths and starved groans. You're lying there at his mercy, dress torn to pieces and breasts heaving, thighs spread as far as they can go.

It's futile to even try reason with a starved giant between your legs, a cunt-deprived warrior about to finally take what's his. You should've known better than to joke around and play with a man who could snap you in half – either with his hands or with his cock – and Mother was wrong: you're not smart at all, teasing a beast like this. A beast whose teeth are currently bared over your most vulnerable place protected only by a thin veil soaked with your wet. 

König lashes his tongue out and presses it flat against your dress, on your throbbing womanhood, and your words turn into an ample, lewd moan.

“A–ah…”

You fall weakly back on the bed, head spinning although you haven’t drunk a drop of wine. The broad body almost trembles there between your legs. 

“Ah… You want cock, ja? I can taste it,” he grunts, blunt as ever. The thought of that thing being bullied into you inch by thick inch makes your cunt clench tight. Gods, you want it, but it will never fit, never…

Unless he… Unless that's why he's down there, panting hot inside you, trying to coax you open with his mouth. Perhaps he's not that dumb after all...

“Please,” you beg for him to love you, taste you, take you, your pride melting into copper and gold, pooling somewhere down, down, down… 

“Don't worry,” he speaks straight to your cunt like a man intoxicated with something far better than wine. “I will give you cock. All night.”

He lifts the dress with his nose like a dog, nuzzles under your ruined attire like it's his shelter for the night, headed back towards his plump prize. There will soon be nothing between his mouth and your poor, throbbing cunt, aching to be licked and loved by a cruel giant. A giant who brings you milk and honey and grapes and gold in all its forms… 

But just when you have finally forgotten that beasts possess teeth, he sinks them into you. He sinks them into your inner thigh, waking you up from the dream with sharp, harrowing pain.

The fucking idiot actually bites you, hard.

“You fucking—Go to hell!”

You push him away in earnest now, using his shoulders to propel yourself away from him. His teeth threaten to pierce and tear skin because he's so reluctant to let go, and the horrors of the battlefield seep into your skin; the safe warmth of the womb turns into a suffocating darkness. 

Your kicks have enough power to make him rise from between your legs, and the clear-cut pain in his eyes makes you want to both hug and hit him. You do the latter and hurl your fists at him, not bothering to even try to hit a target or cause pain; you just want him to stop making you afraid. 

Of course, he takes your breathless state and lust-filled rage as a cue to leave – and he does precisely that, but not before he has struggled away from you and your fists in an overly dramatic manner. It would look funny in another situation, especially when he's as hard as ever, cock jutting high towards the sky just from having a little taste of your love. Drunken and slightly wobbly, he almost falls when he grabs the tunic from the earthen floor as if his tent is a site of execution where he will soon be stoned. 

At the mouth of the tent, he stops, throws his head back, and roars. The guttural, booming rage echoes towards the gods like a furious curse, and you’re quite sure that the entire camp is awake by now. Every soldier nearby must be dying of a scared heart, thinking that there are either bears or Gauls upon them.

You hold your arms against your chest and safeguard your soft belly as you take in all his fury and frustration, then watch him stagger into the night, head hanging heavy between slumped shoulders. You’re left breathing, afraid and alone in the darkness, thinking about what the hell just happened… And spend the next moments in shock. Soon enough, the cold and terror fades, melting into something more palatable. You're shivering and wet, but intact, at least on the outside.

And the oddest thing is that you find yourself missing him. You miss his presence, his body, you miss his dumbness and his jokes. You fucking miss him.

The man who almost raped you.

With his… mouth.

You curl inside the furs and try to get some sleep with a hammering heart, ending up thinking about him all night. You thought he was going to pound you with that ridiculously long cock all night – and wasn't that his threat, too? – but what you didn't expect was that the giant barbarian who rips people's throats open with his teeth would want to lick and lap you into submission. You never would have thought that König wanted to bury his face between your legs, and eagerly at that.

Perhaps you understood his silly words wrong in your half aroused, half scared state. What if he meant to make you scream and cry from pleasure, not pain?

The burning bruise on your thigh reminds you that you are probably wrong, but you still wake every now and then from a thin sleep, glancing around you in despair, only to see that he’s not there. You feel so hollow that you think for a moment whether König has left the camp entirely, whether he is wandering away, towards some other adventure, exhausted with you and the war and the Romans.

The most unbearable thought in your head is not that he has left you for his dogs, however. It’s the thought that has abandoned you. That he has finally had enough. Because you realize… König hasn’t gone anywhere. He simply left to have his fun with some other woman. Perhaps he’ll be back in the morning, but his patience is gone; it has finally ended, your silly little game. A difficult slave girl who won’t even let him lick her cunt is simply no amusement to him anymore. 

Just before dawn, your will breaks; it splits in half. You can almost hear it. The sound of cries is muffled in the bed that nowadays has both his scent and yours: both of your scents combined, mixing together into a wonderful haze of love and despair.

…

König comes back when the dawn is already turning into a full day.

He strolls into the tent the same way he left: with a hunched posture and unsteady feet, but the fervent vigour from last night is gone. Actually, you have never seen him so weak. The dramatic sighs, the groping and the bullying have turned into a piercing silence. His muscles have lost their strength, his head is hanging heavy between those once proud shoulders, and his eyes are cast down as if he’s hoping there wouldn’t be such a bright orb in the sky. He drags his feet as he enters the tent; he doesn’t even look your way when he goes and slumps in his chair.

You are so glad to see him that you nearly jump from the bed and fall right there at his feet. You want to kiss his thighs and grab his hands and look up at him, doting and adoring like a good little slave. You want to whimper and beg that he can give you love bites everywhere he wants.

Instead, you snap at him, voice filled with poison.

“Did you have fun raping women last night?”

There are leaves on his mask and dirt on his shins and knees. Even his hands are a little grungy, and the proud red Roman tunic could also use a wash. He sheds you a tired side stare, then sighs.

“Was?”

“Were you with women,” you spell out every word slowly like you’re talking to a child. The venom on your tongue threatens to spill out as froth. And you almost say, 'other women'. Almost.

König raises his head and looks at you with a slight tilt in his head. He’s curious again, so, so very curious. He has clearly fleed the sun into his tent rather than seek your gracious presence, which shouldn’t make you this glum... But what you just said has managed to brighten up his entire day.

“Meine Fee… She’s jealous,” he points out in a far more jovial tone.

“No. Not at all,” you hurry to say, chin drawing back from his stupid accusations. 

“You are,” he says with unbridled fascination. 

“I assure you I’m not.”

Your cheeks are heating up, and the nervousness inside your belly roils like a snake. How does he always manage to get you into a trap? 

König leans back in his chair, now with his usual dignity on those shoulders. He even crosses his fingers loosely in his lap, looking like the conversation he’s about to have with you will, yet again, become another favourite of his. You’re not sure why you always feel like you’re being interrogated on the sly with him because König is the most simple, straightforward, blunt object of a man you have ever met. And still…

“Fucking other women is bad?” He asks innocently from that chair.

“Bad?” You huff. “Yes, if you have to force women under you, you are a brute.”

“And… ugly?”

“Very ugly. The ugliest man in the world.”

"Hm. But who say anything about forcing?"

König looks at you, calmly, as your stomach sinks from his words.

You can only stare at him as the world seems to fall apart around you, crumble into nothingness when there's sun shining and birds singing outside. Kicking him out of the tent – and almost kicking him in the face in the process – because you got afraid when he gave you a fervent little nib seems like the stupidest idea right now. If you were so willing to part your legs for him and moan under his tongue, surely some other insane woman would want to do that as well? Surely there is at least one woman in this camp who would gladly be pleased by this giant who doesn't hit or force women. Who only likes to… bite and squeeze and lick them.

You pout at him, lip almost trembling now, and he’s smiling, so, so very wide behind that mask. Gods damn him. 

Then he rises and walks to you, suddenly looking like he isn’t suffering from a hangover after all. He strolls towards you with slow purpose, and you swallow the tears down, trying not to show him how they turn into ice inside your stomach. 

“I have not touched women. Only you.”

He towers above you, looking down at you like you are indeed the most adorable thing in the entire world. You are not sure whether his words are to be believed, but something inside you says that this man never lies. As dense and dumb as he is, he is the most trustworthy human being you will ever meet.

“Only sleep with earth last night,” he says and starts to caress your hair. He even weighs some of it in his hand before sweeping it over your shoulder. Like you are simply his precious, silly little wife who has been spoiled too much.

“It was a cold mistress,” he laments, overly dramatic again, like a poor actor in a tragic play. Your heart aches, badly – you swear König is the most annoying man you have ever met, the most insufferable and lovable. You wonder if he has spent his seed on the cold, hard ground too. Given it to the Great Mother, who is a cold lover sometimes indeed… But not as cold as you.

You wonder how crazy it is that you have the power to drive this giant into the cold night from his own tent. König has had to face his hangover by waking up to a chilly dawn. His hand is not as warm as usual, and you start to worry that he has caught the wrath of wind spirits outside, soon rendering him weak and feverish. His skin is not supposed to feel this cold, not when he’s almost always blazing.

“I know a plant that might help,” you say diplomatically. “With your… Head.”

He looks at you, more and more curious by every passing moment. You hope he doesn’t weigh in his mind whether you are trying to poison him when he is weak. But he’s not that clever, perhaps, because he only looks at you like you’re an entire sun now, and very unlike the one that is giving him a headache today. You turn away from his hand – but not too quickly. You’re only feeling shy. And a bit uncomfortable.

“You should eat something. And drink water, not wine.”

“You care about my head?”

Gods… His voice is so, so soft. He’s seeing past all your defences again, and there is nothing you can do about it. You want to curse him but can’t. You simply can’t. 

“Just… Eat some fruit, alright? And I need a kettle so that I can boil some water for the herbs.”

You rise from the bed and try to ignore his adoring stare. He doesn’t attempt to touch you again; he merely watches as you go about and eat a little something as if to show that when it is morning, people should have breakfast. Like you’re a mother trying to lead by example or a fussing young wife who is trying to help his husband. Your lips are a thin line as you search for grapes that aren’t too soft and a piece of bread that doesn’t yet have mould in it. You grab some figs: you know they are his favorite, and bring them to him to tell him you’re serious about him needing to eat.

And you feel silly. 

You can’t even look at him. You’re feeling so odd, so weak, so warm inside, and it’s not because you’re disgusted; hell, it’s the opposite of being disgusted….

“I have fallen in love with you,” König says as he accepts your humble offering of food. You freeze in the middle of setting them on his palms, held upwards as if content with whatever you give him, even if it’s only a piece of bread and a few figs. 

Gods. Mother… Don’t do this to me–

“That how you say it?”

You breathe in and out, calm, collected – you're not going to faint because some crazy giant thinks he's in love. Yes, that’s it… Everything’s alright. He’s just being silly again. He’s just playing his own little plays again. 

But when you look at him, there is no actor there, no silly play: he’s just… König. He returns your helpless, cornered stare with warm kindness, reminding you of something, of some Roman or Greek god… Apollo. Yes, that’s it. Laureled sun god Apollo, the one everyone loves so dearly, because he always drives fear and doubt and darkness away. He’s Apollo, even though he doesn’t even prefer a bow. 

And has the translator taught König the correct words? Has he memorized them so that he can say them to you when the time is right? Your lip starts to tremble, and you fight to not shudder a sigh. The old seer was wrong: this man will be your downfall.

“I’ll go get that plant,” you whisper, soft eyes wide and chest curled tight. 

“Nein,” he says cheerfully, full of life and hope again. “Not alone, little one.”

…

A/N: Please don't send me death threats. Remember, big bang bang next chapter! Huge!!

Translations:

Sehr schön - Very beautiful

Kleine Fee - Little fairy

Hungrig? - Hungry?

Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen - I could never leave you

Für dich - For you

Du machst mich verrückt - You drive me crazy

Göttin der Erde… Gib dich mir - Goddess of the Earth… Give yourself to me

Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen - My Queen... I will make you very happy

Was ist das? - What is that?

[wrencatte]

mini fic 8 ! Fallen Order - Bogano First Visit - Cal & Greez & Cere Cal likes to sleep in...interesting places. Greez POV - 1.6k words

ao3 minific link - chapter 7 (beard)

Cal comes back from exploring more of Bogano limping, but in good spirits. Giddy, even!

Greez would almost be suspicious of it, not quite trusting the kid still, if it weren’t for how…young he looks with his cheeks flushed and his hair wild, holding an animated conversation with that droid that’s apparently sticking around. It takes years off him. Makes him look his age and like he wasn’t – like he wasn’t part of what was a genocide of his people.

Oh…great. Now Greez is sad just from looking at him.

He goes back to focusing on sprucing up the Mantis, determined to ignore his growing fondness for a kid who could scrap his ship for credits in a heartbeat. Scrappy describes the kid in more ways than one and Greez is not getting attached, stop. But he is. Because Cal is serious and jaded, but he also listens to Greez when he talks about the upgrades he’s done to the Mantis, asking intelligent questions and actually interested in the answer. He loves all food, never picky even when Cere’s nose wrinkles just a bit. When he laughs, it sounds like he means it despite all the terrible things he’s gone through. And – he’s just a kid. How could Greez dislike a kid who’s gone through such hardships and yet is still trying to do some good in galaxy?

He wonders vaguely if that’s a Jedi thing or a Cal Kestis thing – and decides maybe it’s a little bit of both. Cere’s a good person too. He can see the similarities in the two of them, raised on the same values and lessons, just trying their best in a galaxy that hates them.

Greez is so good at ignoring his own feelings and everything around him that an hour passes before he realizes…Cal isn’t hanging around anymore. The latero briefly considers being worried, but then dismisses the thought. He’s probably back out exploring Bogano. Sometimes the kid disappears for the entire day, gone before the sun rises and not back until it’s well below the horizon. How he can find so much to explore in this backwater swamp, he has no idea, but he’s not about to go out investigating himself.

Satisfied with that logic, it’s back to buffing out the blaster marks off the Mantis’ exterior. Hm, maybe a new paint job? Cal found something out in one of the workshops, didn’t he? Presented it with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes, laughing when Greez opened it and found an eye-watering pink inside. Pink is a little too distinctive, but Cal handed over another tin of an understated swamp green Greez actually likes. Maybe he’ll tag the kid to help.

He’s distracted by his thoughts by a flash of red-white out of the corner of his eye – BD-1, wandering around and scanning insects that he’s probably scanned a dozen times before.

….with no ginger-haired Jedi in tow.

Great.

Where BD is, Cal should also be. It’s a new rule of the galaxy. Never one without the other. The last time that happened, turns out Cal got tangled up in some rope and was hanging over a drop so high Greez couldn’t see the ground.

“Where is he?” he asks the little droid. He gets a simple beep in response which Greez totally understands. Completely. Yeah.

 – Greez stares blankly, not understanding at all. BD does a little head waggle, making a noise that sounds suspiciously like a droid’s version of laughter. That little shit.

“Hey! We can’t all be fluent in fifty billion languages. Give me a break.”

He may be over-estimating that number by a tad, but it’s definitely a high number. The translation matrix in the Mantis isn’t exactly top notch, but it has a pretty decent database and it still glitches when Cal gets worked up and switches to a new language he hadn’t used before.

The question is how does he know so many and the answer gives Greez a headache every time.

He will never understand the Force.

“Just…where is he? If he fell in a hole and broke is leg somewhere Cere’s gonna to kill me.”

Or ran into another, what did he call it? An oggdo? According to Cal, he barely escaped with his life. Still injured from their escape from Bracca and caught by surprise, the kid lost a good chunk of his poncho and had to be hosed down before being let back onto the ship, covered in toad gunk and mud. Now that he’s healed, he’s supposed to be figuring out their next move concerning the Vault, but maybe he’s decided to throw himself into a fight with an oggdo again – and lost, and that’s why BD’s here, looking for help.

BD-1 would be more frantic if that was the case, right?

“Where’s Cal?”

Ah, speak and she shall appear. The galaxy really is just out to get him.

Greez face-palms as he turns to see Cere standing on the Mantis’ ramp, looking a little sleep ruffled but getting more and more awake as her gaze bounces from Greez to BD-1 and never to Cal because Call isn’t here. The fact that she’s stopped long enough to fall asleep, let alone actually slept, is a kriffin’ miracle. She’s been non-stop ever since they picked up Imperial communications of a Jedi on Bracca and said Jedi turned out to be a teenager who decided to immediately pass out from his injuries once they entered hyperspace.

And that was nearly three weeks ago.

“Heeyy, Cere. Have a nice nap?”

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “I did, actually. Now, where’s Cal?”

Greez waves a hand. “Oh, you know him. He’s probably getting distracted by some new thing to explore.”

Cere crosses his arms, eyes flickering down to where BD-1 is watching them. “And I’m sure he made a conscious decision to do that without BD-1, didn’t he?”

“Maybe. You never know.” Greez feels oddly defensive, and he wonders if that’s a Jedi Master ability, making him feel like a kid who stole from the sweets jar when it reality it was his brother.

BD bwoops, it almost sounds like he’s laughing, hopping from foot to foot before he takes off, disappearing behind the ship’s ramp quick as a blink. Greez and Cere exchange bewildered looks. All they can do is follow. Where BD is, Cal will also be. And in turn, where Cal is, BD will be there. This they’ve learned – Cere when she nearly tripped over the droid sitting patiently as Cal meditated. Greez when he went to the second level of the Mantis for storage and found BD standing guard as Cal quietly had some sort of panic attack.

Kindred spirits, Cere had called them with a sad sort of smile on her face.

When they make their way under the Mantis – Cere having to duck – what greets them is, quite frankly, an adorable sight.

Cal is curled up in the shadows, poncho pulled tight around him, head cradled on his arm.

Deeply asleep. He’s not even talking like he sometimes does. His expression is relaxed, content even. A few of the brown, bouncing critters that dig burrow – boglings? – are piled up around him like a lump of dozing akk dogs. Ears twitch. Legs kick out as they dream. They’re snoring. These little sounds that Greez will never admit out loud he finds cute. If he listens closely enough, he can hear a deeper snore from beneath the pile – Cal.

BD beeps quietly, a job well done in letting them know where Cal is, then skitters over to the kid, picking carefully around various limbs until he can tuck himself under Cal’s arm and snuggle against his chest like he’s a bogling himself. Cal makes a soft sound and curls around the droid, holding him close.

“Would you look at that,” Cere says softly, expression aching.

Cal sleeping -- actually sleeping without nightmares or pain – is something neither of them are familiar with at all. And who can blame him? Greez can’t imagine that the kid’s been through. He’ll be having nightmares himself for a long while thanks to Bracca.

“Do we leave him here?” Greez asks, torn between wanting him to sleep and cringing at the amount of mud that’s gotta be soaking into his clothes.

BD whirls in quiet warning, daring them to try and wake Cal. Cere laughs, shaking her head.

“Do you want to be the one who wakes him up?” she asks, her tone amused. Greez grimaces. No thank you. “I thought so. It’s better if we let him sleep, especially if he’s sleeping so well. It’ll be easier to connect to the Force if he’s well rested.”

“So, we just…walk away? Leave him alone?” Sleeping outside isn’t exactly his idea of a good time.

“Are you planning on going any further from the ship?”

“Well, no.”

Cere gestures to the boglings that have, surprisingly, not run away yet. A couple are looking at the two of them with wide, wary eyes, but they seem too comfortable to move. “He has plenty of guards. We’re not going anywhere. You’re more than welcomed to hose him down before he boards.”

“Oh. Yeah. Good point.” Greez is absolutely hosing him down. Bogano mud stinks.

They leave him there, sleeping soundly with BD on guard, but they don’t go far. Cere disappears for only a couple minutes before she comes back out with a holonovel, a drink, and a chair, setting up right where she can juusstt see a peek of Cal under the ramp. Greez picks up the buffer again, pauses in thought, then hurries to grab the swamp green paint tin – after a nanosecond of hesitation, he scoops up the pink paint as well.

He’s sure there’s a non-obtrusive thing he can paint pink. Maybe it’ll get that one bright, looks-his-age smile from Cal again.

[nanabansama]

Be Worried for Mitsuba

I've seen a frankly concerning number of people say they expect Mitsuba to be fine after what happened in Chapter 110, and as someone who isn't fully confident he will survive yet, it bothers me a bit! As such, I wanted to bring up a list of reasons why I think Mitsuba could be in danger, and why people might be in for a rude awakening depending on how things shape out.

First, I wanted to bring up something that I don't think a lot of people know about. It's the official tag line for Volume 20.

This is from the Square-Enix website. It says: 「最初でさいごの夜遊び。」

This translates as "Their first and last Night Out."

I don't know about you guys, but this gets my warning bells ringing. It's obviously talking about Kou and Mitsuba's date at the aquarium. So if that was their first and also last one, then...that doesn't sound very reassuring, does it?

Now, a popular theory I've seen going around is that Mitsuba will turn Kou into his yorishiro. And while I think this is a delightful idea, I don't think it will happen.

While yorishiro can take human form, the two cases we've seen (Sumire and Tsukasa) were dead by the time it happened. We don't know if it's possible for it to happen to someone who is still alive!

I also want to direct your attention to the first Clock Keepers arc, when Kou got aged up to around Teru's age.

If you remember, Nene, unlike Kou, was unable to be aged up by Mirai because she had no lifespan left. This basically confirms that Kou will survive until he's in high school, less his fate is changed.

Note that he has no visible yorishiro seal, too.

Now...it's not like he still can't become one! But how likely is it, really? Do we even know if a yorishiro can age? And do we know if someone can stop being a yorishiro? We haven't found a way to get rid of a yorishiro outside of destroying it yet. Tell me, how cheap would it be for Kou to become Mitsuba's yorishiro while facing zero of the consequences?

Honestly, I feel the whole concept of a yorishiro cop-out is a bit cheap, anyway...not that I want Mitsuba to die, but it feels cheesy for him to overcome this by just realizing how important Kou is to him, doesn't it? Couldn't we have done that in the Aquarium arc instead of having this pointless, drawn-out segue?

It seems that for all Mitsuba has done, it just hasn't been enough, tragic as it is. I do believe Mitsuba has found something important to him, or is at least starting to...but it's all too little, too late.

Anyway, has anyone thought about a way for Mitsuba to get out of this situation besides getting a yorishiro? It's worth mentioning that Natsuhiko implied only a school mystery with a yorishiro could survive contact with his cursed blood, but I can't help wondering if there's another option.

Mitsuba's body has a unique constitution, after all. He's a Frankenstein amalgamation of several different weak supernaturals given an identity by the sense of reason taken from the previous Mitsuba.

He falls apart if he doesn't eat. When this happens, he can restore himself by eating supernaturals. He also craves human flesh, which also might be able to heal him, but that obviously hasn't been tested yet.

So here's my question: Could Mitsuba eat enough supernaturals or humans to cure his body of the cursed blood? Would he...try to? It's not like there aren't plenty around him right now...

And then what happens? Even if he only ate the plantlike supernaturals, those were humans. They could've been saved, as proven by when Teru defeated one and restored her back to her human form in Chapter 104. If he hurt any of them, then what would that mean for Mitsuba? And how would Kou react? Just something to think about...

Changing subjects, I think the fact that the original Mitsuba Sousuke's mother is present is interesting, too. I feel like she's incredibly important to the events happening to Mitsuba right now--she's here for a reason, that's for sure. Whether that's anything that'll change his fate or not is another thing.

And just to be clear, while his concern for the previous Mitsuba Sousuke's mother is pretty cute, I don't think it's enough to create a yorishiro out of. Heck, even if he was the first Mitsuba, I don't think his bond with his mother was strong enough to manifest as a yorishiro. (No shade, of course.)

I did point out in my Chapter 110 Spoilers post that she could just be here to watch her son die again, which is an idea I still kind of like. It's a bit poetic, no? Or maybe she will somehow be able to meet him one last time and get closure. I can't say for sure, but I feel like ignoring Mitsuba's mom in this discussion at all is a dangerous pitfall...

In any case, I hope this convinced some of you to start worrying for Mitsuba's life.

Huh? Which Mitsuba, you ask?

Who knows...

[crimetimesteadicam]

ok @morporkian-cryptid tagged me to do this fic author interview so here we go...

if you would like to do this, i am officially tagging you, yes you, right now. tag me back so i can see your answers

1 How many works do you have on AO3?

i got 40

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,044,749

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

sorry like none of these are lupin iii. a blight on my lupin iii blog

Wabisabi (991 kudos) - Spirited Away. idk it's short and cute, read it

BONES OF BLACK MARROW (952 kudos) - Homestuck. the infamous cyoa cannibalism sex fic. scrolling through the things people say about it in the bookmarks is always so funny

Cum mortuis in lingua mortua (925 kudos) - Homestuck. no clue why it has so many kudos lol it was like the first long thing i've ever wrote (a whole decade ago??? jesus). it's a d&d/discworld joke

Vanitas vanitatum (914 kudos) - Homestuck. the same d&d/discworld joke except the LI is turbo depressed. notable for being the only fic i ever outlined and edited and that's why it whips

Supermassive Retinol Overdose! (677 kudos) - hey look, a lupin fic made it on here!

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

i do when i have something meaningful to say besides "thank you!" i don't have a lot of thoughts about my own work so therefore i tend to not respond if there's not a direct question :( my head is empty. i always respond to every single comment on the last chapter of longfics though because i'm always impressed people read that far lol. genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading all that

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

idk uhhhh i wrote a series once where two of the main couples break up at the end, but it wasn't really angsty

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

they all end pretty happily

7. Do you write crossovers?

if i did it was so long ago i don't remember it

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

no but people used to send passive aggressive hate about my art in fics once in a while. hasn't happened in like 2+ years

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

yes. every kind. EVERY KIND

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

a bot will sometimes scrape my high kudos homestuck fics and plant them on a junk ebook site

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yeah i think like 7 of them got translated into russian and do numbers on ficbook.net

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

in the past me and my friend would sit around a laptop and scream laugh write our way through crack fics

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

right now it's jiglup and fujilup

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

i finish almost all my WIPs because i'm a freak. if i don't finish a WIP it's because some dramatic life event happened. this has only occurred two times

15. What are your writing strengths?

im a funny binch

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

i don't outline or edit or re-read any of my fanfic. i just type it and then eyeball it for typos and then post it. i COULD outline and such to really make the narrative nice and tight, but i don't find it very fun to do (for fanfic) and this is like, my relaxing wind down hobby. i just wanna have fun haha. the only reason my fics like, make sense, is because i write at least one ending scene first thing and always aim for that, and also i write out of order so i kinda know the route of the story

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

it's fine if it makes sense to do it there as a narrative device

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

h-hetalia crack fic.....

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

once i figure out how to draw zenigata it's over for you bitches. luzeni hours on da clock

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

for lupin iii fic, i like Lightkeepers the best

[denofbloodandlove]

The Chosen

This is from an anon request.  This was actually hard for me to write since I dropped all pronouns.  The gender neutral aspect was the main focus that surrounded the story. The reader can decide if Cris should be male/female or some androgynous figure.  I hope you enjoy.

They first landed on Earth in the year known as 2095. Now simply noted as the Barren Times.  Barren because the human population had dwindled. War, murder, disease, famine; mankind had all but killed themselves.  They were killing themselves.  That was until They arrived, giants in their own rights, they dwarfed humans.  Their words were guttural, primitive, wild.  As were their bodies. Neither male nor female; they just were.  Humankind, beings as they were fought, lashed out and declined even more.  Humans brought war and destroyed themselves down to mere thousands.  Scorched their Earth.  

Powerless and declined in numbers the few remaining surrendered to the aliens.  It took mere months for the last remaining residents of Earth to be over-powered; taken and soon changed.  Used. Bred.  The century changed and ushered in a new way of being, a new century of humans.  

-2195-

Cris waited in the que to begin a new life; a new chapter.  Cris had finally matured, gotten to the right age for Passage.  That’s what They called it ‘Passage’.  Once a human matured, they entered the lines to learn where they would be placed.  Cris fingered the device that sat nestled against the ear.  They all had one; given to them at birth.  The cold metal device was melded to the skull the minute they came out of the birth canal.  The was for the Aliens, now named Elohim, meaning God.  They were Cris’ gods, everyones.  They gave and they took, the delegated.  They were law.

Cris tapped the device once, turning it on the Elohims presence.  When the gods spoke, they listen.  But they were not taking to Cris yet.  Only to the other humans.  The Passage was a place where humans waited to be processed, tagged, and sent away.  

“Ager” The translator whispered into Cris’ brain, detailing the new life on the one at the que next.  The fields were the lands, Ager, these lands lay south where fresh fruits of the new Earth were harvested by hand, not machines.

“Bayit” or house meant slaughter. Not of the human species, they were too valuable for meat.  But the houses were for the remaining animals of Barren, Cows, horses, giraffes, elephants; creatures that survived and thanks to Elohims survived, expanded and slaughtered for meat.  

“Laborem” Resource were labs to find and discover old minerals, life, water, anything left behind from the Barren. Most humans were resources now and because of that, the Earth thrived.  

Elohims spoke, humans obeyed; Earth thrived. The gods took and humans gave. That was the role, they way.  

“Bahar”.  Chosen.  This one word, spoken into the crowd, silenced every being in the que for Passage and all eyes turned to Cris.  Chatter died down as Cris was recognized as The Chosen, as the one meant to be one with Elohim.  Theirs until death.  No human really knew what it was, but they knew that the Bahar were taken away. Never to work in the Ager or Bayit, never to be a laborem.  

The device in Cris’ ear spoke: “Chosen follow your god”.  Cris immediately obeys, head held high, but eyes cast down as Cris’ body moves.  Energy thrums through skin as humans fall away, replaced by halls.  Cris is being taken into Bayith – the heart of house.

The walls are black but Elohim sigils glow, sparkling reds and purples, greens, and blues. They grow brighter as Cris passes, then dull with every step.  The sigils lightening the way for the Chosen.  

“Strip, lay” The god says, and Cris removes the garment- a loose brown/yellow garment that hid the human body, laying on the soft white cushion, Cris eyes dart around.  A soft voice in Cris’ ears tell Cris to move limbs; legs spread and arms out and above the head.  Cris’ legs spread widely, opening the unused body of a freshly matured human. Lifting arms Cris lay them above the head, forcing the lower spine to arch off the cushion.

“The Chosen will accept the gifts.  The Chosen will be restrained, cleaned, trained, and then gifted, The Chosen will take and give back until death.  The Chosen will begin the New Passage.”  Cris listened and watched.  Three glimmering straps lifted themselves from under the cushion.  One above the head wrapped itself around the wrists and hands, the other two wrapped around the calves down to ankles, then feet, ensuring no movement is allowed.  

Cris eyes closed as droplets of liquid beat against the exposed skin, burning away any dirt or macrobacteria that tainted the body.  When the liquid ceases, a thick fog descends, drying clean skin, leaving the body covered in goose-flesh.  Everything feels swollen, plumped as the fog shifts, as if the fog is its own entity. Cris’ nipples stiffen to hard peaks. The skin is over-sensitized, so much so a brush from the fog sends Cris moaning loudly.  

The flesh between the thighs feels engorged and what Cris can only imagine as ready.  The translator chimes again: “The Chosen is to be trained, prepared.  The Chosen will accept the preparation.  Despite any protestations, The Chosen will accept. The Elohim has Chosen.  Preparation begins.”

The fog that lingered is sucked from the room quickly.  Leaving behind a sweet smell, Cris feels heavy.  The heart that beats in Cris’ chest flutters, anxiety and anticipation mix in an aphrodisiac like cocktail. Cris’ hands move, grinding against one another as a pressure builds within the core.  Cris body seems to explode within itself with a need that is foreign.  Moisture and juices pool at the apex of Cris thighs. Lungs fill rapidly with air as desire pumps through every vein.  A low moan escapes, a protest at the emptiness that Cris suddenly feels.

A whirring interrupts Cris heavily desire filled brain, and like the straps, a new device lifts from beneath the white cushion.  It is long, large, and cylindrical.  Along the sides are tiny circles, each long column of circles is bisected by a deep line. The cylindrical tube opens slowly like a flower, each petal rising outward, revealing a thick liquid deep inside, then the tube closes and moves.  The robotic arm rotating and adjusting itself to be level with the untouched flesh between Cris’ legs.   The liquid that Cris had glimpsed begins to ooze from the multitude of tiny circles and at the opening at the tip, then it thrust inside of Cris virgin flesh.

Cris’ body reacts instantly in pain, the spine arches off the cushion and limbs fight for control against the constricting restraints.  The large device pulls back then plummets in again.  Cris’ hole is suddenly stretched wide as the thick tube pushes deeper. The circles abrading tender flesh. The ooze coats Cris’ body, allowing the device to slide deeper, spreading and stretching in agonizing and pleasurable pain. Faster the machine pumps in and out, getting deeper with every mechanical pump.   Cris screams and moans mix with the mechanical whirring of the back-and-forth motion. As the machine pumps into Cris’ belly a new pain within erupts.  The tube begins to open inside Cris, each segment moving, rasping against the insides of Cris body. Moving organs, stretching, and filling.  Cris eyes widen as the skin on the belly undulates, Cris can see the thing inside move as it opens and pushes then pulls back as it fucks the body, then a thick rush of liquid fills every crevice of Cris’ abdomen.

“The Chosen will now be gifted.” The translator whispers, The tube inside Cris abdomen closes, like a flower closing for the night and pulls free from the used hole, that same slime like liquid drips out of Cris body, splattering on the floor in thick globs.  As the machine disappears under the cushion a side door opens, allowing a giant figure into the room.  Cris’ body is on fire, eyes widen as the hulking creature makes its entrance. The Elohim stands between Cris’ legs. Its upper body is massive, thick. Its head is connected simply to the body, no neck supports the head just thick muscles.  Its lower body has hundreds of thick tentacles, each one with hundreds of tiny crude suckers all circular in shape.  The larger suckers start at the base, near the body and taper off into smaller, thicker ones towards the end.  Low guttural sounds fill the air as Elohim speaks.  

“The Chosen will bare the gift, taken and bred until death.”  The Elohim lifts its thickest tentacle that lay directly in the middle of its body and rams it into Cris prepped and abused body.  Cris body surges forward as a grunt is forced out of lungs, the tentacle stretched the hole it pumps into.  Wider and wider until the thick base is pumping inside of Cris’s belly.  The belly expands with every heavy thrust, up and down it moves.  Cris screams and pants are cut off by another tentacle that fills the mouth.  Forcing its way down the throat; Cris can feel the tiny circles; suckers oozing slime on the tongue; making the passage down the throat easier.  The tentacle stretches the jaw wide, pushing and pulling, fucking the mouth then the tight muscles of the throat.  Cris gurgles as the thick slime coats the lips and drips down Cris face.  The hole between Cris legs is gaped wide and painful as the tentacle pulls out then rushes back in.  This movement happens over and over, leaving Cris’ body unable to fully adjust.  Thick globes of slime rushes out of Cris’ body then gets pushed back in as the appendage forces its way back in.

Cris’ body is ravaged for hours, gaped, swollen, abused, organs moved and pushed to allow its girth inside Cris’s body cavity.  The tentacle down the throat stops and begins to pump thick knots down the throat.   The tentacle inside Cris’ body and like the machine begins to split open, widening and stretching skin.  Giant knots begin to move intermittently down the thick appendage, bursting through to fill Cris body one after the other, widening the cavity.  Dumping thick coagulated sperm right inside of Cris body.  With one final thrust; one giant clot like knot pumps into Cris sealing the gaping hole.  The two tentacles slide out of Cris.  The one in the mouth leaving a trail of thick slimy cum sliding down Cris’ face.

“The Chosen has been gifted.  The Chosen will rest, fed and Elohim will gift again.”

The Elohim leaves, the air is heavy with the scent of wet flesh, cum and blood.  The straps that bound Cris lift, allowing movement to limb.  Cris adjusts the body around the giant bulge that is now Cris belly. The movements are restricted and tight as Cris tries to curl on the side, one hand flutters and rests on the cum filled belly, eyes close and Cris drifts off to a deep sleep privy only to The chosen.  

[suspendingtime]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

I've been tagged by @stars-of-kyber and @andthebubbles. 😁 So although I feel barely qualified, I guess I best do this...

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

7. 🤗

I started about 2 months ago, so... and yes, they're all Kanthony. Initially just started as a way of contributing to Anthony Week 2023, and I didn't even expect that I'd actually do all 7 days.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

13,370.

Currently ranging at 661 to 3,779 per fic. Rookie numbers!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

So far, just my beloved Bridgerton.

But there have been a couple other shows that have tempted me...

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Astride  - 166

Nursery  - 118

Hunt - 105

Yours - 94

Temptation - 88

Having published a handful with various ratings, it's quite interesting to see the kudos, bookmarks (private vs public), and subs ratios! Much to think about.

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

Yes.

Why... I sort of have a need? Idk, when I see a comment it's hard to just leave it hanging there and not to reply. Like irl if someone looked at something I made and verbally commented on it... and I just stared back blankly not saying anything. 😐 This is how it feels to me on the receiving end at least haha. And my replies saying various forms of 'Thank you!' is probably quite repetitive, but hey ho.

Plus comments give you that lil hit of dopamine; from both povs as a writer or reader. Being on the reader side for most of my Ao3 activities I tend to comment on most of fics I read, I can't help it - I must tell you what I loved about it and why, and there's a pleasure in reciprocating that back too. Look, now I've written half an essay on the subject, gaaah. (I've not been on Ao3 as much as I'd like to recently, and because I opened it to scoop out the stats for some of the questions above I can now see that I have some unreads... and the need is happening.)

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

Hmmm *thinking really hard*, I don't think any of them have an ending that is all that angsty. If I had to choose, maybe Temptation?

The pattern I've shown so far in my posted works is that it's gonna be 90% fluff. Though that is liable to change. 😆

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

Probably Nursery?

I'm not sure, cause they've all ended on a pretty optimistic note so far. But that one has Kate and Anthony with a few of their kids, so it's the furthest on the Kanthony HEA timeline.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet...

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

Ummm 👀 I may have dabbled in some smut.

What kind... hm, the kind where both people are panting for each other, and end up caving because they literally can't hold their horniness in anymore (this totally explains why I went feral for Bridgerton S2, ha). Another pattern I seem to have is making Anthony a submissive man puddle.

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

Not yet, but I do have some crack ideas I may explore.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, I very much doubt it.

How often does this happen to people?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I'd certainly be all for it if anyone ever wanted to translate any works of mine. 😊

If I was proficient enough to write in other languages, then I would probably try publishing the different versions from the get go.

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

Kinda?

Nothing formal, but there was a lengthy comment thread on Reddit some months ago where myself and another user went back and forth re-writing the script for that stormy library scene 😅 (not so much re-writing what was already there, bar the last few lines, more of a continuation in a universe where Kate hadn't fled).

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Must I even answer this? Kanthony, c'mon now.

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

There's only 1 work that I have, where I've actually started a chapter 2. And I have all the faith that I will finish it. ✍️🤓

Other potential WIPs, that are currently just posted as one shots, only exist in my head... who knows if they will see the light of day.

16. What are your writing strengths?

This question feels illegal to be asked.

I have no idea, I'm very new to this whole writing thing. At least in terms of fiction, so I'm not sure what I'd consider my strengths to be. I feel like I need some more practice before I can get a real sense of this?

I would say that dialogue usually comes very quickly to me, and it's having to fill in the bits around it that takes more brain muscles. So that might indicate something.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Everything apart from the answer to the question above.

But really I think it's remembering that there is a world outside of the main couple happening, and trying to describe the details there. Also other general 'setting the scene' stuff like clothing, weather etc etc. I usually just want to jump straight in with some random dialogue.

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

On writing it... no thoughts; not done it yet!

If I needed to for some unknown fic reason in the future, I'm sure I'll be apologising profusely in the author notes for trusting Google translate and probably butchering whatever language it is.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Still just the one so far, Bridgerton. 😌

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Hunt 🥺🥹 I was a lot of feels, and just very indulgent tbh.

I also really enjoyed my shortest one, Obedient, which was in 2nd person (hadn't done that before). The writing of that one was just really fun and I idky but I've reread it quite a bit!

__________________________________________________

I'm woefully looking at my Ao3 bookmarks (which has grown exponentially since joining Tumblr), full of things that I've not got round to reading yet. So I'm tagging partly based on stuff hanging out on top of that pile: @islemeadow, @ladykettlechips, @hydriotaphia, @eleanor-bradstreet, and the smut aunties @colettebronte & @fayes-fics 😋 (if y'all wanna do it, ofc. I tried to find those who hadn't been tagged/done it yet, sorry if you've actually already done this and I've just not found it).

[wifebread]

Obsessed | Pt.12

Pairing: Stalker!Min Yoongi x Original female character

Tags: Forced relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulations, Mentions of cruelty, Mentions of deaths, Mentions of drugs, Murders, Original female character,  Out of character, Stalking, Unhealthy relationships, Violence.

Summary: She wasn't afraid of this man, didn't take threats seriously, blaming everything on the fact that it was just to attract attention. However, she did’t know what he was capable of.

word count: 1313

I do not condone the actions described in the story, this is all fiction and does not relate to the real members of the BTS in any way. If you are uncomfortable with tags, please do not read!! Or read at your own risk.

a/n: Thanks to the wonderful author who allowed me to translate this work! Please keep in mind that English is not my native language, so if you notice any mistakes, point them out to me! I can also edit the chapter after I publish it, so don't be surprised if you see some strange moments (it means I haven't corrected them yet). Thank you.

source: https://ficbook.net/readfic/12255891

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 ,Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12

Weired tea

It's 6 o'clock in the morning. The rays of the sun creep into the bedroom, announcing the beginning of a new day. The darkness does not allow to properly see what is happening on the street. The weather is fine, not a single cloud. Yoongi’s mood should be on top, and not only because of the weather. But obviously not today.

For some, 6 a.m. is early morning. People sleep, basking in their warm and soft beds. However, for Yoongi this is the usual time of ascent.

Taehyung knows this very well, that's why he rushed so early.

“It's only 6 in the morning, and you've already arrived. Tell me what happened.” sitting up on the bed, said Yoongi.

“You know that we always check unfamiliar numbers and almost immediately dog the address”  to which Yoongi nodded. “This time it didn't work out.”

Yoongi tensed. He neither understood what his friend was driving at, nor really wanted to plug in. There flashed one thought that now Taehyung would share something important that was related to Percy.

“This video was sent to me tonight,” V turned on the smartphone and opened the chat. “Perhaps you know this place?”  the guy asked nervously.

Handing the smartphone to Yoongi, Taehyung sat down on a chair, clenched his hands into fists and anxiously bit his lip. Chaos was going on in the guy's soul, everything seemed out of place. The content of the video scared the hell out of him, but what will happen when Yoongi watches it?

The video showed Percy being tied up and beaten so that she could barely speak. Images of him smashing the whole room, the vases, lamps and mugs popped up in Suga's head. However, outwardly he was only tense.

“Tell me what you want!” kicking the girl in the stomach, the unknown guy exclaimed.

“Yoongi, take me away from here...” the girl whispered faintly.

“Say it properly!” taking Percy by the hair, the unknown exclaimed again.

“Help... me.”

“There you go”

After this conversation the video continued, and the faces of those who started hitting Percy's body were clearly visible.

For a couple of minutes, Yoongi stared blankly at the screen, which had turned off a moment ago.

“I think they'll put conditions on you if we don't find her ourselves.”  Taehyung began cautiously, twisting his fingers.

“This motherfucker has gone to the edge,” Yoongi concluded his thought aloud, clutching the phone harder in his hands, almost breaking it.

“Do you know the place?”

“I guess yes.”

***

The day before

Namjoon and Percy spent every day together. The guy took her to various beautiful places, bought treats, rubbed himself into trust, courted.

“Do you want to go into the city with me tonight? There’s a new film, very interesting, by the way.  Namjoon said in one breath.

“Haven't been there for ages,” Percy began dreamily. “But there are too many acquaintances in the city and they’ll see us together, so ...” there was an awkward silence for a moment.

“Don't worry about it,” the guy broke the silence. “This cinema is special, ordinary mortals are not allowed there.”

“Bragging again,” Percy replied, smiling and rolling her eyes.

“I'm not bragging I'm just inviting you to the cinema.”

“I'll think about it,” the girl nodded.

***

Percy didn't even realize then that Namjoon's plans were not just courting or going to the cinema, no.

When the film ended, they went home to Song, because she invited her friend for a cup of tea.

The couple did not drive in silence. They were violently discussing what they noticed in the process of viewing. And if Percy was completely engrossed in the conversation, Namjoon almost didn't listen to what she was saying and just admired her.

Perhaps at this moment he wanted to abandon his plan and not put it into action.

The girl seemed to him quite attractive, intelligent and funny. The guy didn't understand at what point his plan almost went to hell and why all of a sudden he began to look at Percy as a girl he likes.

However, putting aside his thoughts and returning his gaze to the road, Namjoon tensed.

“Is something wrong?”  Percy asked worriedly.

“What? The guy turned his head at Percy. “Oh, no, it's all right, I was just thinking.”

"Will you come in for tea?"

“How can I refuse?”  Namjoon chuckled.

They arrived at grandmother's house quickly, because Namjoon drove like he was late for something. There was no one at home. Apparently, Mrs. Song went to her neighbors or friends.

“I always drink green,” Percy began, putting her mug of tea on the table. “Do you like black tea with sugar? she asked, walking back to the drawers.

“Yes, two spoons, please.” Namjoon replied without taking his eyes off the girl who was pouring tea and adding sugar.

The guy carefully took a bag of some kind of powder out of his jeans pocket, opened it and poured into Percy's mug.

Namjoon was worried that there would be problems with his trick. For example, a girl will not go somewhere or will often turn to a guest. However, everything went well for Namjoon.

“Will you stir it yourself?” handing the guy a spoon and a mug of tea, Percy asked.

“Of course, thank you. Drink it, don't look at me.”

The girl nodded, then took the mug in her hands and drank a little. Namjoon watched Song's actions closely as he stirred the sugar.

***

Mrs. Song couldn't sleep a wink. She just had no right to do it. She was given an ironclad promise to return her granddaughter by ten, however, it is now well past midnight, and there has been no granddaughter so far. Mrs. Song had a heart out of place, she considered herself guilty of letting a teenager go with some little-known grandson of her friend, and in fact he seemed to her a gentleman. The elderly woman did not know what she could do in this situation. The local provincial police would not have rushed to look for this child right away, because, as she thought, it was already too late, and it was unlikely that the office was working in full force.

The woman was as tremendously wrong as Namjoon's connections in the police were, the amount of money he poured into every person in that seedy village police station. He is literally the leader of the mafia, since his power extends to the territory of this town and to a couple of nearby ones.

Still, what can the old lady do now? The only thing she could do was to go in search of her granddaughter alone. In reality, it was pointless, since Namjoon immediately warned that they would go to the city, which was located next to their suburb, because only there were all the places of leisure - restaurants and the only cinema in the whole city. She had to weigh the pros and cons and reluctantly accept that Percy could just linger.

The woman was already starting to come up with how she would scold these children, and then she would become the best grandmother again when she allowed her something more, like spending the night with a guy.

But still, she decided to call Namjoon and ask where they were and if they would be back soon to calm herself down.

“Hello, Mrs. Song. The session was already over, we dropped by the restaurant. You won't believe it, I met my friend and he invited Percy and me as a couple to celebrate this case. I'm sorry, but I have to steal your granddaughter until tomorrow evening.”

“Of course, of course,” the woman babbled happily. She was pleased to hear that Percy and Namjoon were considered a couple. “But don't forget to return her tomorrow, no later than 10.”

“Okay, goodbye.”

[transdimensional-void]

"ascendance of a bookworm" anime, episode 1, scene 1

now that the english translation of the aoab light novel has reached part 5 volume 7, i want to write down some of my thoughts about the anime's decision to make the very first scene of the entire show the memory viewing scene. it's a significant departure from all other versions of the series (web novel, light novel, and manga), yet i believe it was a genius exploitation of its medium that turns potential weaknesses into strengths and allows fans both old and new a fresh perspective on the material.

first, since the anime premiered several years after the ending of the web novel, many of its viewers were always going to be those who had already finished the story. by opening with a scene halfway through part 2 of the series, the anime reassures longtime fans that the characters and scenes they most love are on the way. for those whose favorite character is ferdinand or who are very invested in his dynamic with myne, it gives them a taste of what they love to keep them hooked until he shows up in the story proper.

on the other hand, the anime will also always be some people's first introduction to the series. for those who have no idea what they're getting themselves into, that tiny peek into what's to come in part 2 is a big flashing sign notifying them that this shumilhole goes far, far deeper than the beginning of part 1 might lead us to believe. (of course, a not insignificant number of anime-only viewers seem to ignore this warning and convince themselves that myne's life in the lower city will be the centerpiece of the entire series).

there is also the consideration that, because the first and second cours of the anime were made simultaneously without any assurance that additional seasons would be ordered, placing the memory viewing scene at the beginning of the first cour and the end of the second cour turned it into a beautiful bookend that leaves the viewer with a feeling of a journey completed. it also serves as a framing device, allowing us to imagine that we are not merely listening to myne recount her experiences but that we are re-viewing her life so far alongside ferdinand.

however, where i think this decision reaches the level of genius is the way it places the anime in conversation with the written series. for those approaching the anime after reading the wn or ln--whether you were a reader first or you are returning to the anime after reading--it's a reflection of something the reader knows, but perhaps hasn't yet considered: the scene in which ferdinand views myne's memory is one of the most pivotal--if not the most pivotal--scenes in the entire series.

once you read part 5 volume 7 (or the corresponding chapters of the webnovel), it is suddenly made clear that without that scene, pretty much none of the rest of the story happens. that one scene changes not only the course of myne's life but the course of the entire story. and, of course, once you read all the way to the end of the webnovel (or the upcoming part 5 volume 12), yet another layer of significance to that scene is uncovered. looking back on that scene from the end of the webnovel, it becomes clear that it is a nexus of multiple plot lines.

by placing that scene front and center in the anime, its creators are not merely acknowledging the centrality of it to the entire plot. they are also asking viewers to reframe their own understanding of that scene, to evaluate the place they give it in their own interpretation of the series. "look, this scene is important," they tell us. "pay attention to what's happening here." it allows the reader a fresh perspective, both on the scene itself and on the series as a whole.

but that's just my take. what do you all think?

(nb: i've done my best to make this as non-spoilery as possible, so i encourage those who wish to discuss spoilers for the things i've mentioned to do so in replies rather than in tags. for those avoiding spoilers, beware!)

[schmem14]

20 questions for fic writers!

Thanks for the tag @maesterchill! Read their answers HERE.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

My stats tell me that I've written 50, but 5 are multi-chapter collections, so... a lot. Yeah.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

733,820. If you asked me three years ago if I could ever write that much I would've laughed in your face. Isn't growth amazing?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Harry Potter (though I do read some Good Omens, Carry on Simon and Bagginshield stuff)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

UGH. I don't want to be honest here, since 2 of the five are Dramione fics I've now listed as ANON because of harassment reasons. I'll give you the NEXT five instead ;) 1. 93 Diagon Alley (Harry x George) They were roommates 2. HP Cocktober 2022 Collection (Multiple) Prompt fest 3. Solace (Harry x George) Unhealthy coping mechanisms (sex) 4. When Malfoy Met Granger... (Draco x Hermione) WHMS remake 5. Mistletoe, or Die F***ing (Harry x Fred x George) Self-explan.

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

Yes. I try to, because the BEST part of sharing is connecting with people who enjoy what I've done. Community, ya know?

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

Mastermind (Draco x Hermione, Draco x Harry, Draco x Ron, Ron x Harry) The worst UHEA I've ever inflicted on y'all is this Dronarry fest 2023 story. Dark stalker Draco goes off the rails in the end. It's a masterpiece, I'm so proud of it.

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

From Sunset to Star Rise (Harry x Ron) Cozy fall vibes, falling in love, little to no angst (Ron has a tiny bit of anxiety, that's all)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes. Mainly the bigger ship ones (Dramione, looking at you) If you're wondering WHY I write rare pairs a lot, it's because rare pair fandom is a safe space with AWESOME people. We may be few in number, but WE GO HARD and LOVE HARDER.

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

ALL KINDS (though I'm not great a fluffy smut). Check out my HP Kinktober Collection 2023 posting daily RIGHT NOW. It's very kinky and dark.

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

The closest I've come to crossover is more like "inspired by a vibe." I wrote a Community (TV Series) inspired paintball fic here: All's Fair in Love & War & Paintball (multiple ships)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, BUT I've had people post me on Goodreads. Read my thoughts on why this is bad fandom etiquette HERE

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've had many requests, but no one has followed through yet.

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

No! But I'm interested in this concept, especially if the co-author is someone I vibe with.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

STAWP. It's too hard a question! Lately, I'm obsessed with Dronarry, and any combination of those three. I also think I'm more in love with stories than ships. If it's an amazing story I end it with "OMG this is the BEST EVER" and I say it about a lot of ships.

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

I'm writing a multichap Drarry fic where Draco is a wandmaker, and it's falling in love fluff. I'm terrified to write them because I feel like I'll get torn to shreds because the Drarry fandom is too amazing for the likes of little old me. I'll just read Drarry and call it good, and MAYBE I'll get the courage to finish someday.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Ideas. I'm chockful of ideas. Also, I read a ton, so I think the more you read, the better you write.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Fluff. I HATE writing fluff. Why is it so hard?

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

I don't typically do it because I'm monolingual and don't want to fuck it up. I don't mind when others do it

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

How to Care for Your Monster Book: A Guide by Rubeus Hagrid  (Hagrid x Monster Book of Monsters) Y'aaaaaallll... I have no regrets about this fic. It's the only fic I've ever written that is perfect, I'll never top it, it's just so funny and weird (like me).

Tagging: @the-francakes @mugsdontlie @swoontodeath @vukovich @mintawasalreadytaken @peachpety @nv-md @lumosatnight and anyone else who wants to

[acewithapaintbrush]

20 Questions for fic writers

Thanks for the tag @captaincravatthecapricious

How many works do you have on Ao3?

33

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

282,261 (woah...)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently mostly One Piece, Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Encanto, Owl House and some others occasionally

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

A Place for Crows (to rest their feet) - Encanto (

I'll brick by brick rebuilt us - Encanto

A Perfect Storm - One Piece

There were Rats in the Palace - Encanto

To the dark I said pour (and forgot to say when) - Rise of the TMNT

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I appreciate getting comments so so much and I wanna show that by responding

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

This is a hard one cause four come to mind that are super angsty but ultimately I think it is Let the world come at you (Rottmnt). That one's just bleak

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

I guess The devil throws stones at us (One Piece). That one was just a lot of fun and I got lots of comments about how funny the ending is so I'll take my readers word for it

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I did once but that was mostly funny. A single sentence, something like "This story is horse shit" for the second to last chapter of a 19 chapter fic which was like... Well, you read pretty far for it all to be horse shit, didn't you??

9. Do you write smut?

I haven't yet, but I really want to... 👀

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

I do occasionally and the craziest one is definitely by far my Rottmnt/Ghost Files crossover. Man, that was a real trip but also so much fun. I had a lot of fun writing the Ghoul Boys and their shenanigans!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have been asked a few times but no one ever actually did it I think? Or they just never told me about it

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

No but I am certainly very open to the idea 👀

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Well ZoLu (One Piece) will probably always be number 1! I just love their dynamic so much, but not just romantic, also platonic. I'm actually much much more interested in platonic relationships! The team as family stuff. The straw hat pirates come to mind. Or the TMNT brothers being the best brothers. Platonic is my one true love!

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

There is a Donatello angst fic that I have been writing on and off for what feels like an eternity. I have written myself into a corner somehow and I really hope I get myself out of that but I doubt I will any time soon...

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I write emotions and internal stuff a character is going through quite well. I have also been told quite a few times that my characterizations are spot on which is always nice to hear cause that's the most important thing for me

17. What are you writing weaknesses?

Ugh don't get me started on fight scenes omg. When a lot of action is going on I have a hard time putting that stuff into words... I'm better at dialogue and feelings and stuff

18. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?

Well, if it's done well??? Sure why not. I have been guilty of using some Japanese (One Piece) or Spanish (Encanto) words in my works, never full sentences though

19. First Fandom you wrote for?

First published fic was Stargate Atlantis. First fic written in a notepad for my eyes only? xxxHolic.

20. Favorite fic you have written?

For Encanto obviously A Place for Crows, it's so special to me. For Rise of the TMNT I'd say Casey Jones' Gambit

For One Piece it's probably the latest one Til Salvation Breaks Through. I had a blast writing this one because it challenged me quite a bit and I could let loose a little bit

******************

Not gonna tag anyone, everyone who wants to take a trip down memory lane, be my guest!

[soaps-hoe-141]

Gaymers Unite Again

I split Gaymers Unite into two parts cause I wanted to write the Drowning chapter before I finished this, so here's the rest. Also I didn't edit this one because I didn't feel like it, will probably edit later though if the urge strikes me. @itsagrimm You asked to be tagged if anyone used your German translations for Konig so here ya go :D

Pairing: Konig x OC!Transmasc (OC is Watcher there is lore on my pinned Masterlist)

WC: 4.4k

Synopsis: Just some more Konig smut, hope yall are feasting

Warnings: 18+ It's smut, literally just the end of a one shot

Ecstasy. That's what his mouth felt like. Well Watcher had never taken ecstasy before but this had to be pretty fucking close, right? Heat flooded every limb, white hot, and oh so close to release number whatever the hell it was. The Scotsman had lost count after the sixth time he'd clenched down around those fingers and that tongue and nearly suffocated Konig between his thighs. Icy eyes rolled back in his head as his thoughts seemed to find another plane of existence not a part of this world.

Huge arms wrapped around a pair of freckled and tattooed thighs, keeping his dripping and needy core right where he wanted it, continuing to press his tongue inside. Konig's chest rumbled greedily now, the vibrations of what could only be classified as a growl running straight through Fyn's needy core. His head shook back and forth vigorously, his nose rubbing over the head of Fyn's dick and causing the Scotsman’s head to fall back with a loud, unhindered moan into the air. The tall man smiled into the cunt he'd been devouring for the better part of an hour now.

The second the computer had shut down it was like Konig had found another gear. Standing up without even a warning, mouth still hungrily at work even when he'd laid Fyn down on his back on the bed, kneeling on the floor at the edge of the bed himself. Thighs still draped over his shoulders and hanging limply against the broad expanse of his back. Now the little Scot was clutching at the sheets desperately trying to keep his head from drifting up into the clouds and failing miserably as Konig continued to work him closer and closer to yet another climax.

Whines rose into the air, the smaller man barely able to catch his breath now as his hips writhed and grinded hard against the delving tongue. And then he was trying to retreat, his hands attempting to push himself up and back him away from the overstimulation despite his ankles locking behind Konig's back in the middle of his shoulder blades. The tall man's words mumbled out against the throbbing core, "One more, Newt. Just one more, yes? Please," Fyn whined again, words escaping him as his head shook desperately which only elicited another growl from the man kneeling between his thighs. The only thing the ginger could do was plead helplessly for an end, with his fingers tangled into dark red locks and his thighs quivering once more at the nearly painful and heated pleasure that coursed through him. When he got that tall cunt out of his there was gonna be hell to pay.

Christ but not yet. “Ko,” it was the only syllable Watcher could whine out and it wasn’t even certain that was what he said seeing as it degraded quickly into another moan. The mouth left its prize once more, a few heavy pants coming from the German as the orgasm that had just been building began to slip away. Icy eyes flew open wide, his head lifting off the bed to look with wild eyes and down to the man still kneeling at the edge of the bed.

Konig’s face was covered in his apparent arousal, the dark red hairs along his chin dripping after spending so much time between Fyn’s thighs. “You said no-” The big man didn’t get the chance to finish his thoughts before the fingers that had been gripping at the bed sheets for dear life tangled instead into the man’s hair, dragging his face back down. A satisfied hum echoed from his mouth before his tongue returned to its good work. Lips attaching to the head of his dick and sucking hard.

“Koni,” a breathy sigh fell out just behind the word, Fyn’s hips lifting for just a moment into the pleasure of that sinful tongue. When one of the hands released his thigh, fingers unpeeling from the tattooed skin of his thigh, it was clear the ecstasy was only going to get ten times better. The tip of Konig’s tongue flicked rapidly against the sensitive bundle of nerves as fingers drug across the folds of his entrance once more. Teasing and enticing Watcher’s hips to inch closer in his desire for more.

And more Konig gave as the tips of his fingers drug through the slick arousal pooling at his entrance, coating them generously before slowly pressing inside. Sliding easily into the wet depths with an audible squelch. Pleasure coursed through Watcher's veins, his mind going empty of thought as he grinded down onto the fingers and sought more until there was nothing left for the long, thick fingers to give. Groans for more still left his pretty mouth though, fingers still tight in the wavy red locks as he kept Konig's mouth flush with his greedily sought after treasure.

It only took a few moments before his thick digits went to work, pressing deep inside his soft walls which only clenched around him with every thrust inside. Watcher was once more in a state of bliss, his eyes rolled back in his head and his every thought focused on one goal, finding his release. Finding those rolling waves of pleasure that he knew the huge man could provide. Every muscle seemed taut, every line of his lean physique outlined by the vines and roots that wound around his entire body. "Christ-" he cut himself off with another loud moan as his back arched off the bed.

Konig's fingers set a rough pace, curling up as they thrusted inside, brutal in their hard work. And yet they only had that fire burning brighter and deeper. The heat was beginning to seep throughout every limb as he grew closer and closer to the precipice of pleasure that awaited him for only God knew how many times this was. The ankles locked between those broad shoulder blades jerked, somehow managing to get him even closer, as the skilled fingers finally found their query. Curling into the soft spot inside of him that had Fyn crying out, "Oh fuck yeah, right there. Keep goin," even though Konig had zero intention of stopping now.

It took on a few hard thrusts and crooks of his fingers before that searing heat exploded into an inferno and Watcher was cumming on his fingers once more. His thighs shaking, his abdomen spasming as he tried to stop himself from jerking and grinding on the tall man's face. Konig was all too happy to keep lapping at his drooling cunt though, enjoying his feast even as he let go of his smaller waist. Feasting now with his eyes as well as his erection throbbed in the confines of his pants. That man was a beautiful sight, especially when he was in the midst of an orgasm he was struggling to come down from. And to know that it was his doing was sending Konig nearly completely out of his mind.

He reached a hand up to his face, still watching as the occasional spasm wracked Watcher's body and his hips jerked up in search of something more even though he didn't find it. Konig was sitting back on his heels now, one hand now using the bottom of his shirt to clean his face off and the other basically stroking himself through the thick fabric of his pants. His erection pulsing painfully now into the confines as he watched the little Scotsman slowly coming back to reality.

Sitting forward he braced himself against the edge of the bed, pushing himself up the length of Fyn's body until he could look down at him with a soft smile, "Are you okay, little Newt?" Ok? Was he ok? Fyn felt like he was on another plane of existence and Konig was wondering if he was ok? Reaching up his fingers wrapped into the collar of his shirt before he pulled the bigger man down, the huge body more than covering his own before his lips found the other's. He could taste himself there, it wasn't the first time and it was unlikely to be the last. Konig probably would have lived between his thighs if Watcher would have allowed it.

A short hum left the young man’s throat, his face turning up in a satisfied smirk as he felt the huge hips rutting against him. The fingers tangled into Konig’s shirt didn’t loosen as he only pulled the huge body further down onto his own, grinding his dripping depths against the front of the other’s jeans. A needy moan left the big man, his mouth falling open even as Watcher continued to press kisses to the line of his jaw. The German was nearly as far gone as Fyn had been moments before, his eyes shut tight as he continued to rut his clothed dick against the dripping depths and the swell of that freckled ass. “I think I should be the one askin if yer ok, Koni,” red painted the big man’s face, his mouth still open as he panted open mouthed a mere inch from the ginger’s face.

Konig forced his green eyes back open, taking a deep shaky breath before he whispered, “I’m so close.” A quiet mewl for more left him the moment Fyn’s hips stopped moving, a few curses falling out of his mouth as he tried to make up for it by rolling his own hips up against the ginger’s once more. The small man beneath him jolted back, his icy eyes opening in surprise at the force behind the needy thrust before Konig pushed himself up on one hand to stop himself from doing it again. His voice quieted as he whispered again, “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

The smirk returned in a moment before the smaller man wrapped his legs around the other’s waist, pulling him back down with surprisingly strong legs. The second his clothed erection made contact with Fyn’s bare flesh he was moaning again, forehead falling forward to rest against the Scotsman’s shoulder as he panted with need. “Dinnae worry yersel, Koko,” soft lips pressed against the curve of his shoulder earning a breathy sigh from the other man. The German was sweaty underneath the confining fabric that still covered his body. His skin salty as the young man drug his mouth over what he could reach.

Hell was coming to repay the greedy man who had refused him a single moment of reprieve.

The legs wrapped around his waist loosened for just a moment, until his heel trailed down running over the curve of Konig’s ass. Wiry muscles pulled taut before Fyn’s whispering words fell over his ear in soft waves, “Ye gonnae cum? Huh? Dinnae even need tae get yer pants off?” There was a disapproving sound that came from the young man’s throat, earning another needy moan from Konig’s chest as he continued to grind helplessly against Watcher’s backside.

It didn’t take much for the Scot to flip them, especially not with the way the German couldn’t even keep his eyes open and the most his hands could manage doing was holding onto the thin waist now laying against his midsection. At least until Fyn’s lips pressed against the skin of his neck, sucking a purple mark into the thin skin along the underside of his jaw. “Ye cannae wait? Yer so needy, pretty boy.” The hands that encircled the small waist slid down slowly, heading for mounds of tattooed and bare flesh, at least until Watcher sat back up with a smile on his face. His hips grinding down to pull out another needy whine from the big man beneath him.

“Please Fyn, I need-” Plush lips fell to those that were more chapped and rough, still able to taste himself on Konig’s tongue though this time it was just a ploy to quiet the man who was nearly writhing beneath him. One hand wrapped around the underside of his jaw, keeping him still as Watcher slid his mouth down once more. Nibbling and kissing at what little skin was exposed to his eyes. Middle of summer and he’d still be wearing these long sleeved black shirts. He’d never understand how he did it.

In a quick movement Fyn was sliding back, escaping the big man’s grasp as he whined and tried to follow. Sitting up quickly before his chest ran into a surprisingly stiff hand and the dark green gaze lifted to find icy hues with a questioning look in those depths. Watcher was quick to answer that silent question, “Didnae say ye could move. Shirt off and lay back down, Koni,” the big man was eager and quick to comply.

Large fingers dug into the hem of his shirt as he hurriedly pulled it off over his head. Fyn however was busying himself with trying to figure out how to use those over complicated harnesses. They weren’t much different from the tactical harnesses they used in the field, actually, upon further inspection. Honestly they were both less complicated than their tactical harnesses. Watcher stepped into it quickly, pulling it up around his hips before tightening the straps and fingering them for a quick test.

Securing one of the dildos into the harness he looked down at himself, it was almost as long as his forearm and nearly as thick as well. Lifting his chin he turned towards where Konig was on the bed, a cheeky smile on his face as he stepped forward, “What ye think, Koko?” Fyn wasn’t destined to get an answer though as he turned to find the big man with his shirt and pants both thrown on the ground, his hand working desperately along his shaft.

Three long strides and the Scotsman was back to the bed and standing in front of the big man, looking down at the red haired man with a narrowed gaze. “Hey Ko,” there was a breathy sound that came from deep in the German’s chest, and it was the only answer that he was going to get it seemed. Konig’s hand was still working wildly, edging himself closer and closer to his own climax. “Jesus, mate, slow down,” Fyn reached a hand out, grasping his thick wrist in his own comparatively diminutive grasp.

Whines immediately flew from the other man’s throat, needy and breathy to find his finish. “Please, fuck me, please, please,” the man’s hips bucked up off the bed, searching for any kind of friction he could possibly find. Konig was out of his mind with need. There was no telling how long he’d spent between the Scotsman’s thighs, and it was evident in his leaking cock that was standing at attention. The tip was red and angry and mourning the loss of his hand. 

Fyn’s teeth drug across his bottom lip at the sight, eyes shutting for just a moment before he reached his fingers out to run gently up the length of the muscled thigh. Finally he answered with a bit of that cheekiness still hidden in his tone, “That’s what I’m tryin tae do if ye would stop tryin tae jerk yersel off before I git aroun to it.” The big man whined aloud again, his fingers digging into the sheets of the bed as he tried to thrust up into the hand running dangerously close to the proud erection on display.

A bit of spit on his fingers and the lithe fingers slid down to press teasingly at Konig’s entrance. It wasn’t the first time he’d worked the big man open, but it often was accompanied with a skilled mouth and a great deal more saliva. Now though there was the promise of more, of something more substantial splitting him open and driving him even closer to the edge of madness. A groan of satisfaction rumbled in his chest as he canted his hips down into the gently probing fingers.

Walls clenched around him, his thoughts wandering to how it might have felt around his own cock. Meanwhile Konig was burn for more already, even as the long, lithe fingers sped up watching as the big man fucked himself onto the digits in time with his own thrusts. “Mehr, mehr, mehr Bitte,” the ginger didn’t recognize the words. Fyn knew only a little German himself but when a hand reached up to grasp at the back of his head, pulling him down to dive into a deep kiss, he was pretty sure he understood what the other had been trying to say.

Eyes shut tight, Watcher rutted up against the other man’s hips. Leaning over the edge of the bed and barely even able to reach Konig’s lips with his own. One hand behind his head the other was at his hip as Konig recognized the struggle on the Scots part, leaning up as he continued his hungry assault on the other’s mouth. Pulling his hips impossibly closer before the kiss broke and the big man let out a breathless groan. It took a moment to figure out what it was that had caused the little interruption until he felt the hand at his hip let go and grab at his own erection and the dildo as it ran over it.

Fyn smirked at the other man and shook his head, “Ye cannae just wait? Impatient ye are. I told ye tae just wait,” the huge hand fell away as he let out another whine, forehead once more falling forward to rest against the lithe shoulder. Konig was so far gone it was hard to even believe it now. Oh how the tables had turned.

Glancing down Watcher took hold of the throbbing erection, sliding achingly slow down the shaft before returning to the leaking head. “Ye weren’t lyin pretty boy, ye are close aren’t ye?” There was a vigorous nod from the older man who was bracing himself back on the bed now, trying his hand at patience now in an attempt to get what he so desired. There was a low hum from the young man as he leaned a bit closer, giving another slow pump of his hand before he whispered, “Ye wantin pumped then, aye?” Another nod, though this one more desperate, was all he received in response.

A strong shove backwards and Konig laid back appeasingly on the bed, another slow pump along his erection drawing out a short thrust of his hips up into the firm grasp. When his hips lifted Fyn smirked, biting at his bottom lip as he enjoyed the control, the dominance, of what he was able to do to the man in front of him. Taking hold of his cock he slid the tip down and over the diligently worked entrance. Konig’s hand shot down, fingers wrapping around the small bicep as the hand that had been around the leaking erection braced instead on the bed.

A bit of pain blossomed as the digits encircled his limb with anticipation. There would no doubt be a bruise there come morning. Anxiety grew in him for a moment. He’d never done this before and there was a bit of insecurity rising in his chest. “Say somethin if I’m doin it wrong, I dinnae want tae hurt ye,” Konig nodded once more, the grip on the small bicep loosening until his hand dropped to the bed once more and he hitched up a leg. Spreading himself before the young Scotsman, still attempting to keep himself from being as impatient he felt on the inside.

“Slow, go slow, it has been a while,” Fyn gave a quick nod as he pressed the head of his cock against the tight entrance again and began the slow push inside. Konig’s mouth opened, his eyes getting a bit wider as he took in a slow breath at the intrusion. He lifted his head, watching as the fake cock disappeared slowly inside of him. “Mein Gott, Fyn,” the breathless words escaped his open mouth as he continued to watch. His head fell back against the bed and his eyebrows quirked up on the inside corner, a low groan escaping his lips as Fyn bottomed out, his hips flush against Konig’s.

The leg he’d hitched up fell to the side, Fyn’s hands bracing on either side of the other’s hips. Ice blue eyes watched the chiseled face in front of him, head tilting as he watched the emotions dance over the other’s face. When he pulled back and canted his hips back into Konig's, the older man huffed out a breath of air, his eyes shutting as Fyn began to ease into his new role. It made his own core throb as he watched, the man beneath him letting out quiet moans and gasps as he began to pick up the pace. “Does that feel good, Koko? Are ye enjoyin it?” He nodded quickly in answer, letting out a quiet moan as their skin slapped together.

There was a quiet hum of pride from the young man before he reached between their bodies, taking hold of the bobbing erection. The big hips lifted in response before falling back to the bed, his back arching in response. There wasn’t as much of a buildup, Konig had already been close enough Fyn could have breathed on his poor, abused cock and he’d have came. A few quick pumps along his shaft in time with his thrusts and the big man’s voice sounded, “Ich komme gleich.”

Oh Fyn knew that phrase well, though it was usually whispered when Konig was deep inside him. Now though it was vice versa. A quiet whisper was all it took as Fyn said, “Go on then, guter Junger.” A high pitched moan left the German that he’d never heard before, and then ropes of white painted his small fist. His breath came in heavy gasps as he finished on his own stomach.

Pulling out slowly Fyn sat on the side of the bed, glancing down at the mess along his knuckles and wrist. Watcher glanced at the box of tissues beside the bed then, thankful that Konig typically kept himself well stocked on just about everything. He wiped himself off and then the stomach as well, short red curls rasping underneath the tissue as he cleaned them both up. And then he tossed the tissue onto the nightstand in favor of leaning back beside the tall man beside him.

Fyn leaned on his elbow, smiling as he watched Konig’s heaving chest begin to slow. It wasn’t until gentle fingers ran along his cheek that those green eyes opened once more and settled lazily on the pretty, freckled face a few inches away. The both of them stayed silent though even as Watcher leaned over, his nose nudging against the other’s cheek before he pressed a kiss to his cheek. A small arm draped over the broad chest as he settled against Konig’s side and nudged his face into the other’s chest, smiling against his skin.

Nothing could break this peaceful, lazy moment…almost nothing anyway. A harsh vibrating came from the desk and drew Watcher’s icy, in more ways than one, gaze. He pulled himself up with a groan before he slid off the bed and stepped across the room to the desk. Fyn picked it up off the desk before he sighed at the name across the screen and made his way back to the bed with the call on speaker.

“Hello?” Fyn said into the phone as he laid back next to Konig once more. Setting the phone on his chest before lithe fingers ran over the broad chest and dug into the flesh as the young Scot draped himself over the big man. Konig seemed to enjoy the closeness just as much so there were certainly no complaints from him as their sweaty skin slid together.

A deep, gravelly voice finally came over the other line though as Price grumbled out, it sounded like he’d just been awoken from sleep himself, “Watcher, get to base. Team is getting called out.”

“Aye sir, I’ll be there.”

He reached a hand up about to end the call before Price grumbled out, “And see if you can get in touch with the Germ. He’s not answering his phone.”

Blue eyes slid up to find green before the young Scot answered, “Will do, sir.”

Price didn’t bother with more formalities as he stated simply, “See you soon, kid.” And the call ended as Watcher tossed the phone to the bed and rolled over to bury his face in Konig’s chest with a groan.

The last thing either of them wanted to do was go into work now, but it seemed they didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. It was Konig who broke the silence this time, usually it would have been Fyn but there was a first for everything it seemed, “You know, Fyn, I am not actually German.” The ginger lifted his face to fix a look of confusion on him, his head tilting curiously. He didn’t have to wait for an answer though before Konig clarified, “I speak German, but I’m actually Austrian.”

Fyn laid his face back down against the broad chest before he finally swung his leg all the way over to straddle his waist and sit up, “What ye mean by that? They call ye Germ and yer not German?” Konig shook his head in answer and Watcher asked incredulously, “Why have ye no told them? You’ve been with 141 over two years now.” The heavy set of shoulders shrugged then before the ginger fixed him with a hard look.

Konig squirmed a bit underneath that gaze before he finally muttered, “It does not matter. I just wanted you to know, little Newt.” Watcher smirked and shook his head, laying back down and hugging himself as close as he could get to the big body beneath him.

With his face nestled in the crook of his shoulder and neck he breathed out a quiet sigh before giving a little nod, “Well now I know, Koko. I’ll never call ye Germ again, aye?” The big man smiled as he wrapped his arms around the freckled body laying over him. Both content to bask in the other’s presence while they still had the time too. Base wasn’t too far away from Konig’s apartment anyway at least.

[viola-ophelia]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @curufiin <3 thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

36! that sounds like a lot, but they're almost all oneshots and twoshots lol

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

145,180

3. What fandoms do you write for?

my three main fandoms are turn: washington's spies/amrev/18th century history, tolkien (silm, lotr, and the hobbit), and pirates of the caribbean, but i've written for a handful of other fandoms too. i've pretty much retired from marvel fic, but i've written a bit of that, and i've also written one (1) bridgerton and one (1) avatar: the last airbender fic lol.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

grieving for the living (273)

life is beautiful, but you don't have a clue (210)

lightning strikes (maybe once, maybe twice) (119)

never seen a love as pure (95)

be earnest and repent (88)

but these numbers don't reflect that the majority of my fics only have around 10-20 kudos! that's just the nature of writing for small fandoms like turn lol :3

5. Do you respond to comments?

i try to respond to every single comment, including on fics from years ago! i haven't been perfect at it this year since i've been so busy, but know that i read and deeply appreciate every single comment.

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

oh gosh, this is a hard question because i'm an angst writer at heart. i do tend to prefer writing angst with a happy ending, but i've definitely written a few fics with purposefully devastating endings lol. i think i'd probably say the crown hangs heavy on either side - a turn AU that explores the idea of john andre and ben tallmadge switching places in the narrative - has the angstiest ending, since it actually has two alternative endings, and they're BOTH sad af lol.

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

either the second chapter of sweet nothing (where i attempted to write a happy ending for jpeg) or never seen a love as pure, which is a very silly celegorm/aredhel fic where i imagined them both surviving the first age and ending up becoming tom bombadil and goldberry (i know it's a crazy concept but trust me, it kinda works lol).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i've never gotten any legitimate hate comments, luckily! the closest thing i've gotten to hate is that i have gotten a handful of comments nitpicking canon/historical accuracy, which used to annoy me (because when i deviate from canon/history, whether in a big or a small way, it's almost always intentional and for the sake of the story rather than me just being a dumbass who didn't realize haha) but now i just ignore them. but i will say, the funniest/most memorable one of these i've ever gotten has to be the time someone commented on my a:tla fic (bury it and rise above) to inform me that "jeggings don't exist in the avatar universe" HAHA.

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

i do sometimes write smut, but i almost never publish it because i generally prefer my published work to be PG-13 lol. (i think only maybe 2-3 of my published fics have some hints of fairly tame smut in them?) when i do write smut, it's usually M/F with a focus on reversing/subverting traditional gender roles.

10. Do you write crossovers?

i'm not the biggest fan of crossovers (i find that they're generally a bit unwieldy since merging two universes and two casts of characters into one is A Lot, and they're also pretty hard to do in a realistic and serious way - they tend to read as/verge toward crackfic territory for me) so i've never written one personally.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

*knocks on wood* no lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no!

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

not really, but i have co-brainstormed fics before - particularly the two silm AUs in this series, where @areyoutrueorfalse was instrumental in shaping the plots lol. (and of course the legendary harpson & caroline turn verse, which has yet to see the light of day but is one of my favorite things i've ever written!) @curufiin has also helped me craft some great fic ideas, especially with figuring out simcoe and andre's dynamic in power and control.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

either jpeg (john andre/peggy shippen) or celegorm/aredhel for canon ships, but for oc/canon, anne/beckett, aka anntler (iykyk @ chaos clan lol)

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

ugh... the john andre turns au ;-; idk if that thing is ever resurrecting at this point but i wish i could magically complete it lol

16. What are your writing strengths?

characterization!! i really take pride in getting my characterization just right, and i think it's definitely the aspect of my writing that i've gotten the most positive comments about. i also famously write a LOT of character studies (i'm pretty sure it's my most-used tag on ao3 lol).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i'm not very good at coming up with creative original plots, which is why i tend to write canon-compliant or slightly canon-divergent stories rather than full-on, innovative AUs (unless i have someone to brainstorm with <3).

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

i'm generally not a fan because i feel like it makes fics less accessible and more clunky to read. however, i also don't personally speak any other languages (except for some really rusty french) so i don't think it's something i'd ever do anyway lol. when i write a character who speaks another language (or tolkien elves, since they all technically speak various forms of elvish lmfao) i prefer to use dialogue tags, like

"'[english sentence],' he said in spanish."

"he said something in spanish that [MC who doesn't speak spanish] couldn't understand."

19. First fandom you wrote for?

in terms of published fic, it was lotr, but in terms of (thankfully) unpublished fic, i believe it was hamilton HAHA

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

it's like 3 years old at this point, but i will always be so proud of grieving for the living :)

i'm tagging @deathicus-sling @tallmadgeandtea @musicboxmemories and anyone else who wants to do this! sorry if you've already been tagged haha

[heclosescases]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @rngaredead 🫶

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

91 complete, 2 WIP (one of these is yet to be public)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

797,286

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Ted Lasso and The Mentalist

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Pillow Talk — Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon (The Mentalist) 

To Make The World Less Noisy — Ted Lasso/Trent Crimm (Ted Lasso)

Please, Remember Me. — Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt (Ted Lasso)

All These Things That I’ve Done — Ted Lasso/Trent Crimm (Ted Lasso)

Squeeze Me Harder — Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt (Ted Lasso)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Usually yes! I love getting comments as it is a more tangible reminder that there are people reading. Plus most of the time they’re nice to read too. 

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

I love writing angst but not too many of my fics have angsty endings. I like happy endings haha. I’m not sure if it has my angstiest ending - especially compared to some of my Jisbon fics - but earlier this year I wrote a Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt one-shot which probably applies (it seems like once again you’ve had to greet me with goodbye). 

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

Most of my fics have happy endings even amongst the emotional hurt/comfort. I actually think ending a fic is one of the most difficult parts of the writing process but endings I can remember fondly in particular are ‘The Tea Shop’ (Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon), ‘Please, Remember Me.’ (Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt) and the conclusion to my ‘i know it’s just a number but you’re the eighth wonder’ series (Ted Lasso/Trent Crimm).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really… until the series mentioned above. I had a couple of haters on that because I wrote Trent as trans. 

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

Some of my fics include smut but I don’t find it easy to write so usually I either don’t include it or I keep it very vague. However, I have realised that two of my top five fics by kudos are 'E'.

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

Nope. I personally don’t understand the love of crossovers. 

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Back in my Wattpad days I had a fic stolen and translated to German without my permission. Including the cover art. 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

See above.

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

No, but I have had some cool people beta my fics before. 

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I know I mainly write tedtrent now but I think jisbon will always be my ship. 

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

My only public WIP is ‘Pillow Talk’ (Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon) but it’s a collection of one-shots so there really is no “finishing it”. 

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I’ve got better at characterisations. It is one my favourite compliments if I ever get it because I think it is so important to get that right, for the reader’s enjoyment. I’ve also improved at setting the scene as opposed to just jumping in with the story. Dialogue is definitely easier for me to write than this though. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I am my own worst enemy. I will be writing and think ‘yeah this is pretty good’ but when it comes to proofing it I suddenly become full of self-doubt. I know I am not the best writer in the world, but it is a good outlet for me, so when I start to feel like my work is terrible, that hits me hard. It is why I rely so much on comments and knowing if people enjoyed reading or not. Just for some more motivation. 

If there are too many characters, some tend to get lost or forgotten. I have especially found this when writing Ted Lasso fics because there are sooooo many characters in that show who I love but it just isn’t possible to regularly include them all in fics. 

When I am writing, I write different sections of a chapter/one-shot and then try desperately to tie them together which doesn’t always flow well. I also then get annoyed at myself for leaving really unhelpful notes as reminders.  

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

I have done this for a few lines in fics but I couldn’t do it confidently regularly. Relying on translations apps is a risk due to accuracy. I’ve sometimes written dialogue in Spanish for my The Mentalist fics, but never large bulks of text. 

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sherlock - back in my Wattpad days.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Probably ‘All These Things That I’ve Done’ but the energy on Twitter when I was writing/updated ‘Undercover With You’ and ‘A Blue-Eyed Surprise To Come Home To’ (both Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon) was unmatched. 

(No user tags because I am not good at Tumblr - but thank you @rngaredead for thinking of me!!)

[onekisstotakewithme]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by the incomparable @remyfire (a few days ago now, sorry!) so thank you so so much for the tag!!

I think pretty much everyone I know/would tag has been tagged already, so if you haven't been yet, or if you just want to do this, please do! (Answers are under the cut because 20 questions take up a lot of space)

How many works do you have on AO3? 209, ish. (two fics still in the anon stage of exchanges!)

What's your total AO3 word count? 1,377,748 words! (so 1.3 million!!) 217k of that for this year 😅 but of course I haven't published everything I wrote this year so that number is a LITTLE low.

What fandoms do you write for? M*A*S*H and The West Wing, primarily.

What are your top five fics by kudos? Ties That Bind (Star Trek); a wild call and a clear call (that may not be denied) (Star Trek); Uncharted Territory (M*A*S*H); ye who are weary, come home (M*A*S*H); Beautiful to Take a Chance (M*A*S*H). so my readers like the spirk and the beejhawk (plus my M*A*S*H ensemble piece!) even if the actual kudos counts are probably pretty humble.

Do you respond to comments? I don't usually, and I should, but I get a little overwhelmed. I DO try and leave a thank you note in the end notes of each chapter though, because I love and cherish each comment.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I'm admittedly not typically an angst writer, so I had to think hard on this one. I go in usually for bittersweet or even happy endings... i guess probably 'a wild call and a clear call (that may not be denied)', if only because it's a pon farr fic and Jim and Spock are essentially 'mated' now, but uh. They don't end up together at the end of the fic.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Ah. see, this is more my speed. I like to think i write realistically happy endings... the happiest ending? I've written many (not enough 'happy endings' wink wink) but the happiest in context, I'd say, is the end of katabasis. a decision is made to keep going, to keep living. i also have a soft spot for you were meant for me (aka Peg sees Singin' in the Rain and decides to choose polyamory).

Do you get hate on fics? Not so far! But I also don't write particularly controversial subjects on a regular basis... I have had a few comments over the years that misunderstood what I was doing, but I'm reluctant to classify those as hate.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Uh. I write smut. I only publish some of it, because I'm so incredibly self-conscious about it. I want to write more, but I genuinely can't tell if what I'm writing is good/hot or not because I do not have the distance to do it. I'll write smut of all kinds (hell, I have a triad draft with everything from oral to pegging in it. it has not yet seen the light of day) but publishing it is another story. I really want to get better at it, but I have no idea how to get over myself. (it's the religious upbringing/repression/whatever but either way. sucks ass.)

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I don't typically write crossovers! I have a few that have chewed on my brain for a few years but don't exist yet (M*A*S*H x Star Trek:TOS) plus a few I think would just be funny (Hawkeye running as a third party candidate in the 1998 election in West Wing). But I haven't. Anyway, someday I'm going to write that MASH/Trek crossover and then it's over for all of you.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge!

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! My fic "Here's Hoping We Meet Now and Then" (aka BJ gets everyone to help him with the goodbye rocks) was translated into German by my dear friend @vanillatumbleweedscoffee. You can find that translation here.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? I have! And tbh, I love the idea of collaborating more. (HMU). My friend (and beta) and I wrote a Charles/Donna fic back in 2020 or so, called "getting to like you (getting to hope you like me)" and I'm quite fond of it honestly. Plus a few verses that I've contributed to, but I don't know if those count as true collabs... More collabs!!!

What's your all time favorite ship? Ooh. Probably CJ/Danny, punnihawk (BJ/Peg/Hawkeye), beejhawk and Charles/Donna. No, I'm not narrowing it down any further. (Bisexuals? Choosing ONE thing? no.)

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Okay. Sad moment of truth: I want to edit and post "make of our hearts, one heart" so badly. But I got so burnt out in the process of writing it, and editing 125,000 words is a particularly daunting task especially considering I think I basically have to rewrite it from the ground up... plus also not knowing if anyone even still wants to read it isn't helping (but that might be all in my head.) Essentially, I want the 125,000 pound albatross removed from its place around my neck. But do I think I'll finish it? I don't know. It has the triad wedding, literally all the smut that's fit to print (pegging! oral! one of my favourite BJ/Peg scenes!)... idk. Is it defeatist? Yes. I want to. I just don't know if I can.

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue. I think I'm pretty good at getting the vibes of characters. I'm good at coming up with plot concepts, and pretty decent at description. I think I'm good at fleshing out character backstories and giving voices to underutilized characters (Peg, Donna).

What are your writing weaknesses? Smut. all the way down. (If anyone out there has read my smut and has suggestions on how to improve... hmu). I can fully admit that I struggle with finding what I write hot, I struggle with sexy descriptions and honestly I just feel very self-conscious about the whole process. But I want to get better at it. I just don't quite know how. Is this too honest?

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? The occasional phrases, sure, but the only language I know besides English is French and that's more of an "I can read it" than "I can write it" situation. So overall? no.

First fandom you wrote for? Lost. (lmao). Followed by Downton Abbey. All of them still linger in their terrible glory on my ffnet account.

(Part 20 continued in reblog)

[elwenyere]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

I was tagged by my beloved @frostbitebakery: thank you so much, my friend!!!

1.) How many works do you have on ao3

56

2.) What's your ao3 word count?

301,664 words

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

So far, the MCU, Star Wars, and Top Gun.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Call Me By Your (Pet) Name (MCU, Sambucky)

Tactical Engagements (Star Wars, Codywan)

Citation Needed (MCU, Stony)

Helps to Relieve My Mind (MCU, Sambucky)

Good Soldiers (Star Wars, Codywan)

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

I do, yes! Sometimes it takes me a little while to write back if things in real life are hectic, but eventually I do, because I love chatting with readers about what they noticed in a story and what I was thinking about/working on while writing.

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have never written what I would call an unhappy ending. But sometimes what we know about the canon ending can still make the ending of a fic bittersweet, and that's true of a fair number of fics I've written. I think the two fics that leave canon angst most fully on the table are my MCU ficlet A Stitch in Time, which is about what else Steve might have done while returning those stones, and my wee Star Wars piece Yes, It Feels Like That, which is a moment with Leia's grief during ANH.

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

I swear: I used to write plenty of fics that were happy all the way through! That happens a lot less frequently now. But Right on Time is just about the happiest ending I could give to a post-war Codywan, and my Sambucky fic Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice is (to me) maybe the funniest fic I've written.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

I've been very lucky with readers who are largely very generous.

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

I am a relative newcomer to writing smut, but I have dabbled, yes. I'm not sure what kind of smut it is. Feelings-forward, I guess?

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

I think the only thing I've written that could come close to being classified as a crossover was my very first multi-chapter fic, Should You Choose to Accept It, which included characters from both the mainstream Avengers and Agents of SHIELD and mashed up the plots of Iron Man 3, CA: TWS, AOS Season One, and Mission Impossible 3.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet!

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yes! The Stony identity porn/professor AU fic Citation Needed was a collaboration with the incredible @festiveferret, and it is the most fun I've had writing fic.

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Cannot pick a favorite, but my first OTP was Mulder/Scully, and they will always have a special place in my heart.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

God what a painful question. 😅 I am a stubborn bastard, and I don't know if I've fully admitted defeat on any of my WIPs, even the ones I've neglected the most. But the WIP that's probably been waiting for my attention the longest is the sequel to my Stony fic Three Little Words; or, Five Times Steve and Tony Didn’t Actually Apologize + One Time They Did, which I cannot abandon or scrap for parts because I'm really attached to the bits that I have written, but which I haven't been able to make progress on for a long time. Bug me for snips about it if you like: I would love to be able to share what I have so far.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

A borderline aggressive amount of figurative language, narrative beats that feel layered, and I think I have a decent ear for dialogue.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm so, so, so inexpressibly slow, and I also build up increasing levels of anxiety about WIPs when I'm not getting outside perspectives about them, so I find it nearly impossible to write anything longer than 20k.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have experimented with this a little bit in the past, and I'm currently trying it again in a WIP in a language I'm not deeply familiar with, which is nerve-wracking. But I think it can be so effective when done well, and I'm excited to keep growing in that area.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Stony in the MCU: a missing-scene fic from Endgame

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

I love all my children equally, but my Codywan fic Recollection is probably the fic that felt most ambitious to me at the time that I wrote it: memory-related temporal shenanigans, surreal scene changes, some heavy psychic territory, and my very first smut scenes. I'm proud of how many new things I tried.

----

Open tags for anyone who would like to play!!! This was very fun: @ me with your answers if you'd like to join. <3<3<3

[scalamore]

[Alert] Please remember to support the manhwa teams!

Creating manhwa is difficult. Drawing a comic takes a ridiculous amount of time. Each week, artists are expected to upload a high quality, full color comic with at least 65 panels (cuts). How to best support these artists? #1 - Support them officially on the official platform of choice, tappy, tapas etc. This is by far, the best way to support them overseas.  - Supporting on kakaopage would be great too, but I don’t see many people willing to support in a language they can’t read, even if it’s cents per chapter.

#2 - follow their social media (twitter, instagram etc), and comment on their weekly release posts.  - shout out your praise of a pretty panel, of how much you like their work, how you look forward to every chapter, how you wish they have a good day, how you’ll continue to support them etc; make it as cheesy and fangirly as much as possible. Emojis are OK too.  - Even if they don’t have time to respond to every comment, they are always very happy to get comments, especially positive ones. Their thanks is implied.  - Artists are always happy to get international comments too, twitter has a handy translation feature so it’s super easy for them to get a quick translation - type your english, japanese, indonesian, spanish comments proudly! - mention you support them on tappytoon/tapas/whatever official site you use - they’ll love that too! Please DO NOT: - If you do, for whatever reason, read on an manhwa aggregate site (not official sites like tapas, tappy, etc) NEVER mention you read off an illegal manhwa aggregate site, you’ll literally make them demotivated and cry. They worked so hard, yet readers would read on an unofficial site instead of supporting officially? it hurts their soul. They’re already stressed and sleep deprived enough (refer to the post below from Luna Heng) - Excessively bother the creators by tagging them on stuff. They’re very busy creating the manhwa we love!! We don’t want them to be so uncomfortable that they turn off comments on their posts!! 

If you are financially able to, please support them officially! 

Because I have a part-time job, I have extra spending money so I: 1) Purchase the weekly chapters from kakaopage 2) Purchase the weekly chapters from Tappytoon 3) Purchase the physical books from KR sites for collection purposes 4) Occasionally post on the Artist’s twitter weekly to give them support

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More info below: It’s been documented how much stress artists are under to succeed and to provide entertainment for the readers (as well as deal with pressures from management. The most well known cases is of "Solo Leveling" artist Seongrak Jang (Dubu), who died  in 2022 due to a brain hemorrhage connected to chronic illness (1). Starting in 2023, after the controversy regarding  Juniljus, “Roxana”’s artist’s miscarriage from overwork in summer 2022, there were some changes in the main webtoon platform, kakaopage korea, allowing artists a 4 week on, 1 week off period in publication. However, this isn’t enough. Some statistics (2) 1. 28.7% of Webtoon writers that responded to the survey have depression, compared to the national average of 7.7% 2. 17.3% had suicidal thoughts, 8.5% planned it, 4% tried it. Nationals averages being (10.7%, 2.5%, 1.7%) respectively 3. Depression, Anxiety, & Sleep disorders were more likely to be diagnosed if the artist received negative comments. 4. The average amount of cuts per chapter is 60-70, this only includes sketches, not detailed art, or coloring so the real number is around 3 times that. 5. muscle disorders, and other body illnesses were high due to long periods of sitting. Web platforms are growing but so is anxiety about impressing readers, so authors are including more cuts. 6. 51% said their income was between 2-4 million won (1600-3200 USD)

With the statistics above, these Korean artists are under a TREMENDOUS amount of stress and pressure to meet their deadlines. Their “off” weeks are not meant for them to go on vacation, it’s for them to catch up and get a bit more sleep, but also to build their “saves” (future chapters). This is also true of when series goes on 3 months - 1 year or more hiatus: it’s not meant for a rest and relaxation period. The artists continue to draw, and build up a stash of chapters to post during the “active posting period.” Each artist’s drawing speed is different, but an estimation is that one panel can take on average 2-6  hours to draw (Suol, the artist for Villains are Destined to die mentioned in a tweet somewhere iirc). Some key frame panels take up to 12 hours to draw!.  Regarding “saves” - ideally the artist has 5+ saves ready for a smooth publication schedule, but most of the time, they only have 1 or less. That’s why it’s so common for series to take an extra week (or four) for an unexpected hiatus, because they literally don’t have any chapters to post, they’re literally finishing hours before the posting deadline. 

Social medias mentioned: 

twitter @NightWitch_0615 - Artist of  “A World Without You” twitter @binu_1209 - Artist of “The Viridescent Tiara” twitter @Domics714 - Artist of “The Lady's Dark Secret” insta @ zoosun816 - Artist of “I Stan the Prince” twitter  @_HENG_HENG -  Artist of “Villain Duke's Precious One" twitter @sano_ramyun - “Artist of “A Talented maid” 

Shortly after starting the Lady’s Dark Secret, DOHA was hospitalized. Here she points out how much her art changes based on how she feels - when she’s in good shape her art is quite beautiful, but when she’s trying to push through to meet deadlines when she isn’t, we see wonky proportions. All these artists work hard, but they get limited understanding from readers. It’s common to see readers pointing out how bad the art is... causing the artists pain because they really do try hard, but they have relentless deadlines to fulfill. 

Binu has been having health issues since the serialization of “A Viridescent Crown”. In response to DOHA’s post above, she also  mentioned she was hospitalized during the publication period of S2. During it’s run, netizens were quick to see that the quality of S2 dropped a lot, and many readers even dropped the series because of the drop in quality or poking fun at weirdly drawn art, the ML was not as hot as he used to be and has “a dorito chin”. Meanwhile she’s trying her best to finish her work, but has required a lot of breaks and hospitalizations to recover. Even so, S2 ended 10/2022, and the earliest estimation of a return will be sometime in Jan 2024 (14 month hiatus!). The Season 1 break was 8 months, and even then, that wasn’t enough. 

Lunaheng, the artist of “Villain duke’s precious one” seems to have avoided hospitalizations and poor health, but she still speaks out about working all day and getting few hours of sleep at night. She even had to post it twice in english to try to stop readers from reading it from unofficial sites! I can’t find the tweet (because she’s so active on twitter), but  Night Witch, the artist of  “ A World Without You” was actually hospitalized in March 2023 while working on two series at the same time. She had a family member post updates for her while she was recovering to not disrupt the posting schedule. zoosun, the artist of “I Stan the Prince”, has had health issues limiting her ability to draw. The last chapter was posted 12/2021, and is projected to resume serialization 8/2023.  Even Hayeon, the artist for YM, had some health issues 12/2022 where she took 5 weeks off to recover. She seems to be doing better this year though >< 

Sanho, the artist for “A Talented Maid”, revealed she had issues after finishing the second season. She went on an extended hiatus from 6/2021-12/2022, about 18 months. Despite having depression and being on medication, and having a herniated disk (which is known to develop/worsen from poor sitting habits like slouching or sitting for long hours), she still tried to push through and it really took a toll on her health, which caused her to extend the hiatus even more.

As you can see, these creators work really hard to create content for readers. They really do sacrifice their well-being to create. Yes, the workforce is harsh, the business model is exploitive, but at least for us, as overseas readers, we can support them by purchasing the official versions if they’re available in our country.

Sources: 1) https://twitter.com/Manhwabang_/status/1611503074325024768?s=20 2) https://t.co/kEZnwFV4Pe, https://t.co/7cIN8965hq