#also the tentative title of the movie they’re making within the fic

[leaves-of-laurelin]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Thank you to @cha-melodius for the tag!

Me: “You just finished a multi-chapter, give yourself self a break before starting a new one.” Also me: “Ok, but what if…” lol. Anyway, this is still in its infancy but here we go:

“I don’t think that’s a very wise idea.”

“Come on, neither of us have to be on set tomorrow. Let’s go fucking live a little.”

“No,” Henry says, his voice louder than before, his tone firm and final.

Alex’s ideas of what could happen that night—a reluctant smile from Henry and then Henry slowly loosing up after a few drinks, the two of them laughing and having fun playing wingman to each other—all evaporate in an instant and Alex is left with the silence of the room, with Henry’s stiff posture and slightly horrified eyes. A stark, cold reminder that they are very much not friends. They are co-workers, professional acquaintances who act civil for everyone else’s sake; it’s how it was during the last movie and Henry clearly has no interest in any of that changing now.

No pressure tags: @inexplicablymine @rmd-writes @dumbpeachjuice @daisymae-12 @cricketnationrise and anyone else who wants to share

[therebelcaptainnetwork]

September Fic Recs: Longfics!

For September, I thought I’d dig up a few of my favorite longfics to share with y’all. In this case, a longfic is defined as a single story over 10k with multiple chapters. These are all complete because that’s the way I read longfics, but if you have or know a WIP that you want to share, do let me know!

Even as a Shadow, Even as a Dream by theputterer

11 chapters, 46k, Annihilation AU, horror and death

Based on the movie Annihilation, this story follows Jyn Erso, pressured by the FBI to find her elusive father, who built a weapon on an island surrounded by a mysterious and terrifying phenomenon known as the Shimmer that bends reality. With a team issued to her by the FBI, she heads in to maybe save the world. Or maybe not. When they get to the island, they slowly discover what’s really going on - with the Shimmer, and within themselves.

If you have a low tolerance for horror and gore, this one might not be for you. On the other hand, I devoured it, and I’m a tender flower who runs screaming from horror, so YMMV. Also, I’ve never seen the original movie and I still ate it up, so that’s not necessary either.

A Light to You (in dark places) by @skitzofreak

3 chapters, 35k, canon ‘verse

According to the author’s note, this is based on the 1918 Christmas Truce. If you know that story, you know this one has Rebelcap and Co. in battle on a snowy planet, right around the time of a Christmas analogue called the Festival of Light (or Light Night, there’s a few different renderings throughout the story.) An unexpected truce with stormtroopers, also trapped, bring light to the dark night they’re all experiencing.

I make no bones about how much I love this author, but even for her this was a home run. As always, the sense of a Rebellion at war is the best rendered I’ve ever seen, but there’s also difficulties in Jyn and Cassian’s relationship (resolved at the end, just in case you were worried) that ring beautifully true.

Floating, Sinking by @shu-of-the-wind

36 chapters, 191k, canon ‘verse

Jyn wakes up in the med ward on Yavin IV, to find herself an unexpected hero of the Rebellion. But she still has to deal with the aftermath of Scarif, both mental and physical, and work out what’s going on with her tentative relationship with Cassian. And of course, the Empire has recaptured the plans, so that’s not ideal.

In the very early days of the rebelcap fandom (the first chapter was posted nine days after the movie’s premiere and contains dire warnings of spoilers for the movie within), you couldn’t scroll through the tag without someone mentioning this story. It took all my willpower to leave this one until it was finished, but finished it was, and worth the wait.

As always, if you’re one of the authors featured and would like me to change anything about the way I’ve listed your story, please drop me a line via PM or ask and I would be pleased to edit.

If you have a story to rec for next month’s round-up, drop me a line via PM or ask with the title, a link to the story, and maybe a few words about why you liked it, and I’ll include it with your handle next time.

Also, I seem to have fallen into doing themed lists. Have you got a theme you’d like to see? Let me know!

Happy reading! Love, @mosylufanfic

ETA: An early version of this post went out before I was ready. Darn slippery fingers! Please reblog this one.

[chloes-yellow-cup]

2018 Fic Roundup

I was tagged by @lets-talk-appella​ and I'm a bit in awe at how much she's written in the past year.

AO3 Stats

Total Word Count: 319,663 (Holy crap, really?)

Total Hits: 34022 Kudos: 1375 Comment Threads: 295 (If this counts my replies, divide that in half) Bookmarks: 313 Subscriptions: 195 User Subscriptions: 81

FFN is a bit trickier as it breaks down Views/Visitors per month so with a grain of salt: 34930/16077

Links & Titles to 2018 Works: (These notes may get a little long winded, sorry!)

Candy Wars: - 3,391 words, T Established Bechloe fluff with a dash of Staubrey and Bella Hijinks. Inspired by a tweet. Takes place post retreat, pre-Worlds, added in my A Shared Lifetime series.

Getting Even - 11,377 words, M Inspired by Perdition by @morningsound15​ and actually the first thing I started writing, for all that I posted CW first. Established Bechloe in Beca’s sophomore year. Much smut and later added to my A Shared Lifetime series.

One Million Kisses - 4,450 words, G

Mitchsen AU oneshot from a prompt request. So much fluff, Drunken Mitchsen and handstands.

Nowish - 102,144 words, M Bechloe, Staubrey. Bellas Squared. My first multi-chap and I could spend a lifetime talking about it. It started out as a joke: Can I write a scene with a foursome? And I couldn’t just throw them all into bed (I mean, I could but I wanted to build it up a bit.) 8 chapters later I created a life and a universe that I fell in love with and changed my entire life, how I view these four characters and gave me amazing new friends.

Leap of Faith - 8,146 words, M Bechloe neighbor AU from @lilhan​ for her birthday. Fluff and smut.  Prompt: Your window was open and you live across from me so I saw and heard you in your underwear, singing and dancing ridiculously and I really wanna get to know you cause you're pretty hot and I might have a crush on you AU.

Third Time’s the Charm - 11,410 words, T Bechloe Disney AU for Bechloe Week 2018 (though I had the idea before then.)  Beca’s got this rule, and there’s this Disney Princess... Humor and fluff with appearances from Stacie, Emily, Cynthia Rose and my now inevitable Staubrey side pairing.

Unknown Number - 649 words, G Post USO Staubrey Angst. Part of my Nowish universe:  Idea: What if Beca had called Stacie while she and Amy were on their way to save the Bellas? First in a newly established Fic Tease series, in which I post small bits that I can’t wait to share. So far the things posted here are part of a larger, future, PP3 story, but I’m pretty sure I’ll start posting random scenes that might not end up anywhere else.

Tattoos - 11,991 words, M Second Fic Tease entry. After brainstorming with my beta, @tiny-maus-boots​, we came up with the idea of Aubrey getting the rest of the girls gifts. As I realize the impact this world had on my life, I decided to get them as tattoos because they’re just that important to me. And this chapter was born - though it could stand as a oneshot on it’s own, honestly.

They Had Time - 148,183 words, M My Bechloe endgame rewrite of the first movie. Back when writing Getting Even, I had originally thought of writing a scene or two that put Bechloe together in the first movie. It was horribly rushed and totally unpolished. After GE, I decided to maybe do a transcription of the first movie, giving both their thoughts on key scenes. Then Nowish happened and Time got put on hold until it was done. When I came back to it, I had a whole host of future threads that I could weave through Time that would pay off in Nowish. Including, but not limited to, the groundwork for the Rise of Staubrey™, coming soon to a story near you.

The Middle - 17,922 words, M Poly Bellas Squared Oneshot, post Nowish. (Pre Tattoos.) The girls have some downtime, Stacie gets bored and more fluff and smut ensue. (I sense a theme in my works here.)

Favorite Fic: This is like asking a parent to pick their favorite kid. Nowish, probably. It was so hard but I’m so proud of it. Getting Even because it started me down this path. All my Oneshots (Kisses seriously becomes more adorable to me the more I write Mitchsen.) are also precious angels.

Hardest Fic: Nowish and Time. There were so many pieces to both of these that I almost gave up writing them - many times. Nowish because putting together these 4 in a realistic way was... stressful. And Time because I had to get it right - both in terms of putting Bechloe together and to fit within my new AU.

Do you plan on taking prompts in 2019? This is always tentative - coming up with ideas off of prompts takes me a small eternity. Of course, coming up with ideas in general takes that long so... maybe, but don’t count on it to be quick, lol.

What was the best thing about 2018? Writing again for the first time in fifteen years. Finding a place - a home - in this fandom. Everyone has always been so welcoming and supportive. Making new and amazing friends that I can’t imagine not talking to every day. 

There’s too many to name here, but these guys in particular have been amazing in their support: @nailbiting-fangirl, @lilhan, @fandom-heaux, @kate-harper, @rejection-isnt-failure, @c-k-mack​, @lets-talk-appella​. 

I’d mention @tiny-maus-boots but she’s been my bestie for half my life, not just 2018.

What was the worst thing about 2018? I had some serious depression issues for the first half of the year but the unswerving support of Maus and finding my writing voice has helped (mostly) pull me out of it. Self doubt. Writers block. Smut block. Not enough time to write.

Any last thoughts for 2018? This has been a wild ride and thank you to everyone who has made this year so amazing.

Goals for 2019: Write the multitude of ideas currently sitting in my “To-do” list which includes, but is not limited to: PP2, PP3, College Smutshots, Post Nowish Smutshots, Diner AU.

MAN I’m wordy!  Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this entire ramble and to everyone who has ever sent me feedback here, on AO3 or FFN. Your support has gotten me through an emotionally difficult year.

I’m totally going to make @kate-harper do this now.

[weretheoneswhowrite]

Getting to know you....

We at WTOWW have got a real treat for all of our faithful readers!  We have a fun and exciting series that we're excited to debut today!

Want to know what's your favorite writers process for cranking out these engaging stories? Want to know how they build such realistic worlds and impressive dialogue?

Well now you can as we asked our talented spectrum of writers a few questions that will help you get to know them better.

These ladies really put in the work to bring you the stories we all love to obsess over and WTOWW are very happy we took the time to get to know them so much better!

First up we have @jonesywrites​ aka Kendra. She is a heavy hitter and a permanent marker in the Richonne Fanfiction hall of fame for her pieces like Bad Thangs,  Machine Heart and Vantage Point and a host of other great stories that are not limited to only the Richonne Fandom. Her talent for world building is really unmatched, it was fun getting to pick her brain.

So take a few moments to relax, let's get to know Kendra a little better.

Why is Richonne so fun to write?

 “I'm a huge romantic. Richonne's chemistry has always been so intense on screen, which is exactly what drew me to them. Exploring that chemistry in my writing is a total thrill because so much of my writing relies on details that the actors give me in abundance. Getting those details right (true to what you see on screen) makes me sooo happy as a writer.”

Do you have a writing schedule? 

“Ha! I wish I did. I'm all over the place. It's hard to find the time to really dive in, so I'm stuck writing a paragraph here or there during the work week. I try to devote at least one day or a few hours on the weekends, but there's always so much to do, so I can only really update every now and then. It's a miracle if I can get back to back updates done.”

What is your editing process?

“ I will rewrite something a hundred times until I feel it captures what I want to convey perfectly. It takes me a long time to finish an update because I'm constantly going back to re-read it and edit it as I write.”

What drew you to fanfiction?

 “I've been a writer since I was a little girl, but when it came to the stories I watched or read, I was always thinking of the characters I liked doing things that had nothing to do with the original plot. Scenes would come like visions in my head while going about my day or trying to sleep. Someone told me about fanfiction when I was in college and I decided to just go for it. Been hooked ever since.”

What has writing fanfiction taught you about being a writer?

 “It has taught me humility, not to compare myself to others (to find my own unique voice and stay true to it), and it has helped me better understand my strengths and weaknesses as a storyteller. I move at my own pace but in my opinion taking time to focus on the things that make me a happy reader makes me a better writer.”

Who outside the fandom knows you write fanfiction? 

“Not many people. Close friends. It's still not something people take seriously within the circles I work in. Being a copywriter, living in Hollywood trying to become a television writer, you just don't admit to writing fanfiction. At least not unless you intend to make a big joke out of it and get major side-eye for your trouble. ::shrug:: So I don't talk about it.”

How many people know you're a writer? 

“Everyone I meet. I write for work, and I network a lot with folks out here trying to do what I am trying to do -- get into a television writer's room. It's an intrinsic part of me that I will always lead with. "Hello, my name is Kendra and I am a writer."

Where do you see your writing taking you? 

“Hopefully to creating my own shows or finally finishing my first book. Time will tell.”

Do you have advice for writers just starting out?

 “Don't give up. Find your voice and stay true to it. Don't compare yourself to others, it's a waste of time. Their voice is not yours. People want to read what you have to say, specifically you. Only you can say it your way, so find your way and go for it. Ask questions, lots of questions, of other writers because we're a community and we want to see each other succeed. Tell the story you want to read, not the story everyone else thinks you should tell.”

What do you wish you knew before posting your first chapter?

 “I wish that I knew how to manage my time better. Heh.”

How many writing playlists do you have? Does your music have to change with what you write?

“ I make a playlist for every story I write that encapsulates that story's mood/world. I've been doing this for years, there's no other way for me. I must have music to write to and I must share it with my readers. Everything I publish was written to a musical score. They're all available on Spotify, too. Just look for the title of the fic or my user name, kendrawriter.”

How many projects do you have going on right now?

“ I have quite a few, it's all a jumble. Four open Richonne fics, one open WestAllen fic, a tv script and the tentative start to a young adult novel. Ehhhhhhh....I know. I know.”

Have you ever written a scene that’s made you cry? 

“Once, in my first Doctor Who fic, Nightfall. An original character in that story that I based off of my grandmother died in the story. My grandma was very ill at the time and we feared the worst (she passed away a couple of year ago). Writing her death scene was tough. To this day I'm not sure why I did that to myself, but at the time it made sense for the drama of the plot.”

Where do you get your best story ideas?

“I take inspiration from literally everything. My best ideas have come from me just really wanting to see something and obsessing over how to write it until it's in the story. But I base a lot of things off movie or TV references from all the many, many I've watched since childhood. Machine Heart, for example, blends about 100 references from all my favorite sc-fi stuff -- Star Trek, Aliens, Black Mirror, Terminator, The Matrix, Strange Days, The Fifth Element, the list goes on...”

Do you have a solution for when you’re stuck? 

“Just let it pass. It happens all the time, and over the years I've learned to just let it happen until I'm inspired again. Because once I'm inspired again, I go into THE ZONE and I'll write like crazy for days on end.”

What does WTOWW mean to you?

“ It's a community for me. It's full of really amazing, kind, funny, smart, talented women that I'm beyond grateful to know. Also, it's an opportunity to give less known writers a platform, and dive into some great writing prompts I otherwise wouldn't think of.”

Thank you Kendra for taking the time to share your story. 

-We’re The Ones Who Write

[bkwrm523]

Late Night Cravings

Title: Late Night Cravings Rating: Explicit Pairing: Black Hat/reader Word Count: 3160 Warnings: Smut, BLOODPLAY!  Seriously, if there’s anything that squiks your about oral, vampires, bloodplay, etc DO NOT READ!  It’s pretty heavy in the fic, so proceed with caution! Tags: @mysupernaturalfics @vintagevalentinexx @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @cookingglitterfairy @kittenofdoomage @catsoftheapocalypse @imoutofmyvulcanmind @starshiphufflebadger @yourtropegirl Summary: The reader discovers an interesting new fact about vampires. Author’s Note: This comes from a general vampire headcanon shared by me and @medicatemedrmccoy .  Another note; this is in the world of the movie Priest.  And I’m making Black Hat’s name Vascar.  Said name comes from this article.  Also, this has been beta’d by @outside-the-government 

“Remind me again why I have to sit in this thing?”  You asked your boyfriend, glaring up at him from inside the metal cage he had you locked in.  He gave a put-upon sigh, and looked down at you, lounging on the floor of your cell.

“Because, I’m not the only vampire in the place, darlin’.  The others aren’t as friendly as I am.  Gotta keep you safe.”  He explained to you, his voice a little tense.  He was probably tired of arguing with you over this.  Truth be told, you weren’t quite as annoyed as you seemed.  Yes, it was irritating.  But dating a vampire came with some downsides, and you trusted him to keep you safe.  But ruffling his feathers was fun; you were the only one who could get away with it.

“Couldn’t you protect me?”  You asked, a little wheedling slipping out into your voice despite your efforts to suppress it.  He narrowed his eyes at you, easily seeing through your bad attempt to hide your amusement.

“You keep talking to me like that, they’re gonna get ideas.”  He drawled at you.

“Nah, they know I’m the only one that can get away with it.”  You replied, smirking at him.  Vascar’s back was to you, but you saw your boyfriend’s shoulders move a little in a chuckle, and you knew you had him.

Then, it was like a ripple went through the vampires in the room.  Everyone, including Vascar, just stopped moving for a second.  Vascar froze with everyone else, then gave a deep sigh.

“Sweetheart, I really wish you’d’ve said something.”  He told you, sounding resigned.  You were just confused.  What the hell just happened?

You didn’t have time to ask him about it, however, as every vampire in the place went nuts.  You flinched and fought a shriek as they lunged at the cage bars.  You drew your legs up to your chest, huddling in the middle of the cage with wide eyes.  You were only under attack for a moment, before Vascar moved.  He snarled at the surrounding vampires, making the nearby ones hesitate.  He moved, almost too quick to follow as your eyes tracked him.  He tore his way through all those crawling at your cage, tossing them away and ripping into them with hands and knives and fangs.  You were caught between warring fear and desire as you watched him move.  Yeah, it was terrifying, but you couldn’t help but be insanely turned on as he defended you.  Though you felt a little guilty for it.  You weren’t the kind of girl to go looking for trouble just to get a stupid cheap thrill.  You wouldn’t toy with him like that.

But…

Him in action was never a sight to miss.  Every snarl and growl he gave went right between your legs, and you bit your lip to suppress the whimpers that threatened to emerge.

It was over in minutes.  Vascar was left with his back to you again, hat somehow still perfectly in place, and panting hard.

“Baby?”  You asked tentatively, still worried.  “You okay?”

“I really wish you’d warned me.”  Vascar repeated his earlier words.  You frowned.

“Warned you what?  What just happened?!”  You demanded, exasperation replacing your worry.  Vascar turned to look at you, frowning a little.

“You don’t know?  I thought-” He asked, as puzzled as you were.  He let out a breath, then walked over to the cage, crouching just in front of the bars.  He smiled at you, trying to be gentle, but you saw lust shining through his eyes.  “Sweetheart, you just- uh, it’s that time of month.”  It took you a minute to process his words.

“It is?  Wait, how did you know that before me?”  The words burst out of you, more a reaction than anything else.  He dropped his head and chuckled.

“Darlin’, I can smell the blood in you, remember?  I can definitely tell the second you start bleeding.”  Gentle amusement was in his voice.

“So, what, that made them go nuts?  Doesn’t make sense.  I mean, they don’t do that just because someone gets a papercut.  Right?”

He paused a moment, glancing away and shifting his weight uncomfortably.  You tilted your head and watched him, just waiting patiently for what was seeming like more and more of an awkward explanation.

“Ah, it’s, uhm.  Your, uh-” Vascar, your alpha vampire, afraid of nothing, struggled for words.  You smiled, suppressing laughter.  No need to make the poor man even more embarrassed.

“Menstrual blood?”  You suggested, trying with limited success to conceal your delight.

“Yeah.  That.  It, uh, well, it doesn’t taste like normal blood.  Dunno why.”

“What does it taste like?”  That wasn’t a question you usually asked him, but you couldn’t help but be curious now.

Vascar hummed in thought, glancing away again.  His pupils dilated, and you saw the same look on his face that he got when he was about to eat you out.  It made your breath catch and lust momentarily floored you again.  “Like… liquid chocolate.  If regular blood is dinner, that stuff is dessert.”  He looked back at you, and you saw him repressing his desire again, forcefully controlling himself.  “And it’s not exactly at every corner store.  Not something we get to have often.  Darlin’, right now you smell like the tastiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You swallowed, caught in his gaze.  Your breath actually heaved.  His nostrils flared, and you were sure he could smell how aroused he was getting you.  He held your gaze for a long moment, before he stood and started pacing, not looking at you.  You licked suddenly dry lips and swallowed, struggling a little to find your voice.

“You could come in here.”  This was the moment to say something witty and sultry, but in the heat of the moment, you couldn’t come up with anything.  Judging by the way he abruptly froze, however, you assumed he got your point.  There was another moment of charged silence, and he didn’t turn to look at you.  The moment eventually passed, and he gave a huge sigh.

“I’m not the only vampire here, darlin’.  Gotta keep you in there to keep you safe.”  He finally replied.  He stood there another moment before he resumed pacing around the room.

It would be another hour before sunset.  Sunset when he’d be able to let the other vampires out, and you’d be alone.  You bit back a curse, and watched him pace around the room.  His movements were different now; there was a noticeable tension even to your untrained eyes.

You fidgeted in the cage, bored and horny.  Waiting for sunset was agony for you, but you were sure it was much worse for him.  He didn’t look at you much; occasional furtive glances, filled with lust and hunger and need.  They captured your eyes and stole your breath every time, but never lingered for long.  A part of you badly wanted to shove a hand down your pants and start getting yourself off.  A goad to get him to just get in there and touch you already!  But sense won through; you knew that there was a good reason he wouldn’t go into your cage just yet, and you found the self control to resist the urge.

You were positive he could smell how wet you were for him, though.

Eventually, there was a loud clank, startling you.  Vascar went to one wall and opened the enormous door, revealing a mass of desert.  Dark desert.  The sun had fallen.

The vampires left the room en masse, leaving you and Vascar alone within moments.  He hit the large switch again, closing the doors with a loud clunk and leaving you both alone in the room.  Then, he just stood there, infuriatingly, with the only sound in the room being your breath.

“One last time, baby girl.  I need to know you understand what I’m asking.  Are you sure you want me to do this?”  Vascar asked you.  His back was still to you, and he was panting hard.  You could hear the strain of self control in his voice.  He was fighting himself hard for you.

“Yes.”  You wanted to scream the word, to beg or demand that he get in there with you already.  But all you could get out was a barely audible whisper, desire stealing your ability to speak much louder than a whimper.

It was enough, however.  Vascar actually snarled, and he was over at the door of your cell faster than you could follow.  He fumbled in his pockets for the key, struggling with the lock before he ripped the door open.

“Mine,” he snarled, moments before his lips captured yours in a brief but passionate and demanding kiss.  He released your lips soon, his hands ripping at your pants and panties with superhuman strength.  They were in shreds and off you in moments, and he pounced.  He snarled again, and you felt his lips on you and tongue inside you.

You’d just spent a solid hour wanting him from a distance.  You were more than ready for something inside you.

Your shoulders hit the floor, and your back arched as his strong hands grabbed your hips and pulled you into his face.  The brim of his hat brushed against your hips; he didn’t bother to remove anything before he buried his face in you, his tongue wiggling inside you in search of every last drop.  There was no escaping his grip as you wiggled helplessly on the floor, his tongue seeking and stroking your spasming walls.  Your hands scratched at the wooden floor, unable to reach him.  You glanced down your body, only able to see the hat getting pushed off his head as he tried to push his face further into you, his stubble scratching at your sensitive skin and driving you higher.  You couldn’t see his head or torso, as the hat hid his body from the angle you were at.  You could hear him making little hungry noises as he eagerly ate you out, and you felt more than heard him give a moan that vibrated your insides slightly.  You whined, writhing on the floor; you couldn’t lay still as his tongue penetrated you.

How the hat was still in place was an utter mystery to you as your hips tried to writhe from within his strong grip and his face was buried in you.  His nose brushed your clit firmly, repeatedly as his tongue sought out your gspot.  He found it with startling speed, stimulating you relentlessly until tears were leaking from your eyes.  Your legs shook, your orgasm building quickly and surprising you.  You trembled uncontrollably as you came into his mouth, screaming his name and arching impossibly.  He snarled again, and you distantly saw him trying to wiggle closer as he eagerly lapped up your cum, his tongue milking your orgasm on.

You fell back down to the floor, literally and figuratively, panting hard.  You couldn’t really move, the intensity of your orgasm having stolen all the energy you had.  You felt him retreat from you, but didn’t move to look at what he was doing, focusing on just lying there and trying to catch your breath.

The mystery was solved moments later when he scooped you up in his arms.  He didn’t cradle you, just held you to his chest.  You managed to wrap your arms around his shoulders and let your head just loll against his chest, breathing in his unique scent as you continued to gasp for air.  You felt his hands on your thighs a moment later, pulling the exhausted muscles around his waist.  You let your legs hang in his hands, the vampire easily able to support your weight.  He hummed softly as he moved, and you felt him place a gentle kiss on your head.  He walked, taking you from the room.  You didn’t bother to try and look where he was taking you too; much too much effort required.

He laid you down on a bed, a small wordless happy noise emerging from you when your back hit the soft sheets.  Vascar gave you a tender smile, making you smile back at him.  Your eyes tracked him through the room as he moved; first he went to the heavy metal door that was the room’s only access, and shut it, sliding the bar across the entryway to lock it.  He moved back to you, walking slowly and shedding his clothes as he went, dropping them heedlessly on the ground.  His yellow eyes were fixed on you as he went, warring hunger and tenderness in them.  It was then that you remembered that you were still wearing your shirt and bra (apparently he’d taken your shoes and socks earlier).  You knew you should take them off, but the movement just took too much work, and you couldn’t make yourself do it.

When he finally reached you, Vascar just sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at you with that tender expression again.  His hand brushed an errant lock of hair out of your face, and you turned your head to nuzzle into his hand.  He smiled at you again.

“Need some help with that, baby?”  He asked, his hand drifting down to your shirt.  You just nodded at him, squirming a little as you tried to sit up enough to let him pull the shirt over your head.

You needn’t have bothered.  Vascar just ripped the shirt and bra, same as he’d done with the rest of your clothes, and flung the ruined scraps away from the bed.  You expected him to take you again, especially given that his cock was fully erect and had to be painfully hard now.  You were startled when all he did was lay next to you, pulling you into his arms, and cuddled you.  He buried his face in your neck and just nuzzled the skin there.  You mumbled his name and let your eyes slide half shut, basking in the glow of his affection.

“How’re you feelin’, sweetheart?”  Vascar mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled.  You didn’t reply verbally, just gave a little contented moan.  He chuckled.

You weren’t used to this side of him.  Not that he mistreated you, or didn’t show you enough affection.  But this… a needy, affectionate cuddlebug verging on submissive?  Not the norm for him.  He hummed again and wiggled closer to you.

“Need anything, baby girl?  Water, food?”  He asked you softly.

“‘M okay.”  You replied, a little groggy.  You had just about caught your breath, and his cuddling and gently stroking your side had you about to fall asleep.

“You gonna let me eat you again?”  He asked.  There was no demand in his voice, but he almost whined the words, and you felt his hips flex against your hip, pressing his erection into you.  A smirk grew on your face.  You shouldn’t tease him, but... Screw it.  Too much fun to miss.

“Hmmmm,” you hummed, pretending to mull it over.  He made a piteous little whine into your neck, and ground his erection into you.

“Please, babygirl.  Do anything you say.  Just wanna lick you out all night.  Please.”  He whined and moaned, nipping gently at your neck.

Fuck.  He was begging and whining and grinding into you; you didn’t think you could get more turned on after that hour of not being able to touch each other.  You were wrong.

“Fuck, yes.”  You moaned, the words escaping you before you realized you were speaking.  Vascar’s eyes lit up with delight, and he moved too fast for you to see.

Before you knew it, his face was pressed into your folds again, his tongue licking your outer folds clean before delving into you.  You gave a loud cry and squeezed your eyes shut, your hands fumbling in the blankets as your back arched.  His hand found one of yours and just held it, his other hand holding your hips steady as he ravenously ate you out again.  The wet muscle pushed inside of you, caressing your walls and lapping up everything he found.  Without his hat, you had a nice, unobstructed view of his ass this time.  You bit your lip, trying and failing to hold in moans as his ass flexed, grinding his erection into the blankets.  You distantly wondered if he would come from this, but with him devotedly eating you out, there was little room in your brain for intelligible thought.

You tried to call his name, but the closest you could manage to words were random vowels, drawn out the more he stimulated you.  His nose nudged your clit again, nearly making your eyes cross with pleasure.  You were still sensitive after the orgasm he’d given you in the cage, and you were getting alarmingly close.  Vascar growled into you, his ass flexing as he tried to squirm closer to you.  You clenched his hand hard, crying out as you were moments from the edge.  His tongue found your gspot, licking and stroking it until you screamed and came again.  His hand held yours tightly, his other hand still had a deathgrip on your hip, preventing you from wiggling away from him as he nipped and sucked and licked every inch of you, drawing your orgasm out again until tears leaked from your eyes.  You tried to plead with him to let you down, but words wouldn’t escape your throat.  Another orgasm sparked from the embers of the last, throwing you higher again, screaming until your throat felt sore.

You quickly lost track of how many orgasms you had before he finally let you down, moving up your body and cuddling you tenderly.  The night progressed like that, thankfully with plenty of breaks in between his mouth making you scream with delight.

“Sun’s coming up,” you slurred hours later, barely able to string two thoughts together.  “Dontcha need to eat?”  You could barely move, but you still couldn’t help worrying about him.  He’d need to sleep soon, and he had to eat something before he slept.  Right?

“Nah,” Vascar hummed, cuddling your exhausted and spent body into his.  “I got plenty to eat tonight, thanks to you.”  Your body tried to be aroused at his statement, it really did.  But you had nothing left at this point, and all you could manage was a tired moan.  Vascar laughed again and kissed your forehead.

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re the best person I’ve ever met?”  Vascar praised you softly, drawing a tired smile to your face.

“I love you too.”  You slurred.  You didn’t look at him; moving your head took too much effort.  You’d probably sleep at least as long as he did today.  Until he woke you up at night, cuddly and tender, ready to tend to your every need until you were ready to let him lick you clean again.

[sanerontheinside]

made-up fic title meme: "Armored Heart[s]," please?

I remember @peskylilcritter came up with Armored Hearts, right? A Republic-era show for Obi-Wan to fangirl over? *giggles*pssssst @deadcatwithaflamethrower lookie here another Otherwhen AUalso I drop OCs like I spawn AUs, which is to say, a lotalso also on a night like tonight when norcumi and @pumpkin-lith are apparently engaged in an angst-off, I must, I must, I must bring the … less… angsty things………. I’m bad at this.

Okay here we go: 

Silver Greene is not a stage name. 

She was born with a name that belongs on the stage and she’s known, since the beginning, that that is where she will go. She watches people, watches the minutest reactions, commits them to memory and dissects them in her mind. She can read the softest shifts and mimic the motions like second nature. In the language of touches and fleeting expressions and passing glances and soulful looks, she has the dictionary committed to memory, and nothing can challenge her knowledge of it. She can creep into someone’s mind, reading those shifts. She can choose what to telegraph, what to project, to recreate their likeness in herself. 

She’s going to the Core Worlds, to Alderaan. 

She’s going to be an actress. 

It’s exciting, this, exciting that she has a gift the Empire values. It’s more than acting, it’s a way to give back to those she loves most. Whatever money she makes, it will go back to her family, her friends, to the people who raised her. It’ll pay for medical supplies, for food. If she can trade on her appearance and skill for their sake, she’ll do it in a heartbeat. 

Alderaan is a beautiful world. It is dignity and elegance and grace, and while the grey of Imperial oppression still bleeds out colour at the edges, Silver finds herself drawing a deep breath of air clear as the crystal mountain lakes, pure as the snow on its white mountains. Lothal is home, but Alderaan greets her with open arms, uncaring of who she is and where she’s from. It’s a welcome like the Empire would never give: those who determined her worthy of a scholarship and a Core World education had judged her appearance and her precisely mirrored mannerisms. 

Alderaan accepts her as she comes. Alderaan teaches her to be anyone and everyone. 

Alderaan also teaches her to play the politician. It’s an interesting school, this: with so many students from less privileged Empire worlds, they are given classes on politics, as well. Alderaan’s Academy of the Arts is perhaps unique in that they are very clear on the importance of where their students are from. You have a voice in the Empire now, we are teaching you to speak for your own people. It’s never expressly stated, but the role of diplomacy and etiquette is a subject of deep and frequent study. 

Acting gives her freedom, as it always has. It gives her the poise to walk into a room and claim, without words, that she belongs - and people always believe her. We are teaching you to be safe, the Academy does not say. 

But then, Leia Organa is also a subject of frequent study, rising fast in her own political career. There is nothing safe about her. 

What she doesn’t quite expect, though, is that outside the Academy, there is far less of this freedom. Oh, it should have been obvious, but the Academy schooling was built primarily on old plays, and some old Republic-era films that no one mentions, because according to one decree or another, most of them had been ‘destroyed’. In the archives, in the belly of the Academy’s library, there is a treasure trove of old film. This doesn’t prepare her for the limited set of roles the Empire has to offer. The opportunities are… monotone. Drab. Grey. Like the Empire itself. The movies all tell the same stories. 

She’s not doing this for its interest value, of course. She’s doing this for her family, for her people. The situation on Lothal is growing desperate, and Silver fights for them tooth and nail every chance she gets to speak. By now, her face is well-known, and her pleas have a chance of sparking outrage. Senator Organa speaks for Lothal, adding weight to her pleas before the Imperial Senate. 

It doesn’t help, not really. When Tarkin burns all their fields, Silver watches the triumphant holostream with a hand over her mouth and a breaking heart, but there are no tears in her eyes. The sense of drab inevitability is pervasive, it’s starting to settle in her bones. She still sends them what she can, funds relief efforts, raises money for the supplies they need. It’s not enough. 

But she suspends her projects all the same, first chance she gets. Silver’s name is well-known, well-liked, by now. She has some freedom by now to come and go as she sees fit, though she exercises it rarely. 

It’s another relief effort for Lothal, with the help of Princess Leia of Alderaan. Silver barely recognises her home from the scorched remains, almost chokes on the air that used to be cleaner, once. Leia Organa looks at her with sympathy and a steely determination that Silver has always respected. 

At every turn, they’re met with some Imp who seems to think they are outside protocol and procedure. It takes all of Silver’s training not to laugh behind Leia’s back while the Princess boldly passes through all their red tape with the single-mindedness of a gunship or a battering ram, but there are times when Silver’s fame and cajolery stand them in greater stead. In the end, Silver lands with her feet on the ground, vaccinating the children and immunocompromised who come to the relief tents while Leia angrily throws out those who come out of order, or to interfere. 

Leia Organa is a force of nature. 

But she’s also a rising power in the Senate, and eventually she is needed elsewhere. Silver embraces her before she leaves, feeling the hum of some greater power in her arms, thinking that this woman could bring the Empire to its knees with her words and her fire, and hoping that one day she’ll live to see it. 

The next few months are a bit of a haze. 

There’s the work. There’s so much to be done, it’s exhausting and almost mechanical. Then there’s the headache and the occasional numbness in her jaw. She doesn’t give it much thought at first - it’s something she’ll take care of back in Imperial medical facilities. She has a tooth that needs repair anyway. No sense in bothering overworked medics with already limited supplies and too many patients. She doesn’t want to take from those who need that care and those supplies far more than she does. 

Her mother would have told her she was being stupid. Her mother would have been right. 

One of the medics corners her in the hall and raises all hell before Silver gets any real idea of what’s going on. Then again, that’s more or less her fault, too, because she can’t quite pierce through the fog around her for long enough to understand what they’re saying, and why they sound so worried. 

They can’t do much for her here, not at this point. They take her to the Imperial base, where the officers in charge - the very same officers whom she’d talked into letting her and Princess Organa pass through with their supplies - claim not to know her. Petty revenge, she thinks, and wants to laugh, because what else is there to do when she’s practically delirious. But by now it hurts too much to do even that. 

For another few days it’s heat and pain and it won’t end. Then, suddenly, it’s gone. 

When she wakes in cool, pale light, in what is definitely a higher class of Imperial medical facility, Silver doesn’t quite know what to think. When Tarkin comes in to give her his best wishes for her health, she does her best to respond with her usual poise and grace, though she is completely bewildered. 

Everyone on Lothal knows what Tarkin is. Tarkin is a monster. Yet his timely appearance saved her life: she is in his medbay, the private medbay on his ship. 

Tarkin is astonishingly polite and gentle, with a twist to his smile that speaks of fondness and a whisper of regret. He regards her with with an air of wry indulgence. We appreciate the work you’ve been doing, says the tilt of his head, the positively doting slant of his eyes and mouth, to civilise the dangerous rebels. But you must understand, none of them are worth your life - this again with the regretful pinch to his lips and brow. 

Oh, and of course, what was she thinking, staying down there so long in such pitiable conditions, she should really be more careful. Why, his men almost thought her one of them! But not to worry, Tarkin has personally seen to the matter of those officers who were so ungracious to her. 

“Do take better care of yourself, my dear,” Tarkin says. He adds, almost wistfully, “We look forward to seeing your new films.” 

When he leaves, Silver wants to laugh at the irony of it. She is, as it turns out, one of Tarkin’s favourite artists. She hates his very guts, and she’d never realised how hotly that burns within her until the moment he gives her that sharp, precise Imperial bow, and struts out of the room. 

She also has a moment’s perverse pleasure at the thought that he’s ‘seen to’ those ‘ungracious’ officers. It almost makes her sick. 

But the faint air of regret about his apologies and flatteries puzzles her - at least until she feels strong enough to get up and make her way to the ‘fresher. The sight that greets her in the mirror spells the end of an acting career. 

The Academy at Alderaan, much like Alderaan’s universities, is a place ripe for finding contacts in the Resistance. They’ve always treated it with caution, but at this precise moment, Silver does not care. 

She was returning from a project on Onderon, voicing one of those old documentaries that even she can smell the lies in. (She says nothing: those transparent lies were written by people of Onderon, and made it past the censors by sheer miracle. Actually, she’s rather appreciative of scripts that skirt the censors this way. Alderaan is much better at them, for the most part.) It’s with this in mind that she happens to (literally) run into an old friend. 

Asha is a writer. She is tall enough to make Wookie cracks about her own height, she wraps her friends in a tight embrace and plies them with spiked tea and spiced cookies. Everything about her is sweet and spicy and rich, and Imperial greys simply warp around to avoid her. The colours of her are deep and rich and they run hot, reds and oranges and golds that might seem brash on anyone else. They weave into her, and into anyone beside her, warming even the deepest chill. 

And Asha’s writing is rich with the most subversive spicy subtext to ever sneak under a censor’s eye. Truth be told, Silver wonders sometimes how Asha’s still alive. But Asha revels in it, revels in the risk, in the brash and open-faced lies she can get away with, with her smile and her Wookie-height. ‘It’s a story that focuses on family values,’ she says sweetly, of a story that - 

Well, it’s not a lie. 

It’s family values, alright. It’s a gleeful, shameless satire. 

Asha’s large eyes go round when she sees Silver’s face. “What happened to you? A minor rebellion on Lothal?” 

“Of the bacterial sort,” Silver half-laughs. The scars are still fresh, pink and hot. They do look a bit like a brush with acid. That seems to be the popular tale that the HoloNet is running with these days. 

Her grief and guilt are still raw. Grief, because she can no longer speak for her people like she used to. The story of how disease ravages Lothal, of how it claimed even her, is certainly powerful; but while there’s some sympathy, the Empire still shrinks at the sight of her ruined face. 

Guilt, because it’s her fault, really. She should have at least realised something was wrong much sooner. She should have gone to the medics and asked for help. 

Asha shakes her head and throws an arm around Silver’s shoulders and takes her home, adds tea to the brandy and brings out her Gran’s old recipe book. By the end of the night, they’ve botched the dinner, made the cookies - that recipe somehow happened to be brandy-proof - and Asha is humming old war songs from her world under her breath. 

“We need to do something,” Silver mutters. 

“We’re doing everything we can, aren’t we?” Asha gives her a sharp look over a bitten cookie. “You haven’t been back to Alderaan in ages. If I know you, it’s because you’ve actually been busy, not floating around fancy parties with the elite.”

“That’s part of the job,” Silver points out, with a grimace that would never have been permitted in the diplomacy and etiquette courses. You might consider not drinking in public at all. 

Asha laughs. Silver’s always loved that laugh, how deep it is and full of life. She loves how everything sweet hides something spicy in Asha, and even the cookies prickle lightly at her tongue. 

“I want to join the resistance,” Silver says. 

Asha coughs herself out of the laugh. “You - Silver that’s - that may not be the best idea.”

She shrugs. “Why not?” 

Asha suddenly looks sober as ever. She sets down the teacup, puts the cookie down on the edge of the saucer. “In case you hadn’t realised, which I somehow think you haven’t, you’re one of the best known actresses to ever step out of the Academy. And you know what it’s like, if you have any record of associating with the Rebels, you’re putting yourself at risk.” 

Silver gives Asha a hard glare at that. “And yourself?” 

Asha sighs, shrugs, and nibbles at the cookie again. “What about myself? I never leave the planet. I just send my scripts.” 

“Well, it doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere, like this,” Silver waves a hand at the ruined half of her face. “Not much use for anything less than perfection in the Empire’s stories, Asha. There are few exceptions.”

“Well, you still have your voice,” Asha points out. 

Not that voice-acting has a particularly large role in the Imperial film industry. It’s only in those documentaries few people ever watch. She’s only ever filmed from the right, now, when she does make her brief appearances. Silver stares at the table for a long moment. 

“Asha, the Rebellion can have my voice. At least they’ll take me with my face. I’d be more use to Lothal here than out there, where they’ll quietly bury me in films no one will ever see, and never listen to another word that leaves my mouth.”

Asha hums, long and low, and vents a gusty sigh. “You have a point.” 

Asha accompanies Silver to the Alliance base on Yavin IV. “Can’t let you go out there alone, can I? They need all the help they can get.” 

“Why, get another of your scripts back lately?” 

Asha has a peerless grimace. “Too highbrow. I need to take some time and reconnect with the people.” 

Silver laughs so hard she cries. 

The Alliance finds work for them almost immediately. Silver somehow finds herself training Intelligence officers, learning slicing techniques alongside Asha, who has the rare talent of spooling out more letters per second than any human Silver has ever met. 

“You know,” Asha says one night, rubbing at her aching hands, “I wouldn’t mind finding a way to reconnect with the people.” 

“Like what, exactly?” Silver asks through a yawn, throwing her feet up on her bunk. 

“The only news reporting we get these days comes directly from the Empire, and they can tell us whatever lies they want. They said you were attacked on Lothal. They blamed an old factory meltdown on Rebel terrorists. The Alliance needs reporting of its own - we can’t even pass information from one cell to another without the fear of it being intercepted. What do you think?” 

Silver blinks, recrosses her ankles. “I suppose you don’t want to send them coded transmissions.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Asha shaking her head. 

“The more they intercept, the more likely they’ll crack the code, even the clever ones Cypher left us.” Asha pauses, squints at the dull light of their room. “What if it’s not obvious - not really news? Hiding in plain sight?”

That squint, Silver knows, is the inkling of an idea. She’s seen that look often enough, and the results have always been nothing short of brilliant. “Well if you’ve got ideas, I’m not asleep yet.” 

Slowly, with the almost audible snapping-together of thoughts, a near-feral grin appears on Asha’s face. “Remember that old show they used to run, Armoured Hearts or something? Republic-era.” 

“Uh, not really,” Silver sits up, resting one shoulder against the wall. “That was ages ago, I don’t think anyone would remember it.” 

“Exactly. The only surviving copies are in the Academy archives. We can rewrite the stories however we want, and no one will be the wiser.”

Silver shrugs. “Why?” 

“Well you have to do some work to adapt them to voice-only broadcast. But apart from that, they were always written to reflect the political situation at the time.” Asha looks up to see her friend shaking her head fondly. “What?”

“Asha, whatever you touch, it turns into satire.” 

“That was sort of the point of the original,” she sniffs, only mildly offended. (Gods know it’s true. She’s burned drafts and drafts before sending a significantly mellowed final edit to the censors.) 

“Oh, all right,” Silver sighs, swinging her feet to the floor and rocking back slightly. “I’ll bite. You want to rewrite an old Republic serial, Armoured Hearts, as an up-to-date news broadcast for the Alliance.” 

Asha nods eagerly. 

Silver turns her good eye to give her a long, dubious, assessing look. “Can we persuade them to send the archived footage here?” 

Asha must have been expecting stark refusal. She collapses backwards on her bunk and laughs heartily. 

The retelling of Armoured Hearts is an astonishing and almost immediate success. Asha scowls as she writes, glancing sideways at the most recent field reports that Command has approved for the general report. 

“If I had known soaps were so popular and lucrative,” Asha growls, “I’d have swallowed my pride and started writing for them years ago.”

Silver, unperturbed, is reading the script that will go live in an hour on the worn old couch across the narrow closet they’ve claimed as their workstation. “You mean journalism.”

“Thankless job.” 

“Not if you write what you believe in.” 

“I write what they give me,” Asha snaps back. 

A black mood, then. Silver huffs. “For the Rebellion,” she mutters, a reminder with a sour taste, given what they’d witnessed earlier that week. The whole mess surrounding Scarif had been prettied up for broadcast, but the better part of the base here on Yavin IV knew some gorier details. Asha had never been prone to outrage, never quick to anger, but Silver watched her as the vote was cast, watched her fume. 

The screen at Asha’s right splutters to life, ticks a few characters in Aurebesh. Never, not in all the time that they’ve been doing this, has Silver seen Asha look so horrified by a few simple words. Her face looks awful in the pale blue glow of the display. 

“Alderaan has been destroyed.” 

Asha’s voice is flat and hollow, so unlike the larger-than-life, glowing, radiant presence that Silver has lived and worked with for these last few years. She slowly rises from the (hard as rocks) couch, rubbing at her lower back, and comes around to stand behind her, reading the report over Asha’s quivering shoulder. 

Her heart twists at the thought of Senator Organa, who had been heading home at the end of the failed vote. And Leia, the fire of Alderaan, the hope of the Alliance, was she there too? 

Another moment ticks by before it occurs to her that, really, for too many years to count, Alderaan was home - both to her and to Asha. 

Silver sighs, lays one light hand on Asha’s shoulder and squeezes. “Finish that script. I’ll go find the brandy.” 

Asha doesn’t move. Silent tears slip down her face as she sits and stares at the keys in front of her, hands folded heavily in her lap. 

“You know,” Silver says, stopping with her hand hovering over the door controls, “it’s a funny thing, Armoured Hearts. That ‘soap’ survived the fall of the Republic, escaped the destruction of the Academy’s archives.” 

Asha turns slowly, the look on her face utterly heartbreaking. Silver automatically swallows the expression of mirrored grief that wants to form, but even so, her words come from a tight throat when she does speak. “Finish that last broadcast. We don’t have to do anything else to do tonight, just grieve and remember, and pray for miracles.” 

Asha blinks, sending more tears streaming down her face, then gives a jerky nod. She wipes the tracks away with shaking hands, and takes a breath, focusing on the keyboard again to complete the report on Scarif.