#but. this has been in my wip folder for long enough

[ssomepersonn]

the idea of them sharing aiba like someone shares a straw has been in my head since aini was announced

[guiltyhearts]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Ayasato Mayoi | Maya Fey & Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright Characters: Ayasato Mayoi | Maya Fey, Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright Additional Tags: Mention of Character Death, Late Night Conversations, Hurt/Comfort, it doesn't have to be okay, Post-Gyakuten Saiban 5 | Dual Destinies Summary:

On a special day, in the middle of the night, Phoenix's sleep is disturbed by a call from Maya. What follows is a conversation of how unfair the passage of time really is.

[aestheticaltcow]

Six Months

An attempt at some parenthood angst?

Similarly to the title, this fic has been in my WIP folder for a minute; it went through a handful of edits. I'd like to think this is good enough for y'all.

 Carmy sat in the office staring at the paperwork Sugar needed his signature on; when he saw the date on his phone, it hit him—today marked six months. Six months of parenthood and six months of celibacy, to say Carmy was sexually frustrated, was an understatement. “Hey Carm, did you- are you okay?” Sugar asked when she caught him staring blankly at his phone. He didn’t respond until she put her hand on his shoulder. Her touch snapped him out of his trance. He looked at her before quickly apologizing, “Sorry, what were you sayin'?” Sugar grinned as she patted his shoulder, “You okay, Bear?”

Carmy nodded and straightened up in his desk chair, “Yea- just thinkin’ bout the baby.”

Carmy got home from work late. He quietly slipped his jacket off, and hung it on the coat rack before removing his shoes. Walking down the hallway, he slipped into the nursery, knowing the baby would be asleep. He found it impossible not to be happy in her room. The walls were decorated with vintage floral wallpaper you’d bought off Etsy, it may have been a pain in the ass to put up, but Carmy happily obliged when he saw how happy it had made you. He crept to his baby girl’s crib and felt the day's stress disappear. She was peacefully sleeping in a light pink sleep sack, furiously sucking away on her pacifier. “Sweet dreams, princess,” he whispered. “I love you.” 

The joy of watching his daughter sleep faded away as he approached the askew door to the master bedroom the two of you shared. “I’m home, baby.” Carmy grinned as he walked toward the open closet door, “Hi, Carm.” you called from the bathroom. When he entered the bathroom, you were brushing your teeth. As the mix of salvia and toothpaste residue dripped from your mouth Carmy’s breath hitched- was this enough to get him goin’? He shook his head as he pulled his shirt off and threw it in the laundry hamper before turning on the shower.

“How was work, babe?” you asked before bringing a small cup of mouthwash to your lips. Carmy watched as you swished it around your mouth and spit it into the sink. “Carmy?” you asked again; he swallowed. “Yeah, uh, it was good. Busy,” he answered as you hopped up on the counter. You were desperate for adult interaction after being home with the baby all day. 

“Mia, have a good day?” Carmy questioned. You nodded, “We did some laundry, then had mashed pears for lunch- she did. I had that leftover pasta sauce you made... Read a couple books and went on a walk... Then did her bedtime routine, and I worked on that stupid documentary I was telling you about.” 

As you recounted your day, Carmy nodded, but he was staring at your chest, barely hearing what you said. You’d been wearing one of his old T-shirts. He noticed how prominent your nipples were under the soft, worn-in material. He was captivated by the fullness of your breasts, and he’d do just about anything to touch them again. “Carm, you okay?” you asked, hopping down from the counter; he nodded. “Wanna get in with me?” he asked cocking his head in the direction of the running shower. You giggled, “Maybe next time, bear.”

“Oh fuck-” Carmy grunted as he worked his hand up and down his length. He felt like a teenager again, masturbating in the shower before going to school. However, now, instead of imagining the unrealistic scenarios he’d see in pornos, he had memories of you. Carmy thought back to the last time you’d really touched him. Heavily pregnant, hormonal, begging for his tongue and his cock… he’d expected a shift in your sex life as the two of you adjusted to parenthood, but this long of a dry spell was the last thing he’d expected. Carmy squeezed his eyes closed as he came down the drain.

~

“Good morning, princess.” Carmy cooed as Mia squirmed in her crib, trying to get out of her sleep sack. She spat her pacifier out and let out a gruggle. “So it’s one of those mornings?” he chuckled as he unzipped her. He watched her stretch before carefully picking her up, “See, you’re okay.” he rocked her gently before exiting the nursery and heading downstairs. 

You were making coffee and prepping a bottle for Mia as he entered the kitchen. “You’re off today, right?” Carmy nodded in response before handing you Mia. “You goin’ to work?” he questioned, as he got two mugs from the cabinet. You groaned in response, “Jenny called off, so I have to go in. I’ll be back before bedtime.”

“Well, looks like Mia and I are havin' some Daddy-Daughter time,” you smiled as Carmy gently kissed her head before going to get the milk from the fridge. When you’d met Carmy all those years ago at some trendy Chicago bar, you found him incredibly alluring. His disheveled curls, the mix of some musky cologne and cigarette smoke, the way his T-shirt wrapped around his muscular arms… he’d always been… sexy. But watching him interact with Mia was a different kind of attractive.

Carmy drummed his thumbs on the handlebar of the grocery cart. He scanned the shelf before him as Mia happily made her baby noises as she looked around the aisle. “Okay, princess… they don’t have almond extract. What kind of grocery store doesn’t have fuckin’ almond extract.” Mia put her hands out to Carmy, grabbing at the air. Carmy chuckled and ducked to kiss her cheek.

“Oh my gosh, she’s too precious.” a sickly, sweet feminine voice cooed from behind Carmy. He grinned when he turned his attention to her, “How old is she?” she asked. Carmy got a good look at the woman; she was pretty, but she wasn’t you. “Oh, uh, she’s six months,” he answered as the woman stepped closer. She smelled like cheap vanilla and a mix of flowery scents Carmy couldn’t place. Mia glared at the woman, and Carmy scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m Selena. I’m in this parenting group. You should stop by.” she smiled as she looked him up and down. The attention made Carmy regret not regularly wearing his wedding ring. “I’m not really the par-” Carmy started to say before Selena cut him off. “I’m not takin’ no as an answer. What’s your number?” she handed him her phone. 

Carmy didn’t know why he gave her his number- could he blame it on feeling uncomfortable? Was that even the right thing to do? It’s not like he’d ever do anything with this woman. He’d never throw away his marriage to you by hooking up with some woman he met at the grocery store. The reality of Carmy's actions didn’t hit him until he was in the checkout line. He gave his phone number to another woman- was that cheating on you? Did doing that in front of his daughter make him a bad father? “Okay, your total is $63.82.” the cashier smiled. Carmy nodded and swiped his card. He needed to get out of there as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t run into Selena again.

~

It had been a couple of weeks since Carmy’s interaction at the grocery store. He’d noticed Selena’s text messages here and there. They seemed innocent until one Friday night, he was working late, you were home with the baby, and Selena had sent Carmy an explicit picture, hoping it would get his attention.

We’re both parents. 

I’m not looking for anything serious, Carmy…

My son is at his Dad’s place

Come over <3

Carmy stared at the messages before his eyes went up to the attached photo. Selena had the hem of her T-shirt between her teeth, showing off her toned stomach. He swallowed as he admired the contrast between her skin and the brightly colored fabric of her lacy underwear. He should block her. He should just delete the messages and block her number. He had a wife and baby at home—he couldn’t make this kind of mistake. He locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket before returning to the kitchen cleanup, “Hey Carm, I can finish this up. Go home.” Sweeps grinned as he attempted to connect his phone to the Bluetooth speaker on the counter. Carmy grinned, “You sure, man?” Sweeps nodded assuringly. “I think I can handle this boss man.” 

You heard Carmy walk into the bedroom that night, “Hey babe!” you called as you put your blowdryer in its designated spot by the sink. As the bathroom door swung open, Carmy’s lips were on yours. The initial shock wore off as Carmy’s tongue invaded your mouth, and his hands pushed under the hem of your sleep shorts to grasp at your ass cheeks. Carmy pulled you closer to him, forcing you onto your tip toes. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers delicately tangling in the roots of his hair. The passionate kiss ended when Carmy started to kiss down your jaw. A giggle escaped your mouth as his lips brushed against your earlobe before he nipped at your neck. “Carm-m what got into you?” you croaked as you adjusted your hips against his.

 “I need you, baby,” he muttered, lifting you off the floor. You squealed as he crashed down onto your mattress. He hovered above your body, staring into your eyes. “I need to be inside you, baby.” he swallowed hard as you bit your lip. “Carmyyy,” you giggled as you watched him pull his t-shirt off. You ran a finger down his chest, making him moan softly.

 “Let me make you feel good, baby…” Carmy whispered in your ear as one of his hands found its way into your oversized sleep shirt. Your breath hitched when you felt his calloused fingertips graze your ribs. " I-I—" you studdered nervously. “Baby…please.” Carmy quietly asked as his lips brushed against yours. “No.” you whispered as you grabbed his wrist through your shirt, “What?” Carmy questioned as he stood up abruptly, “Did I do something? We haven’t done anything in like six months- clearly I did something wrong. Just tell me so I can fix it!” Carmy raised his voice as his eyebrows knit together in frustration. 

You propped yourself on your elbows and watched as he picked up his shirt from the floor, “Carmen, please don’t yell at me.” you said calmly. You watched as he rolled his eyes and paced before you, “Baby. I want to have sex with you. I need to have sex with you-” Carmy groaned as he pushed his hands over his face into his hair. Your eyes narrowed, “Carmen. I had a baby-”

 “I KNOW! I fucking know! You had my baby, but now you don’t even want to fuckin’ shower with me! I get it- pregnancy was hard, and then giving birth was hard, and now being a mom is hard.” Carmy started staring at the ceiling while he expressed himself. He took a breath and turned to look at you; regret washed over him when he noticed you were on the verge of tears. “Baby, please don’t cry…” he pleaded as he knelt by the bed. He reached for your hand, but you pulled away before he could grab it, “Sorry, I don’t want to fuck you after taking care of your baby all day.” you spat. Carmy closed his eyes and took another breath trying to compose himself before saying something dumb, “How dare I fail to meet my wifely duties.” you angrily laughed as you stood up. 

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared as Carmy got up. “Baby, I didn’t—" you cut Carmy off with a groan. “Shut up, Carmen. You don’t get to speak to me like that.”

Carmy sighed and stepped closer to you, as he reached out for your hips only for you to slap his hands away. “Don’t touch me.” you glared at him, “Fuck this.” Carmy muttered under his breath as he pulled his shirt back on over his head. “What do you mean ‘fuck this’?” you questioned as Carmy exited the bedroom, “I need air.” Carmy called back to you.

You moved to your bedroom window to see Carmy walking toward his car in the driveway. He got in and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. 

Send me your address.

[moonlight-prose]

If you’re taking those as prompts, ❛ don’t you know what you’re doing to me? ❜ with Din perhaps?

LOVE IS A FIRE THAT BURNS UNSEEN

a/n: so i took forever on this, because i kind of fell out of writing for din for...well....awhile. i can tell you this sat in my wips folder half finished for months. honestly i was wondering if it would even get finished. but i was re-watching mando last night and decided why the fuck not. i can't remember which prompt list this was from because it's been so long, but that's okay. this is not beta read or edited, but we live and die by the pen.

summary: on your list of things that could possibly happen while bounty hunting with din, dying from hypothermia wasn't included. nor was finally admitting the truth to yourself about your feelings.

word count: 3.1k+

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, near death experience, angst, feelings being admitted sort of, p in v sex, a hint of choking, they're so in love it's sickening.

It’s fucking cold in the Razor Crest as you sit in the cockpit waiting for his return. You’re bundled in a jacket that has seen better days, but even with the extra layers you swear you’ll freeze to death before he comes back. Tempted to turn the ship back on in order to get some heat—you do the most to distract yourself from the frost currently eating away at the skin of your face. Din’s instructions were clear. Keep the ship hidden until he comes back with the bounty, which would be simple enough.

That is if the bounty he was currently hunting resided on a planet with a temperature that wouldn’t kill you from exposure. Everything had been fine two hours ago. You were working on repairing an old comlink as he tracked the bounty through space, having caught their signal on the outer edges of the galaxy. Except then…they were attacked. Neither of you could see who caused it or even why, but suddenly a lone ship was heading into the atmosphere on the one planet you always said you’d rather die than visit.

Hoth—a frozen pit that once housed the Rebellion of all places.

So, there you were. Shivering to gain some warmth as you scanned the area for Din’s signal. If the ship was right, he still remained alive. You only wished you could say the same for yourself by the time he came back.

The cold had begun to seep into your layers, hitting your chest directly and causing you to cough harshly. If he didn’t return within the hour he would find you dead due to hypothermia. Except that’s not what scared you. It was the fact that he would be the one to find you—a man who showed absolutely no interest in you whatsoever.

You weren’t sure when the crush started or even why, but you do know the realization hit you harder than a speeder-bike going at full speed one day while you were sitting beside him in the cockpit. He laughed at something you said, the chuckle low and slightly clipped due to his modulator and that’s what did it. What had you sitting there in shock—eyes wide—as it suddenly dawned on you that…you liked him. A lot more than you would have ever thought before.

“Maker fucking above,” you muttered, your teeth chattering with the words. “Hurry up, bucket head.”

Vaguely you recalled some survival tips from your time as a teenager on Bracca working as a scrapper. Never touch live wires, always look out for yourself, and when stuck in freezing temperatures—layers become your best friend. So, you stumbled out of the cockpit chair and towards the ladder that would lead you to the rest of his ship. Slow small steps were all you could manage as your body went into overdrive to try and keep you warm. Except the ship acted as an icebox rather than a heater.

You could lock yourself in his small cot, burrowing under the blankets he’d bought because of you complaining there wasn’t enough on the ship. But you’d first have to get there. It was a struggle to even climb down the ladder—your breath coming in gasps as your lungs fought against the freezing air. How long had you been sitting up there? You held no answer to the question, because the results were clear to you now; you were up there long enough to lead you right to death’s doorstep.

Dragging yourself along the side of the ship wall, you flinched as the cold metal touched your cheek. You should have gone against his orders and simply turned the ship back on. It would keep you from this—currently fighting against hypothermia as Din took his sweet time coming back.

The sound of the airlock on the door releasing when it opened brought a small flicker of hope to life, burning bright in your chest. But it faded just as quickly as it came. You caught sight of him dragging a half dead bounty up the ramp—his helmet turned towards you—before you collapsed to the ground. Your body shivering in a final attempt to generate enough body heat in order to keep you alive.

His voice calling your name echoed in the back of your mind as you drifted off—the concept of sleep far more enticing than it should be.

Steady breaths against your bare back was what you woke up—your mind drifting slowly back to reality. Or at least what you thought to be reality. The last thing you could recall was seeing Din’s helmet as your body did what it could to survive. How you ended up in the darkness of his cot, pressed against someone you assumed to be him…naked, was a mystery to you. Perhaps you were still dreaming. This must be how your mind envisioned some form of peace to ease your soul into an afterlife.

“You’re awake.” His voice caught you off guard—the breath in your throat catching.

“How…”

The shift of his body created a low burn of heat to appear at the bottom of your stomach as his arm tightened around your waist—drawing you closer. “You almost stopped breathing when I got back. Your body went into shock from the cold.”

“I was dying,” you said softly, the realization far less jarring than waking beside him in the nude.

He hummed, the low pitch a vibration you felt along your back. “I had to get you warm.”

“So you took off my clothes?” you asked, the smile prominent in your tone.

“Generating enough body heat only works when—”

“Both of us are naked.”

His fingers gripped onto the soft skin of your belly. “Yes,” he replied—voice slightly strained.

Somehow it never registered that he was actually sans armor and clothing until you felt his hand glide further up. The soft skin of his palm turned the spark into a fully formed flame that traveled its way through your body. He was laying beside you…naked. If you concentrated hard enough, you could feel the rise and fall of his stomach against your lower back—his skin soft there too.

Any other time your brain would have short circuited, but the sluggishness from sleep had yet to wear off. It made you rather docile—something you felt oddly grateful for. You were entirely aware, fully conscious of your words and decisions, but the tranquility in your body seemingly spurred you forward. No other time would you be this centered—this sure of yourself—and maybe that’s where you made the mistake, because this was dangerous. Revealing the feelings you’d harbored for months was like poison to your heart…positively lethal.

“Din,” you murmured, the soft heat coming from his body now spreading into yours.

If you knew you’d end up like this after one visit to Hoth, you would have come here a lot sooner.

“Yes?” Even his breath was warm as it brushed across the bare skin of your shoulder. Maker you were close in his bed that was barely big enough for him, let alone you beside him.

“I—” The words caught in the base of your throat, lodging themselves there like a stone you couldn’t swallow. You wanted to say it. Get everything out into the open and be done with it, but your mind seemed to be slowly coming to its senses.

“What is it?”

Closing your eyes, you let out a shuddered breath in the hopes that it would push down the erratic nerves which jumped under your skin. If you chickened out now, you’d never say the words. They’d be your secret—forever trapped in the cage of your heart until it was far too late to confess them. What’s funny is that they seemed like such easy things to say. How hard was it really to say I love you? How much effort did it take? Only you now realized it took a lot more than you expected.

It was far easier to die than to admit your feelings.

“I have to tell you something and I just—” Inhaling, you curled your hand around the blanket beneath you. “I don’t want you to look at me differently if things don’t turn out the way I hope.”

His thumb rubbed a soothing circle against your hip. “I won’t.”

You scoffed. “You probably will.”

The subtle shift of his body against yours caused flutters to go through your heart—rendering you speechless for a moment. He was so close it was maddening. If you had the courage you’d turn around, press yourself to him, and whisper the words against his lips. But you were practically stone, unable to even turn your head slightly to feel the press of his lips against your neck.

“For a while now I’ve felt…well…my feelings towards you have changed.” You blurted them out, hoping it was like ripping off a bandaid. Except the silence of his response hurt more than you expected.

Until—

“I know,” he said, his hand pressing a bit harder on your hip.

Nothing could have prepared you for the shockwave that went through your body. “You know?” you exclaimed.

“I’ve known since our trip to Coruscant.”

You paused, trying to form something to say, but all you could come up with was: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Why had he let you think he held no feelings towards you? That you were alone in this. You felt him stiffen behind you, his hand pulling away slightly and your heart sank in your chest. Perhaps you had asked the wrong question. Or even touched on a part of this he didn’t want you to see. But you had to know the truth. You knew why you waited—why you couldn’t get the words out for the life of you—but why had he?

That is until he wrapped his arm around your waist tightly, jolting you back towards his body. A soft yelp left you as you tried to refocus yourself in the pitch black space. Except then you felt it. Pressing hard and insistent against your lower back—a part of Din you had only ever imagined, but never seen.

He grunted, his hand splaying across your stomach as you shifted against him. “Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?”

You gasped. “Din—”

“What you’ve been doing?

His hips canted downwards, grinding against you and sending heat sparking up your spine. Enough to combat the cold that still remained in you, but you wanted more. You craved it. Moaning softly, you pushed back against him, pressing your thighs together to hopefully appease the growing ache that formed. Except he was one step ahead of you. Shoving his bare thigh between your legs, he pressed it upwards, grinning at the way your head fell back against his chest—a guttural moan leaving your lips.

“Every day is fucking torture,” he rasped, his hand sliding even lower until his fingers were hovering right above where you needed him most. “Because I can’t touch you.” His lips pressed against the curve of your jaw. “Because I can’t kiss you…”

“Maker,” you gasped, reaching down to wrap your hand around his wrist. “I-I want you to touch me. Want you to kiss me.”

His fingers dipped down even lower, finally parting your folds. A ragged groan was pressed to your jaw, his teeth scraping down against the skin when he found you wet and dripping for him. You could feel his heartbeat against your back. How it was erratic and almost as quick as yours. He was just as nervous as you were—if not more so, because of his creed.

He wanted you to be his, to love him as he was with his creed, but he was scared that this wasn’t permanent. You wanted to show him the inner workings of your mind, the makeup of your heart—how he was seared into it. He was ingrained so deep into your soul that you couldn’t even fathom the thought of being parted from him.

“Are you always this wet for me?” he asked, disbelief clear in his tone.

Nodding, you felt another moan begin to form, only for it to die as he pulled his fingers away. “No—”

“Shh,” he breathed, cupping your jaw as he moved even closer. “I’ll take care of you.”

Heat flooded your stomach, a whine forming in your throat as he pulled you back, the head of his cock now nudging against your entrance. You dug your nails into his forearm, your lips parting to form around his name. A ragged moan echoing in his small quarters, and he began to push forward. Sliding into you slowly as you fought to keep yourself quiet.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed, wrapping his arm around your torso and thrusting into you completely, his hips pressing against your ass. “Won’t last—”

You keened when his hand fell to your clit, circling it with enough pressure to send jolts up your spine. For a moment he simply held himself there. Encompassed in your heat as he worked you over, building your release steadily until you were pressing into him. Your hips rolling against his fingers—fucking yourself on his cock. Soft moans were pressed to your skin, the stubble on his jaw scratching along your shoulder, and that only heightened everything.

For the first time…he was entirely yours. Bare and open as he indulged in something both of you had held back from doing for so long.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you turned your head and caught the corner of his lips in a kiss. Something so tender yet so powerful. It nearly sent you over the edge and you felt Din’s surprise at the action. How his body jolted, his hips nudging forward and fingers stuttering in their motions. Even though he had proudly claimed he wanted to kiss you, to finally feel your lips against his. He had never expected it to come true.

“Cyar'ika,” he breathed.

“I want…” You gasped, hips rolling against his fingers in quick movements as that blinding feeling continued to overtake you. “Kiss me Din. Please, please—”

His mouth found yours in the darkness of his cabin, and you felt your heart scream out. Felt your entire body give into him, his name, his signet forever carved into your heart. He was your future and he knew it. Which is why he kissed you with a fervor that you believed only existed in your dreams—a passion that you felt right down to your toes. His tongue slid along yours, tasting the shitty caf you had earlier—the desperation on your tastebuds.

“Ah…” You tried to form the words on your tongue. The feelings that were trapped in your heart, but they refused to be let loose.

“I know you want to cum,” he breathed, fingers speeding up as your walls began to flutter around his cock. His other hand shifted, wrapping gently around your throat to keep your face close to his. Pressing down lightly as you gasped. “Let me feel it.”

A keening broken moan of his name ripped from you, hands scrabbling to grasp for something, settling for his arm that kept you pressed against him. White flashed behind your closed eyes, his lips swallowing every sound you made as you writhed against him. Gushing around his cock.

You didn’t hear the hoarse shout that he pressed into your mouth, his hips thrusting into you quickly as he followed you off the edge. Filling you with a warmth that you swore you felt  in your chest. Biting down on his bottom lip you sucked into your mouth, moaning when he canted his hips forward, prolonging the sparks that ran up your spine. He was a panting mess and you tried to picture what he looked like.

Was his hair a mess? Were his cheeks stained red? Were his lips swollen?

The urge to simply open your eyes nearly overtook you, but you understood what came with that action. What would have to happen afterwards. Din had explained enough for you to grasp the basic details of what being a Mandalorian meant. So you kept them closed and opted to simply feel. You memorized how his lips against yours felt, what being full of him felt like.

You kept what you could nestled against your heart, remaining here for as long as possible. Din’s cock softened in you, twitching every now and then when your walls fluttered. But you solely had him to blame. Because he was running his hand along your body, grazing your nipples lightly before pulling away—the familiar feelings in your stomach stirring once more. If he wasn’t careful neither of you would be leaving this bed for quite some time.

Which didn’t bode well for you seeing as how you hated the planet you currently resided on.

“Din,” you breathed, pulling away to catch your breath before he dived down again—ready for round two of the hottest makeout session you’d partaken in.

“You want to leave,” he panted. There was something scary about how he could see your thoughts so clearly. You’d have to ask him about it later.

“No…” Your head fell back against his shoulder. “I want to stay here, but Hoth.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We can stay here for as long as you want.”

Half expecting him to pull out and place his helmet back in its rightful place, you were a bit surprised when he remained put. Curling himself around you closer until his body perfectly molded yours. The cold still remained in the ship—the heaters unable to counteract the snowy planet—yet you found that you were perfectly content to remain right where you were. Wrapped in his arms—the certainty of your future now nestled in his heart. Mimicking yours in every way.

“Din,” you breathed in the darkness, feeling him trace something along your waist.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say…” You took in a breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart. “I feel like you should hear me say it.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his fingers pressing down. “I know cyar'ika. I feel the same way.”

“You do?” you asked softly.

“I do.”

You settled into the bed, allowing your muscles to relax and your body to once more give into the temptation of sleep. With Din right there, you felt as if you were able to finally relax. To give in and allow yourself to float.

“You know…” You yawned, feeling his chin settle against your shoulder. “Maybe Hoth isn’t so bad.”

He smiled, his lips brushing along your skin as you drifted off, mind succumbing to the sweet snare of unconsciousness. “No,” he breathed, continuing to trace the shape of his signet on your skin, because whether you wore it or not…you were a part of his clan. His life. “It’s not.”

[mppmaraudergirl]

here is an unnamed, unfinished WIP that is too fun to die alone in my WIPs folder, hope you enjoy

prompt (but make it wizard):

"Evans," came the gruff voice of Alastor Moody, Head of the Auror department.

Lily looked up from the stack of parchment she'd been pouring over slightly maniacally for the last three hours. She was starting to see double. "Yes? Sir."

"We have an urgent assignment for you."

"Me? Why?"

Moody's magical eye was piercing in its intensity. "Because I'm bloody telling you—"

"Crouch has me working 'round—"

"You let me worry about Crouch. This new assignment is taking precedence. You are the only one who has the requisite intel to pull this off."

She should be flattered. But she had been an Auror long enough to know this was not a compliment. "Why's that? Sir."

"Because of the target. James Potter."

Thus Lily found herself heading undercover for one of the most bizarre operations she’d ever undertaken as an Auror. The gist was this: a critically important memory had gone missing from the Department of Mystery’s Prophecy Department—that was all she was allowed to know, giving the clearance level required of which she woefully fell short—and in the process of recovering the palm-sized orb, the chain of custody was broken and the prophecy was sent off via owl post. 

To James Potter. 

Somehow.

That was where she came in. A long-time acquaintance, sometimes-friend, one-time-when-they-were-drunk-snog-partner, she was tasked with recovering the orb from James without revealing that he possessed it. Simple enough task on the surface level, if one were to ignore the simple fact that, of all things, the orb was disguised as a bloody Snitch.

“You sent James Potter important Ministry information in the form of a Snitch?” she’d asked, unable to keep the contempt out of her voice. “And you expect he hasn’t already broken it? Or let it loose?”

Idiots. Idiots, the lot of them.

(Moody was not particularly appreciative of her tone. But again, long-time acquaintance, sometimes-friend, one-time-when-they-were-drunk… She was their best option.)

That was how she found herself casually bumping into her old co-Head on the high street in Diagon Alley, ignoring the little twist in her gut that she attributed to the nerves of her assignment, and chatting with him as though she was hanging on to every precious word that came out of his mouth until she finally mustered up the courage to ask him out.

“Dinner?” he had replied. “Tonight?”

“Yes. Why wait?” she had said, summoning the best version of her seventeen-year-old flirty self—she wasn’t sure that part of her still existed to any real extent, but she also knew James used to have a thing for her, so she had to play the cards she was dealt, as her dad used to say.

She tried to not be so pleased when he agreed.

***

That life was unpredictable was often one of James Potter’s favorite parts about it. He leaned into the chaos at every possible moment from the moment he learned what leaning was. As he aged, he took on a new life philosophy and decided to live his life expecting the most outrageous things to happen; he played the odds, chose the underdog every chance he got, and like the lucky arse Sirius said he was, often it paid off.

But even this felt like too much of a stretch.

Because while James had a lot of luck in life, and a lot of privilege, too, what he unequivocally did not have, was good fortune with Lily Evans.

And yet now, he was supposed to believe that he just happened to run into Lily Evans on the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley and she was so thrilled to see him that she asked him out?

Lucky James might be, but stupid he was not. 

He knew right away that something strange was happening when he received a parcel earlier in the day that contained a pristine Golden Snitch. He had eyed it warily for twenty minutes before Sirius interrupted him.

“I don’t get it,” James had said.

“Well, I know it’s been a while since you played Quidditch, mate, but that is a Snitch.”

James had shot him a look, slightly disgruntled but mostly annoyed, before he reached forward toward it. “But why did it come through the post? There’s no address on it. No letter. There is definitely something going on with this. And I intend—”

Sirius had cut him off with a sigh.

“I intend to find out!”

“Good luck, Sherlock.” 

“Sher-what?”

“Nevermind.”

It was this intent to investigate that led James to Diagon Alley in the first place, though what he was expecting to learn from the small selection of books in Quality Quidditch Supplies was beyond him. And so when he returned to his flat empty handed that was not altogether surprising.

Sirius looked up from the sofa where he was sitting while filling in the crossword, paper and ink pot balanced on either knee, and gave James an if you must look before nodding.

James wouldn't realize what planted this idea in his head, but the moment he gazed down at the Snitch something clicked.

"Evans is an Auror, isn't she?"

***

The Shack was an… interesting venue choice for their date, Lily thought as she pushed open the splintered door. Tucked away on the windiest street in Diagon Alley, The Shack was named and modeled after The Shrieking Shack by a couple of wizards who bought heavily into its lore. As far as Lily knew, the haunted building on the outskirts of Hogsmeade village was so heavily warded that no one had ventured inside of it in decades, which made Lily skeptical about the owners’ ability to truly model their restaurant after it.

It became quickly apparent that they simply leaned into the dilapidated ambiance of The Shrieking Shacks’ exterior when designing the interior. The tables and chairs looked beat up, mismatched and wobbly, some missing legs or propped up by magic. The photographs lining the walls were hung in broken picture frames and never level; they were also surrounded by peeling wallpaper or chipped paint. Candlelit chandeliers flickered overhead, casting rolling shadows across the room as Lily scanned it.

James was already there and flagged her over with a delighted wave of his arm.

“Hi!” she said, voice exaggeratedly cheerful. She leaned down to press her lips to his cheek, earning herself a surprised widening of his eyes before his trademark grin slipped back into place.

“Hey, Evans. All right?”

“I’m gre-at!” 

Unfortunately her upbeat reply was momentarily derailed when she sat down on a battered wooden chair across from him; it wobbled dangerously and she just stopped herself from toppling over.

“Steady there,” James said, not bothering to conceal his grin.

She knew her replying smile came out more like a grimace. To make matters worse, when she leaned forward to rest an elbow on the table, a chunk fell off and onto the floor. James repaired it with a flick of his wand and an unabated grin.

“Careful, Evans. You keep breaking things and I have it on good authority that they’ll chuck us out of here.”

The idea didn’t sound altogether terrible, if Lily were honest with herself. If they did get kicked out, perhaps she could convince James to take her back to his home. It would get her to her end goal faster. Something told her that she wouldn’t be getting off that easily though. Nothing ever was easy with James Potter.

“Is that true?” she asked, pretending to be concerned.

The messy-haired wizard opened his mouth, closed it, and then finally said, “Nah, I’m taking the mick. I take it this means you’ve never been here before? Everything is in a state of near-disrepair.”

“I’ve never been here. It’s… interesting, though. In a nice way.”

James only smiled in reply as their waitress appeared.

***

If James had any doubt that something was going on with Lily Evans, it would have all been erased within two minutes of sitting down at the restaurant. The choice to meet her at The Shack came quickly during his afternoon brainstorming session with Sirius.

“Evans asked you out?” he had asked, the crossword now forgotten. “Unless you’ve suddenly changed into a cephalopod and didn’t tell me, something’s amiss.”

Despite Sirius’ jokes, or perhaps prompted by them, the pair concocted a plan to test just how interested Lily truly was in dating James.

Admittedly, it had been hard to not get his hopes up. Regardless of his previous concerns, part of him was still hopeful that Lily had a more-than-platonic reason for the invitation. Now, seeing her falsely smile through her casual review of the menu, he would settle for platonic instead of… whatever the real motivation was. 

[aka-libby]

Counting Our Regrets

Aki Hayakawa x gn!reader | established relationship | semi-canon  [ domestic tooth rotting!fluff + angst (with happy ending/comfort) ]

Word count: 4.3k

Warning(s): mentions/implied topic of de*th, insecurities about love, VERY BRIEF mentions about rough past regarding home life

Summary: Aki hated you at first but after a series of events his view on you changed. Now you’re together as a couple, with the regrets of wasting all that time hating and being avoidant of the inevitable spark you had. Yet even with these regrets on the both of you, it’s when you’re in his apartment having dinner like any other night that he finally realized how he truly feels about you.

A/N: So I have a story in the WIP folder that explains their past and how they became the couple here in this fic. There is a LOT to unfold and it’s honestly a drain to write angst and pain all the time SOOOOO I would write this fic when I’m bored and somehow I finish this one first…. so now here we are. I do hope it’s not confusing but hints enough context for readers to understand the development of the two. Plus I’m WAYYYYY too impatient to wait to post this cause I’m so PROUD OF IT UGH.

Anyways enjoy.

“Is it weird that I still get a bit nervous every time he invites me over for dinner?”

Your friend laughs over the phone. “Really?! It’s been so long now. Just breathe and treat it like any other time you guys are together.”

You’re glaring at them, even though they can’t see it. “I’m serious. You know how the past was, we hated each other… well he hated me. I don’t blame him though, it was in every way my fault for how things are but… still.” 

Your friend probably heard the change in your tone towards the end. The mischievous aura drips from them. “I understand but the situation has changed now. You stopped being a lil brat and he realized the amazing person that you are underneath it. He fell for you instantly, I see it and am reminded of it everyday when I see you two in the same room.”

“Really?” You are curious now about what they meant. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t see it?” The utter disbelief from their tone surprises you more. “The way he looks at you speaks millions. Like a moth lured to a bright ass light. I believe it.”

You smile as your chest lightens from the doubts slipping off you. Their words really eased your mind. “That’s… cute.” Images of Aki flash in your mind of all the times he would get embarrassed when caught showing any form of affection. “He’s really sweet.”

“He is and it is cute but also utterly revolting.” They gag through the phone. “You two are so lovesick for one another and yet SOOOO oblivious at the same time. My eyes get cavities from seeing you two within the same radius.”

The both of you chuckle a bit before they bids their farewell. “Now go in and enjoy the dinner, okay? Tell me more about it later.”

“I will. See you soon.” You say before ending the call.

The grip on the plastic bags you have to your side tightens as you take a deep breath in and out. You know more than anyone this night will be just like any other night. Just a casual dinner with 2 co-workers/friends and your boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Your lips form into a soft smile as the title lingers in your head. It feels too surreal to be together now after a year of discord between you and Aki. Then a time period of uncertainty of what kind of relationship you guys had. It was the result of the change with his thoughts about you and your thoughts about life. With Himeno’s death being the catalyst to it all.

It doesn’t help that both of you have gone through great suffering revolving around death. Life is unfair to both of you. His family was taken away so suddenly by a worldwide Devil attack while yours…

Agh, the thought hurts too much to think about.

Even with all the hurt, pain, and self projecting in denial of the truth of it all you two somehow ended up here, together. It made you happy to realize that after so long but so late. With time still ticking every single second, it’s only sooner than later that both your lives could end so suddenly.

With Aki’s time limit down to 2 years and yours still in the air, anything could happen at any moment. It was hard carrying the regret of projecting your trauma and fear of abandonment to the relationships around you. How you pushed others away to protect them and yourself. It wasn’t fair to you or your comrades.

They never got to meet the real you.

Your thoughts are cut from the feral screech coming from behind Aki’s door. You know all too well who it was, and you smile softly from the moment, as it reminds you to be present in the present. No time to dwell on your regrets, it will only waste more of your limited time.

You are with Aki now, that’s all that matters.

Finally, you take the last few steps over to Aki’s door. Knuckles barely hovering over the door before it’s busted open.

Power cheers out your name as she pulls you in for a half hug, arm over your shoulder. Her eyes don’t meet yours, instead they’re on the bags at your sides. “You brought food for me?! I'm STARVIN.” 

“Hey!” a familiar voice echoes from inside. “That’s no way to treat guests!”

Power is quick to nag back at him with a roll of her eyes before taking the bags out of your hands. “Allow me!” She excitedly offers but you know there are other intentions behind her kindness. Your head shakes from her obvious facade.

Walking into the Hayakawa Residence, you instantly envelop yourself in the comforting feeling of your second home. The smell of the three housemates and the aroma of home cooked food wafts into your nose causing your previous insecurities to flee. Is this what it's like to be at ease? You’re pretty sure it is by how safe you feel once the door closes behind you.

Turning around the corner, you see Aki casually stirring a mixture of veggies in a savory sauce in a wok. It instantly waters your mouth. “Hi Love.” You greet walking over to where he is in front of the stovetop.

It was then you realize what your friend’s comment meant earlier, about how Aki looks at you. His eyes instantly shine with adoration and his body is fully turned towards you, letting go of whatever he was focused on to meet you halfway. Once you’re within his grasp, he pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head.

“Hello love, was the trip here okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up.” He apologizes before rubbing your back soothingly.

Shaking your head to look up, you reassure him with a smile. “It’s fine, don't worry. I can’t expect you to always pick me up and host a dinner.”

“I know but I would rather do it knowing you are safe than for you to take a taxi or walk here.” He tells you softly with his arms now draped over waist, his hands interlocked behind you. Blue eyes still looking at you. “Next time I’ll open my schedule up to do so.”

You instantly shake your head. “No, you’ve done too much for me.”

He looks at you softly, almost bittersweetly. “It feels like I haven’t done enough.”

Your lips are already on his nose before he could continue. “You’re perfect.”

Those insecurities leave him and it’s replaced by the previous admiration he first had when you walked into his field of view. Instead of replying, he just pulls you in for another tight hug, his cheek now on top of your head. His indirect way of saying many things with one action.

You mean the world to me.

I appreciate you.

Thank you.

Pulling back from the hug to check up on the veggies he was stirring earlier, you point towards the living room, where Power and Denji lay as they go through the plastic bag you brought. “I hope you don’t mind but I brought some extra food I prepared yesterday and sweets.”

“Mmm you didn’t have to. I made extra food too.” He explains as he tosses the veggies around the sauce, evenly coating each cut piece. “But I do appreciate it, thank you love.”

I smile and wrap an arm around his torso. “I don’t mind. It was going to rot in my fridge anyways with how often I eat here. Plus, you have 2 extra mouths to feed.” 

His soft eyes gloss over to you, and he can’t help but feel the need to kiss the side of your head. “You’re the best.”

“Oi! Can you cook faster and stop flirting so much!” I hear Denji yell from across the place. Aki’s soft feature forms a frown as he goes to scold Denji for interrupting the moment.

Just now remembering you had more people in the room, you walk off to where the other two reside. Both are already munching on the baked goods you’ve brought, happily enjoying it while watching their show.

“Like em?” You ask Denji as you sit down next to Power. Her cat senses your presence, immediately heading over to you, purring happily under your loving touches. “Hi cutie.” 

Without taking his eyes off the screen, he replies back with his mouth stuffed. “Therwe realu-

“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” Aki scolds from the kitchen.

“Whamever.” He dismisses but gulps it down anyways before continuing. “Good ass…” He draws a blank. You watch the way the gears in his mind slowly rotate as they try to put together a coherent sentence. “Good ass goods!”

Power slams her hand flat onto his back, repeatedly slapping him, and causes poor Denji to choke mid consumption of the said goods. Her boisterous laugh echoes within their flat. “You sound more stupid than usual!” She hollers out then starts shaking him.

He starts to cough from all the sudden movements and finally dryly swallows the food. Despite watching Denji almost choke, you can’t help but laugh from watching the events unfold. They really were siblings by heart.

As the conversation slowly dies, Aki takes this opportunity to step outside to smoke. Everyone sits comfortably in the ambience. With the sound of the Tokyo nightlife and the lowered volume of the TV playing some random channel, it really lured everyone to a relaxed state of mind.

It could be the combination of good food and it being quite late into the night that caused both Denji and Power to pass out on the ground. Your buzzy self smiles at the sight of them, so peaceful from the food coma. The whole environment feels so… nice.

It was somewhat odd for you. Your body is aware of the empty space where your walls and guard used to be. Not really used to this feeling of being safe and secure. Growing up in a chaotic and unstable household really puts a toll on you and your point of view on what a safe home should make you feel.

In a way, you never really felt at “home” before.

The silence you’re used to in your own apartment isn’t much different compared to what you’re currently experiencing now, but it makes you feel different. You don’t feel lonely or alienated. You feel…. comfortable. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact you are now just appreciating what a domestic life is like, but it’s a new foreign feeling. Nonetheless, it’s not unwelcome, it’s more than welcome.

You hope this doesn’t come to an end anytime soon.

Taking in a sip of the alcohol of your choice, your eyes pick up on the mess that surrounds you. Dirty plates, unfinished platters of food, both used and unused napkins sprawled over the table. Overall it was just messy, but honestly this is what's expected from a late night dinner with Power and Denji involved.

Without another thought, you stood up with your wobbly tipsy legs and started to clean up. Picking up the empty cans and garbage as you scout the room for more.

“Hey.” Aki calls out for you, head just barely poking into the apartment.

You look up at him, an empty beer can in hand. “Hey.” You greet, confused.

His brows lowered from your response. “I wasn’t saying hi. What’re you doing?”

“Oh.” A giggle escapes from your lips from your tipsy brain. You continue to pick up the beer cans and toss them into the recycling bag. “Cleaning up.” You answer simply.

“You’re a guest.” He starts off walking towards you and takes the bag. “You should be relaxing.”

“You hosted this Aki, in your own home. The least I can do is help clean up just a bit.” You explain then immediately start to stack all the dirty dishes. “How about you get the garbage and I’ll do the dishes. Hm? How does that sound?” 

Leaving no room for him to argue further, you leave the living room and head to the kitchen. Aki watches as you walk away happily with the stack of dishes in hand. You look over to him once, an eyebrow raised from his stare.

“What?” You ask as you hold a soapy dish sponge in one hand and a dirty plate in the other, scrubbing away the grim and food off the plates one by one.

A lot of thoughts are running through his mind but he makes no attempt to show it. He just shrugs and chuckles. “Nothing.”

Both of you fall back into comfortable silence. Only breaking it to drop a couple of small talk here and there. With the TV still running in the back, now on the news channel. You make notes on a few topics the news anchor mentions and Aki does the same, feeling comfortable with the surface level talks. 

Nothing about this was new to either of you. You always offer freely to clean up when invited over and Aki follows up by refusing you from doing so. A routine both of you are accustomed to for the past couple of months. In some way, you should feel content or happy being with someone who flows with you so easily and has grown accustomed to you over time.

But as your thoughts simmer a bit longer, a bitter side to all of this comes around. You’re reminded of the reality you’re truly in. Both you and Aki’s death are determined when you both sign your life away to Public Safety. With Aki being two years left and yours possibly just as short.

The unwavering and daunting feeling never goes away and always ruins moments like these you want to cherish and really be in, to really exist in. No matter how much you try to avoid it, the feeling was and is always there. It doesn’t help that a good chunk of your time with Aki was wasted on avoiding getting to this intimate point in your relationship.

The person you were back then would’ve looked down on you. How could you give in to these selfish desires? Get into a relationship with someone knowing the limited time you have left. It wasn’t fair to them or you. A cruel ending to have to anyone. So you did what at the time felt like the best thing to do, barricaded yourself from the world.

You were committed to keeping a facade up. A mock up personality to shield you and others from getting close to you. You hoped you could keep up with it long enough that one day you leave this world and feel relief no one would experience grief like you did. 

Sadly even with trying to avoid the inevitable, you landed in the worst possible position ever. To end up regretting what you did and having to accept the conditions your fear set out for you. If only you gave up sooner than later. Maybe just maybe you would have enjoyed more of these moments with Aki.

“You okay?”

Your head whips to him, ocean eyes hold much concern. “Yeah why?”

He frowns, not convinced at all. “You’re shaking.”

It’s when he mentions it that you realized your shaky hands. Instantly you shove whatever lingering thought you had left and try to play it off as something else, despite knowing he wouldn’t believe you. “Just….” You trail off drawing a blank for an excuse.

“If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable.” He scolds but his actions don’t mirror his words as he pulls you in for an embrace. “There’s something bothering you. You can talk to me, you know?”

You have… Already. It was a topic that was brought up quite often between the two of you. It was hard to really fully walk past the topic. No advice or form of communication would really ease the both of you of what’s yet to come. But it does in some way help temporarily. At least, until you come back to the same thought again like now.

A sigh leaves your lips when you snuggle closer into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his large frame. “You already know what it is.”

The same sigh leaves his lips as his grip tightens. “I’m here nonetheless.”

Much to his response, it does say a lot. Both of you fall into another routine. Where one would be reminded of the ticking time bomb and the other comes around to comfort them. Neither of you felt the need to speak more with how often it happens. It was a silent way of saying “I’m tired of this too, but just know I’m here for you if you wanna talk more. Just say it and I’ll be here to listen.”

After a few moments, you finally pull back to look at him. A bittersweet smile on your lips. “Thank you.”

His arms never leave you. Instead, they are holding the sides of your arms, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into you. “Anytime.”

Finishing up the last bit that was needed to be done, you both head out to the balcony. You pulled a bit of the curtain from inside to shield where his dingy white lawn chair was on his balcony. A simple but not really effective way to have some privacy from the sleeping children. As you close the sliding glass door, the chills of the night are apparent on your bare arms.

Aki sits down first then signals for you to take the spot on his lap. “Sit, I’m not making you stand.”

Well, you can’t really deny such a tempting offer. You smile at him before doing just that. Both of you adjust yourselves a bit before settling comfortably in the current position. Your head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around your waist, and fingers intertwined on your lap. 

The soft buzz of the night life from his quiet neighborhood drowns out your thoughts as you stare aimlessly at the street lights. His arm that was once on your waist now hoists up just below your upper back. He pulls you in closer.

“Hm?” You question the sudden movement.

Aki is silent for a few seconds before talking. “I was just thinking.”

You return the same silence before saying. “Care to elaborate?”

“I…” He pauses, unsure how to say what he wants to say. 

There was just too much to say and too little of the time to say it at that moment. No amount of words or poems could describe the cloud 9 feeling he gets when he sees you there, just existing in his world. It reminds him so much of everything that it overwhelms his mind and makes him draw a blank during moments like this.

Where he wants to say everything but can’t.

So many words and sentences just zoom around him like dust in the air getting blown until it turns into a tornado. Every fleeting thought gets thicker and stronger. It consumes his mind and he can’t choose nor figure out what he wants to say during moments like these. What’s something that could just say everything he needs to say all at once? To tell you he appreciates you. Wants to stay like this with you forever. To continue to live in each other's presence until time stops him for good.

To see you come through that damn door again with a big smile and sparkling eyes as you hold bags of food in both your hands happily. While greeting him with that god forsaken fucking melodic voice of yours.

It hits him.

It’s so simple but it finally hits him.

He looks down at you, meeting your eyes one last time as his nervousness clogs his own throat. The phrase in itself is simple but the meaning is so heavy, so meaningful to him that it almost scares him away from being able to say it. But it’s the only thing that really describes this feeling he feels for you.

God he should really shut up and just say-

“I love you.”

He watches closely to the way your face reacts to this statement, both out of fear and excitement. It’s when he sees the way your eyes get slightly glossy and your cheeks burn bright in warm hues like a sunrise that he reflects the same expression with the biggest smile.

Not much is said. Only the sound of multiple pecks and tender kisses from Aki as he covers your whole face with love. You giggle like a lil highschool girl from all the affection. After almost basically covering 90% of your face in kisses, you finally get a word in. Feeling overwhelmed from joy and love.

“I love you too.” You finally say, holding his face close til your noses are just barely touching. “I… Never thought you could ever love me.”

He understands very well what you meant by that. Given the history between the two of you, but he doesn’t care. At least at this moment he doesn’t. The rays of pure unfiltered feeling of love is all too consuming and subtly blinds him from truly acknowledging the double meaning to your statement.

“We have gone off on the wrong foot and I know we both regret heavily how late it is to be in this position.” He starts off in a whisper then tilts his head slightly to rub the side of your noses, lips barely hovering over yours. “But to me, in this very moment with you, without all the worries we had been dealing with before for weeks. Hell fucking months!” Raising his tone just a bit to playfully emphasize the last part of his statement. “I know for sure I love you. The person here on my lap. The body that holds your beautiful heart and the beautiful heart that holds your soul. From every bit and piece of you, that is all for me to love until I can no longer feel.”

You feel your face get more red with every word being said. It absolutely stuns you to the core and you can’t get your mind to put together a sentence or a single word to say. You’re not used to this true unadulterated form of love. It completely fried your brain, and the only response or reaction you gave were tears.

“I…” You first choke out. “I didn’t do anything special.” You sob out. The big insecure part of you is in some way confused by his declaration. “All I’ve done is hurt you, Aki. I don’t understand.”

He quickly adjusts your positions enough to fully face you from above. Your eyes are bloodshot red, cheeks wet from tears. It’s so painful to see the doubts you’ve had hidden from him resurface but he doesn’t mind. Cause you’re you. He loves you for you, therefore he loves all that comes with you.

Aki starts to kiss your tears and gently guides you to sit up on his lap. Both his hands on your cheeks, wiping the remaining falling tears with his thumbs.

“Hurt is inevitable. We’re human, hurting others will always happen whether we intended to or not. I forgive you love, because I understand what it’s like to be scared of connecting. Especially in the field we’re working in.” His voice is tender and gentle, reassuring you with much sincerity.

He takes the time to really admire every little detail about you. How your hair frames your face. The little scratches and scars from Devil attacks on the cheeks he loves to kiss. How your eyes hold every single emotion that shapes the person you are today.

Your entire being is everything to him.

“You were made to be loved. I don’t care what person or experience made you believe you weren’t but I’m telling you this now sincerely that you were made to be loved inside and out.” 

As each word escapes his lips, he can’t help but inch your face closer and closer and closer until his lips just barely hover over yours.

“Especially by me.”

There was a part of you that wanted to scream at him for lying. For spewing out such bullshit to you at this moment. Cause how can someone so beautiful like him love someone so complex and messy like you? How is that possible?

Whatever the case was, there was a stronger, more hopeful side to you that believes everything he claims. It constantly clashes swords with your insecurities. The same insecurities that made you push him away.

And you know better than to do that now.

He watches the way your eyes light up just a bit as a smile forms. “I love you Aki. Thank you for being…. You.”

It’s after saying that you finally lean in and kiss him with all the same love and care he has for you. He makes no mistake to delay this. Kissing you back with all his entirety. Your souls intertwine through an invisible bond the more the kiss deepens. Unspoken love of affirmations set ablaze the passion you have for each other.

And in that very moment, both of you knew no matter how much time you guys wasted wishing and counting your regrets. You still had each other. As bittersweet as it is, that’s all anyone could ask for.

Well… Aki is hoping he could ask for your hand in marriage but let’s leave that for another time.

A/N: thanks for reading! please let me know if you see any mistakes with the gn!reader pov, this is my first :)

[redpenship]

cosmic wip

an: this fic is taking me FOREVER to write and i like this convo quite a bit so I am posting it on tumblr!!

---

This was a huge claim. Starline blinked in surprise. “You . . . stabilized an energy circuit? Without a surge protector?”

Ivo gave him another paper from the folder. Starline stared at it blankly. On the paper was a schematic for a capsule; in the main section was a drawing of a small bird, and attached to the bottom was a battery. The title read: animal-powered battery. 

“This must be some kind of joke,” Starline mumbled incredulously. In what world could animals power a facility like this on their own? He couldn’t even begin to imagine how they would stabilize his energy electrical circuit. That was a feat physicists had been trying to achieve for decades. And here, Ivo was claiming to have done it own his own. Without training. 

“It’s not a joke! I’ve been using those batteries as my main source of power for many years, now.” Appearing excited, Ivo leaned forward and tapped the schematic with a finger. “They work because I adapted our laws to the conditions of this world. You are a biologist first, so I will explain this simply: Chaos Emeralds respond to the needs of living creatures. Without their interference, the animals inside the capsule would die during the energy extraction process. The emeralds protect the animals by supplying the electrical circuit with enough energy to function without killing them.” 

Starline blinked. Ivo was right—he was a biologist, not a physicist. He hadn’t looked at energy physics in a very long time. But despite his inexperience, he understood just how big this stable energy capsule could be. Ivo had made a breakthrough in Earth’s sciences. Unstable energy had suppressed the planet’s sciences for millions of years. If Ivo’s invention really worked . . .

“Given your silence, I can only assume that you’ve come to understand the grander implications of this capsule,” Ivo said. He took the schematic and put it back into the folder. “Don’t get too excited. I have no intentions of sharing this with anyone else for the time being.” 

He was keeping it for himself? “Why?” Starline demanded. “You could help science everywhere!” 

Ivo shook his head. “This will not help science. It is a temporary fix to a much larger problem. To help science, I will need to present a complete solution to the energy crisis.” 

“This is a good first step!” Starline argued. “Other physicists could use this to find the solution!”

As Starline spoke, Ivo’s face fell. He said his next words sternly. “If human science was capable of solving the crisis, we would have done it by now. I accomplished what I did by abandoning our methods completely. No other scientists would have been willing to do such a thing.”

They were right back to Ivo’s initial argument: humans, and by extension their science, are idiots. “What makes you think so?”

“Anyone who is allowed to practice science in a lab has completed the circuit of higher education. To survive such a circuit, students must depersonalize themselves and accept rigorous training. They are traumatized into accepting academic dogma even if it seems unnatural to them. Upon graduation from such a system, how many of them will be willing to abandon everything they’ve learned to perform ‘unscientific’ experiments?”

Starline immediately disagreed. “They’re rigorously trained to meet scientific standards.” 

“On a non-standard planet! Everything they’re learning is useless until we can solve the energy crisis.” 

The logic didn’t add up. “Then the crisis is unsolvable. Unless you mean to say that you’re the only one who can do it?”

Ivo crossed his ams with a huff. “I’ve hit a road block in my research. Now that I have the capsules, I am finding it more and more difficult to pretend that I don’t have expectations for my experiments. Staying away from university could only bring me so far. No matter what I do, I will always make assumptions about the future and my experiments. It is an unconscious way of thinking that I cannot overcome; my brain simply cannot accept the uncertainty created by Chaos Energy.” 

Unconscious ways of thinking. It all clicked at once. Starline looked to the cognitive tests on the table in front of him and realized exactly what conclusion Ivo had drawn from them.

“You think only someone with a traditional Mobian worldview can solve the energy crisis,” he said. Ivo nodded his agreement and Starline kept going. “It has to be someone comfortable with uncertainty . . . someone with an intuitive understanding of Chaos Energy.” 

“Precisely! The energy crisis will only be solved by someone whose first reaction to learning the law of conservation of energy is to refute its existence.”

[rivero-piv]

While I'm at it, here's another WIP that I never finished (bonus for Hook and Turbo!) This was supposed to be a redraw of a much older fanart for @evildisneydorks's old fic, HMOV.

For its second anniversary nonetheless

But this has been sitting in my folders long enough for the third anniversary LMAO

[random-thot-generator]

Thots go brrr so...

More medieval AU, this time with Good King John (Price).

Good King John who just wants his bratty Princess, dammit. A.K.A. - When a Good King Goes Bad

TW- MDNI 18+ Only- explicit sexual content, sexual situations and language, brief bloody violence, bit of bdsm- spanking, brat taming, mentions of bondage and impact play, my usual brand of fluffy smut

Notes - I know, I know... I've got two unfinished series and an embarrassing amount of WIPs in my drafts folder, but I can't help it. Soo... sorry, not sorry. No beta- embrace the imperfections.

warning banner by: @cafekitsune

-

Good King John, who went to a lot of trouble to earn your hand in marriage, only to have his best knight, Sir Simon - the Ghost, duped into delivering a chambermaid to him, instead. Oh, how you must have laughed, wicked little Princess that you are, thinking you had got one over on him. And you did, you tricksy little minx. Your trick worked, Princess, but playtime is over, now. It's time to come home and take your rightful place by his side as his queen.

Good King John, who makes the long journey to your kingdom to fetch you home himself, only to be thwarted again when your father, the conquered king, informs John that you snuck out of the castle under cover of darkness and escaped to parts unknown. John knows this is a lie, of course, but he can't fault your father for trying to protect his only child. Still, the wedding banns have been posted throughout the realm, so he will be taking his bride-to-be home with him, whether you or your father like it or not.

Good King John, who sends his spies out into your father's kingdom to discover what they can of your where-abouts. He knows well enough that it's the servants who are privy to everything that transpires within the walls of any castle, and so directs his spies to concentrate on them, specifically. It isn't long before their inquiries are soon rewarded.

Good King John, who is informed by one of his spies that you have disguised yourself as one of the servants at the castle. You've been masquerading as a male youth, a stable hand of all things, working and sleeping in the stables with the horses. His spies also report that you have also concocted a most devious scheme to lead John on a wild goose chase. You paid a sailor in silver coin to spread the rumor that he saw you boarding a ship bound for the Silk Coast, which is many weeks and leagues away. John can't help but be impressed by your adept little mind, wicked as it is. He has to reach down and adjust himself at the thought of soon having you all to himself.

Good King John, who decides to play along with your ruse, so orders his knights to commandeer a ship and begin the preparations for the long voyage to the Silk Coast. He must make it seem like he's fallen hook, line and sinker for your devious little plot. Later that evening, while dining with your father, the conquered king, and your stepmother, his trophy queen, John reveals to them his plans to follow in your wake and bring you home. He then requests to borrow one of your father's many servants for the journey. Thinking King John has fallen for your trick, your father happily acquiesces to his request. "You may take whichever servant suits your needs best," the conquered king offers magnanimously.

Good King John, who arrives at the stables before dawn, waking the stablemaster and telling him he is there to select a 'lad' from among the stable hands present. John spots you immediately, sleeping on a pile of hay. "That one will do," he says, pointing you out. The stablemaster, no wiser to the ruse than anyone else, kicks you awake and tells you to go with King John. Unable to refuse, what else can you do but go along with him or risk exposing yourself.

Good King John, who feels near giddy with excitement, knowing he now has his princess in hand. Sure, he could forfeit the gold he spent on chartering a ship and simply take you back to his castle, but then he'd have to lock you away and keep you under constant guard even after the two of you are wed. John knows he will have to win you over to tame your shrewish heart, and so decides to allow your ruse to continue.

Good King John, who boards the ship with you, having you lug his heavy saddlebags as you follow along behind him, instructing you to ready his cabin for him while he discusses the upcoming voyage with the captain. You nod and just barely catch yourself before you curtsy before him. Stable hands don't curtsy, you silly ninny! You give a quick bow and scurry away to do his bidding, thinking you'll sneak off the ship while he's distracted with the captain.

Good King John, who is no fool when it comes to your tricks, locks you inside the cabin then orders the captain to set sail immediately, trapping you aboard the ship with him. He returns later to find you glumly staring out of the porthole. "What's the matter, lad? Already feeling seasick?" he asks you, making a valiant effort to hide his smug smirk. He then has you join him on deck to watch your home recede into the distance as the sails billow and snap before catching the wind There's no escape for you now, but as soon as you put into the next port, you'll be gone.

Good King John, who orders you about like the servant you supposedly are, telling you to help swab the decks, then puts you to work in the galley. By the time he tells you to fetch his dinner and turn down his bed for the night, you're exhausted. Nothing pleases him more than to see your pinched expression when he sends you out yet again after dinner, this time to fetch him hot water so that he can wash. Even better is your look of dismay when you return only to be ordered to help him disrobe and bathe him.

Good King John, who revels in your awkward state as you help remove his clothing, stripping him down until he proudly stands before you in all his nude glory. You've never seen a grown man naked before and struggle to keep your eyes averted from his crown jewels as he patiently waits for you to wash every bare inch of his skin. Is this thing supposed to jut out like a jousting lance, you wonder as you take him in hand and drag your soapy fingers over his length.

Good King John, who is almost cross-eyed with the pleasure of your touch. Your soft hands have already lathered him from stem to stern, but to feel them now wrapped around his cock as you bathe him is almost his undoing. "Gods above! That's good enough, lad," he rasps out in a gravelly voice, clamping a hand around your wrists to stop your hands before he paints the front of your homespun tunic with his seed. You blink up at him with a fevered gaze, breaths softly panting.

Good King John, who listens to your exhausted little snores drift up from your pallet on the floor later that night, wanting nothing more than to pull you up on the narrow bed with him and test the strength of the ropes supporting his thin mattress. It is too soon for such things, unfortunately. Your curiosity has definitely been piqued, if your wide-eyed stare and firm grip on his cock were any indication, but he'll have to win over your heart and mind, if he's going to convince you to stay of your own accord. You're a willful creature, too smart and opinionated for your own good, but that's what first attracted him to you. He knows he's playing with fire, keeping you in his quarters, but he's certain he can control his desires long enough to win you over.

Good King John, who spends a week in close quarters with you aboard the ship. During this time, the duration of his sponge baths has lengthened considerably, taking much longer than the first time. John is more than happy to allow you to take your time as you become intimately familiar with his body, relishing your touch despite how torturous it is. He groans and his head falls back as your soapy hands cup his balls and lather his cock. Forcing himself to make you stop yet again finally breaks his iron will. Something has got to give, he decides. It's time to end this ruse of yours.

Good King John, who is at his wit's end, forms a most devious scheme of his own. After encouraging you to bathe and change in his cabin, he pretends to leave, saying he needs to speak with the captain. He waits outside the door and listens until he hears the splash of water, then enters the cabin again. There he finds you in all your naked splendor, a mortified expression on your face. "Well, well, what do we have here? I leave behind a young lad and return to find a comely wench in his stead." he says with a mock frown, not bothering to hide how his eyes rake over your nude form.

Good King John, who leans against the door, blocking your only exit as he glowers down at you. You grab the nearest bit of clothing, one of his shirts it turns out, and quickly don it to hide your nakedness from his hungry gaze, but it's too little too late. His blue eyes burn you with their avid intensity. A lie is already sitting on the tip of your tongue to explain your presence in his cabin, but then he takes the wind completely out of your sails when he reveals that he's known who you are the entire time. "Come now, Princess. No need to fret. I am your betrothed, after all. You don't need to hide from me. We'll treat the rest of this voyage as a pre-honeymoon, so we can get to... know each other better." All you can do is gape at him before the reality of your situation finally sinks in. "I will never marry you," you vow.

Good King John, who chuckles at your bluster, which only incenses you more. Unlike everyone else, however, he doesn't shrink away from your viperous temper, laughing at you when you begin to hurl whatever you can get your hands on at his head. He ducks a hairbrush, a cup and a bar of soap as he stalks forward to grip your arms, yanking you into his chest. "Rage all you want, Princess. It won't change your situation. Now calm yourself before I turn you over my knee." You sputter and spit, eyes narrowed in fury. "You wouldn't dare lay a hand on me!" you hiss at him.

Good King John, who takes your words as a challenge and is having none of your sass. Pulling you over to the bed, he sits down and has you draped over his knees so fast your head spins. Your bare bottom is exposed when he rucks his shirt up your back, holding your squirming form with ease as he brings his large hand down on the globes of your ass with a loud crack! You gasp in shock at the sound before fire needles into the skin of your bum. It's not a bruising strike, but the humiliation of being spanked lights a fire in your belly. Your efforts to escape double, but it's all for naught. He holds you in place like a misbehaving toddler and smacks your ass again. "Keep it up, you little brat," he says with a dark laugh. "You're long overdue for a proper punishment, anyway, you spoiled little thing."

Good King John, who spanks you until your cheeks glow red, your bratty behavior inciting his lust like nothing else. He's already hard as granite and having you squirming and moaning on his lap is only making it worse. His large hands knead and massage your plush bottom, watching the way your hips grind against his flexed thigh. He can see your 'punishment' has affected you in much the same way when he glimpses how swollen and wet your pretty cunny has become.

Good King John, who can't resist the temptation and slides his calloused fingers along the cleft of your bum, following its path between your legs, hissing at how wet he finds you. You go still at the contact, breath hitching in your throat as your back arches to his touch. No man has ever touched you down there before, and the feeling confuses you. Though you're loathe to admit it, you like how he's touching you, and Gods help you, you want him to keep doing it!

Good King John, who is hanging onto his control by a thread. Reining in his raging libido, he sits you up on his lap and brushes the last of your angry tears from your cheeks. "There now," he soothes, shushing you. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Just needed a firm hand to calm you down, aye?" He slides his hand between your legs again, the tips of his fingers grazing your wet folds. "Would you like me to make you feel better? Hmm?" What else can you do but nod vigorously, desperate to see what else he can do with those rough fingers of his.

Good King John, who brings you to the edge of bliss, sliding his fingers through your wetness, worrying the sensitive nub at the apex of your thighs. "Poor needy girl," he coos in your ear. "I'll make it all better. You'll see." And he does. Great gods above, he does. His hands work you like a piece of malleable clay, all your fury now spent, sending you to the heights of ecstasy as you wail and writhe on his lap, two of his fingers buried in your spasming cunt.

Good King John, who soon has you addicted to the things he can do with his hands and his tongue and his cock. You find yourself going out of your way to cause trouble, just so he will "punish" you again and again. The memory of his cock in your mouth makes you drool with want. The thought of his tongue slithering up your pulsing channel makes your thighs clench as you soak through your small clothes. Whether he's binding you to the bed to edge you until you're a dripping, crying mess or slapping your greedy quim for coming without permission, even when he's pounding into you from behind to "teach ya a lesson, Princess," you're more than willing to submit to his whims.

Good King John, who has no illusions about you, despite your eager participation in bed. Given the chance, he knows you'll still bolt like a scared rabbit at the first opportunity. Then the captain speaks the dreaded words. "We're coming into port, my lord." Though wary, John can see how excited you are at the prospect of being back on land again, so agrees to take you into the port city for a short walk, so long as you dress in your stableboy clothing to draw less attention.

Good King John, who warns you not to attempt an escape. "This is not your father's kingdom, Princess. There are pirates and cutthroats who wouldn't hesitate to have their way with you before slitting your throat. Do not leave my side, understood?" You eagerly agree, thinking he's simply trying to scare you. You're certain once you mention who your father is, these so-called pirates and cutthroats will be tripping over themselves to escort you home, especially when you tell them of the reward your father will pay out for your safe return.

Good King John, who allows you to lead him into a bazaar. You marvel at all the strange sights, all the exotic languages and unfamiliar smells. In truth, you lose yourself in the experience for a bit, catching yourself enjoying John's company. He is so well-traveled and knowledgeable, telling you about all the different places he has been, all the wonders he has seen. "Once we're wed, I'll set aside some time for us to travel. Would you like that?" he asks, and your current situation is once more at the fore of your mind. You can't fall weak to his charms. You must escape. He is your enemy, the man who conquered your father's kingdom and took you from your home.

Good King John, who pays no attention when you tug him into a busier section of the bazaar. There are throngs of people milling about, vendors hawking their wares, their loud cries and the bustling crowd serving as a distraction. Before he realizes what's happening, you let go of his hand and duck between two stalls, making a mad dash down a narrow alleyway. Your only thought is to evade and escape, knowing John and his men will be hot on your heels. Your path is winding and mindless, leading you further into the labyrinth of the city until you find yourself standing outside of a dingy looking tavern. Surely you can find someone inside who will be willing to help a poor damsel in distress.

Good King John, who is frantic with worry. He wasn't lying about the unsavory nature of this particular port city. Pirates and cutthroats do indeed frequent this port and would not hesitate to harm you or worse. Telling his men to fan out and find you, he takes his trusted knight Sir Kyle with him, questioning anyone who is willing to stop and listen. It's an old fishmonger who finally points him in your direction, saying a lad fitting your description nearly bowled him over.

Good King John, who slows in front of the same tavern you yourself found mere minutes before and sends Kyle in to search for you. No sooner does his knight enter the tavern when a startled cry sounds from an alleyway before being cut off. John feels his heart shoot straight up into his throat when he peers down the dark passage to see two men wrestling to subdue you. One of them snatches the cap from your head, your hair spilling out before the other one strikes you across the face. John sees red, bellowing like an enraged bull as he charges down the alley with sword unsheathed.

Good King John, who meets the blackguards head-on, his rage knowing no bounds as he hacks and stabs and slashes at the men who would dare to put their hands on you. By the time Sir Kyle finds him, John has hacked the men to death, blood flying from the tip of his sword as he draws back to strike again. "My lord!" he shouts, rushing to his king's side. "My lord, they are done for. Stop!"

Good King John, who is still seething with rage, turning a murderous eye on his own man. "My lord, 'tis I, Sir Kyle! Please, sire, we must be away. Grab the Princess and let us make haste back to the ship before you are discovered!" At the mention of his princess, John's fury evaporates as he turns his worried gaze to you. The devil who struck you has knocked you unconscious, your limp form collapsed against the wall. "My love," he whispers, gathering you into his arms before motioning for Kyle to lead the way back to the ship.

Good King John, who is beside himself with guilt and worry. He stares down at your still form, cursing himself for not keeping a closer eye on you. He knew the risks but was lulled by your sweet smiles and girlish charms, despite knowing your penchant for trickery. Now look what his failure has wrought. His beloved princess lying still as death in his bed. Even the ship's doctor cannot give him answers. "She seems hale and hearty, save for the goose egg on the back of her skull. I cannot say with any certainty when she will awaken, sire, or... even if she will awaken. I'm sorry, my lord. There is nothing more I can do."

Good King John, who sits by your bedside all through the night, rubbing warmth into your chilled fingers and stroking your brow. "Come back to me, my love, and I swear I'll return you to your home. I will leave you in peace and never plague you again if you will just open your eyes." Yet his pleas go unanswered, his bitter tears dampening the soft skin of your hand.

Good King John, who awakens to the feel of your fingers carding softly through his hair. Sitting bolt upright, he stares into your eyes, now open and alert. You frown, the prettiest pout he's ever seen on your lovely face. "My head hurts, John, and I've a powerful thirst. Is there wine in the carafe?"

Good King John, who calls the ship's doctor to his chambers to give you a thorough check-up. He pokes and prods, then calls you well and gives you a remedy for your pounding head and strict instructions to remain abed until the dizziness wears off. You lie in wait for John's return, certain you're due for a proper scolding, disappointed that it won't be one of his 'punishments' you receive, instead. However, John doesn't return. Servants do, with food and drink in hand. Hot water and soap are delivered as well, along with a lovely dressing gown and slippers. You sit on the edge of the bed and bathe, one eye on the door, expecting John to "surprise" you again, but still, he does not appear. You eventually fall asleep, head still turned towards the door in expectation.

Good King John, who honors his promise to you, even if you weren't awake to hear it at the time. His guilt knows no bounds, so he determines to deliver you safely back to your father. He tells the captain to turn the boat back towards the shores of your father's kingdom with a heavy heart. He knows he will surely pine for you the rest of his days, knowing no other woman will do now, that only you will ever hold his heart. He resigns himself to a lifetime of loneliness.

Good King John, who requests regular reports on your health and well-being, receives a request from you, delivered by the ship's doctor. "The Princess requests your presence in her chambers, sire. She's in a right fit of temper, if I do say so myself, my lord. She chucked a book at me for not answering her questions to her satisfaction." John can't help the wry smile on his face. His feisty princess doesn't put up with any guff. She's a warrior through and through, his lion-hearted minx.

Good King John, who enters his old quarters to find you pacing the worn floorboards. "Where have you been?" you demand, bottom lip jutting out as you cross your arms. "Is ignoring me my punishment for running away? If it is, it's not working. I don't care if I ever see you again!" A sad expression dims his ocean-blue eyes, but his smile is as kind and indulging as ever. "I understand your ire, my lo— ah, Princess, but fret no more. You will soon be relieved of the burden of my presence. We arrive at your kingdom on the morrow. I'm sure your father will be overjoyed to have you home again."

Good King John, who bids you a strained farewell and quickly removes himself from your cabin, leaving you to blink in shocked silence after him. He's returning you to your father? You slump on the bed, unable to process his sudden change of heart. Had your escape angered him enough that he's finally decided to wash his hands of you? Even at your worst, John withstood your tantrums and waspish words. He'd always been so kind and attentive and... loving. As realization sets in, a sadness like you've never known before settles in your breast.

Good King John, who sends his man Sir Kyle to collect you when the ship docks the next day. "Where's John?" you ask, as the knight hands you up into a waiting royal carriage. Sir Kyle avoids your sharp gaze, his mouth set in a grim line. "The king has gone ahead to meet with your father, my lady. I doubt you will see him again." Your heart constricts in your breast as the door slams shut and the carriage lurches into movement.

Good King John, who is in the throne room with your father when you arrive. The knights who guard the door deny you access, their pikes crossed to block your way. Oh, you throw a right strop until your ladies-in-waiting come to collect you, leading you down the corridor as you shriek like a harpy at the top of your lungs. They lock you in your chambers, leaving you to batter at the door with your fists until your strength is exhausted.

Good King John, who returns to his own kingdom a broken man. He spends his days staring out the windows and rubbing at the ache in his chest that has plagued him since he saw you last. He doesn't shirk his responsibilities, managing his kingdom and holdings with a firm and fair hand, but his heart is no longer in it. It has been cleaved in two and he fears it will never mend.

Good King John, who glowers down at a missive sent by your father, the conquered king. As he reads it over, a dozen carts laden with chests of gold and precious gems are delivered as well. His heart seizes in his chest as he reads the message your father has sent.

'May this find you well, Good King John. It shames me to say that since your departure, my castle has not known peace. You have surely bewitched my daughter, for nothing will soothe her anger except the promise of being reunited with you. I beg your mercy, good king. Please accept my daughter's dowry and know I fully endorse your marriage, if you are still inclined to take her as your bride. I wish you all the luck, good king, for you will surely need it.'

Good King John, who reads the missive several more times before a royal carriage with your father's crest comes clattering into the courtyard. He stares on in awe as a shrill voice erupts from the depths of the carriage. "Get this bloody door open! I want to see my husband! NOW!"

Good King John, whose smile could light up the night sky as he watches you step out of the carriage, sharp eyes searching the crowd until you spy him standing on the steps with his guards. Without a care for decorum, you snatch up your skirts and run to him, kitten heels pounding up the steps until you're standing before him, panting for breath, hair coming loose from its pins. Your eyes blaze with ire but are now tempered with an emotion much softer. "You're a fool if you think you're getting rid of me that easily, my husband."

Good King John, who roars with laughter as he catches you up in his arms and hugs you tightly to his chest. His heart is fit to burst when you cup his whiskered face in your hands and whisper, "Don't you ever leave me again, John."

Good King John, who kisses you soundly on the lips before whispering back, "Never again, my love. Never again."

-

Dark Knight! Ghost drabble (prequel)

[ozarkthedog]

𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 | 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐬

summary: you get a peak of his tattoo on tv and welcome Chris home on your knees.

warnings: one filthy bj. plain and simple.

word count: 1322

author’s note: yet again this man has inspired nothing but lewd thots. for fic purposes i’m saying it’s a tiger. figured i’d finally finish this to make more room in my wip folder lmao

☽ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☾

The second Chris is through the door, you’re on him. 

A deep “mmph” rumbles his chest as you press his body into the front door with a hard grind. His backpack hits the floor and his hands cup your jaw as your lips slot themselves over his plush ones.

His graying beard scratches your skin as he deepens the kiss, shifting his hold to wrap around your waist. He’d been gone for only two days but it was enough to have you both feral by the time he got back home.

Your fingers dig into the green/blue striped shirt as his tongue swipes along your bottom lip before pushing his way into your mouth. He takes long possessive licks, claiming his territory. 

Chris pulls away with a smirk, eyes twinkling as he lays his head back on the dark wooden door. “I missed you too, Sweetheart.” He says with a chuckle. 

He thumbs the apple of your cheek when you smile. “Sorry, I was watching the Kimmel Interview and I got a bit excited.” You confess.

His brow twists in playful confusion. “So you got off to me belong pelted with basketballs?”

“Chris!” You grumble and lightly slap his arm. “No! I just forgot how hot it is to get a sneak of your tats every now and then.”

“What? When did that happen?” 

“When you took a shot I saw the tiniest sliver of your tiger hip tat.” Your fingers absentmindedly play with the seem of his shirt before sliding under and caressing the inked flesh.

Chris raises a pondering brow. “Oh yeah? It got ya missin’ me?” 

You silently nod, eyelashes flutter as you slide your hand even lower. His breath hitches when you palm the slight bulge trapped beneath his blue trousers. 

 “Or just missin’ my cock?” He playfully jabs before choking on a groan when you make a fist and pump his cock through the material.

Your lips tug into a sly smile watching him crumble beneath your touch. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.” You say with a shrug before grasping the edge of his shirt and lifting. He raises his arms and helps you remove it before throwing the shirt somewhere behind you. 

His chest and torso are splayed with multiple tattoos and a generous layer of salt and peppered hair. Your nails rake down his chest making his pecs bounce beneath your fingertips. 

You softly press your lips against his collarbone and feel him relax under your touch. The tender breeze of a sigh fans your forehead as you slowly kiss your way down his chiseled torso. 

Chris’s pecs are so full and strong you can’t help but take a bite of the supple muscle. He hisses under your wicked treatment only to whimper when you lick the barely there marks. 

Your mouth never leaves his skin as you descend to your knees. Intent on making him weak by kissing and licking every inch of his body until the tent in his trousers was obscene. 

“Looks like you sure missed me.” You quip as you unzip the material and let it pool around his ankles. His cock twitched heavily under the black boxer briefs as you trace a lithe finger up the curve of him.

Chris sighs with a soft chuckle, “You fuckin’ bet I did.” The heat from his flesh seeps through the thin boxers; he was so hot and excited to get your mouth on him. 

You unwrap the statuesque man slowly, peeling off the painted-on briefs inch by inch until his thick, weeping cock bounce at eye level.

“What a sight.” You croon. Blood rushes to your core and makes you throb with the anticipation of finally getting him in your mouth.

His girth is so wide you clench knowing how good he’ll spread you open when the time comes. The length of him is just long enough to make you choke when he isn’t too careful or when you go completely feral on him. His blushing crown drips with pre cum and his sack hangs heavy between his legs, waiting for a warm place to unload.

You tenderly wrap your fingers around the base of him and give a hearty tug towards the tip as you cover the searing head with soft, wet kisses.

Chris clenches his fists and a low growl rumbles from the deep cavern of his chest. 

Your hands circle his length and begin a steady back and forth rhythm as you drag your tongue around the weeping tip licking up the salty fluid. Chris grunts like he got hit in the gut when you surprise him and swallow him down in one go.

Your head bobs steadily on his cock as your hands twist and tug his length. Constant pressure and stimulation make his toes curl and eyes roll to the back of his head. His hands cage your head between his palms but he doesn’t direct. He lets you have complete control as you fuck your mouth onto his cock.

“God damn, Baby, I missed your mouth so fucking much.” He confesses with a grated tone. 

You suckle the bulbous tip tasting his salty spend as you drag your tongue around and around. Circling the mushroom head with tight swirls and groaning when his hips buck forward trying to shove his girth down your throat. 

You smack his hip and quirk a brow up at him letting him know who's in charge. His lips tug into the most pathetic little pout before he starts gasping when you tongue at the tiny hole that tops his crown. 

“Shit- yes. Fuck, that feels so good.” He gasps, succumbing to the otherwordly sensation.

His body quivers beneath your hands as you softly prod the tip of his cock head. “Oh fuck.” The ragged groan falls from his lips when you finally pull away. A strand of spit stays connected to your lips as his shiny, wet cock bobs in the air desperately searching for warmth again. 

“Please, fuck, I need it.” He sweetly begs with doe eyes.

“You gonna come down my throat? Give me every drop?” You softly order from down on your knees.

Chris goes slack against the door and eagerly nods. “Yes, please, yes, every drop.”

You smile up at him as you tap the swollen, sticky crown against your tongue. “I want it. Make me choke on it.”

Chris doesn’t waste a second, wrapping his large hands around your head and thrusts as much length as he can fit into your mouth. He moans and shakes above you as he fucks his cock over your tongue and hits the back of your throat with every brazen shove. 

Your hands grasp his firm hips for leverage as you gag heavily around him and relax your throat as he tests the tendons with his girth. You heave after a rather brutal punch to your tonsils. Spit trickles down your chin and mixes with the tears that have fallen from the rough act.

“Sweetheart, shit. I’m-” Chris half grunts half whimpers as he pummels his hips and slides his soaked cock into the tight confines of your gullet.

You groan when you feel his cock swell and throb as it bursts a thick load of salty spend. Chris growls out his pleasure, coating every inch of your mouth with his seed.

You swallow him down with a smile as he catches his breath. His abs contract with every exhale and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the undulating tattoos that ripple with every breath.

He looks down at you with the dopiest grin. “I ain’t never leaving you home now after that performance.” He jokes before helping you to your feet. 

He kicks off his trousers with a laugh and circles an arm around your waist before leading you to the master bedroom. “Now it’s my turn to show how much I missed you.”

[zeenimf]

Farewell my Eyjafjörður | Vertu Bara

i haven't forgotten about this wip, as sigga and sera haunt my mind every living moment. have been feeling so angsty lately that i decided to reread some of the old writing and found this snippet at the bottom of my wip folder. i thought you might like it. the excerpt continues below the cut

Sigga stands peering out of the window and finds the streets outside deserted.

“I hope Óli and Fjólar are okay,” she says, closing the curtain and turning around. She doesn’t know the old man who owned this apartment very well, but it was the one house they could break into without leaving a trace.

Sera sits on the bed, her knees pulled up, clutching them with all her might. Her eyes are closed, held that way forcefully.

“You can open your eyes, if you’d like.” says Sigga. She does her best to sound sure of herself, to fake an ounce of confidence for Sera to latch onto, but she can't get the image of Sera’s possession out of her head. The way she hung in the air, her eyes a burning red, played with like a crude puppet. As such her words are nothing more than hollow promises. In truth Sigga isn’t sure of anything anymore.

taglist for Farewell my Eyjafjörður (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

“Or maybe you can get some sleep,” she continues. “If our plan has worked they shouldn’t be able to reach us now. I’ll just sleep in this chair, and you can get some rest in the bed.”

Sera does not answer. She hasn’t moved ever since Sigga carefully led her to the bed.

Outside the wind has picked up, howling through the streets. In other circumstances this could have been cosy, a night where you huddle up next to hearth with a cup of tea. But then Sera speaks, her words barely more than a whisper, words so frail they break upon reaching Sigga’s ears.

“Come.”

Sigga turns her head to Sera.

“Please,” she whispers again. It takes a moment for Sigga to register the question. She doesn't want to invade Sera's personal space, a space she normally defends furiously. But when Sera does not change her mind Sigga pulls herself out of the chair as slowly as she can, crossing the room until she stands at the edge of the bed. Only now does she realise that Sera is shaking, almost as if her body is shifting in and out of this world, resonating to those horrific melodies the spirits sang.

“You sure?”

Sera nods, her gesture barely visible, but enough for Sigga to catch with a lifetime of experience. She crawls onto the bed and sits next to Sera to the sound of creaking wood, inching towards her until their shoulders touch. Sigga jerks back, afraid for a moment that touching Sera would call out the ghosts.

“Fuck, sorry,” she says, biting her lip. Sera lets her head rest on her knees as she clutches her knees even harder, almost as if she wants to rip through her clothes and into her own skin.

“Vertu bara,” says Sera. Just stay. Sera’s r’s resonate through her whispered plea, rolling almost like a cat’s purr. She has always pronounced them deeper in her throat, her one tell that Icelandic isn’t her native language, but one Sigga has always liked. With a deep breath Sigga pushes herself gently against the huddled-up Sera, raising her arm above Sera and letting her hand drape on Sera’s shoulder, careful as not to touch her scarred arms.

It is Sera that jerks away this time, but not in such a way that she breaks away from Sigga’s grip. After the shock has waned Sera leans slightly into Sigga. Sigga takes Sera’s hair in response and brushes it to the side, making space for Sera to rest her head on Sigga’s shoulder.

“Do you still hate the way your fingers look?” says Sera.

“What?”

“Your fingers.”

Sigga does her best to suppress her laughter, but fails to keep it all in.

“What are you on about?”

“I just wanted to say that your long bony piano fingers are pretty,” says Sera.

Sigga can feel Sera’s body lean against her more and more, allowing her to fall into Sigga fully. She has stopped shaking too, and Sigga manages to catch a glimpse of Sera’s eyes without moving her head. Her face isn’t strained anymore, soundly asleep. Sigga pulls a blanket over Sera’s knees and closes her own eyes. Even though her position is uncomfortable she’s afraid to move, especially when Sera’s only just fallen asleep. Without realising she pulls Sera closer to her, cradling her, hoping that it’s enough to guard Sera from the nightmares that haunt her every night.

@ink-fireplace-coffee | @henrike-does-writing-sometimes | @writing-is-a-martial-art | @magic-is-something-we-create | @florraisons | @hysteriwah | @chayscribbles | @mashuheartwrites | @ettawritesnstudies | @strangerays ​ | @authortango

[mysticwolfshadows]

I have a Avatar fic that has been dead in my WIP folder for years. It focused on Ursa, retelling her story, and adding more depth to the situation in the Fire Nation.

When a war goes on for that long, people start to want it to end. So it would have made sense for there to be a rebel faction within the Fire Nation. A very heavily stamped down rebellion, but a rebellion none the less.

The idea was to have Ursa's family, as Roku's descendants, be supporters of ending the war. So when Azulon shows up with Ozai, Ursa agrees to marry Ozai so she can maybe help change things from the inside, rather than getting beat down without being heard like the rebellion. Only, she finds her own battlefield.

There was some really dark moments in my outline, especially around how Zuko and Azula were conceived. To balance the dark, I set up Fire Lady Ilah, Azulon's wife. She was set up to be Ursa's main support, since Iroh is away with the military a lot.

Anyway, when it gets to the point where Lu Ten passes, and Ozai suggests himself to become heir, Azulon makes a threat of punishing Ozai for suggesting it, his plan is to move Zuko ahead of Ozai in the line of succession. Ozai, refusing to let his own 'worthless' son be closer to being Fore Lord than him, plans to have Zuko killed. Ursa, hearing about it, immediately jumps in. Iroh will abdicate. She knows him well enough that she's sure of it. So if Azulon passes before he officially changes the law...

In the end, Ursa agrees to assassinate Azulon, and then flees Caldera. She returns to Hira'a, hoping that Ikem is still around. Instead, she finds Ikem starting his own rebellion, his anger having brewed for nearly a decade. And Ursa, with knowledge of how the Fire Nation Army takes out rebellions, takes command, using her knowledge to help the growing rebellion hide, maybe even using the Western Air Temple as a main base of operations.

As Iroh becomes more engrossed in the White Lotus, the two eventually meet again. The White Lotus has heard of the near ghost like rebellion, and have an interest in working together. Iroh is pleased to see her alive.

My notes ended with Ursa receiving word of the Agni Kai and Zuko's banishment from Iroh. Coded, of course. Iroh plans to bring Zuko to see her, though Zuko still doesn't know that she's alive.

[aethersea]

📓!

There’s an atla au of star wars that I have tried so hard to bend into a shape that I can actually write, but alas, all I have are ideas. This is the one that’s in the wips folder as Everything Changed when the Clones Attacked, which is ironic bc I cannot for the life of me figure out what to do with the clones. Maybe they’re being brainwashed at Lake Laogai? Or something???

Anyway. The story has two parts, prequels and sequels. Details under the cut, because this got a bit long.

In the prequels, the elderly Master Yoda of the airbenders is Avatar, and in his old age he’s stopped traveling the world and instead dispenses his wisdom from one of the great Air Nomad temples, nestled deep in the mountains where only Air Nomads can reach. He’s unofficial leader of the council of Air Nomad elders, which is….not great, really, not how things should be, but it’s mostly been okay. He’s been a good avatar overall, and it’s only in later years that he’s leaned so heavily toward the Air Nomads, and really none of this is enough to push the four peoples truly out of balance. 

Our story starts with Qui-gon Jinn, an airbending master traveling with his apprentice, helping a besieged queen from a minor Earth Kingdom escape her city. (I saw a post once asserting that the Earth Kingdom is actually a collection of largely autonomous kingdoms that all loosely recognize the authority of the Earth King in Ba Sing Se, and I like that a lot, so that’s the worldbuilding I’m going with here.) Qui-gon agrees to take Queen Amidala to the Avatar’s council to beg their aid. 

Along the way, they encounter a young boy living with his mother. The boy can do a bit of earthbending—and also a bit of waterbending, and a bit of airbending, and a bit of firebending. Which is impossible, because Avatar Yoda isn’t dead, but there he is, bending all the elements anyway.

I don’t think there’s slavery in the atla universe, but we could probably get away with indentured servitude of some kind, and Qui-gon acquires Ani in much the same way as he does in canon. He takes him to Avatar Yoda—and Yoda rejects him. Says, essentially, “This is weird as hell but it’s also not my problem.” (Frankly I can’t come up with an actual good reason for Yoda to do that, but just go with me here.) So Qui-gon angrily responds that if the Avatar won’t take responsibility, he will, and then gets himself enmeshed in Amidala’s political problems to boot. 

And then he dies.

Something something evil emperor, yadda yadda you know the drill. (Though I think the empire isn’t going to be the Fire Nation, despite the thematic appropriateness of fire spreading unchecked to consume all in its path. Palpatine is gonna usurp the Earth King, I think, and I do feel the prequels’ themes around entrenched systems with deep flaws, which are too big to fight as individuals and too implacable to change, will fit well with atla themes around earth.)

The sequels portion of things is even less plotted out. All I know is that Luke grows up in the same nameless patch of Earth territory his father grew up in, and he doesn’t actually discover he can waterbend until he’s practically an adult. It’s a shock to everyone—except, somehow, weird Old Ben who lives in the desert, who tells him that the next Avatar is supposed to be a waterbender, and won’t explain why he’s so convinced Luke is that Avatar given that he’s pretty emphatically not from the Water Tribes. 

Luke is finally convinced when he manages to airbend, under Old Ben’s suspiciously skilled tutelage. He can’t pull off any other elements, though, so they go off on a road trip to that swamp where you see spirits, to try to reach the past Avatars and get some guidance.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to both of them, Leia has grown up knowing she can firebend. This is kind of an alarming skill for the princess of an Earth Kingdom to have, and even more alarming given that she’s already an earthbender. So she’s kept it secret, and no one but her parents has ever known.

They can meet in some way analogous to the Death Star raid in A New Hope, idk I have zero plot in mind here. The point, as far as I’m concerned, is that the Skywalkers have fundamentally broken the Avatar cycle. Anakin shouldn’t exist, and yet he does, and he was born while Yoda was still alive. If he hadn’t existed, the next Avatar would be a waterbender, and that’s Luke—except he’s from the Earth Kingdom. If Anakin is a true Avatar, then the next one would be an earthbender, and that’s Leia—only then she shouldn’t have been born until after Anakin’s death. Nothing makes sense! Even Yoda and all the other past Avatars together have no goddamn clue what is going on!

Imagine their consternation when they discover that neither Luke nor Leia is the Avatar: it’s actually both of them together. Luke has air and water, Leia has earth and fire; Luke can visit the spirit world and be the bridge between humans and spirits, and Leia can speak to kings and maintain the balance between the four nations. The two of them, together, can defeat their father, defeat the emperor, and restore harmony to the world.

[hurricanek8art]

Okay, I don't know what's going on with Tumblr and everything has been absolute chaos with my life the past few months, so y'know what, screw it. I think I'm actually brave enough to share some of my art. At least it won't just be sitting on my tablet that way.

This is my Sith Inquisitor turned Force-sensitive Outcast from SWTOR, Roodaka Greatstorm-Kallig. I haven't really plotted everything out with her regarding her story, but she's not my Outlander. She leaves the Empire right after Ziost, after losing all of the family she'd used her Dark Council connections to find and save from slavery, and Lana recruits her to help Sana-Rae run the Enclave about two years before the Outlander (my Knight Aja Verdona) is rescued. She's prickly and petty and spiteful but I love her dearly. And because I've never posted art before, art process and a little bit of character lore ramble under the cut, I guess?

I usually work with lined art/sketches that are admittedly very messy, but when I did the first one back in May I was experimenting with actually rendering/painting, and I saw a fashion post thing that looked like something Roo would wear, so I was mostly just playing around, it's not a solid outfit design for her. It's janky and wonky and oh Lord please don't look closely at the anatomy or face it is not up to my usual standards, but I was so proud of myself for the lighting on this one, as well as how I managed to render the muscle. Like, the lighting! I have no idea what I'm doing but I think it looks so flipping good! And I was happy with how the crackly lightsaber blade turned out—it is supposed to be Aloysius Kallig's lightsaber, meaning it's at least over a thousand years old, right? It should be a little janky with age!

The second one is supposed to be post Fallen Empire, after she's left the Sith and become sort of a wandering Force-user—think Ahsoka as of, well... Ahsoka, but more on the side of Ventress if she'd survived TCW (don't get me started on that choice 🙄🙄🙄). I came into it knowing a little more of what I was doing, but I kinda got in over my head and gave up on the 100% lineless thing, you can definitely tell with the sword/clothes. 🥴 The second piece has been sitting unfinished in my WIP folder for months, so I just said screw it, finished up some details and called it because I am SO PROUD of her face and hands (I DREW A GOOD HAND WITHOUT LINEART WHO AM I?!?!) and how I rendered her skin, I don't want it to live in WIP purgatory forever. You can actually tell that's muscle! And a neck!

I'm proud of how her tattoos turned out, too. I played around with Cham Syndulla's tattoo pattern, turning it at different angles. It felt like a good way to root her in Twi'lek culture despite the Kallig bloodline having been separated from it for so long. She gets the first one to cover up a slave tattoo, and the rest after Ziost to further reclaim her identity and culture, leaving the Sith behind.

I have no idea how to close this post. Um... thanks for reading all this, if you have? I've never posted art before, I'm kinda terrified. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

[physalian]

Writing with Executive Dysfunction (or how to lower the barrier of entry)

So you want to write a book, but all you have is a cool one-liner, a niche super power you want to explore, and the blurry image of a love interest with a two-syllable kind of name. You don’t know where to start, what to tackle first, how to jump in the deep end.

Can you write the ending first? What if you want this really cool gimmick in a fight scene but can’t write action to save your life? Do you start in media res or with a prologue, or with the character starting their daily routine? Do you write the villain’s POV first?

Or do you start with an outline, character sheets, a title, summary, your themes and motifs? How many pages and pages of worldbuilding notes should you have built up before you’re good to tackle the first page? You’ve heard time and again the critical importance of the first three sentences. The first chapter if your audience is generous.

The pressure mounts to be unique, but not try-hard, descriptive but not flowery, intriguing, but not confusing, all in the first hundred or so words. You sit there staring at the little blinking black line on your blank page… and the idea gets shelved for another day. It collects virtual dust in the backlogs of your computer, forgotten until you have to clear out space on your hard drive and stumble across unspent potential.

Everyone and their dog has their own bits of writing advice and I’m sure I’m about to echo tips that have been around the block once or twice, but there are a few I don’t see talked about enough.

Whether you suffer from severe procrastination, fear of failure before you even begin, the overwhelming limitlessness of choice, or just can’t sit down and dedicate any time to see what happens, this list might be for you.

1. Write Every Day

This is nothing new, but I’m going to tackle the implementation of such a habit over why it’s important. You already know why it’s important. Writing every day doesn’t demand a full page of a Word doc, or 200 words before you can get up and do something else. Sometime a witty dialogue exchange comes to mind while you’re doing dishes – write that down.

Or you saw a cool name for a character in a commercial – write that down.

Or you had a dream about your characters in a high-octane street chase – write down the synopsis.

Personally, I use Apple Notes. It’s free, I can log-in to iCloud through a browser and keep writing, and my phone is always with me. I have dedicated folders to sort which notes belong to which concepts.

Disclaimer: Apple Notes is meant for exactly that: Note taking. I take it to the extremes, but it’s not a word processer. It’s not meant for anything more strenuous than putting virtual pen to virtual paper.

I build up so many variations of scene ideas and concepts for character arcs that my ‘notes’ for any given book can be as long as a full-length novel. Most of the time, admittedly, those ideas get outdated fast as I move on to bigger and better things, but the point is this: I never would move on to better things if I didn’t have somewhere to start.

I have a personal grudge against OneDrive for a sync failure losing 20k words of a WIP, so most of my writing is done through Google Docs and saved to Google Drive. It’s not the most powerful word processor, but you don’t have to worry about formatting until the very end and can export later. It’s free, like Apple Notes (assuming you have an iPhone), and the smart phone app for Google programs works phenomenally better than the MS Word app – so once again, the barrier for being within reach of places to jot down ideas is lowered. My phone is always with me.

It doesn’t have to be digital – carry around a journal or a notebook or a legal pad if you want. Whatever gets your creative juices flowing. The point is to have somewhere to take all the ideas you have in your head and get them onto paper the moment inspiration strikes.

2. Writing is Supposed to be Fun

The dreaded writer’s block, scourge of authors everywhere. You’ve reached the point in your manuscript where you’ve caught up to the epic adventure you’ve written in your head. The little writer in your brain has gone on strike and you’re left in the doldrums of how to transition from one chapter to the next. One idea to the next. One scene, one line of dialogue.

Answer: Skip it.

Unless you have a hard deadline to make, writing is supposed to be fun. Your best work comes when you’re passionate about doing it, not when you’re holding your fingers hostage to put something on the page or else.

When you start getting frustrated, walk away. When you get stressed, walk away. The manuscript will still be there once you’ve slept on it for a day or two and you’ll be glad for it. Or, write a different scene. Write a hypothetical scene (more on this point later). Write anything you want and come back to the hard parts later. The gaps will fill eventually, and if they don’t—consider what about that transition or scene is so hard and consider axing it entirely. If it’s frustrating for you, it’s probably boring or unimportant to the reader.

3. Script it

My favorite writer’s crutch is to make a skeleton of the scene I want to have, fill it with dialogue, and move on. The pretty thematic narrative can come later. It’s halfway between an outline and a first draft and, for me, someone to whom dialogue comes easier than narrative, this is another barrier removed to letting creativity flow.

I don’t have to think about dialogue tags or movement of a scene or how exactly I want to structure a sentence or describe the setting. Scripting lets me sus out the pacing of a given scene, test run a conversation I have in my head to see if it might really work before investing all the time and effort of a fully fleshed out first draft, only to erase it all later.

You can do this mid-narrative, too. If you just want to skip over a couple lines that aren’t coming naturally to you, script a vague sense of stage directions until you get to easier narrative and come back later.

When I say scripting, mine look something like this:

Character A (ChA): [position within the setting, tone of voice, any notable gesture or action that enhances the dialogue] “Dialogue.” [specific dialogue tag, if necessary] … (often a paragraph break) … “Dialogue.” Character B (ChB): “Dialogue.” [emotion, reaction, details about the setting that are now important, new revelations by the narrating POV] … “Dialogue,” [action. Tonal shift. Movement] ChA: “Dialogue.” [action] … (scene continues)

In practice:

… ChA: [kicks back against the wall of the room, arms crossed. Annoyed, waiting for ChB to speak first, but they don’t] “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to leave?” [head tilts, still waiting on an answer ChB isn’t giving] “All you had to do was ask.” ChB: “You were having fun,” [quiet, wringing their hands in their lap on the edge of the bed] “You wanted me there. So I was there.” [huffs, flips their hair back. Not sure how many times they’ve had this conversation. Will always hate parties, not going to suddenly like them just because ChA is there] “You can either have me there, or make sure I’m comfortable. You can’t have both.” ChA: “So now I’m the bad guy.” [foot thumps on the floor like a judge’s gavel] …

Scripting also lets you fill a scene with multiple new characters before you figure out their names or descriptions, tagging their lines with the bare minimum. I often test out entire action scenes (which I loathe writing) in script form, so I know I’m satisfied with the pacing, blocking, and amount of movement before I lock it in and write the first draft of actual narrative. It also forces you to make sure your characters are taking actions and not just sitting at a table like talking mannequins.

Transitioning from script to narrative can be mighty tedious sometimes if you try to fit in chunks of narrative in the exact places you left on your initial pass. Fictional prose is organic, so let it breathe.

Maybe you let a character monologue for too long, or they have too much movement in a scene that becomes unnatural and clunky. Or the entire scene ran away from you because the conversation was just that good. Whatever the case, a script, bare minimum, gets your foot in the door.

4. Write Fanfic

I like sci-fi and fantasy. I also like taking my sci-fi and fantasy characters and throwing them into ‘fanfics’ to test out relationships and start to get a feel for what makes them unique from the rest of the cast.

Sometimes the setting changes to something mundane, sometimes it’s a hypothetical scene that the current pacing of the narrative just doesn’t have room for, or it’s a flashback you’ll never include but want to have written so it’s concrete when you reference it in the present.

It also helps you fall in love with your characters when you can write them without consequence, doing whatever, doing whoever, saying whatever, going wherever. In fanfic, their personalities can start to write themselves and you discover them as you write them. And, hey, sometimes you come up with a concept so good, you change the entire real narrative around to fit it.

All your attention doesn’t have to be on the story you’re actually writing.

5. Keep All of Your Deleted Scenes

I keep so many of mine, the ‘deleted scenes’ doc of one book is 40k words longer than the actual manuscript, filled with numerous variations of the same scene written over and over again in vain trying to keep something that no longer works.

Keep them for several reasons:

It reminds you of how far you’ve come.

You can pick through the bones for bits of dialogue and setting descriptors even if the majority is trashed.

You remind yourself of what didn’t work before, so you don’t fall in that same trap again.

If you change your mind, all you have to do is copy-paste it back in.

6. Remember First Drafts are First Drafts

Let the word spew flow forth from your fingers and don’t look back and start questioning every decision and all its flaws until your creativity tank starts sputtering on empty. It’s supposed to be messy, it’s supposed to have plot holes and typos and inconsistencies and things to fact-check. If you start hyper-fixating on making sure your manuscript has absolutely no errors before moving on to the next chapter, it will never get written, and you’ll convince yourself you’re a terrible writer.

Writing is easy. Revisions are hard. Just as storytelling doesn’t have to be linear, neither does the writing process. If that critical first line just won’t come to you, stuff a mediocre one in its place and move on. Write the ending first. Write all the romantic entanglements first. Write the big climactic argument first and figure out how the rest falls into place around your beautiful centerpiece.

But remember: You do, at some point, have to write the hard stuff. Hopefully, when the time comes, you look at all the rest you’ve written and are proud enough of your progress that those daunting scenes that looked impossible before become much more approachable now. Do it for your future readers who want to know how it ends. Do it for your characters. Do it for you.

[mushroomjeremy]

I have been holding on to this design for a little while now. Thinking about how best to deliver how I changed the character and if I did enough.

I really want to get to clearing my 'to post' folder out. So I guess its better now than never.

This is Dr. Jair Shimmer a rewrite for SCP 963. Ignore that this is almost the exact same design in my Clight artwork; I liked the design so I kept it.

His main gimmick is that he study cursed object not just 963. He wears many curse object regardless of moral or ethical reasons against it. His office is chalk full of them, enter at your own caution.

SCP 963 isnt to much changed from base one, only thing is the souls in the amulet can be retrieve. Very hard thing to do and Shimmer needs to do that action all on there own and he kinda does not care to do that.

I do want to make more bodies for Shimmer but Im very busy and Im scared to draw women.

Past Keep Reading is just headcanons (do I even call them that at this point?)

The amulet is made of out silver, Red Beryl/Bixbite, and different colored sapphires.

While I am using He/Him in this post, Shimmer is a genderfluid, pansexual, panromantic with any pronouns as long as your not taking the piss out of him

Despite shipping war, Shimmer is with Glass, Clef, and Kondraki. Sometime all at once.

He use to be cautious around cursed objects, but after 963 he started to become reckless knowing he'd always come back after the Foundation found him

963 works a little differently on how is possess someone. All it needed was an initial soul trap and the next person to pick it up will be possessed. If Shimmer kills themselves the curse is kinda broken, he would just be in the amulet and the next person to pick it up is the knew host.

So Able is out of the story.

Shimmer just touched it and became the host.

How he found out about SCP 963 abilities is a informant apart of a different GoI stabbed him in the back cause they thought Shimmer was getting to close to figuring out why they were in the Foundation in the first place

Shimmer went to Deer College to get a degree in Magic and Curses

Shimmer can see, read, and understand magic in objects and crystals but he himself is not a wizard/witch/Type Blue/ect.

He's a lot calmer here with a stern voice, though he still tells jokes when he feel in danger. Force of habit.

I wanted to keep this as I think it gives some good worldbuilding to the Foundation daily life. He does facilitate a betting ring for literally anything. You could put a bet on if the kitchen will be destroyed in the next breach or not.

Shimmer likes to see the personnel fight when bets don't go their way.

Where is Shimmer get money to pay back people? Who knows.

Shimmer has yet to see the gravity of immortality. He's in the phase of getting sick of dying but still careless with his bodies and "clones."

Oh yeah the Clones! How the amulet after a month could be taken off and put on another person? Well the Foundation uses that to their benefit instead of killing them. More bodies that can work on higher clearance levels stuff.

Shimmer can take of the amulet before the end of the month and still retain his body.

I also wanted to keep the Personnel Director position. I like him having all the information on the Personnel of the Sites he is place in. It could cause tension between characters if they fine out about Shimmer knowing those things or it could show how much they care about friends with this information. Example for both: Clef

I want to do the rest of the Family as well but its still a wip. But I will say I wanted to explore ableism as a defining problem for the family in its dysfunction

If I remember or figure out anymore I'll come back here maybe.