#consider this sort of AUish

[agent-troi]

Saw your tags-- I sort fics into these weird little boxes mentally, slapping on AU/AUish if it deviates a single millimeter from my own interpretations. XDDDD If you want, I'll move your fic into the non-AU territory, just say the word! :DDD

Lol that’s fair- I think there’s enough room for interpretation that almost any version of their two day trip across country would be compatible with canon, since we’re never told how it went. Generally I only consider fics AUs if any part of it directly contradicts canon (and/or if it’s tagged as an AU of course😄) I guess I should’ve used the canon compliant tag in the first place lmao😅

[perahn]

Khem Tells A Story

There seemed to be no way out of Katy’s demand – at least, nothing that would not cause more difficulty later – and so Khemuret Xul wracked her brain. She could find, without difficulty, all the spells she had stored there, all of her dreams and memories, all of the facts she had taken such pains to learn, a good deal of history, and a vast quantity of stratagems, but could she find a story for the sorceress?

“A love story,” the half-elf elaborated further. “You know, star-crossed two people, or maybe more, who risk everything to be together, and there’s adventures and misunderstandings and maybe one of them thinks the other is dead but they’re not, then there’s a happy ending and they, you know, do it a lot.”

Of course. She should have guessed.

“Katy, I don’t think Khem wants to–“ Harper began.

“You must know lots of stories, Khem, you’re so smart. I bet you used to sit with your friends at wizard school and swap stories, right? Like ghost stories, everyone loves going ‘woooooooo’ in the middle of the night.”

“Wooooooo?” Shay repeated, presumably puzzled by this new addition to Katy’s vocabulary.

Khem just shook her head. There were so many things wrong with almost everything that came out of Katy’s mouth; sometimes the only thing to do was to give her what she wanted so that your head did not become too cluttered with her nonsense. “There is one story I could tell you. It’s not a love story, its ending is not entirely happy, but it fits most of the rest of your criteria.”

Katy nodded, her dark-smudged eyes growing wider.

Khem inwardly sighed, then looked over to the side of the fire where Jarnath sat - looking insufferably smug, as usual. One of the many people to whom she did not want to tell this story. “It will not be to your taste,” she warned him. “All the characters are female.”

The drow chuckled. “Oh, I think I can endure it. The sight of a Red Wizard telling bedtime stories should prove entertaining enough to make up for any narrative flaws. Besides, this is hardly likely to recur within my lifetime. It would be a shame to miss it.”

“As you will,” Khem said, and thought rapidly for a moment. How could she make this a little safer and easier to tell? “A final warning, then. I will tolerate two interruptions. No more.”

“Per person?” Katy asked.

“In total. If you want to hear all of the story, I suggest you exercise some self-control.”

“I can do that!” the sorceress said, beaming.

It was very unlikely that she would make it even to the middle. Khem closed her eyes, ordered her thoughts and memories, and began.

“There are many versions of this story,” she said, her words falling softly into the ring around the fire. “I believe every Red Wizard has their own, each a little different. Persuading one to tell you, of course, is another matter.” She shrugged, a little self-deprecatingly. “If I were speaking in Mulhorandi, I would tell you of two women, Reha and Nebastis. However, since Common is required, I will name them Ambition and Desire.”

Shay’s eyes met hers across the campfire. Her fellow Thayan knew perfectly well that while ‘Reha’ could be translated as ‘Ambition’ it was never used as a name, and conversely, that ‘Nebastis’ was indeed a name, but it did not mean ‘Desire’. The monk inclined her head slightly and said nothing, as Khem had known she would not. There were some matters in which Shay’s discretion was dependable.

“They had entered the Academy at the same time. Ambition specialised in Divination magic, wanting to uncover all the secrets of the world and use them to strengthen her position. Desire, however, favoured Illusion, so that she could make the world appear the way she wished it. As such, they had been at the Academy for several years before they really noticed each other.

“Both, you see, had chosen to position themselves in the eyes of their peers as quiet and reclusive, competent enough for occasional use, but not threatening enough to require removal. Ambition was very skilled at using this particular ploy to her advantage, and by the time she was fifteen, she had discreetly eliminated three students whom she considered dangerous. Desire, on the other hand, was more reactive in her politics; she had never been considered worth challenging, and she was content with that. Desire might, perhaps, have been the more intelligent of the two, but she was not as cunning as Ambition. She gave an answer, one day in a shared class, that made Ambition notice exactly what she was doing. And so Ambition chose to cultivate Desire, to draw her closer and into alliance.  

“Ambition… well, she was beautiful as all Thayans are, and of pure blood, naturally. But Desire was something more. She was…” Khem paused, tried to translate the phrases. She noticed that Jarnath was looking bored and supercilious, while Harper seemed poised to put his hand over Katy’s mouth and silence any potential interruptions. “She was like the Weave itself. She would lick her lips when she was thinking, and the room would fall quiet. I know no words in any language to describe the grace and precision of her hands, their long, slender fingers, how deft and sure they were in every movement. When she cast a spell, it was as though magic itself had been invented just as a backdrop for those hands. She was as near perfection as it is possible to imagine…or,” Khem added, in a slightly different tone, “so Ambition came to think.”

“These things took time, of course. Perhaps Desire was playing a passive stance, but she had nevertheless survived twelve years at the Academy; she was immediately suspicious of Ambition and her attempts to garner influence. But Ambition was patient and persistent, and so, eventually, the two became allies – in the Red Wizard fashion, which probably still resembles polite wariness to you outsiders. They would study together and occasionally share their insights. They would spend hours discussing the finer points of a spell. Desire requested that Ambition apply one of her scalp tattoos, and then returned the favour. Their alliance was noticed, as these things always are, and three students decided that eliminating Desire would prove a worthwhile blow to Ambition. Desire fought well, but she would have been slain if Ambition had not stepped in front of the Scorching Rays.”

“How… sentimental.” Much to Khem’s surprise, the first interruption came from the drow.

“Quite,” she agreed. “I did warn you the tale was unlikely to entertain you.”

“Does it count as an interruption if I ask something now?” Katy wondered.

Khem sighed. “I suppose not. And you just did.”

“What was that about the tattoos?”

Almost subconsciously, Khem rubbed a hand over her scalp. “It’s really quite basic, if you think for a moment. Attempting to tattoo one’s own head is unlikely to yield good results. The process is quite prolonged, and whether you choose to endure the pain or to make use of analgesia, you are certainly operating at a disadvantage while someone drills a needle into your head. For that reason, most students are tattooed by their instructors, who usually have no reason to harm them. Sometimes, however, there are exceptions. Someone who is overconfident might offer the task to a rival, hoping to provoke them into making a move.  Or, as in this tale, it might be done by an ally, to mark shared purpose and the balance of power.”

“You mean, as a gesture of trust.” Harper said.

“I really don’t,” Khem told him.

“Oh!” Katy nodded. “So, who did yours?”

“Mistress Kharzura,” Khem said, telling what was approximately seven-eighths of the truth. “One of the Divination instructors. Shall I continue with the story, or would you like to ask more irrelevant questions about my schooling?”

When nobody said anything more, Khem took a deep breath. “And so, late one night in the library, alone, invisible and nondetectable, and not long after Ambition had saved Desire’s life, Desire told Ambition two secrets. The first was that she wished for a time and place where they could be alone, and safe enough to… learn rather more of each other than they already knew. This was not… unanticipated. To tell the second secret, Desire leaned very close, so that her whisper was no more than warm breath against Ambition’s ear, and she said, “I trust you.”

Khem folded her hands tightly about each other, too much the Red Wizard to betray her discomfort with the words by any more obvious gesture. “As you can imagine, that is not something one hears often in a Red Wizard Academy, and the way Desire said it carried conviction. Ambition was struck silent for a time, and then she told Desire she would arrange some privacy for them.

“Desire understood very well that the words she had said to Ambition were not ones that she could say back to her – at least, not yet, and in her way she was quite as persistent as Ambition. She was willing to wait, and to see what would develop between them. So she smiled, and she kissed Ambition, and she left the matter there.

“Desire and Ambition were hardly the first Red Wizards who ever wanted some time together on neutral territory and free from interruptions; there are customary ways of arranging such trysts.” Khem looked around at her audience, and remembered – again – that possibly only the drow really understood what she meant. Well, that was not inconvenient; it would make it more like a story for them, and less like an inevitability. “So Ambition paid the doorkeeper, and notified Desire.

“When class had ended for the day, Ambition went straight to the room and made the usual sort of preparations. Desire met her there some hours later.” Khem let her eyes unfocus, staring at the cavern wall as though she could see the scene she described – partially to help her concentrate on what she was saying and what she was not, but mostly so she did not have to see whatever expressions her audience were wearing. “They were both Red Wizards, even when the red robes were discarded on the floor. They were, as I have said, patient, persistent, and adaptable. They possessed tongues agile in wrapping themselves around the intricate syllables of spellcasting, hands trained in delicate, precise gestures, and minds ever eager to learn. These assets may be turned to several uses – and were, before Desire was sated.”

There was a silence that mildly surprised Khem. She suppressed the urge to clear her throat. “Ambition looked down at Desire, asleep in her arms, and she thought. She remembered the tone in which Desire had spoken of her trust. She thought of Raelthi and Thazad – two legendary Red Wizards who had achieved extraordinary things, simply because they had trusted each other completely.

“But, then, Thazad had been slain defending Raelthi, and in her grief and fury, Raelthi had woken a volcano to bury them all. No. That did not appeal to Ambition at all.

“She thought of how quiet Desire had always been, and how clearly ill-suited for Red Wizard politics. If she were a sufficiently poor judge of character to trust Ambition, of all people, there was no way Desire would survive much longer at the Academy in any case. And perhaps it would be… kind. Desire had clearly tasted a happiness she had never expected. No other Red Wizard within the Academy walls would offer her anything but cruelty.

“That temptation, too, Ambition put aside. The one irrevocable mistake a Red Wizard can make is to start lying to herself. No. Ambition would act as Ambition always had, for Ambition’s sake and with a clear head.

“So as Desire lay smiling, Ambition did as she had intended to do from the first moment she had noticed the other Red Wizard. By the gentlest means in her power, Ambition slew Desire. She kissed the closed eyelids, rose, cleaned herself, dressed and went out into the Academy. There was so much more to do.”

“That’s so sad!” Katy exclaimed, then clapped her hand to her mouth.

“That’s the end,” Khem told her. “You need not fear to interrupt me.”

“Oh, well…” Katy went quiet.

The sorceress would flood her with questions soon, Khem was almost certain of it. Shay, on the other hand, would probably remain quiet. She knew Thay. Jarnath was chuckling – of course – and Harper… well, Khem wasn’t going to look at him to find out.

“Can I ask a question?”

It was mildly pleasant to be correct, even on an irritating subject. “As many as you like, Katy. However, I will only answer one.”

“In total?”

Well, she had exposed herself to an absurd degree by telling the sorry tale in the first place… “Per person.”

“Uh, Khem?” She looked over to see Shay with her journal open on her knee. “How exactly did Ambition kill Desire?”

The Long Death were not too interested in magic, despite their alliance with the Academy of Shifters and Seers; Khem doubted Shay would find the truthful answer satisfactory. “Cervical fracture, secondary to direct application of magic missiles to the vertebrae.”

“Huh,” Shay grunted, and began scribbling.

“So,” Katy said, “if Ambition was going to kill her girlfriend anyway, why save her from those other wizards? Was it about the sex? I bet it was about the sex.”

“Really?” Khem rubbed her eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh and glancing around the circle at the others. “Please tell me at least one of you understands this depressingly basic manoeuvre?”

Jarnath probably did, but he wasn’t saying anything, and the arrogant set of his features was no more informative than usual. Both Shay and Harper were shaking their heads.

“Katy. They were clearly identified as allies by that point. If you let your enemies kill your allies, your enemies conclude you’re weak. Nor will you be likely to contract another alliance, should you be interested in one. If, on the other hand, you kill an ally when they are no longer useful to you, you strengthen your position.” It was a ridiculously oversimplified way to explain the power dynamics involved, and she was not at all sure Katy understood it anyway. The sorceress was frowning to herself.

Khem sighed again. “I suppose you have a question as well, Jarnath?”

“Only one,” the drow said, his smirk widening. “Does telling this horribly crude little tale mark your intention to retrain as a bard?”

Khem thought, not for the first time, of how much she would enjoy killing him. “No.”

“Oh, that is a relief.” Jarnath yawned, an elaborately feline gesture of white teeth and curling tongue. “I would hate to see you throw away your adequate wizard career to become a mediocre bard.”

Adequate! Khem raised the corners of her mouth and bared her teeth in a grimace only the most careless would call a smile. “You need not add that to your stock of fears. I sing approximately as well as you sunbathe.”

“Indeed,” the drow said, and yawned again. “I believe I require something more entertaining before bed, or else I shall have the most dreary nightmares.”

“Oh, I have just the thing!” Katy picked up her cue immediately, and began digging in her bag for another of the trashy romance stories she had started lending to their guide. As she started extolling the plot – something about pirates and a runaway prince – Harper approached Khem.

“I suppose you have a question,” she said, resigned.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, and made himself comfortable beside her in a leisurely fashion, before leaning in and lowering his voice. “So, which of your tattoos did Neb- uh - Nestabis do?”

The angular pattern repeated – rather unconventionally – along her cervical, thoracic and lumbar vertebrae. The memory of those long, painful, candlelit hours flashed across her mind, surfacing only as a superior smile.

“Nebastis,” Khem corrected him, rolling her eyes. “Or Desire – I translated for a reason. The answer, of course, is none. You mustn’t read too deeply into allegories, Harper. Do I truly seem like someone who would allow desire that much power over me?” She bit her tongue on if so, please establish exactly which organ does your thinking for you.

“Well, you didn’t before you told that story.”

[basedsakura]

s-tier sasusaku fics

disclaimer: not all of these are necessarily romantic sasusaku, or even healthy sasusaku

these are my all time favorites for different reasons, but i guess i should establish some sort of standard according to which i judge fanfics: 

characterization: i don’t expect the characters to be identical to their canon counterparts, otherwise i wouldn’t be reading anything other than the original material. however i’m also not fond of fics in which the only aspect of the character the author had gotten right is the name. i don’t like fanfics in which sakura is a cold and calculated genius or ones in which sasuke is a sexually deviant casanova. you might as well create a whole new character and write original work

prose: ok so obviously this is very subjective and considering my taste has changed immensely from the start of this year, let alone during the last 5 years, all the fics below are going to differ greatly. i like to read stuff that hits the spot between purple prose and bland just right. vivid descriptions, exposition, world-building, all that jazz, but without treating me like an idiot. leave some stuff up to the reader. a bit of negative capability didn’t kill anyone

grammar: i mean -- yeah. not much to expand upon here. i’m not a native speaker, so i’m not exactly an authority on this, but solid grammar is a non negotiable for me.

style: i’ve got some serious pet peeves in regards to formatting (when the author doesn’t want to separate their paragraphs for some reason for example) but another thing is i hate when there’s random japanese throughout the fic. it’s fine if the author decides to use suffixes the way the characters do in the manga, or if they want to use japanese words for terms that are well known in the fandom (shinobi, bunshin, hitai ate, jutsu etc.) but stuff like ‘’teme’’ ‘’ hime’’ ‘’baka’’ ‘’kami’’ is cringe (to me (especially since its mostly used improperly))

pacing: obviously this is a matter of preference, i personally love slow burn, but pacing is SO crucial for a good romance fic. the writing can be great, the characters can be on point, but if i feel the relationship is moving at an unnatural pace, if the development feels unearned, it instantly throws me off. i understand a lot of authors wanna get to the sauce quickly, but if sasuke is a rogue ninja focused on revenge, no he’s not going to want to marry sakura as soon as he sees her again. he would be impartial, nostalgic at best. there’s nothing wrong with letting the feelings develop naturally

there’s probably more but im honestly too lazy and i wanna get to the fic rec part. these are in no particular order: 

blind by ObsidianSickle

It was almost time, Orochimaru was going to take his body as a vessel. He hated being used...he refused to be used. With that thought, he took the kunai in his hand and slashed across his eyes.

this is like a classic imho. i’ve read it after 5 years and while i do have some issues with the writing, it’s nothing terrible. it’s a sweet, sweet character-study slowburn

monomoth by Ohtze

Everything ends, eventually. Eight years after the war, Sakura's unhinged and Sasuke's obsessed. The fields are filled with corpses. AUish, canon-divergent, Sakura-centric.

this MAY be my all time favorite. the story, the pacing, the atmosphere -- probably one of the most serious and talented authors in the fandom. it’s a pretty dark AU-ish fic, definitely not the healthiest either sasuke or sakura have been, but a hell of a read. still not finished though

instant message by Keelah

She gave him names to kill, in order not to be killed herself. But having blood on her hands was turning out to be much worse than dying. "…There's still round 2…3…4…" When does this game end? She asked. "Don't you see, Sakura?" He said, "It never does."

i can’t believe that a first person POV, highschool! horror stalker AU fic is probably the finest slowburn i’ve ever read. each interaction feels so earned, you genuinely feel like you’re reading about sakura and sasuke from naruto and how they would act in this AU situation, not some random characters the author decided to call sakura and sasuke. possibly abandoned

once more, with feeling by jinnyskeans

Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.

this is a fun ballerina!sakura and tattoo artist! sasuke fic. the characters are not all that IC, but it’s definitely a fun read, and while it’s not a current favorite, i remember i used to cry over this shit when i was 14 lol. so there’s definitely some quality here if this seems like your thing. plus the author is an SS fic powerhouse, so plenty where that came from

i let it fall, my heart by arabesque05

Sasuke's memories of Sakura are not based on sight. No: Sakura was a press of desperation along his back, a sob to "please, don't hurt them". Sakura was a cool hand around his wrist, startling against his feverish, new-cursed skin. Sakura was the taste of apples; the breeze of an open hospital window; the stinging pain of a third Chidori. Sakura resides in the heart.

from their ss anthologies to their meta, this author came and went and left me with a gaping hole where their writing has been. honestly some beautiful stuff. this is a oneshot, but i seriously recommend everything this author has written 

shinobi: team 7 by gallyrat

while this is a team 7, not a sasusaku fic, it’s worth reading for both the world building, the team 7 dynamic, the sasuke and sakura as the author imagined them. i felt like their relationship was very ic, among many other things that are great with this fic. unfortunately discontinued

string theory by diwata

The aftermath of the war brings many things to Konoha; Sakura copes poorly. (1970s AU)

“He’s a war hero, now. So are you. It’s nice to have you home, Sasuke-kun. Welcome.” “Things are different now. But -- I’m home, Sakura.”

this is an anthology, but same as arabesque05, i recommend literally everything this author wrote. so incredibly good

ok im getting tired and bored i’ll probably update this but here you go for now

[arthur-morgan-slap-my-ass]

I Want More

Anonymous said: Let’s say breeding kink with Arthur? Thank you!!!

Anonymous said: I absolutely loved First Light???? Can we pretty pretty please have another morning sex one??

AN: People will soon find out about my soft noncon kink and somnophilia and I’m like,,,, wig. Also, I am not dead!!! Just been busy with my graduation stuff and getting ready for a student exchange, moving yet again, some internship paperwork I gotta turn in, the disastrous turns of my love life, you know? The usual. But I plan to keep the blog going even if the RDR fandom dies. IMMA SINK WITH THIS BOAT. Also, I really love breeding, this is like,,, major kink. Sorry for any mistakes, I didn’t bother to proof read this and wasn’t beta’d because of issues!!!

Word Count: 2800 of nonsense

Summary: Sort of AUish where everything ends well, Arthur is a nasty bitch, Reader is a nasty bitch², soft touching, talk about impregnation/breeding, a really sweet creampie and idk what else mate, just have nasty stuff

Consider supporting the writer and donating to my Ko-Fi!

The chirping of birds in the early morning pulled your conscience back from sleep, the warmth of the bed whispering to that it was still much too early to start the day up just yet. One of the horses neighed, far away, the sound muffled by the even rhythm of Arthur’s breathing behind you. You sighed, scooching closer to his body to soak up some more of his body-heat.

Arthur hummed, the drawn out sound coming from the back of his throat like a purr. His arm moved over your waist, his own body shuffling around to accommodate to yours. It made you smile, almost by reflex. He was so loving, almost like wasn’t even aware of it — it was simply part of him, of who Arthur was.

His breathing deepened and you felt the gentle press of his face into your half-covered shoulder. You breathed out slowly, enjoying the idle touching Arthur offered when he thought you were asleep before he would, himself, go back to sleep.

But his hand inched downwards, so careful and gentle you thought it to be a caress, palm stretching over the skin of your thigh and backside. Arthur pressed a kiss to your shoulder then, squeezing the softness of your flesh in a loving manner, the nails idly scratching up your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You gasped softly, not loud enough to give out that you were awake, and Arthur’s hand returned to their resting place on your stomach. Arthur shifted closer then, humming again as he pulled your smaller body to his in a hug, thumb rubbing slow circles on your clothed belly. Your own hand moved to grasp his, which made Arthur hum in acknowledgement, the tips of his fingers digging slightly into your soft stomach.

The horses neighed louder this time, trampling the pen in greeting to the sun; its golden light barely filtering past the cotton blinds of your cabin. As if on cue, the chickens started clucking; all signs that the world was starting to come alive and readying itself for another day.

At this point, you were aware that Arthur wasn’t really asleep anymore, as his calloused palm slipped underneath the nightshirt you wore to bed — well, his nightshirt — to caress the silky expansion of your back. His hand travelled lightly, fingers pressing gently into each dip and raise of your spine in a slow makeshift massage, following a path that only he could see.

His hand moved all the way up to the back of your neck, wrapping around it lightly, in an affectionate manner, before Arthur pressed yet another kiss to your shoulder, with the bare hint of tongue to it. You sighed, turning your head to press against the solid expansion of his chest, and he took the opportunity to plant kisses at the base of your neck, pulling soft little moans from the back of your throat. The hand that had been wrapped around your neck moved yet again, now pulling the nightshirt up so he could brush his fingers against your stomach.

“Want you,” Arthur muttered lowly, moving up in a tender motion until his palm rested right in between your breasts, the warmth of it contrasting against your own. It pressed to the left side of your torso, gently. You could feel your own heart beating steadily under it, the rhythm even by the quietness of the moment.

Arthur hummed again, dipping his face to press it against the junction between your shoulder and neck, peppering small wet kisses over the sensitive skin. His hand moved lower, now cupping your breast lovingly before giving it a light squeeze. You shivered.

“I know your’ up,” he whispered, “lemme hear you.” His fingers teased then, probing and tweaking your nipple between them with idle interest, and you moaned softly, weakly; just a short breath coming past your lips. Arthur groaned lowly in approval, a gentle purr at the back of his throat.

He shifted yet again, pressing closer to you for more kisses as his hand slid impossibly further to hold your neck; not squeezing, the touch as light as you’d hold a newborn quail. Now you moaned a little louder, verbalizing your appreciation to his touching. Arthur’s lips pressed to the sensitive shell of your ear, and you could feel his breathing before he gently nibbled on it.

“I want you,” Arthur repeated, voice still raspy from misuse and sleep. His hand moved lower again, caressing your breasts, “I can’t stop thinking ‘bout…” He shifted again, now pressing his hips to your thigh, and you could feel his half hard erection against your backside. You rolled your hips back, exposing more of your neck to him; and Arthur sighed appreciatively, hand moving again to your stomach, just above the navel.

“Yeah?,” you prompted him on, lacing your fingers with his, your voice still breathy and light. Arthur tightened the grip, nose following the curve of your up to your ear.

“Never thought I’d have this,” he confessed quietly, voice more of distant consideration rather than one filled with dread, “never thought I deserved it…”

You hummed in acknowledgement, moving your leg up and tangling it with his behind you. “But you do, Arthur.”

“I know,” he said quickly, pressing his lips to the heating skin of the back of your neck, “and I want more, with you.”

With your eyes still closed, you frowned. Was he saying what you thought he was?

Sure, the idea of having children of your own had surfaced before, but Arthur had seemed far too reluctant for you to suggest such a thing. The memory of Eliza and Isaac still a menacing reminder of how things could turn around in an instant — so you’d never pressured on it.

Arthur sighed, hiding his face into your neck, pressing harder against your body. “I want it with you,” he whispered against your skin and the hand that had been laced with his came up, fingers brushing against his exposed cheekbone in a feather light caress.

The palm that had remained on top of your body pressed down on your navel, Arthur’s hips rocked slowly against your backside; a needy groan escaping his lips. You could feel the wetness growing between your thighs, the hot feeling creeping up your neck from both embarrassment and want.

He wanted a family with you.

Children.

You exhaled, grasping at the back of his neck and digging your nails into the sensitive skin there. “Yes,” you groaned weakly, arching your back in a needy display, “yes.”

Arthur coached you to roll over, face pressing to the soft woolen coverlet of the bed as his hand pulled at your waist and placed pillow below. His hands then pushed your thighs apart, bending your leg to the side as to expose you further in the golden light of the morning. The sheets tangled under your body and you shivered in response to the cool air of your shared bedroom.

His fingers traced your entrance and he let out a pleased groan at the growing wetness between your legs. You arched your back, pushing your backside further up to his examination, and Arthur took the hint. Two digits easily slipped inside, your cunt easily taking the thickness of them, your bodies far too familiar with each other; but you wanted more.

“Arthur…,” you moaned wantonly, bowing your head on your forearms in frustration, “more, more…”

He chuckled, moving his body half on top of yours, part of it still resting upon the bed. The fingers inside of you moved further, pressing down on the spot he knew made you whimper as he added a third one, now effectively stretching you. His cock pressed against the junction between your thigh and buttock, making you keen lowly. You were still at loss, surprised by the suddenness of the whole thing but, by Christ, did you want it.

You had wanted to start a family with Arthur for as long as you could remember, around the time you had established something — whatever you were back then — right around the time you arrived Horseshoe Overlook. But you hadn’t dared to speak out about it, knowing how much of a sensitive subject it was — and now, five years later, with a ranch of your own, Arthur wanted to take the final step.

“Did some thinking ‘bout it,” Arthur mumbled against your hair, pumping his fingers slowly into your pussy, “you, all tender and big… belly juttin’ out below the nightdress,” at this, his free hand moved to said place, fingertips pressing at the soft flesh there. “So lovely, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but imagine the picture Arthur had summoned in front of you and you felt a flutter at the base of your stomach. Moaning, you arched your back again, reaching back to touch his straining cock. “You want to do that to me?,” you asked feverishly, squeezing the firmness of him in your hand.

“Yes,” Arthur groaned, hips bucking in reflex. He pulled out his fingers from inside you, taking now a hold of his cock; using your wetness and the pre-cum gathering at the head of his own sex to lube himself up. “A babe, mine and yours,” he rubbed the tip of his cock on your entrance, holding back a strained moan “have a family of our own,” Arthur kept going, barely pushing inside, “knowing you’re all swollen up ‘cuz of me.”

“A baby,” you choked out, suddenly craving it more than you could remember ever having, “a baby, Arthur—“

He groans back at you, sinking into your pussy slowly. Arthur is hot, hot and thick — like always is —, stretching out that little bit that never quite gets used to the girth of him, like every inch of him is a mile of pleasure and a piece of heaven on hearth; handcrafted for you only.

Arthur’s hand come to rest on your waist for leverage, eventually making its way down to where you’re joined together. “Gonna look so pretty, darlin’,” he gasped, gently brushing your clit, “just for me, ain’t that so?”

You whimper, trying to follow his hips in the slow rocking motion he had set. It was a lazy rhythm, nice and slow; but the fiery want within you blazed high. “I want it,” you blurt out, digging your fingernails into the flesh of Arthur’s forearm between your legs, “yes.”

He all but cooed at you, nibbling wetly at the skin of your exposed neck as his free arm wrapped around your body, effectively hugging and enveloping you under him. You whined lowly, feeling the possessiveness of the act — a side that Arthur rarely showed over you, even in bed. “Gonna look so good with my child growin’ inside ya,” he completed the words by rubbing your stomach tenderly, thrusting harshly into you.

“Oh, please,” you cried out, twisting under him as Arthur started to gently rub your clit, the way he knew you liked, “Arthur, I’m—“

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” he drawled, voice tainted with desire as you started to clench around him. Arthur gasped, sucking a hickey to your shoulder before muttering hotly against it, “I’ll keep fucking ya until it takes.”

Closing your eyes, you whined loudly, the sound piercing in the quietness of the wooden cabin. Arthur groaned, pushing up off of you and pulling away. You immediately complained, turning your confused face to him and making no effort as to hide your annoyance; you were so close now. But he simply smiled, turning you fully on your stomach and pulling at your waist until it nestled snugly on his lap, the legs splayed making way for his slender hips.

You arched your back, turning to press your face more fully into the mattress, taking not of how the pillow below your waist pushing your hips even higher for him with a needy whimper. Arthur kneeled behind you, squeezing the supple flesh of your backside with a low groan. “So pretty,” he commented, more to himself, lining up with your entrance once more. His hips snapped forwards, sliding into you in one smooth motion, “ain’t that so?"

The angle changed, Arthur hitting deeper spots inside of you that you thought to be impossible. The pressure was maddening, with the slight discomfort accompanying the pleasure, but you didn’t care — if anything, you wanted him to go even deeper.

“Fuck!,” you whined, clawing at the sheets as your breath came out in short little gasps, “Arthur—“

He groaned in response, hands on your hips sliding to take a hold of your shoulder and to press on your belly, hiking you up even higher. “I got ya, sweetheart,” Arthur’s gentle and coaxing hands almost made you whimper out of need for him, the tone of his voice a soft murmur of what it usually was.

When he started thrusting again, it made you feel like you were about to combust. You let out a sigh of relief, leaning to rest your face against the soft mattress of the bedding as Arthur’s hand on your shoulder slid down to caress between your shoulder blades. It made you want to turn around and beg him to do it harder, your body already craving the relief it had almost reached earlier, your hips backing up on him without much further thought.

“I love you,” Arthur huffed out, almost as breathless as you, “love ya so damn much, I—“

“Yes, yes,” you whined in answer, one of your hands reaching to grasp at his thigh, tense under your touch, “oh, love—“

“I got ya, I got ya,” he repeated, leaning over your feverish body once more, shifting so the hand holding you by the middle slid down to your clit — but quite honestly, it wouldn’t be necessary — and the other to support his weight onto the mattress, “let go for me, darlin’…”

With a barely choked back moan, you tensed up, digging your nails into his thigh with gusto. That made Arthur groan, both in plain and pleasure, biting a kiss into your shoulder as you bucked under him. You were teetering on the edge of pleasure and overstimulation, the sensations almost impossible to bear at this point, and you remember begging for something you couldn’t quite remember, but—

“My pretty lil’ wife,” Arthur rasped, biting at the skin of your ear and making you moan, “gonna look so damn lovely carrying my child.” A gasp, “so sweet and tender, jus’ for me.”

“Please,” you cried with finality, trembling desperately, “sweetheart, please, please—“

Arthur sighed heavily, frowning, and you could hear the barely held back little noises he made at the back of his throat. His thighs trembled slightly over yours, his hips pressed so tightly against yours that you could feel every roll of muscle, every little twitch of his cock deep inside of you. Arthur groaned, finally, lounging forward and hugging you to his body as he came; shuddering and gasping for air.

His hips still rocked, lazily rolling into your aching cunt and you whined needily, wiggling your backside below the heavenly feeling of his twitching body over you. “I got you, darlin’,” Arthur drawled, snaking a hand down and pressing on your clit gently, “’d never forget ‘bout you.”

You whimpered quietly, taking the small piece of pleasure with growing greed. Arthur cooed in your ear, praising you as he always did when you were vocal. His finger circled the small bud lightly, putting down more pressure on it the more you shook beneath him. Arthur huffed out, snapping his hips forward and fucking you in earnest, threatening to spill out the freshly deposited cum in your pussy. You could tell he was sensitive, but if there was anything you knew about the man, that thing was that Arthur was an overachiever.

“Shit!,” you wailed as your fingers bunched on the sheets, arching your back even farther as your limbs trembled with blinding pleasure under Arthur’s care. “Godfuckingdammit— !”

Arthur pressed down on you as your body shivered, the sweetness of your orgasm spreading from between your legs. It felt sweet, a soft sense of familiarity to it — but no less breathtakingly intense —, in the only way Arthur could make you cum, and that turned your mind into a fuzzy pleasantness feeling.

“That’s it,” Arthur rasped out, rubbing your belly slowly as your trembling subsided. He pressed a kiss to the tender spot behind your ear, loving and sweet. “Don’t you worry if we miss it this time,” he whispered, now hissing as his hips rocked slightly against your own, “I’ll keep fucking ya ‘til it takes, darlin’.”

[jessejackreyes]

AUish Headcanon for Jack Morrison

So I have this old AU Headcanon for Jack Morrison that I have never done much with, that I was inspired to talk about because I read a fic that had something similar.

Most of the canon information we get about Jack is that he was charismatic, inspiring, a real captain America type person. People loved him and respected him and he brought out the best in everyone.

A certain portion of the fandom’s response is to twist that into selfishness and turn those positive traits into negative ones. I.e he is secretly an asshole or something like that. I understand the desire to try to deconstruct this, but I personally took it in a slightly different direction and a step or two further. This is going to be a long one.

People in universe don’t really talk about Jack Morrison like he is a person, they talk about him more like he is a symbol. It is something that people will often do, but I like to think that a part of the reason that they do that is because he is seriously like that when people meet him.

So I have to explain why Jack would act this way and the answe became, because he is incapable of handling emotions and people normally. Most specifically he lacks any real empathy. He understands that other people have wants and desires, that they have agency and are individuals in the same way that he is, but this understanding is intellectual and learned.

Jack had to learn, largely on his own, to understand why other people act like they do and what was expected of him in social situations. As a result his youth was very rough and intensely frustrating for him and those around him. He was brilliant and tenacious though and, over time, he slowly learned how to get people to act the way he wanted them to. He learned how to talk to people, to convince them of things and how to smile to put people at ease and get them to open up and relax.

Going into high school practically nobody would have connected him to the cold and occasionally cruel kid he used to be. He laughed, smiled, flirted, joked around. He had started working out and eventually tried out for sports. He didn’t rest until he was the star quarterback, the most respected member of the most popular sports team in school. He was a social butterfly of the highest order, he even, of course, was prom king.

He didn’t just excel when it came to being social or playing football, no. His grades were impeccable, his test scores practically perfect. He took the highest level courses available to him: calculus, sciences. You name it he took it. He graduated valedictorian.

Over the course of his early life he went from the local trouble child to the kid everyone wished they had. He was the wonder boy. Everyone loved him, he always had time for everyone, managed to keep up with his school work and studies. People called him a superman, amazed that he could manage everything he did with a smile on his face.

The truth of the matter was that he did nothing but all of this, all the time. He had no hobbies, nothing he did for fun or relaxation. All of his energy went into being absolutely perfect in this rather specific way. The few people who understood, to some degree, what he was doing would never understand his motivations. That motivation had a lot to do with his evolving sense of self. As a relatively natural consequence of the way he thought about people, it was easy to elevate himself over them. They were easy to predict and manipulate and that affected his growing philosophy and relationship to people as a whole.

His personal philosophy has a wide range of influences. It was as he reached his high school graduation that he had begun to get a rather consistent and coherent sense of what that was. To somewhat oversimplify, he has a strong belief in his own superiority over others. He feels a need to show people that he is better than them, but also, to make them love him for it.

The sort of interesting consequence of this is that he holds himself up to a near impossible standard, while at the same time having a hard time blaming people for things that they do wrong. He easily dismisses others’ actions because they don’t know any better, or are incapable of doing better on their own. It’s a weird I can’t be mad at them because they couldn’t do better even if they wanted to thing.

He joins the military at the cusp of the crisis because he knows that he will be able to do something about it better than anyone else and he couldn’t leave his own safety in the hands of others. Even here he manages to say and do the exact right thing. His superiors love him, most of his colleagues do too.

Through his excellence he is offered a chance to join the SEP and he jumps at the opportunity. It was another way to make him better than he already was.

This is where most of my stories with this Headcanon begin, because this is where it all changes. This is where he meets Gabriel Reyes and he is forced to reevaluate his relationship to other people.

A small group of highly qualified soldiers are brought together to undergo experimental procedures to make them better. Jack charms his fellow recruits and the people in charge easily enough, but one person seems to resist his every attempt at manipulation. His bright smiles don’t seem to work, his smooth words fall on deaf ears and even his small town charm and naïveté don’t seem to produce the results he wants. No matter how hard he seems to try he and Gabriel do not get along.

They end up being roommates, much to Gabriel’s annoyance and Jack’s approval. It would give him plenty of time to work on whatever was going on that made Gabriel dislike him. Jack had met other people who were more difficult to work with than most. The most common of these tended to react somewhat contrarily, meaning they needed to be handled differently.

He tried flipping around his tactics, manipulating Gabriel into thinking he wanted one thing while he was after another. No matter what he did it was like the other man anticipated things. He would never react the way Jack expected or wanted and everything he did seemed to make the man dislike him more and more.

That distance only vanished when Jack gave up and eventually stopped trying. He stopped putting on his fake smile and laughing about things. Jack had not intended to do that, but the pain, fever and just plain torture of their treatments often left him out of sorts and eventually they talked.

When they were delirious from pain Jack didn’t have the presence of mind to pretend to be something else. He spoke clinically and precisely, often talking about emotions and reasons for actions in a way that always made people nervous or upset. Jack figured it would end up making things worse, but instead Gabriel started talking to him.

It only seemed to annoy Gabriel when Jack pretended too hard. When he was somewhat relaxed and natural for him, Gabe would smile. He wasn’t sure if Gabe understood just how deep his emotional disconnect ran, but it didn’t seem to drive him away.

Gabriel was the first person in his entire life that he could relax around. When Jack said or did atypical things he never commented unless they caused an actual problem and he was understanding even when they did. It helped as well that Gabriel was brilliant and strong and fast, he was everything Jack thought himself and possibly more.

There is no single moment that he can point to where he fell in love with Gabriel Reyes. It just seemed as natural to him as breathing. Before meeting Gabe he had never considered the possibility of finding someone worthy of his respect, let alone admiration. For everyone else his actions were dictated by their external reactions, but with Gabe he paused to consider how things would make him feel and what the man would want. Considerations that he had never given anyone but himself.

He would worry about impressing the man, constantly striving, not to be the best anymore, but to make Gabriel smile, to meet his approval. Gabriel would wrestle him to the ground, he would knock his ass out in boxing. Gabriel could bench press more, Jack outran him on the track. Before long Jack began actively wanting to spend time with him and lamenting when he could not.

Gabriel made the first move, because of course he did. Jack had no idea how to handle the way he felt. One night, after another intense sparring session, Gabriel grabbed him before he made it to his bed and kissed him. It was a quick chaste kiss, testing the waters. Jack reacted poorly, pulling away, confused by the sudden touching.

The look on Gabriel’s face when he did so was the most distressing thing Jack had ever experienced. He could recognize the pain that the other man felt and before he could do anything, Gabe bolted out the door. Jack had only a few moments to consider his response before he was chasing the other man. He had recoiled because the thought of such physical intimacy, sharing bodily fluids even, had always disgusted him.

He had never meant to hurt Gabriel though and he needed to apologize. Luckily Jack was faster and he managed to tackle him to the floor before he got too far. He didn’t know what to say to fix this, so he did the only thing he could think of. He kissed Gabriel back. Gabriel returned and deepened the kiss and Jack realized that with Gabriel things were different, as long as it was Gabe then he could do this and make him happy.

They spend even more time together talking, often alone so Jack could drop his act. Jack begins learning about Gabriel and how he wants to save the world. He wants to protect people and fight for peace. He learned about altruism from Gabriel like the concept was new, like he had never heard anyone else spout it out like nonsense.

It wasn’t nonsense when Gabriel talked about helping others, about sacrifice and the greater good. Even though Jack did not understand that he was in love with Gabriel at the time he truly admired the slightly older man. He began to question his own beliefs, because if Gabriel Reyes cared for and respected other people, as flawed as they were, who was Jack to dismiss them out of hand?

He never did tell Gabriel about what he thought of other people or why he joined. He did not want the man to think less of him. Instead he internalized Gabriel’s desire to protect and built himself anew around that. He and Gabe were better than everyone else and as such it was their duty to protect and guide them. He would be the hero that Gabriel wanted him to be because he wanted Gabriel to be happy.

This is why he acts the way he does, why people talk about him like he’s something that isn’t human. It’s because he acts like it. He is practically perfect through practice and will. He embodies the values that Gabe distilled into him and like everything in his life, he takes it to its ideological extreme. They treat him like he was a ray of sunshine that could inspire the greatest loyalty in anyone and he was, because he consciously worked every second of every day to be that.

Phew that was long and rather specific. I have more about this AU and where it splits off and about Gabriel and stuff if anyone is interested.

It’s interesting but super hard to write well/super easy to screw up.

[tacticianlyra]

Putting down notes for how I’m going to handle the team in “Harmonics” because why not. Psychological things included.

Seriously headcanony/AUish in terms of Stan and Koji due to a distinct lack of canonical backstory for them aside from a few offhand details Savin has graced us with on the forum.

Under a cut, since it’s long. Future events are implied, though if you’ve watched up to Episode 5 of VLD, you’ll know what’s coming already.

Eva - Where do I even start with this girl. Three things I am absolutely convinced on are that: 

1) she’s touch-deprived as all heck, 

2) she can be a bit socially awkward (this one might be canon, if I’m perceiving the first few episodes right) due to the fact that she was shut up in a boarding school that the wikia states to be more like a prison for ten years, starting when she was 5. Which is when a lot of major mental-developmental stuff is still going on with kids.

That same reasoning goes for: 3) abandonment issues.

There’s also the canonical PTSD she has. In canon, seeing Spirit is what really sets it off, but considering the end of Ep2, I’m assuming that crashes/explosions have a chance of triggering it as well.

Cue events of the fic. She’s followed her dad halfway across the galaxy to another planet, only for some unknown aliens to swoop in and mess things up, and for a sentient robot lion to decide she’s its new pilot before taking her and the team to another planet. 

She doesn’t know what happened to her dad or to Rick, and them leaving Alwas means that they pretty much disqualified themselves. 

This detail is going to weigh on everyone a bit, but mostly for her, since the “Ultimate Prize” is now no more than a wistful dream.

And then there’s the whole “Molly” situation...which at this point is only really going to be causing added stress, now isn’t it?

Jordan - I think it’s safe to assume that he has a slight phobia of actually flying something, if Ep3 is anything to go on. So getting shoved into having to pilot a giant mechanical lion is going to leave him pretty frazzled for a while. 

The Blue Lion is sentient and communicates telepathically with its pilot, which makes it even more of a conundrum because it’s such an alien thing. 

At the same time, it could also give him an opportunity to overcome the fear, as the Lion can give some more detailed instructions than just words can convey.

The unnecessary amount of trouble he had to deal with due to his grandfather’s contrary reputation likely makes for a bit of insecurity for him, too; there’s a very fair chance that he feels as though he has to make up for what happened to William Wilde. 

He’d gotten involved in the military fully-aware that he was likely to end up involved in the next conflict with the Crogs, which at the time of the start of the Great Race, was becoming imminent. 

Instead, he’s in one against the Galra, who are easily worse on multiple levels. 

Sure, he’s handling the detail of them being thrust into an intergalactic war a little better than the rest of the team (who haven’t yet quite swallowed that detail yet), but not by much.

Stan - since we have absolutely zip on backstories for him, this is going to be pure headcanon, as well as AU for plot reasons I implied in this. 

Me making things up tends to involve angsty stuff.

In his case, having to deal with the nasty part of the foster-care system, which eventually culminated in him deciding to just go off on his own. 

He has a few lingering issues because of that, specifically with overbearing figures. (coughDoncough)

On the other half of the coin, he can be a bit…compulsively overprotective of people he gets attached to. Primary example being Koji, who was the first person he can remember being nice to him that he hasn’t yet lost in some way.

It’s going to become a bit more apparent later on when the whole team-bonding stuff kicks in. And that’s going to end up being a kind of double-edged blade.

Koji - like Stan, we know nothing about him.

It’s a little similar in that he was on his own for a little while before happening to come across Stan, due to an incident involving a highway intersection on a rainy night. He doesn’t have any recollection of the accident, but he was jittery around vehicles/busy roads for a while.

He works best in a stable environment (examples being any sort of control room, and eventually the Green Lion), or as long as Stan’s there. When there’s neither of those things…well, a headcanon I have is that he has a few anxiety issues, and he tends to cover it with optimism. (i.e. Ep21)

Things that can’t be covered get shoved under a metaphorical rock. Which he will soon learn really isn’t a healthy thing to do.

(I’m actually going to be covering this particular headcanon backstory for them both in a fic that’s currently existing as this. It’s going to be rewritten eventually as an actual fic, so do keep that in mind if you do read it)