#otherwise filter by most recent on ao3

[neon-danger]

Kinda redundant but have you read any good Jalex lately? I’ve been looking everywhere but I’m at that point of scraping the bottom of the barrel and re reading stories I’ve already read

I’ve been on a sterek kick actually so I got nothin

[girlwiththepapatattoo]

you see through me what lies beyond

Fandom: Legend of Zelda

Pairings: Ganondorf/Female Reader

Warnings: smut, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, embarrassment, some feels, messing a bit with canon

Notes: Here, have 13k words of Ganondorf smut lmao. This was a ton of fun to write, and I hope that you all enjoy! (If anyone sees any errors, feel free to point them out!)

Read on Ao3 here!

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Awareness comes to you slowly, a drift of your senses waking, as though they were asleep for decades rather than a full night’s rest. Touch comes first: the sleek softness of silk sheets under your hands, against your fingertips, smooth against your bare legs. You weren’t wearing what you normally did to sleep, either: enfolding your form is what feels like a nightdress, also made of silk. 

Next comes your hearing. It’s raining outside, the gentle taps of water on a glass windowpane from somewhere nearby periodically drowned by the distant rumble of thunder. The crackle of a nearby fire filters in, gentle and welcoming. 

Whatever wood is in the fireplace (it can’t be a campfire, you wouldn’t be on this plush bed) is fragrant as your sense of smell returns. Other scents filter in: leather, old books, and closer to you, some sort of spice mixed with sandalwood and copper. It’s alluring, making your nostrils flare. 

Your eyes flick open. There’s only a hint of firelight coming through the almost-sheer, black drapes on the gigantic four poster bed that was most certainly not your own. 

You swallow thickly, your heart-rate picking up as you realize that, wherever you are, it’s not home.

Mattress creaking gently as you sit up, the strap to the nightgown you’ve been changed into slides down one shoulder, the soft touch making you shiver in your unease. You pull it back up and carefully ease yourself over to the edge of the bed, reaching one hand out and shifting one gauzy curtain to the side. 

Bookcases line the walls, filled with tomes that look both recent (though not modern) and ancient. Candles flicker on nearby tables, safely away from the books. What walls aren’t covered in books have tapestries hanging, depicting what looks like a desert fortress on one, a great battle on another. A plush, dark red carpet surrounds the bed, and also the giant armchair in front of the crackling fireplace. 

“Are you going to sit there all day, woman?” comes a sudden voice. You jump as you realize that there’s someone sitting in the chair. “Come here.” 

The voice is low, a bass growl, commanding your attention and action all at once. Swallowing hard once more, you stand, taking a moment as your legs wobble. 

“Ah, yes. Travel is hard on mortals without power. Your strength should return soon.” 

“...w-where am I?” you ask, more fear in your voice than you’d like. 

A soft chuckle meets your ears, and you wish you found the rumble of his voice much less attractive than you did. “I think you are smart enough to know once you see my face. Come.” 

You feel goosebumps spread over your shoulders, and not just from the sudden cold stone floor under your bare feet as you step forward. Hesitantly, you approach the great armchair, standing at a distance away that you feel fairly safe from whoever’s in it. Of course, you don’t know if he has a weapon, gun or otherwise…but you’ll take what reassurance you can get right now. 

You take a deep breath, then finally take your last step forward and turn to face the man in the chair. A gasp of disbelieving shock leaves your lips, your eyes wide in recognition. 

A massive frame fills the chair, the man before you the biggest you’ve ever seen in your life. Legs nearly as thick as your own torso are crossed comfortably at the ankles, stretched out along the carpet to warm his bare feet in front of the fire. The glint of a gold anklet shines briefly. A core thick with strength, leads up to mountainous shoulders, biceps you don’t think your fingers would meet around, distractingly strong forearms, hands that rival dinner plates in size. One hand is closed in a fist, upon which is propped a red-bearded jaw. Your eyes roam over smirking lips, a large and dignified nose, and finally the golden eyes that pierce through yours…

Ganondorf Dragmire, King of the Gerudo, Bearer of the Triforce of Power, sits before you. 

You know you’re gaping, mouth hanging open in shock. His smirk widens just a hair as his eyes roam your form. “It seems I was right. That shade of red is lovely on you.” 

You pinch yourself hard on the arm. The pain makes you hiss, and he laughs, a soft, amused rumble that you can almost feel in your skin. 

“Do you think yourself dreaming? I suppose you must. Power such as mine has no place in your world, after all.” 

“Y-You…you can’t be real,” you finally gasp. “That’s not…” 

“Possible? I assure you, little one, I am as real as you are.” The hand not pressed to his jaw lifts up a golden goblet, and he sips at the contents within, his golden stare not leaving yours. He licks a droplet of crimson wine from his lips before setting the drink down on an end table next to him. 

You suddenly feel very vulnerable, standing before such a man in nothing but a thin silk nightgown. Your hands clench nervously in the material. “W-Why am I…w-what happened to my pajamas?” 

His air turns amused, though his gaze loses little intensity. “Would you prefer I seduce you whilst you wear pink clothes with kittens on them? No, I much prefer you in something like this, something more…elegant. Sensual.” 

His words feel like a lightning bolt just hit your spine, and you feel a hot blush spread over your cheeks. “W-Wait, you–what did—”

Another rumble of laughter escapes his throat. “Oh, yes, red is certainly your color.” He shifts, sitting up and bracing his forearms on his thick thighs. Muscles ripple as he moves, one half of his torso bared from his robes, the firelight playing over darkly tanned skin. “Come here.” 

One huge finger points to a spot just before his feet. Your knees tremble at the thought of being so close to him, but you can’t make yourself move. 

His eyes glint as you stay put, and instead of getting angry like you expected, he simply chuckles. “Stunned, are you? Not an unreasonable reaction. But I am a patient man, when I wish to be.” 

“Why am I here?!” you finally blurt, before gasping and clapping your hands over your mouth. 

He laughs fully now, one massive hand splaying over his stomach in his mirth. “Oh, how adorable you are! Why do you think you’re here?” He smiles, wide, delighted, a hunger in the expression that makes you swallow. “I have lived, in one form or another, for a very long time. You pick up a few secrets of the universe when you have an awareness that spans over ten thousand years.” He leans back in his chair once more, propping his bearded cheek on his fist again. “I know there are universes, dimensions, whatever you want to call them, that are not my own. I know that some of those dimensions touch mine in some small way. You know exactly who I am…and you know exactly what you want from me.” 

Your face goes sheet white, and then beet red. “W-Wait, t-that’s–” 

“Oh yes. I’ve felt your desire for me clear across worlds, my flustered little admirer,” he purrs. “Your overwhelming need for pleasure at my hands…” To your surprise, he huffs a little. “To put it frankly, it is very distracting. I have important plans to oversee, which I cannot be doing when every ten minutes I hear your desire for my mouth to–” 

“S-STOP, STOP I GET IT!” you cry, quaking in embarrassment. 

His grin is pure dark mischief. “I truly wonder if you do though.” He’s quiet a moment, just watching you stew in your mortification. You hate this, hate the fact that he’s already gotten you so riled up…

And by hate, of course, you mean love. 

“You have two options,” he suddenly says, and the tone in his voice is commanding, ordering you to listen. You couldn’t not listen if you tried. “Either I send you home, right now, to live out your boring little life, never knowing what wonders I could have shown you…” He smirks, teeth flashing for a moment in the firelight, glinting off the pronounced fang of one canine. “Or…I take you. I make you mine, little one. I fuck you so thoroughly and so well that I will ruin you for other men the rest of your life. I will prove that even your persistent daydreams pale in comparison to the real thing.” His eyes flick away from you, looking into the fire, almost dismissive of you standing there, shivering in arousal. “But the choice is yours.” 

He picks up his goblet again, sipping at the contents within, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. There’s a part of you that’s almost angry at how he can be so casual after completely turning your world upside down…after giving you such a difficult choice to make on the spot. 

“C-Could I…?” His eyes flick to you, the golden, expectant stare making you shiver for a moment before you take a deep breath and try again. “Am I allowed to ask questions?” 

“I’d be concerned if you did not,” comes the amused answer. You blink in surprised confusion, and for the first time, a hint of anger enters his eyes. “I know, from these desires of yours, that you think me more than some one-note villain. My goal may be conquering Hyrule once and for all, and I may think nothing of the pawns I use to achieve that goal, but one thing I am not, nor will I ever be, is a rapist.” His nostrils flare in his ire, one lip curling in disgust. “I may have brought you here, but I will not force you. You are free to ask questions, and you are free to say no, without fear of violence from me.” 

In spite of this bizarre situation, in spite of the man before you, you can feel your shoulders relaxing. “Thank you.” 

He flicks his hands dismissively at your words, before looking towards the flames once more. “Ask your questions.” 

“Can…” You swallow hard. “If I say yes, is there…some sort of protection we’ll use? Can you get me pregnant?” 

He chuckles, that low rumble you wish didn’t do funny things to your belly. “I have sired many children during these eons. Yes, I can get you with child, and yes, there is protection.” He opens the drawer of the end-table and draws out a small medallion on a length of soft cord. A simple golden triangle gleams in the firelight, much like his eyes do. “There’s a charm of protection on that. Wear it the entire time, and my seed will not take within you.” 

He tosses it to you, and you nearly fumble it away before securing it in your grasp. Flushing, you hold it tightly to your chest. “Thank you.” You take another deep breath. “If I…say yes…what happens after? I just go home?” 

“Yes…if that is what you wish.” He smirks, stretching out his long body again, and you fight to keep your eyes on his and not on the wonderful play of muscles under his skin. “As I said, magic does not belong in your world. If, after I make you mine, you find that you just cannot live without feeling my touch again…well, I cannot come to your home myself. As it is, it took a great deal of power to bring you here to begin with.” 

He shakes his head, though there’s an expression on his face that’s almost...curious. As if he has an academic interest in the subject. “The way that the walls of your dimension fight my sorcery is, admittedly, fascinating. I would like to study it properly someday.” 

He seems to come back to himself, his eyes focusing on you again. “After I have shown you what it will truly be like to lie with me, you may decide you wish to stay for a time. I would allow that. Truthfully, I would be amenable to having a woman at my side who is not terrified of me. How long I would want you here is still up for debate.” 

You nod slowly, your mind trying to fly into the well of possibilities. But you stop it almost before it begins: you aren’t here to be his equal, his partner. You’re here to warm his bed, to stop being…a distraction. 

Your eyes widen as it really hits you. You aren’t here because he saw something special in you, or because of some hidden talent. You’re here because you were so pathetically desperate for this man that it actually breached dimensions. Your eyes fill with tears as humiliation rises in your chest. 

Ganondorf blinks in surprise as you look away, your shoulders beginning to shake. “I…I-I’m so sorry for disturbing you,” you say, your voice thick with barely held-back sobs. “I…never knew you really…were real, and I…never wanted to annoy you. I-I’m so sorry.” 

He stares at you, before he heaves a sigh. You don’t see him move, but you hear his chair creak. Before you know it he’s swept you up into his arms. You yelp in surprise through your tears–no one’s ever picked you up like this before. “Hush,” he says, though his voice is softer and not unkind. He sits back down, setting you across his lap, and one huge hand presses to your head, forcing your cheek to rest on his chest. Were you not so upset, you’d have loved to enjoy it. 

“...I think, perhaps, I have worded something wrong,” he murmurs after a minute of silence. “I am not displeased to be the recipient of your affections, little one. On the contrary, I have been planning this night for some weeks.” His fingers, warm and surprisingly soothing, stroke gently over your cheek. “I was impressed with the depths of your affection, of how strong your feelings are. For them to reach across the dimensional veils…that is no small feat. Were you born here, I could see you being a great sorceress.” You can hear the faint smile in his voice. “In fact, were you to stay, you may yet develop magic of your own. But that is neither here nor there.” He tilts your head up with a gentle finger under your chin, and a careful thumb wipes your tears away. “No more of this, hm?” 

“So…” You swallow thickly. “So I’m not here just because I was…distracting you?” 

He laughs softly, a gentle rumble of amusement that you almost feel more than hear, like velvet over a rockslide. “No, that is far from the only reason.” He snorts in amusement. “You know who some of my past servants have been. You must remember Zant. In comparison, your attentions would have been a breath of fresh air.” 

You can’t help but laugh, and his lips twitch up faintly. He begins idly twirling a piece of your hair through his fingers, bringing a flush to your cheeks. “But I also need you to understand: beyond your affection for me, I have no idea who you are. So do not expect more feelings from me other than lust and some vague fondness. I say this not to be cruel, it is simply the truth.” 

You give a hard sniff, but you nod. “Yeah, I get it. This isn’t…” Your eyes widen. “This really isn’t one of my fantasies, you’re…you’re real and here and–” He watches with a smug smirk as your blush deepens rapidly. “A-And I’m sitting on your lap oh my god.” 

He laughs, a deeper, full-throated sound that makes you hide your face behind your hands. “You are adorable, all flustered like this. You turn such pretty colors so easily…” 

“A-Anyway!” You know he’s grinning down at you, but you forge on with your point. “Y-Yeah, so, this is real and you’re not just pixels. You’re a real person, with agency, and I…I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t wanna do just because my thoughts were um…loud.”

The look in his eyes plainly says that you couldn’t make him do anything he wouldn’t want to anyway, but he still nods to you. “I appreciate the sentiment, and return it.” He brings the lock of hair he was still toiling with to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the strands, his golden gaze still boring into your own. He sees the way your breath hitches, and it makes a soft rumble of interest emanate from his chest. “The things I want to do to you…” he all but growls, and a candle of desire bursts to life in your lower belly. 

In a flash, he’s turned you on his lap. Your back presses to his chest, the top of your head tucked up under his chin…and your legs are spread around his thighs. You gasp in surprise, at how fast that was, at how vulnerable this feels, spread wide over his closed legs, the nightgown pulling up so that most of your thighs are on display. “O-Oh, f-fuck, I–” 

He chuckles darkly, lowering his head to press his bearded cheek to yours. “What a mouth you have…” he purrs, enjoying the way that you shiver at the prickle of his facial hair. “I look forward to finding out what else it is capable of…” 

Your eyes slam shut as a wave of lust washes over you. His voice, the tone, the suggestive words…he was right: none of your fantasies are measuring up to the real thing, and the fun hasn’t even started yet! 

One huge hand splays over your belly suddenly, the warmth of him felt easily through the thin fabric. He feels your abs jump under his touch, and a pleased grin pulls at his lips. You can feel it, feel it when he smiles against your skin. 

Your body is burning already. 

“You are very sensitive…” The thumb of his free hand suddenly caresses over the top of your thigh, and a gasp bursts out of your throat without permission. He’s tall enough, his frame dwarfing yours enough that he can get a full view of the front of your body, and his grin widens to see the skin of both thighs pimpled in goosebumps. To see the juts of your hardened nipples pressing against the silk they’re hidden in. “Beautiful…oh, I am going to enjoy playing with you…” 

“I-I’m so…y-you feel so good,” you breathe, and then blush darkly as you realize what you said and turn your face away in embarrassment. 

He chuckles deeply, lifting the hand that had touched your thigh to stroke a thumb along your jawline, making you exhale hard. Then his lips press to your neck, his nose brushing over your jaw, his beard a wonderful scrape on your skin, and the sound that bursts from your throat…it isn’t like any sound you’ve ever made in your life. 

He feels you tremble on him, enjoying the way your skin flushes in arousal all the way down your chest. He presses a line of achingly slow kisses up and down the column of your throat, and with each caress of soft, warm lips your body becomes more and more impatient. 

You open your mouth to beg him to do something more, but the only thing that comes out is a desperate cry as he bites down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. 

You writhe on his lap, heat racing over your skin, every inch of you shivering in need at feeling his teeth in your flesh, at the almost-but-not-quite harsh pressure, at the points of his canines. They could easily break the skin…but they don’t, and the strength and control he has is just another source of arousal for you.

You can feel sweat beading in your hairline as he removes his teeth, and you shudder and whine softly as his tongue gives a lap over where he just bit. “My marks will look good on you,” he praises, caressing his nose over the side of your neck almost fondly. “I am eager to leave more…” 

“P-Please,” you gasp, unaware in the haze of your pleasure that you were wriggling your hips, trying to get some sort of friction where you most need it. 

“Hm. I want you to tell me if this gets painful for you.” 

“W-What?” 

Your legs are still spread over his thighs, your toes almost tucked behind his knees, which were pressed together this whole time. But now he pulls them apart, opening his own legs so that yours spread even wider. You gasp loudly as you feel the relatively cooler air of the room against your overheated core, against the slickness coating your underwear. He feels a shudder work its way up your spine as his legs stop.

You feel somehow even more vulnerable, the edges of the nightgown hiked up to where your legs connect to your torso. There’s a slight burn to your hips from how wide he’s spread you open, but it’s one you know will fade if you let it. You sit there shivering, panting; in all your life, you’ve never felt arousal like this before.

“How are you feeling, my beautiful one?” he rasps. You know, deep in the part of your mind that’s not completely taken with lust, that he’s affected by this too. The gravel that’s suffused his voice is evidence enough of that, even if you couldn’t feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your backside. 

“Good,” you manage to gasp out. “I feel so good, everything’s so…so sensitive. I need…I-I need you…” 

He nuzzles once more into your neck, making you shudder on him. “And you will have me…but not quite yet. I am going to take my time with you, take you apart piece by piece…” 

His hands, his massive hands, suddenly curve over the soft skin of your thighs. His skin is calloused but warm, providing a wonderful, gentle scrape of sensation that leaves you shivering all over again. He feels your muscles jump under his touch, and he smiles once more against your neck. “I want you to tell me, lovely one, about your favorite fantasy.” 

You have to fight to push through the haze of lust enough to really understand his words, and they bring a flush of embarrassment to your face. “I-I’m sure you’ve…you’ve heard it…” 

“I have,” he replies agreeably, and he gives your thighs a gentle squeeze, enjoying the way you quiver at the sudden pressure. “But I want to hear it from you in person.” 

You swallow thickly, trying to form words, trying to make your mouth work to tell him what he wants. But you’re too overwhelmed, too embarrassed to speak the words out loud. 

He, however, has no such qualms. 

“Speechless I see…hmm, well, I can understand that. It is our first time together, and you are unused to such…lust.” His hands begin to rub slowly, softly, up and down your thighs, the roughness of his callouses making you shudder and twitch. His fingertips get closer and closer to your core with each pass. “So I shall speak the words you cannot.” 

“A-Ah, um, you really d-don’t have to,” you reply, your voice a quaking whisper.

He chuckles darkly, brushing the tip of his nose playfully down the shell of your ear. “And leave such a good idea to the recesses in your mind where your fantasies play? No, beautiful one, such…creativity should be shared.” His fingernails begin to gently scritch at your skin, and he feels your toes curl hard against his calves. 

“I have you suspended in the air, caught up in magical binds. Your legs are spread and bent, as if squatting, your hands behind your back to push those lovely tits out for my enjoyment. You are blindfolded, but not gagged, so that I may hear each sound I drag out of you. A series of three wooden cocks are taking turns pushing deep into you, guided by magic as well. One is fully smooth, one has large bumps over its surface, and one has a set of ridges. You also have a small plug in that lovely ass, which I make shift every so often just to remind you that it’s there.” 

His words come slowly, smoothly, as if reading from the morning newspaper, and listening him describing the debauchery you’ve come up with in that deep, sonorous voice is making your clit throb. 

“The entire time, I watch from a nearby seat, telling you my every thought of your body and how it’s being pleasured. And once in a while I float you over to me, so that I may drink of your pleasure, and admonish you for dripping on my pants.” 

The last part is said in a growl, and one huge hand suddenly cups you firmly between your legs. A cry tears from your throat at the sudden delicious force, and your hips buck toward his touch desperately, seeking any sort of friction you can get. 

He laughs as he gives a gentle squeeze to your mound, a smug smile tugging his lips up as you almost gurgle at the pressure where you need it the most. “Dripping indeed…we will not be able to salvage your small-clothes, my beautiful little faucet.” 

While his left hand cups you, his right begins slowly working up your body, stroking here, gripping there, until his fingers splay just under your breasts. By now, your desire has been stoked into an inferno. Your hips can’t stop rolling into his touch, though he does nothing but cup you and give a soft squeeze every so often. Your torso arches into his hand, begging without words for him to finally touch you, take your desperate body the way you need. 

You’re pretty sure that you’d do whatever he asked right now, if only he’d bring you to your peak. And with a man like Ganondorf, that’s a dangerous place to be…

The hand on your chest moves, and your face flushes darkly as he tugs the hem of the silk nightgown down, baring your flesh to his hungry gaze. “Lovely…” he purrs, and he finally, finally cups his hand around your right breast. 

You cry out his name as he gives a gentle squeeze, your achingly-hard nipple scraping against his palm, the feeling enough to have your words breaking free in a frantic ramble. “Yes yes yes please, Ganondorf, please I-AH!” 

“Unfortunately,” he says, as if you’re not losing your mind at his touch, “my magic is not suitable for telekinesis, so your fantasy cannot come true. At least, from a magical source.” He smirks, kneading your breast in his hand. “Thankfully, there are other ways to hold you in midair.” 

Quaking and whimpering in his hands, your own raise. He hadn’t said that you couldn’t touch him. So you reach behind yourself, cupping your hands eagerly around the back of his neck, trying to anchor yourself to earth, to bring the frenzied need of your body down a notch. His skin is so warm under yours, and you feel his beautiful, fiery hair gently brushing over the backs of your fingers. 

It works, though, your mind lifting a little from the haze of lust you’d been drowning in. You start to take slower breaths, trying to calm the racing of your heart. It wouldn’t do to pass out your first time with the Demon King. 

He lets you, lets you get a little of your breath back…but not for long. 

Two fingers suddenly press to your clothed folds, the drenched fabric pushing against your outer lips, and with a firm but teasing pressure, rise up your slit. At this angle, he only gets the barest hint of pressure over your clit before his fingers part, dragging back down to press over your entrance and then repeat the process. 

All your muscles, from your toes to your fingers, clench in desperate need as your hips thrust toward his teasing touch. A broken-sounding sob is wrenched from your throat, and he growls softly as your nails dig into his neck, closing his eyes to enjoy the tiny bite of pain as his fingers continue their circuit. 

Sweat drips down your spine, sticking your skin to his chest as he works your body into a frenzy. You can feel your inner-most thighs becoming absolutely drenched in your own slick, his fingers gliding easily over the ruined fabric. “I believe…you are ready for your first peak,” he purrs. “I have teased you long enough. I do not wish to be cruel…at least, not more than you can handle, anyway.” 

“P-Please, please,” you gasp. 

“So polite…” 

His hand at your core shifts, and there’s the sudden tearing of fabric as he rips your underwear away. He chuckles darkly, teeth glinting in the firelight, as he holds up the drenched, ruined scrap of cloth to examine it. “Long enough indeed…look at me.” 

That tone of voice can only be obeyed, and you turn your head, letting your eyes meet his. That golden gaze spears you, and maintaining devastating eye contact the whole time, he lifts the sodden scrap to his lips and takes a long, slow lick. You turn crimson and break the gaze to look away, but his hand leaves your breast to grip your chin, turning your face back to him. “I said, look at me, my pet,” he growls, before licking again. 

You squirm on his lap, and he growls in pleasure at both your taste bursting on his tongue, and the way your ass rubs against his cock through the thin material of his pants. You suddenly hear a rather wet sounding splat as he tosses the ruined underclothes away. “Be ready,” he rasps into your ear.

And that’s all the warning you get. A giant arm wraps fully around your middle, and without any more preamble, one thick finger slides deeply into your sloppy cunt. You scream his name, and he grunts at feeling your walls clench and grip his finger. He has to fight the urge to just slam you down onto his cock now. 

You’re more than slick enough for even a finger of his size to move easily, and so he pumps you, a slow but steady pace, the arm around your waist preventing you from moving overmuch. Your hips didn’t get the memo though, bucking towards the questing digit, but unable to get much friction from the way he’s clamped you down. 

The next time he pulls out, two fingers press back in, stretching your walls. “FUCK!” you shout, the curse involuntary. He laughs, dark and menacing as he pumps slowly back into you, and once the last set of his knuckles press to your folds, he wiggles his fingers. You sob his name, a broken prayer to your dark god as he works your body open.

And then he stops playing. 

His fingers suddenly piston in and out, a rapid pace that fills with air with the lewd squelch of your sopping walls welcoming and releasing his intrusion. His thumb presses to your clit and rubs rapid circles over the throbbing bud, and your orgasm rises so fast that you stop breathing. The pressure builds and builds in your core, an endless wind up until you feel like your body is going to break apart with its force. You lose control of your limbs, thrashing in the circle of his arm. 

And then your world explodes. 

Your vision bursts into white light, your hearing cuts out with a sharp whine, and your awareness of your own body has been reduced to nothing but the raging torrent of pleasure emanating from your cunt. You don’t hear it, but you can feel him growling against your back, the deep reverberation feeling more bestial than man. His fingers don’t stop, and he laughs in triumph as your walls squeeze him so hard that you squirt, your slick splattering along his hand and the floor at his feet. 

You don’t know how long he keeps you flying. When you come back to yourself, you’re sitting sideways on his lap, cradled in the warmth of his arms, your face nestled into his chest. Your muscles ache softly, the sort of ache you usually only feel after a long workout…and you supposed this definitely counted. “G-Gan…?” you rasp, your throat sore from screaming. 

“Ah, you’ve returned,” he says softly. One hand leaves off curling gently around your hip, and he conjures a warm cup of tea. “Here, drink. It will soothe you.” 

You peel your eyes open, and your arms shake a little as you take the cup from him, tiny in his huge hands. He keeps one finger underneath it just in case, and you sip deeply, your eyes closing again as the perfectly warm liquid slides over your sore throat. Warmth seems to cling to the affected areas in your esophagus, and you realize that in short order, your throat feels completely fine. “That’s some great tea,” you murmur as you finish it. 

He chuckles softly. “A favorite blend of mine, with a bit of healing potion mixed in.” The tea cup disappears, and he brushes a fond kiss over your forehead. “How do you feel now?” 

You flush darkly, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips even if you wanted to. “I…I feel wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.” 

He smirks faintly, a smugness to his lips that you very much would like to kiss away. “I would be very surprised if you have, my beautiful one.” 

Your blush doesn’t abate, and for the first time since you realize you were here with Ganondorf, you speak to him as if he were…normal. “You’re going to be so smug about this, aren’t you?” 

He throws his head back and laughs, a full-throated belly laugh that, despite your wanting to stay vaguely annoyed with him, has you grinning. “Oh, insufferably!” He grins, his eyes glinting in mirth as he leans down and playfully bites at your cheek. “But I do believe I’ve earned it.” 

You gasp and laugh at his bite, before pausing. His face is close to yours, his breath fanning over your jaw, warm and somehow…comforting. Here you are, sitting in the lap of the main villain from one of your favorite game series…and there’s no fear. In fact, it’s very much the opposite of fear. And that worries you, a bit. Because Ganondorf has the moniker ‘The King of Evil’ for a reason. 

He watches the happiness dim slightly in your eyes, and one thumb comes up to gently caress over your cheek. “Are you well?” 

You try for a smile. You’re not sure how successful you are. “Oh, um…yes, I’m all right.” 

He snorts, propping his bearded jaw on his fist and giving you an unimpressed look. “You are a bad liar.” 

“Yeah…” 

“What is wrong?” 

“...nothing that I think can be fixed, Ganondorf. I think talking about it would just make you angry and me frustrated…and I don’t want this night to end on a note like that.” 

His lips thin out at your answer. “That is a very diplomatic way of saying nothing at all. Perhaps instead of bedding you, I should hire you to improve public relations.” 

You scowl faintly. “Maybe you should! Maybe that way…” Like you’d predicted, frustrated tears spring to your eyes, and you slide off his lap. Your legs tremble visibly, your body still recovering from the incredible orgasm he’d given you. You pad away from him, adjusting the nightgown to cover yourself once more. 

You hear the chair creek as he stands, and after a moment his hands, warm and wonderful, come to rest on your shoulders. “...you are not of this world,” he rumbles down to you, thumbs gently rubbing circles at the base of your neck that you wish didn’t feel so good, “and as such I have no right to judge you for your opinion on me and what I do. If it were someone from this world, then yes, I would be angry. Furious even. But from what little I have gleaned, your world can see all sides of the story, not just what people are told in hushed whispers over meager fires.” You hear him sigh, and his tone becomes tight. “I…apologize for pushing. You did warn me, after all.” 

It sounds like it takes a lot for him to say the words. Honestly, you’re faintly surprised that he apologized at all. You’re softening, you can feel it, and your lips curl into a resigned, almost amused smile at your own expense. 

You turn in his hands, looking up at him and gently wrapping your own hands around his wrists. “Ganondorf…you must know that I care about you for more than what you can do for me…in bed. I do believe that your…” You fall quiet, and he can see in your eyes the uncertainty of whether or not you should continue. He gives you a gentle nudge, nodding for you to go on. You take a deep breath. “I do believe that your original goal, back in…well, I guess you’d call it the Time Era? Maybe?” You shake your head. “Shit’s complicated.” 

His lips twitch at your vulgarity. “Shit is indeed complicated,” he says wryly, and you can’t help but snort a surprised laugh. 

“Don’t make me laugh, I’m trying to be stern!” His amused smirk widens a hair, and he mimes buttoning his lips. You huff at him, then forge on. “I think your original goal was noble. You wanted a better life for your people, wanted your sisters out of the desert that’s incredibly harsh to live in. But the Power…went to your head. You lost sight of your goal, of your people, and all you wanted was more power and to rule over everything with an iron fist, and it’s just like. What’s the point of that?” Your eyes glint, and he’s surprised to see you becoming angry. “Let’s say you take over everything, rule as a tyrant, great, congrats. What then? What was your plan? Just sit on your throne, hoard the world like a dragon, be cruel for cruelty’s sake? Wouldn’t that get boring after a while? You have everything, there’s nothing left to accomplish, you can’t tell me that would make you happy!” 

He stares down at you, and there’s no emotion in his face whatsoever. It’s quiet for a long moment, before his nostrils flare and there’s an odd look to his eyes. Part of it seems to be approval, oddly enough. He seems impressed with the tenacity of your words at the very least. But the other part is a rising anger…though not, perhaps at you. “...you feel very strongly about this,” he finally murmurs. 

You flush faintly, and offer him a shrug. “Yeah, I do. I grew up with this world, Ganondorf, it’s important to me. You’re…important to me.” Your blush deepens at the confession, and you hold your hands up. “A-And I know, I remember what you said earlier. But yes, I do feel strongly about this.” 

He can’t help a soft, almost wry chuckle, before he snaps his fingers. On one of the tables nearby suddenly appears a small feast, an array of foods that’s already making your mouth water. “Let us eat. You need to recover your strength before we continue…if that is what you wish. As we eat, I will…explain something to you.” 

With a hand on your lower back, he guides you to sit at his right hand. Before you settle down into the richly stained oak chair, he smirks at you and conjures a towel for you to sit on. You flush crimson, and he chuckles darkly, before you both sit and begin to pile food onto your plate. “Partake lightly, my beauty. Too full a stomach will be…uncomfortable for you, to say the least.” 

You shiver faintly. After what he already did to you, you can only imagine…

And so you took mostly fruits and a little meat, staying away from the bread and the pastries, as much as you’d like to indulge in some carbs. You couldn’t pass up the chocolate covered strawberries though. 

Once both your plates are ready, you look at him expectantly. He sighs, lounging in the huge chair, his brow furrowed with the weight of the distant past. “The problem, beautiful one, with coming from a world that only touches mine is that you do not know each reincarnation cycle. These…games of yours, did not cover everything. But how could they? They have not been out long enough to cover the length of time I have been alive in one form or another.” 

He takes a sip of wine, looking down into the swirling burgundy depths. “I have won before.” 

Your eyes widen in shock. 

“Oh yes, I have won several times. The world was mine, to rule as I see fit. The first time, yes, I ruled as the worst tyrant any timeline has ever known.” He huffs at himself. “Even I myself am quite appalled at what I was like, back in ages long since ash. Then, I was killed. 

“The second time I won, I did things…better. I was a difficult king to live under, to be sure, but I was fair. If a petitioner came to me with an actual problem, then I would do my best to see the problem solved.” He smirks faintly. “Whether or not the petitioner appreciated the solution was another story.”

He pauses. “...then, once more I was killed.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the middle distance. “...the third time that I won is my favorite out of all my lives. I took over after minimal violence, only the royal family and their honor guards were killed. Once I was in place, I began to turn the world into a paradise. Every citizen had access to clean water, healthy food, and medical care. I opened schools that were free to all citizens. I rebuilt the infrastructure that the royal family had let go for far too long. I invested in what’s most important to the long term health of a kingdom: farmers, fishermen, builders, carpenters, and the like. I built up the arts, threw festivals on holy days.” He smiles. “I was able to bring my people out of the desert, to settle in Hyrule. And the people…grew to love me. I became the beloved king that almost everyone was loyal to. They cheered, genuinely, when I passed.” To your surprise, his lips curl up in a tender smile, and his golden eyes soften, buttery warm in the candlelight. “I met my beloved, Amara. She was the woman who ran my stables, who cared for my personal warhorse when I did not have the time. She could have easily been one of my own people…we fell in love, and I made her my Queen, and she bore me several beautiful, strong children. 

“Things were…perfect.” 

His eyes darkened. “Then the princess and the hero were reincarnated, and I was killed once more.” 

You gasp, and he glances at you, to see tears swimming in your eyes, your hands over your mouth. He sighs, reaching over and cupping a huge hand over your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear. 

“It does not matter what I do, beautiful one. I may be a tyrant, or a benevolent ruler, and the cycle will complete anyway.” 

The chair scrapes along the floor as you push away from the table, and Ganondorf makes a sound of surprise as you leap into his arms. He catches you, his eyes wide as you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into hair. “It’s not fair,” you sob. “It’s not fair! You deserve happiness too! You didn’t ask for this!” 

He blinks. He’s not sure how long it’s been since someone cried for him…He softens faintly, and he hugs you back, pressing his cheek to your hair. He doesn’t say anything as he closes his eyes, and he just lets himself enjoy your tight hug…and your empathy. 

Your tears eventually slow, before coming to a full stop. You give a hard sniff, sitting back, Ganondorf’s hands sliding along your back to cup softly over your shoulder blades. “I-I’m sorry, I…I didn’t mean to get so upset.” 

“Think nothing of it,” he murmurs, conjuring a linen handkerchief and gently wiping your face. “Yours is a tender soul.” 

You give a gentle sniffle, and then a wet laugh. “I swear, I won’t cry the whole time I’m here.” 

He chuckles softly as he cleans you up. “Do not make oaths you may not be able to keep, hm?” 

Your eyebrow quirks up at him. “Are you saying you’re gonna make me cry more?” 

His beautiful lips quirk up into a smirk. “Oftentimes after a physical release, people experience a psychological one as well. And you will be having many physical releases.” 

His voice drops down into a deep purr, full of dark humor and promise, and you can feel yourself flushing darkly. “W-Well…that’s not fair.” 

He laughs. “I never claimed to be.” He cocks his head as he considers your plate, how little you ate through his story. “Come, return to your seat. You have not eaten enough to regain your energy, my little lovely.” 

Still blushing, you slide off his lap, and take one step to go back to your seat. But his huge hand suddenly catches your arm, and he tugs you back around. You gasp, stumbling, bracing one hand against his chest as he cups the back of your head and…kisses you. 

He’s kissing you. 

His perfect, beautiful lips are on yours, soft and warm and his touch is almost…tender.

Your heart skips a beat as your eyes widen, before fluttering shut. You make a soft sound into his lips as you begin to return the kiss. He molds your lips together, slow and sensual, even if just a tiny bit out of practice. Your hands raise, cupping over his bearded jaw, and when his thumb strokes so gently over your cheek you part your lips for a sigh. 

He takes advantage immediately, his tongue stroking over your lips before dipping into your mouth. He feels you shiver hard, and he rumbles deep in his chest as his agile tongue licks against your own. 

Then, he pulls away, and you’re left dazed, staring up into his face in wonder. He grins, deeply smug and satisfied, but in his eyes is the very slightest hint of gratitude. 

“There. Now, you may eat.” He gently turns you around, and gives your rear end a pat to get you going. You let out a little squeak and quickly sit, your face red. 

It’s quiet for a while as you and Ganondorf finish your meal. Your blush fades as he concentrates on his food and not you, and you’re left dealing with the surreal feeling of having a meal with the King of Evil. It's…bizarre, and it almost makes you want to laugh. 

Then, a thought has you gasping: if The Legend of Zelda world is real, if he’s real, then what other worlds you thought were only fantasy could be real?

Unfortunately, you inhale while a piece of melon is in your mouth, and you immediately begin choking. “Hrrk!” you say eloquently. His eyes flash to you as you clutch at your throat, and his eyes widen.

“What–?!” He leans over and slaps your back, once, twice, before the melon dislodges and you’re able to swallow it. 

“Gah!” You breath deeply, the air sweet into your briefly abused lungs. “T-Thank you, f-fuck…” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, but you can see he’s trying hard not to laugh. “I see that I will have to be careful with you, if you cannot even handle a piece of melon in your mouth.” 

You squeak, scandalized. “Ganondorf!”

He does laugh now, a full-throated belly laugh. You protest and pout and finally pick up another bit of melon and throw it at his stupid, smug, beautiful face. It bounces off the tip of his nose and lands onto his own plate, where he looks down at it, bemused.

His golden eyes flash to yours, and you see a deep mischief flicker to life in their depths. “Oh? Does my little pet challenge me?”

“Uh…” is your reply. You quickly analyze his expression: no anger, no darkness (or at least, no more than there ever is), just…humor? “...maybe?” 

He smirks, picking up a grape from the nearby bowl of them and examining it. “You will not win,” he purrs, before flicking his wrist. The grape hits you square between the eyes. 

You stare at him in shock, but then a grin starts to worm it’s way across your lips. “Probably not,” you agree, reaching out and picking up a slice of cake. His eyes widen. “But it’s gonna be fun anyway!” And you throw it. It smears across his chest and a little way up his neck, and you have the urge to lick it off of him. 

But maybe later, because all hell breaks loose.

The food flies, and both of your laughter bounces off the walls with it. You’re both quickly filthy, smeared in various sauces and desserts, and though he gets you far more than you get him, he doesn’t come out of the fight undecorated. The sight of a slice of banana stuck onto one of the spikes on his diadem has you laughing so hard you fall over, and he shows no mercy, taking the opportunity to drop half a pie directly down onto your face. 

You splutter through the dessert, and he squats down, pushing the pie off your skin, his lips in a wide grin. “Surrender?” he asks, eyes sparkling in amusement as he wipes it from around your eyes. 

“Yes! Yes, I surrender,” you giggle, licking at the cherry pie filling on your lips. 

He leans down before you can get it all and kisses you deeply, suddenly, and you gasp as his tongue licks away the sweet dessert that you hadn’t gotten to yet. You moan into his mouth, opening for him and licking against his questing muscle. He growls softly, his hands cupping the sides of your head, and even upside down and covered in food his kiss is a thing of beauty. 

All too soon he pulls away, his eyes darkened with desire, and he licks his lips. “Dinner is much more delicious when I eat it off of you,” he purrs, and you flush faintly. 

But you surprise him, turning and rising up onto your knees to swipe your tongue over the cake and frosting smeared on his massive shoulder. “I could say the same,” you reply, your voice husky with desire. 

One massive arm suddenly wraps around your waist, pressing you hard against him. His other hand cups the back of your head, and he kisses you deeply once more, devouring your lips as though he’d never eaten something so decadent in his life. 

You groan loudly, kissing back, doing your best to keep up with his passion. Soon enough, he stands, bringing you with him, and begins walking. Your legs wrap around his waist for support, and he growls again, the feeling of such a dangerous sound vibrating into your chest making you whimper. 

You expect to be laid down in the bed. Instead, he walks with you through a door, and you’re dropped suddenly…into a hot bath. You surface immediately, spluttering as water pours down your body, the silken nightgown immediately sodden. You hear the rustle of fabric, and when you push the wet hair out of your face, you look up to see Ganondorf standing there…completely naked. 

Your jaw goes slack as your eyes drink in his body. Powerful muscle ripples along his limbs. His forearms, legs, chest, and crotch all sport a faint dusting of red hair on his darkly tanned skin. A gnarled scar rips through the center of his chest, looking at the very least rather uncomfortable. Many other scars mar his limbs, making him look, somehow, even more dangerous than he already does. 

Then your eyes fix on his groin, and all the moisture in your mouth heads south. 

His cock is…proportionate to his size, the head darker than the base, with two pronounced veins that run side by side on the top, along the slight upward curve. Because he’s sporting half an erection after everything that happened earlier. 

You swallow thickly. Your apprehension must have shown on your face, because he chuckles softly and wraps a huge hand around himself. “There is no need for fear, my beautiful one,” he all but purrs, golden eyes glinting. “I am well versed in sex with people smaller than me. That is, after all, most of them.” 

You want to laugh, but before you could he starts walking down into the tub. 

The tub itself is huge, inset into the floor, made out of black marble threaded with gold. If it had been any sort of different situation, you would have taken the time to marvel at its beauty. But all your attention is on the man who walks right up you, smirking deeply. 

His presence is overwhelming. You feel tiny, a speck before his mountain, and yet…the way he’s looking at you, desire beginning to burn in those golden depths once more, the appreciation of seeing the silk nightdress cling to your form…you begin to feel a little…beautiful. You’ve never been wanted before. 

Not like this. 

“Take that off,” he rumbles, almost growls. “I greatly enjoy it on you, but I will rip it off if I must.” 

Your heart is hammering with a combination of excitement and nerves, but you quickly pull the sodden, now heavy fabric off and toss it away to land with a wet splat on the floor. 

Fully naked before him for the first time, you watch as his eyes roam your form, taking their time, looking at every detail. You flush darkly under the scrutiny, your mind conjuring up all the flaws he could analyze, all the perceived imperfections in your body that you weren’t happy about, and you look away. You don’t want to watch his face fall. 

A gentle finger presses to your skin, and though his touch is almost tender, his strength cannot be denied. Your face is turned back to him, and it seems like the passion in his gaze softens a bit. “You are beautiful,” he says simply. But the conviction in his tone, the matter-of-fact way he says it, like saying ‘It’s Tuesday’ or ‘the sky is blue’...he says it as fact. Your beauty was never a question for him. 

You couldn’t stop your grateful smile if you tried. 

He smirks faintly back, then sits down and makes a motion behind you. You turn to spy soap, shampoo, and some sort of hair oil lined up neatly, along with a washcloth. “You made a mess, my little pet,” he purrs. “It is time you cleaned it.” 

Your eyes widen. Oh, to get your hands on him like this…you nod, and you bid him to lean back. He does, his eyes never leaving your face, and an amused light enters his eyes as he watches you frown at his diadem. “How do you…?”

He reaches up, and with a deft flick of his fingers (and gifting you a wonderful play of muscles in his shoulders) the diadem comes free. He sets it carefully down on the side of the tub, then looks to you expectantly. 

Your surprised by what sort of difference just removing the diadem makes. He’s always regal looking, but right now, without the gold and large topaz on his brow, he seems a little more…normal. On your level. You can’t help but lean down and brush a kiss to his bare forehead.

He blinks in surprise at the affectionate little touch, but then he smiles softly, gentle creases in the corners of his beautiful eyes. Without a word he gently wraps one arm around your hips, giving you a brief squeeze, before dropping his limb and closing his eyes, clearly expecting you to get to work. 

And so you do. You wet down his thick hair, working the shampoo through it, making sure that all the bits of food are gone. His fiery hair darkens to almost burgundy in the water, and your touch turns reverent. “You’re very beautiful too,” you murmur, stroking your fingers through his sudsy hair. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, clearly enjoying the wash and scalp massage you’re giving him. You smile, enjoying the thought of bringing him some form of pleasure. His face is relaxed, any tension gone…it makes you happy. 

You rinse his hair clean, then pick up the bottle of oil. You nibble your lip, never having used something like this before, but you figure it can’t be much different from conditioner. “Could you…I mean, I would like a comb to work this through your hair.” 

He lifts his hand and a comb appears, sturdy but also golden. “Will this suffice?” he asks, not opening his eyes. 

“Yes, that’s perfect,” you reply, gently taking it from him. You spend a good deal of time making sure the oil reaches every strand, and he’s quiet, just enjoying your ministrations. “Does this get left in for a while?” you ask softly, unsure if you’re meant to wash it out immediately. 

“Yes. I usually rinse it out once I am done with the rest of my wash,” he murmurs. 

“Okay.” You set the comb aside, twisting the mass of his hair up and out of the way. Then you pause. “Um…what about your beard? Does that get the same treatment?” 

“Yes. Go ahead.” 

You do so, using the shampoo and then the oil on his beard. No one you’ve been with had this kind of facial hair before. You found it quite intimate to take care of him like this, your heart thrumming in your chest. 

It doesn’t help that his eyes have opened, watching you work. 

Once his beard is taken care of, you grab the bar of soap and the washcloth. There’s a gentle scent to the lather, sandalwood and spices, without being overwhelming. It’s extremely pleasant, and you can’t wait to smell it on his skin. The thought makes you flush faintly, and he chuckles, curving a hand over your hip and making your blush deepen. 

“What thoughts run through your mind, my beautiful one?” he rumbles, his thumb stroking over the small of your back. 

“I-It’s just…this soap smells very nice,” you explain, dropping your gaze shyly as you start scrubbing the cake from his shoulder. “I-I’m just…expecting it to smell really good on you.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Y-Yeah.” 

He makes an approving noise. “It is adorable how flustered you get over the sensual, my little one. There is no shame in such thinking–in fact, I’m pleased that you enjoy this scent. I shall keep using it, just for you.” 

“Oh!” You flush, but you can’t stop the smile from curving your lips. “Thank you.” You swallow hard. “Y-You could…choose one you’d like on me, if you want.” 

He smirks. “What makes you think I have not already done so?” He suddenly leans forward, pressing his nose to the hollow of your throat, and inhales deeply. “Mmm…” He lets out a rumbling purr of pleasure. 

You gasp, your flesh raising in goosebumps at the touch. He hums at your touch, his other hand joining the first around your hip, gripping your curves and giving a soft squeeze. You groan, the washcloth coming to a stop on his skin, quite thoroughly distracted from your job. 

His lips brush over your pulse point, once, twice, the touches leaving you trembling. Then he pulls away, eyes flashing molten in the low candlelight. “Come on now,” he purrs, a dark delight in his voice for getting you so flustered. “You have a job to do.” 

Swallowing thickly, most of the moisture in your mouth having moved south, you start scrubbing him once more. The food stains slowly disappear as you cleanse his skin, and you can feel his gaze on you the entire time. 

The mess finally clean, he plucks the cloth from you and shifts, sitting up more fully. His arm suddenly swipes around your waist, massive and thick, and you’re pulled onto his lap with a gasp. You feel his breath puff over the side of your neck, you feel his lips brush just under your ear, and you tremble as you sit on his massive thigh. “Your turn,” he rasps, his voice rumbling into your back. 

You’re not sure you’re going to survive this. 

His huge hand cups the back of your head, and he leans you down, holding you steady as your hair dips below the water. His other hand strokes through the wet strands, getting out as much of the food particles as he can. He’s…actually shockingly gentle with you, making sure he doesn’t pull too much. The feel of your head cradled in his palm…you exhale slowly, and for the first time that wasn’t because you were boneless from an orgasm, you can feel yourself fully relax. 

He smiles as he feels the release of your tension. “Good girl,” he purrs softly, and you smile and close your eyes, trusting him to take care of you. 

And take care of you he does. He washes your hair and gives it the same oil treatment you did for him. Then he scrubs the food from your skin, rinsing you clean, and all the while you just relax into him. 

That is, until he’s finished rinsing you clean. 

The oil is washed out, the suds left floating in the water, and he carries you out of the tub. You can feel his cock, fully hard against your ass as he doesn’t even bother with a towel. He just carries you into the bedroom, still dripping, and lays you down on the edge of the bed. “G-Ganondorf, we should–”

“Quiet,” he replies, his voice commanding. You fall silent as he gently pulls your legs apart, his eyes fixed on your pussy. You flush darkly, and he can feel your thigh muscles push against his hands, as if trying to close your legs. He smirks, his gaze piercing yours for a moment. “Do you seek to deny me the sight of your desire, little one?” he asks, almost laughing. “My fingers have already been inside you, have already sent your body soaring. What is left to feel so modest about?” 

Your words are locked behind your embarrassment, and so you hide your face behind your hands instead. 

He does laugh, now, a full-throated and husky sound that dances wonderfully over your nerves. “Very well. Hide if you wish, but that will not stop me from enjoying the fruits of your body…” 

You expect him to dive right in after a statement like that, but you don’t feel anything. He just looks at you for a long moment, and though you’re hiding, you can almost feel his eyes on you. 

His thumbs press to your outer lips suddenly, and you inhale sharply at the touch. Slowly, almost tenderly, he rubs them up and down, stroking the outside of your pussy and building the flames of your desire. His skin is calloused, but it feels divine on such a sensitive spot. He rubs all the way up, caressing through the soft curls of hair, then all the way back down, and as he moves up again he gently pulls your lips apart. 

“Such sweet petals,” he purrs, now moving his touch to the insides of your outer lips. You gasp his name, and he sees your entrance twitch as you clench around nothing. “Your body wants to be filled with me…do not worry, my little beauty. We will get there.” 

He mimics his previous motions, his thumbs rubbing up, and this time the very tips of his thumbs brush ever so gently over each side of your clit. A jolt snaps against your nerves, and you cry out, bucking up against his touch. “Lay still,” he grumbles. You try your best, settle yourself back against the wet silk underneath you as his thumbs trace their way back down. 

As he draws them back up, this time you feel his skin is more slick. You’ve started leaking for him, your desire coating his thumbs and aiding in his journey, and this time his touch on your clit is less harsh and more delicious. You whimper in pleasure, your hands curling into the sheets at your side as he groans softly. 

“Your nectar smells delicious, little one. Heady, but delicate. Oh, I will enjoy drinking from your spring…” 

Your toes curl at his words, desire making your skin flush. He’s being almost poetic, and you wonder at it, wonder if this is how he becomes when he’s enjoying his lover. You definitely don’t mind. 

But then he leans forward and flutters his tongue in your folds, and your brain shuts down any thinking at all. 

This…him…is the best thing you’ve ever felt in your life. Soft, slick, thorough is his questing tongue as he laps slowly through your folds. He groans, his voice a rumble through your flesh, and your legs turn to water, your bare feet pressing to his shoulder blades. He hums at the feel and continues his slow, exquisite torture, pausing here or there to suckle on your lips, to run his nose through your damp curls. Every nerve on your cunt alights at his touch, arousal threatening to swallow you whole, and you mewl desperately, a soft, broken sound that makes his hands tighten on your thighs. You’re sure that later there will be finger-shaped bruises…but the thought simply makes you shiver. 

Your hands leave the sheets, reaching down to curl through his hair, and he groans softly, giving you a sudden soft suckle onto your clit as a reward. You cry out, your hips trying to arch off the bed, but his strength isn’t to be denied, and you stay right there. Right where he wants you. 

His clever tongue dips down now, pressing against your weeping entrance, lapping at your slick eagerly, greedily, as though you were the finest wine. He curls it up, firming it, pressing it into you centimeters at a time before pulling out, teasing you with what you could have but never giving you what you want. It swirls and licks and he groans and growls and you are melting. 

Your clit aches for him, the pressure enough to nearly reduce you to babbling pleas. Never in your life have you felt this aroused, this desperate for someone else. “Please,” you beg, your eyes hazy with lust as you look down at the god between your legs. 

His golden eyes flick to you, meeting your desire-drunk gaze, the corners crinkling in amusement…

…and then he shoves his tongue inside you as far as he can. 

You shriek wordlessly, one leg kicking out, the other heel drumming on his back. His lips are firm to your flesh, nose pressing hard to your clit, and that tongue, that tongue, is writhing deep in your channel, stroking along your walls, fucking you as his fingers did earlier. He licks at your insides, drinking down your gushing slick, and all the while his nose rubs on your clit at his motions, grinding and brushing in equal measures. You can feel your orgasm lighting deep in your belly, the swirling pleasure soaring higher and higher, and you think he’ll stop, to draw out the torture but he doesn’t, he keeps going, feeling the sudden fluttering of your walls, growling and redoubling his efforts and his sounds are muffled into your cunt as the pressure begins to crack…

You come, and you come and you come and you come and he bellows into your flesh as he feels your walls squeeze hard around his tongue.

Your body is still twitching in orgasm as he pulls his tongue out of you, and he pulls you up, your legs up around his shoulders as he looms over you. His cock is suddenly nestled between your thighs, pressed tight against your drenched cunt, and his arms wrap around your legs, squeezing them gently together. He groans deeply at your body surrounding everything but his tip, and he begins to move, dragging the underside of his cock through your slick, making the glide easier. 

He speeds up, his hips slapping against your ass, and you cry out as there’s a near constant drag on your throbbing clit. “There we go,” he all but growls, pressing his lips to the side of your calf muscle. “Drench me in you, get me nice and ready…” Then he huffs a laugh and snaps his fingers. You feel a bit of coolness at your throat, and he smirks. “Good thing one of us is not lust drunk…” 

You flush darkly. “T-Thank you for remembering,” you murmur, curling your hand around the triangle charm that’s quickly warming from your body heat. 

For a split second, his expression softens, and he nods in response. 

Then he pushes your legs apart and guides his tip to your sopping entrance. The sheer size of him is so intimidating that you feel yourself tense, and he pauses. “Now, this will not do,” he rumbles, and his hands rub gently at your thighs. “You must relax for me, beautiful one. I promise, even someone of my size will not hurt as long as you stay pliable.” 

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur, flushing darkly. “I…I’ve never had anything even half your size.” 

He smirks faintly, eyes glinting down at you, spots of gold in his shadowed face. “Do not apologize for what you feel.” He looks thoughtfully down at you, then chuckles and lowers you back down to the bed. “Well, I suppose I will just have to spend more time opening your body for me.” 

He shifts, laying down near the head of the huge mattress, and he reaches out, wrapping one hand around your bicep (his fingers meet around your arm, and a thrill runs through you once more at how deliciously small you feel). He pulls you up to him; you let out a slight laugh of exhilaration, and he smirks in amusement. He presses your back to his chest, his arm curled around your waist so he may cup and knead your tits, and his right hand slides down your thigh. 

He pulls your leg up and tucks your foot behind his knee. You feel his fingers brush over your curls, then down over your lips, wet with your own dew. You choke on a gasp as one thick finger presses deep into your sopping heat. “Relax, little one,” he all but coos into your ear, his beard scraping wonderfully against your neck. “I have you. Trust me to take care of your body, hm?” 

You shiver hard, but you take a deep breath, feeling yourself shift around his finger. You let it out slowly, and with it you work on releasing all the nervous tension in your limbs. He’s patient with you, nibbling and kissing at your ear and neck, letting you work on relaxing yourself. Only once he feels your walls are gently gripping him instead of clenching does he speak. “Good girl,” he purrs, and he makes you whimper. “Stay just like that.” 

Slowly, his finger pulls out, then pushes back in. Even just his index finger is a lot, much thicker than your own. But this is quite doable, and after only a few moments he’s moving easily in you. “Here is a second. You have taken two before, little one, you will be fine.” 

A second finger pushes in, and you groan deeply at the gentle stretch. He can feel your walls tense for a second, but he’s patient, and before too long you relax once more around him. “There you go…my good girl,” he praises, and you all but melt against him. “How do you feel, my beauty?” 

“Really good,” you murmur, and he feels you shivering gently. “I-I feel…full.” 

He hums in amusement, and you make a strangled sort of sound in the back of your throat as he suddenly wiggles his fingers in you. “Not nearly full enough…yet…” 

He works you open, slowly, playing your body like an instrument he’s familiar with, knowing just how to warm up your strings to make you sing. His fingers are slow, gentle as they rock in you, and after a few minutes of this he begins to make a scissoring motion. You gasp and clutch at him, turning your head to press your face to his chest. 

“Shh, I have you,” he soothes, giving your breast a gentle squeeze with his left hand. “You are doing so well for me, little one…” 

The praise makes you feel all warm once again. His thumb gently rubs your clit again, making you gasp his name, hips twitching. He chuckles softly, and then, on the next thrust in, he presses his ring finger in with his middle and index. 

Your heart about stops. Three of those massive digits is more than you’ve ever taken in your life. Your walls twitch and squeeze hard around his fingers. He growls, nipping down on your shoulder, his hand still for now. “So tight, my beauty…we must get you relaxed.” 

All you can feel, all you can focus on, is the feeling between your legs. You’re so full, so achingly full…you pant softly, your eyes hazy as you feel your walls squeezing him, rippling gently around his fingers. He feels you trembling against him; you feel him smile against your shoulder.

Then his thumb starts rubbing over your clit, small, soft circles, and his name gets caught in your throat as you make a strangled cry and come. There was no warning, no build up–you’re so full that the sudden pressure, the sudden hard squeeze around his digits at the touch on your clit, forces you to come. You writhe against him, each squeeze of your walls around his thick fingers prolonging your orgasm, his thumb keeping you high. He’s growling softly, and as you get lost in the haze of pleasure, he pulls his fingers out and presses the tip of his cock in. 

He growls something in a language you don’t recognize, but you know a curse when you hear one. And frankly, you agree: the stretch he’s giving you, even after preparing you like this, is incredible.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he pushes into you, inch by inch, until he bottoms out. You’re gasping his name, soft little puffs of breath, and he can feel a small bite of pain where your nails have dug into his thigh. It only makes him growl once more in approval. You feel impaled, you feel so thoroughly full of him that you don’t think you’ll ever be empty again. 

“You feel…exquisite,” he rasps, leaning down to brush his lips over the shell of your ear. “You have all of me you can fit, my little beauty…I knew you could do it…” 

“G-Ganondorf,” you gasp again. You press one hand above where he’s filling you full, and you can feel him, feel his firmness inside you. You whimper. 

“I know…do not worry, we are going to stay just like this for a little while,” he purrs, nipping playfully at your ear, at the side of your neck. “I do not want to hurt you. We must get you used to me, hm?” 

You can only nod, quivering against his chest. He makes soothing sounds as you wait, his fingers stroking over your skin, almost delicate touches that serve to make you shiver and twitch around him. But you’re relaxing, melting back into his ministrations, and slowly you feel the death grip your walls have on him easing. 

“There…that is much better, my lovely,” he praises. “Now, stay nice and still for me.”

Gently, he rocks his hips forward. It’s less of a thrust and more of a roll, but the drag he gets against your walls, the way you can almost feel those veins, feel the edges of his cock-head pressing and rubbing against you…curses fall from your mouth, and your hand scrabbles at his thigh. 

He groans your name, slowly rocking and grinding his hips into yours, until he’s pulling out an inch and pushing back in, another inch, another, and he’s speeding up, unable to resist the pull of your body on his lust. Before too long, he’s pulling out to his tip and thrusting back in, snapping his hips, and you’re crying out, his name a prayer on your lips as the pleasure scours you from the inside out. 

“Come with me,” he growls–no, commands into your ear. “You are going to come with me, lovely. Let us peak together…” His fingers find your clit once more, rubbing rapid, tight circles over the oversensitive bud. 

You shriek his name, your hips jerking, and you’re not sure if you’re trying to move towards him or away. “C-Can’t, c-can’t, ‘s too much!” 

“You can, and you will,” he growls, not letting up. He speeds up, both his fingers and his hips, fucking into you with barely controlled strength. “Come, little one, come with me!” 

You’re helpless but to obey. 

You shriek his name as you’re flung into an orgasm that once again has your vision whiting out, your hearing cutting off with a sharp whine. You lose control of your limbs, thrashing against him, as he roars at feeling your walls absolutely strangling his cock. His cum pours into you in thick waves, and you can almost feel the pulses against your walls. Your slick and his cum are fucked out of you, all but splashing over you both, and the feeling has you whining as the tail end of your orgasm begins to fade, leaving you absolutely boneless on the bed.

The only sound for long moments is the nearby gentle snapping of the fireplace, and the ragged panting from the both of you. He’s still inside you, his cock slowly softening in your walls, and when he slips out you wine softly. He chuckles, a low sound that’s still fairly breathless. “Are you…able to speak?” he asks, and you feel him shifting on the bed behind you, his massive hand curling gently over your hip. 

“Mmph,” you say in response. Your limbs feel heavy, weighed down by the force of so much pleasure in your body at once. 

“Are you in pain?” he asks, and you feel him shifting you, checking you over just in case. 

“No,” you mumble. “Well…a bit sore…but you’re huge, so…makes sense…” 

He chuckles again. “Fair enough. That will fade.” He stands, and when you peel your eyes open you’re a little gratified to see his legs wobble faintly. He notices your grin and huffs faintly. “It has been some time since I had pleasure like that, little one. Do not give me that look.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, but it’s obvious you’re trying not to laugh. 

He tries to look stern, but he can’t help the faint smile that breaks out anyway. “You are lucky I like you,” he replies, and pulls you up and into his arms. He walks into the bathroom, setting you back down into the hot water of his tub, and you flush as, for a moment, the water turns cloudy around you. He smirks, golden eyes glinting in amusement. 

He gets you cleaned up, for which you’re grateful because your limbs are still like jelly. Once you’re clean and dry, he snaps his fingers in front of his bed, and the sheets are clean. “Handy,” you murmur, your cheek pressing to his shoulder. “Literally.” 

He snorts. “Did you just seriously make a pun?” 

You grin against his skin. “Maybe.” 

“I am rethinking my fondness for you,” he grumbles, but he’s still gentle as he gets the both of you under the covers. 

“Nah, you like me,” you chirp, already feeling sleep tugging at you. 

“Hmph. Hush, my beautiful one, you need your rest.” You can hear the promise in his voice as he adds, “I am definitely not done with you…” 

Too far into slumber’s pull to answer, the last thought that crosses your mind is: Good…because neither am I.

[wanderingaldecaldo]

An open letter to the Cyberpunk fandom in general, and a few people in particular

It’s time to clear the air, and I want to take responsibility where appropriate.

Before we get into the recent drama, a history lesson is in order, both for the newer people in fandom and for those who have been around and just haven’t heard things from my side. This might be long with all the linked posts, so buckle up.

I don’t talk much to people about my experiences in fandom for several reasons — first, I don’t like to talk about others with people I don’t know; gossiping with friends is one thing, but otherwise it’s an undesirable trait. Because I’m human and fallible and absolutely capable of failing to meet my own standards, I have violated that rule, and it rarely does anything good. Second, even when I do share, people don’t tend to believe me because the responsible party, PinkyDude (PKD), has been “so nice” to them. “Surely there was a misunderstanding” is the most common response. 

No, there’s been no misunderstanding. He has harassed me repeatedly, both directly and indirectly, and has deleted most of the posts he’s made or reblogged from his friends/mutuals/followers that would serve as proof of this harassment. I could dig up old screenshots that people sent or I saved myself after being told of a post’s existence, but honestly I don’t want to go through that dreck again; my mental health is worth more to me than that. Instead I’ll present in my own words what happened to me over the last three years. I have spoken publicly about him three times before now — four if you count my response to the anon, which never referenced him or his ship. All of those posts are still visible and will be linked. I told you this would be a long read, but you need the context.

I joined Tumblr in spring/early 2021, back when I only wrote fic and played on console. PKD blocked me the first time I posted my fic, as is his right. As I was new to Tumblr, I didn’t understand the Tumblr app was actually telling me I was blocked whenever I clicked on the links on Discord, so I thought it was just bad software. Spoiler: it’s still bad software (affectionate). When I found out I was blocked, I was upset; I didn’t know about RSD at the time. I sent one anon asking why he blocked people; I was just a lowly AO3 author and he was the big, popular modder, and I was baffled and very upset and should have closed the browser, to be honest. He answered and explained why he blocked people (totally valid!! I will continue to emphasize that!) and shared how blocked people could still view his blog in a number of ways. Honestly, it was too much work for me to go through all of those steps, so I moved on with my life.

Not long after, he did unblock me for a few weeks and posted how someone had shown him how to filter posts. He messaged me to tell me I was unblocked, and we exchanged a few courteous messages. I believe I asked if it would be okay if I followed him. I know he expressed concern about me feeling discomfort at his ship. I don’t remember my exact response but I said I thought they were cute. That was the whole point of me joining fandom — I want to share love for blorbos! Things were civil, as far as I knew, though based on his comments later, it seems he and I had two completely different experiences. Where I believed I was polite and tried to be respectful to someone who had established boundaries, he accused me of being spiteful and vengeful. Soon after I started taking my own VP (with Mitch) he blocked me again. He sent a message to apologize that he needed to do it, and made a vague post that was directed to me, I assume, as it was something like “Sorry I tried” or whatever, and I moved on with my life, or tried. I still saw his Mitch pics in Discord servers when people shared them, though I saw fewer that were just Mitch alone.

The first time I spoke about PKD was Fall 2021, during the “not PKD approved” debacle, where someone (a follower of his! Not my follower! I cannot stress that enough!) reblogged a gif of Val and Mitch with the tag “not PKD approved.” I shared a screenshot with friends because, uh, that’s what you do, right? That’s what anyone would do — share a screenshot of an offensive tag with friends. One of those friends, a writer who had published Mitch/V on AO3 and also received anon hate on their Mitch fics, thought it was funny and used it for their Discord status. Someone shared that status with PKD, and he made vague accusations about who started the hashtag. 

I publicly defended a person who thought they were being accused, a friend at the time, and made the only statement about him that I regret and would take back — I commented on his propensity for reblogging posts that emphasize having the right to block people. I shouldn’t have said that, it wasn’t appropriate, and I apologize. Of course everyone has the right to block people for whatever reason they want. I disagree with what I said then and retract it now. 

Back to how I was targeted... Remember that it was my post that someone tagged with another person’s name; another person who had me blocked because of their jealousy about seeing anyone else with Mitch. I never named the person who tagged my post, yet I was deemed the perpetrator. Many months later, Zwei DMed me when we shared a small server to offer the most non-apology apology ever for telling people that I started the hashtag. Thanks, Zwei! Almost makes up for the other lies you told about me!

The second time was my response to the anon I got trying to “educate” me after the Pawel stream. I never referenced PKD or his ship. We’ll come back to this more in-depth later because it’s what PKD keeps using to harass me.

The third time I spoke publicly about PKD was when Silvay (sp?) posted first on Twitter, then later Tumblr. I posted a follow up the next day. I debated not saying anything. I’m an avoidant person. I don’t like conflict. I have a loud bark and no bite. My former team members can attest to this. But when I do... I don’t make public statements I’m not willing to defend, which is why everything I have linked is still published.

I do recommend stopping to read the posts linked here, and even the other posts I reblogged at the time from other people who shared their own experiences with PKD and the fandom. As I said, I don’t make public statements I won’t defend; or at least apologize and issue a public retraction. But, if you want to stay with the present and would rather have the TL;DR: I was regularly vagued about by PKD or his friends/followers, calling me transphobic and homophobic; one accused me of corrective rape; and I got tired of it.

I thought that posting publicly might bring some closure. It was cathartic to finally get it out and stop carrying that shame, and it was reassuring to hear from people who had similar experiences. At the same time, quite a few people made their own posts along the lines of “HE WAS ALWAYS NICE TO ME”. 

Oh, but he’s always been nice to me!

Look me in the eyes. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you truly believe he would be nice to you if you shipped with Mitch. Do you really believe he would? Do you think he would “block and move on” with you, unlike how he did with me?

None of those people shipped with Mitch, or other characters that people in his clique were protective over. A few months later he made a post saying not to tag me with him, and listed off every screenname I had used since I joined fandom, including the very first tumblr name I was assigned in 2021 and kept for several months because I thought it was funny. How’s that for a dog whistle? Want PKD’s attention? Better not tag wash!! [I’m sure there’s a screenshot somewhere but again, I didn’t have the energy to find it.]

By the way, why do I know all this? If I’m blocked, I shouldn’t see anything he posts without circumventing “the system”. We are mutually blocked and I don’t spy on him, or have my friends spy on him. I always knew what was going on because people were always quick to let me know anytime he was vaguing about me. “Friends” who were really concerned about the latest thing he said about me, or thought it was just terrible how people were always attacking my ship and wanted to share that feeling with me, but they only shared those thoughts in private. Slowly I separated myself from people who felt the need to keep me updated on drama, or some of them separated themselves from me and became friends with PKD, to the point that either nothing happened for some time or I just stopped seeing it, at least until last fall.

The last time I talked about him publicly was when I wrote about Fem V Friday in Fall 2023. Through the usual chain of vague posting about vague posts, a third person wrote a vague post and cast aspersions on the origin of Fem V Friday, suggesting it was created out of jealousy. PKD helpfully weighed in about a person named “W”  starting FVF from jealousy and spite, and implied he’s seen things I’ve said about him. I’d love to know what I’ve said, the context in which it was said, and the context in which he was told about what I said. 🤷

My post in response didn’t reference the vague post that spurred its creation, nor what PKD said about me, even though PKD must know my intentions and history better than me. I wrote about my love for Fem V and what drove my continued involvement week to week.

Despite my attempts to keep to my own corner or defend my name, PKD continues to defame and harass me. He has repeatedly dragged other people into his drama, sometimes my friends, just as he did in May when he brought up my anon response again. 

It was over two years ago now that I received the anon to “educate” me on Mitch being gay. I have never believed PKD sent the anon, despite his implications, and I have certainly never told anyone that he did.

Two years ago, a coward came into my inbox on anon and tried to bully me, and instead of spending a day writing five thousand words on “death of the author” and what constitutes canon and refuting the argument that I didn’t want to have, I used that energy to write about my ship in my favorite genre (smut) and published a fic on AO3. Neither my fic nor my response on tumblr referenced Mitch being gay or PKD’s ship. Before we go further, I encourage you to watch the relevant clip from the Pawel stream. It’s only 30 seconds of your time, but those 30 seconds are what PKD and others have used to justify their harassment of me.

The transcript for anyone not inclined to watch:

PKD: Am I right to overanalyze every detail in every place like the gay romance novel in Mitch's tent? Is that intentional? Pawel: My friend, on this stream, you could have learned already that everything is intentional...

The “gay romance novel in Mitch’s tent” is 1000 Beats Per Minute, a shard found all across Night City, nay, the continent as the shard/prop can be found in such locations as All Foods just after you meet Dum Dum, the foot of V’s bed in A10, and So Mi’s Brooklyn apartment. 

The contents of the shard are worth reading, if only for recognizing that the narrator is an ungendered person named “Alex” who is experiencing love for a man for the first time. Is Alex a man or a woman or neither? Whoever they are, Alex is having a queer experience, and to insist that the shard can only be about gay men is to erase a lot of other queer experiences.

Back to my anon response, PKD once again called my response transphobic and homophobic, though I will give him credit for saying he wasn’t calling me trans/homophobic, which is an upgrade from previous posts. He claims that I used the smut that I wrote as my response because I referenced writing “the smuttiest pussy eating smut I could”. I said “pussy eating” not in relation to anything about the claim that Mitch is gay, but as response to the intentions of the anon, which were never good.

The full context of my words: 

Not entirely sure what you were trying to accomplish with this message, anon. Should I pack up my words and keyboard and go home? See if it's too late to return my gaming PC because I can't take screenshots of Mitch anymore? Whatever your goal was, you pushed me to write the smuttiest pussy eating smut I could imagine. You know who wins today? - I do, because I wrote a shitload of words in one day and finished a piece that didn't even exist 8hrs ago - people who want more Fem V/Mitch content do - my meat husband does bc damn, I wrote 1800 words of smut today - not you

PKD is claiming that my description of smut I wrote about my ship is trans/homophobic.

The description of the smut I wrote about a cis bisexual female (Val) whose pussy was eaten by her cis bisexual male partner (Mitch). 

The smut I wrote about my ship, in which no one is trans or gay. 

You cannot apply the lens of PKD’s ship and characters to my writing and call it transphobic or homophobic. That’s not how literary analysis works. That’s not how social justice works.

The truth is that PKD and his mutuals/friends used his ship and beliefs to harass me. 

If that were me and it were my beliefs being used to harass someone on anon, I would demand whoever it was to stop immediately, not only because harassing people over fictional characters is awful and wrong, but good lord, to use me as the excuse? I would be mortified! Instead, PKD and his mutuals/followers used it as evidence of my being a bad person, and after several months of that, I borrowed Silvay’s courage when he posted on Twitter, and shared my own experience.

Now that we have the full background, let’s move on to recent drama and address the Flat Chest body and the wearable pecs mod, and what part I played in the process and when. This next part is for motherherbivore. I wish you had talked to me first. I thought I’d rate high enough for a DM. 

A Brief History of The Flat Chest Body Under Curation of Wash

I reached out to Na in March about helping update the Flat Chest body. I specifically wanted to update it to dynamic to take advantage of AXL’s dynamic clothing and, more importantly to me, reduce the number of clothing overrides I had to install for Hilary; plus I wanted to add toggle feet so I could have better options for shoes. Also I had another OC I’d been kicking around in my head, Grem, that I wanted to make using the flat chest. Grem did debut recently, but he changed drastically from my original vision for him.

Sharing the news with Kitty (shared with permission)

I started working on updating the mod in April but got stuck because I didn’t understand resource patching, even though I was sure it would be easy. :hidethepain: I tried adding the feet too, but everything I did resulted in a seam at the calves. As is all too common with my ADHD, I moved onto something else after getting stuck.

As I mentioned I was interested in dynamic AXL, and wanted to update my custom tee framework for Pride. With dynamic AXL, someone could generate all colors with all logos at once! (220, do not try this at home!) I included the dynamic version of the Flat Chest mesh in the upload to Nexus, even though the Flat Chest body wasn’t ready yet, but as a goal for me to also have it done in June.

I had the UV version working in early June, before the Angel body came out. I don’t remember if we already knew about the body’s existence at that point, but the community outcry against yet another unrealistic and fetishistic body mod sustained me in updating a mod that appealed to a small subset of fandom.

The message I sent to Na the morning I got it working

I got the UV version working first, since that’s what Hilary uses, then took a look at toggle feet again. After further investigation using both UV and VTK bodies, I realized there would always be a seam because the bodies were drastically different from the current body; they were completely different meshes underneath, and the seams would never line up properly. 

At that point I decided to release the functioning dynamic version without toggle feet, as I wanted to get it out for Pride. I reached out to mhb to test, as had always been my intention. For me Sanctuary is the most iconic OC to use the Flat Chest. After some technical difficulties I figured out that she used the vanilla version, and came back a few days later with a functioning vanilla version. I released my update once I had assembled the necessary files and pics from the testers, mhb included.

Later when PKD released the refits for his pecs, someone commented that the vanilla refits worked for the Flat Chest body. That’s been my only interest in his pecs mod — because people who use the Flat Chest were interested in having more clothing options. The release of the so-called “Flat Chest Detector” meant that Flat Chest body users wouldn’t be able to use the clothing refit for his wearable pecs, because it required using his pecs, which clipped with tattoos and cyberware — as is expected because it’s not a body mod, as he himself said on the mod page.

As the representative for the Flat Chest body, I agreed when streetkid-named-desire (Rat) asked me to be involved in the conversation with Berdagon about adapting their “Flat Chest” detector to recognize the Flat Chest body. Rat drove this conversation. I don’t say this to dump responsibility on them. In fact, I visited them last weekend and we talked through the situation. I suggested to Rat that I could have urged them to slow down, but they refused to let me take that responsibility, and at the end of the day they’re right — I can only control my own actions.

I do have one regret and one opportunity where I could have acted differently: when Rat asked Berdagon about the original script, Rat very explicitly asked whether the script was commissioned by PKD, and if so, Rat stated they were willing to pay to make changes; Berdagon never answered the question, and I wish I had pushed for an answer. Perhaps that could have prevented the entire situation; we could have stopped right then. While Berdagon never mentioned payment, Rat was so excited by how quickly they implemented the requested changes that they tipped them for the work.

Berdagon, the original script writer, owed PKD the responsibility to check in before modifying something that PKD paid for. Yes, Berdagon does have responsibility here as a professional who took money for a commission. When they didn’t answer the question, I could have stopped the process and pushed for an answer. I would have stopped things immediately upon hearing the answer that the script had been commissioned by PKD. PKD could still have been outraged at Rat asking for changes, but there wouldn’t have been fandom-wide drama about a body that only a dozen people use.

That’s the responsibility I will take — I, as a professional who works with consultants and freelancers, could have taken steps to ensure that everyone was acting professionally, including the person who received money twice to work on the same script.

Because I feel the need to be thorough in my explanation, here’s a simplified timeline of the release of the Flat Chest mod compared to the wearable pecs:

Late March - I receive files from Na for Flat Chest

April - I get stuck, stop working on it

April-May - I figure out dynamic AXL and convert tee framework

June 3 - I have a working dynamic UV Flat Chest

In response to outcry over the Angel body, PKD makes a poll asking what body types people want refits for and excludes Flat Chest body as an option

In response to people commenting over why Flat Chest wasn’t included, PKD explains he won’t support the body and that he would support a different Flat Chest body if someone made it

June 10 - I share the UV version for testing with several people. Two of those people, including mhb, use vanilla. I didn’t realize that, and because I didn’t name the file `UV` it took a long time to troubleshoot why things weren’t working

PKD releases the pecs

I share vanilla for testing

I post Flat Chest 2.0 before the end of June

I didn’t use you, mhb. I asked you to test because, like I said above and on Nexus, Sanctuary is the Flat Chest character for me. I asked you to test because I make mods for my friends first and foremost, and I thought you were my friend. I thought you were my friend because we’d known each other for several years now, and because of shared experiences and conversations we’ve had. I’ve been wrong before about who is a friend, and this one stings a lot.

I’m tired. I am 30 or 40 (or 50) years old and I do not need this. I have a career and a job I love, and an amazing partner who I’ve been with for a third of my life now. I have friends and hobbies in meatspace and friends who share those hobbies, and the real truth is, if I was actually trans/homophobic, well, that number would be tiny, but it’s not. I have a life that I love and that is full of joy. Most people in fandom only know the smallest fraction of the real wash, and I do not take pleasure in being targeted in a public fandom “feud”.

PKD, I say this with all the kindness I can muster for another human being who is clearly hurting: please get help. Go to therapy or see a psychiatrist or use whatever tools you can access. This obsession you have with me and my ship is not healthy for you, and your repeated pattern of bullying has hurt me and people close to me, just as your need to rehash old fandom drama hurts the community.

[thenightwinggraveyard]

how i find banger fics on AO3

tips and tricks by yours truly

are you an avid ao3 reader like myself? do you ever find yourself at a loss for what to read next and unable to find anything worth your time? well worry no longer (hopefully!), because i'd like to share some ways i filter through the endless amount of fics to find ones i like;

SORT BY KUDOS

while doing this isn't foolproof and it leaves underrated fics out of the equation, it is generally a good starting point. most fics that have a lot of kudos, do so for a reason after all.

2. EXCLUDE WHAT YOU DONT LIKE

this is a feature i wasn't really utilizing until recently, but it has saved me so much effort. when your on a fandom, tag, or pairing, you can exclude whatever ticks you off and make finding a good fic easier. for example, sometimes i go on my favourite tags, like time travel, and find that it is mostlyyyy clogged up with harry potter or mha and im just not feeling it that day; well i simply exclude it.

3. MAKE NOTE OF/JOT DOWN WHAT YOU'D LIKE

what i mean by this, is whenever you think about a specific character or pairing/dynamic, fandom, etc.. during the day or when doing something else and find yourself craving that content, a good idea would be to write that down for later on your notes app or something, and specifically search for it later on. otherwise, sometimes when faced with the damning ao3 search bar you forget everything you like and your entire personality. ive certainly been there.

4. MARK FOR LATER

whenever you see a fic that you don't really feel like reading at the moment, but know you could like, you can hit the mark for later button. i find it much easier then having endless numbers of open tabs that you cant sort through.

5. SEARCH COLLECTIONS

i like to go to my favourite fics i previously read and look through the collections that have that fic saved to them and browse. i have a collection of my own where i save my fav fics if you feel like checking that out!

6. SEARCH THROUGH OTHER MEDIA

going on tiktok or tumblr and searching the #fanfiction or #fanficrec tags can be a lifesaver. better yet, when you find tumblr masterlists of recs.

7. CHECK OUT AUTHORS OTHER WORKS

this ones self explanatory; if you really like a fic, try checking out the authors other works in the case that you find them just as good.

8. ASK FRIENDS!!!

you dont no HOW much i bombard my friends by asking them for recs, and ive found some really good ones through them. you can even ask mutuals, anyone on discord if you have it, etc...

LASTLY,

9. BE PICKY

this one is a bit redundant but its something i often find myself wishing i had done earlier. if your reading a fic and something about it just isnt right for you, be that the writing style, the chracetrization, etc... don't feel like you need to continue. theres nothing wrong with just dropping shit when it gets too boring or when its not tickling your fancy, otherwise you may end up putting so much time into a work that leaves you upset/frustrated, and thats no fun. seriously, i have spent hundreds of thousands of words on fics that left me hating my life and not because of how good it was written ill tell you that.

[mommalosthermind]

How do you block and filter fics with rampant racist micro aggression since that's never tagged properly and the writer will have a white meltdown if they're ever confronted with the fact their fic is racist?

I honestly can’t tell if this was in earnest or if it’s meant to be another Gotcha! Attempt from one of the anti-censorship posts I’ve annoyed people with, so I’m going to assume it’s the first and do my best to answer.

As a white woman, I am definitely not someone who should be speaking on racism, since the systemic issues I deal with are very very different.

Unfortunately, though, your experience with such a fic is going to mirror what I’d imagine is also your experience with most other forms of media which don’t flag that kind of behavior: bail. Back out. Don’t finish the thing that is upsetting you. Possibly, (as I’ve done with authors on issues that hit home for me) take note of who’s behind the thing so you know to avoid them in the future, as they’ve broken that trust.

This is also known as curating your space. I don’t remember if I go on that rant in the other two (three?) posts that seem to have picked up, but that’s the READER’s side of the equation. Find your garden and tend it well, keep it how you like it, because it is for you and you alone.

My job as a writer is to tag to the best of my ability so you know exactly what you’re bringing into your garden. I don’t want to spoil your flowers anymore than I want someone to trample on mine.

Hopefully, as people talk about this more, authors will be more open to tagging/ modifying and/or adding a footnote for things exactly like this.

Micro aggressions are especially difficult, since (again, pulling purely from my lived experiences) getting folk to agree on what ‘counts’ is rough. But as an author— I want to share my stories. That’s the point! If I’ve written it, then I damn well better be self-aware enough to tag it, and be willing to ADD TAGS so I’m not breaking trust with the people I’m trying to give nice things to. Hopefully that makes sense?

I’m gonna say that again since I feel it needs it: if you’re comfortable enough to write the Real World problem happening, you’re fully capable of being able to recognize why someone might like the warning. Be kind. Tags only work if you use them.

On AO3, I believe they recently made it possible to block an author entirely, so they no longer show up in the results for your searches.

I’ve run across exactly one author I’d have blocked if it was possible at the time, because he refused to add tags to a story that… really needed tags. And, going through the comments in later chapters, dozens of people have asked him to update tags. He claims that doing so will ‘ruin the story’ despite the graphic raped-to-death-then-magically-revived bit having literally nothing to do with the plot at all. Instead, it comes out of literally nowhere in an otherwise really well written tale, and was deeply deeply upsetting to the point that his response to my first chapter squee was “yeah, tell me if you still like it after chapter X”. (Unfortunately i am a very fast reader and had already gotten that far and bailed immediately. Dude if you KNOW it’s THAT upsetting to so many people ADD THE TAG.)

I’ll never read anything he’s written again, just like I refuse to read anything by JKR ( awful human) or Terry Goodkind (I can’t stand how he handles his female characters. At all.)

Obviously these two examples are not identical, but it’s the main comparison I have on hand.

This isn’t meant to sound like I’m belittling or downplaying that concern at all. But until people get better at tagging—and I really wish traditional books and other media would ALSO tag, because I’m very very tired of running into Specific Things without any fucking warning— you have to protect yourself and your happy place by putting up a fence, and booting unsavory things right back over it.

—side note: for those worried about spoiling the plot you can…skip the tags... just know you’re choosing to walk in blind. OR! And I wish i could figure it out—you can add! A hyperlink! That takes you to the footnote at the BOTTOM to add things that deserve a warning but might be spoilers! There’s even a tag for that! ‘More tags in notes!’ These are good and useful things! Use them so your readers can better curate their spaces!—

The system isn’t perfect by any means. There are a million ways to improve, and we’re trying! But please, please y’all use the damn tags because right now it’s the only system we’ve got. Take care of each other.

[gendervapor14]

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

9. How do you find new fic to read?

10. How do you decide what to write?

(if not answered already), and 37 & 38! Fanfic ask meme❤️

ooh hello!! thank you for these!! i did answer #38, but i'll answer #37 for sure!

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

ooooo as a music nerd i love this question and i apologize for how longwinded my answer is XD i don't do many songfics or much song-related writing [*shoves the title of two fights for freedom under the rug*] but i do have a ton of playlists and songs that make me think of specific characters or fics. to answer this question, i'll just pick one called "Fever Dream" by Dirt Poor Robins. specifically the part starting just after the 4:00 minute mark. the lyrics make me go INSANE with this idea for a dark/horror dq bros fic where doflamingo realizes that corazon is just a false identity and he can't do anything to get his brother back and it drives him even more insane. these lyrics make me crazy Now here comes the liar (lion) Clawing at your door Drunk on the blood of your brother And he's back for more (apparently the lyric is actually "lion" rather than "liar", but i hear "liar" so therefore i declare it is "liar" for the sake of my own brainrot) imagine a fic where rosinante is the one psychologically tormenting doflamingo!! unsure if i'll ever get around to writing it, but it'd probably have a similar vibe to blood gone sour.

9. How do you find new fic to read?

i usually do a nightly prowl under the one piece fandom on ao3 and either filter by most recent fics with rosinante or bell-mere. otherwise i read recs that are bumped on discord servers, or stories friends write! i'm actually terrible at reading tho i don't read nearly enough. when i have free time, i usually use it to create.

10. How do you decide what to write?

excellent question. i make a list of priorities. sometimes it's disorganized lists on my phone, sometimes i use calendars. first and foremost are things with due dates, so zine work, or gifts for exchanges, birthdays or holidays. next i prioritize stories that are works in progress, but already posted on ao3. i hate having incomplete works posted on ao3, so i strive to get them wrapped up asap. then it's a rabid thunderdome of all my other wips and ideas all wrestling for victory for who gets to be created XD i'm constantly bursting with ideas i never get to work on, unfortunately.

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

i'm gonna go ahead and promote spitfire and ice because i busted my ass on this for the crackpair event and i was actually really happy with the result? i was assigned makino x kuzan, so i threw bell-mere in there too just to shake things up, and then i fell madly in love with bell-mere x makino and their flirty banter. it captured my heart in a way i was NOT expecting. i guess the tags aren't particularly interesting to most, so it's relatively unknown with only 4 kudos and 31 hits. but look at this!! “Hey, I’ve gotta ask you something.” She leaned over the counter once Makino settled herself and refilled the pitcher for the next round. “Would I still be wanted here…after hours?” With a tight smile, Makino rested her hands over the tabletop. “We’re closed for customers after hours. I need some time to tidy up the place.” “Right, right…” Pretty gray eyes wandered. “But in this situation, I wouldn’t be a customer.” With an amused chuckle, Makino folded her arms over her stomach. “What do you want me to say, Miss Bell-mère? Do you want me to welcome you to my private quarters upstairs?” That exposed chest filled with air. “I wouldn’t be against an invitation.” smh. well, at least i'm proud of it!

ahhh sorry i got so rambly XD i had fun answering these! thank you so much for the questions!! here's the list if anyone else has a question, or wants to reblog it for themselves!

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"Open to Interpretation" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 12/16: Brotherly Bonding Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: General Word Count: (1.5K/24K) Summary: Emma Swan is appalled at works by modern artist Killian Jones- until a handsome stranger convinces her otherwise- and after introducing himself as the artist in question, he invites her out on a date. As their relationship develops, they find that they might not be as different from each other as originally though. Chapter Summary: Killian talks with his step brother. Tags: au, fluff, captain swan, modern au Author's notes: I've been a little distant from y'all this past week because of vacation stuff, but I'm glad to be "back in the saddle," as it were. This chapter holds a special little place in my heart (though, to be fair, all of them do 😁) Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 As Killian got ready for bed that night, he couldn't help but find it odd, sleeping on a cot in what was once his own bedroom- though with how it'd been changed as of recent you could hardly tell it was the same room- and for his step brother to have what was once Killian's bed, but was now not.

 And Killian also tried to put out of his mind the fact that Emma was sleeping in the same house, that she was right down the hall in the guestroom. Though he was annoyed that his father had made the decision for them about them having separate rooms- they were adults, after all, and capable of making these decisions for themselves- Killian knew their conversation would've led to the same conclusion his father had reached. Killian wouldn't've even suggested sharing a room with Emma unless she would've asked- and certainly nothing would've happened between the two of them anyways, not with his dad in the next room over. Killian had hardly felt free enough to give her a kiss on the cheek to say goodnight with his family around. He couldn't wait until this weekend was over, and until perhaps afterward, when he dropped Emma back off at her place again, and she told him this weekend was absolutely horrendous and insisted that he plan a third date, and he could hold her close once again in a world where it was just them, and could pull her closer still, kiss her again with more passion this time, tell her again that she's the most beautiful woman in the world, continue all the more fervently to try to win her heart.

 Killian was interrupted in his conspiring by Liam's entrance to the room.

 "Hey," they both said to each other, following their greeting with silence. Liam picked up his phone off his nightstand, and Killian checked his phone as well. Legally speaking, they were family, but there were eleven years and no blood between them, and very few shared memories, as Liam and his mom didn't join the family until Killian was almost finished at art school. As such, Killian had never been one to relate well to his younger brother.

 "How's it feel to be graduated?" Killian asked, trying to make the most of his weekend and break the ice with his stepbrother.

 "Alright, I guess," Liam said, from behind his phone, "kinda weird, actually."

 "How's that?" Killian set down his phone.

 "I expected it to feel different, I guess," Liam said. He paused a moment to swipe out of whatever app he was in and set his phone down on the bed next to him before continuing. "It doesn't feel different at all- it feels kind of normal. That normal is kind of weird."

 "I know the feeling," Killian said, "you're still the same person you were two hours ago- and yet everyone's congratulating you like you're a new man."

 "It almost doesn't feel real," Liam nodded, "but a month from now, I'll be out of the house."

 "What are your plans?" Killian asked.

 "Uncle Nemo's offered me an apprenticeship," Liam said.

 "That's a wonderful opportunity," Killian smiled, now hoping to see his favorite uncle at the party tomorrow. "You must be so excited."

 "I've wanted to do construction for years," Liam said, "he even said if I decide that's what I want to do long term, and I perform well at it, he'll offer me a position with his company."

 "That's wonderful, Liam," Killian said.

 "Of course, it's probably not nearly as exciting as being a world-famous artist," Liam smiled.

 "I would hardly say world famous," Killian laughed a little, "apparently, I can even walk my own galleries without people knowing who I am. I'm only featured at the Nolan Blanchard because the Nolans took a shine to me."

 "And because you have the talent to back that up," Liam said, "I've seen your art on Instagram; it's really good." "So I've been told," Killian said, "maybe sometime you can come see it in person."

 "I'll have to take you up on that," Liam said, "Uncle Nemo said he's been wanting to come out and see it as well. We'll have to make a trip of it."

 "Let me know when you're coming, and I'll give you a personal tour," Killian said.

 "Sounds like a deal," Liam said. After a moment's pause, he smiled with a raised eyebrow, "so, tell me more about this girlfriend of yours."

 Killian half laughed at his younger brother's question, and how it almost reminded him of his older brother, and how Lee no doubt would've teased him about Emma the same way he'd teased him about Milah and all the girls he dated before her.

 "She's not my girlfriend,"  Killian shook his head, "not yet, anyways- but I'll win her over soon enough."

 "Do you need any advice?" Liam asked, "I'm quite the ladies' man."

 Killian shook his head, smiling, "I had the same reputation myself when I was not much younger than you."

 "What changed that?"

 "It's hard to keep up that kind of reputation when you marry your high school sweetheart," Killian's smile fell, "and then after she passed I just," he shrugged, "never really got back out there. It was a lucky break to stumble upon Emma, and that we've hit it off so well, especially given the circumstances we met under."

 "What was that?" Liam asked, "did you spill coffee on her or something?"

 "Oh, nothing tacky like that," Killian said, "I met her in the museum, where she was ruthlessly criticizing my art- and she probably would still think of 'Killian Jones' as the worst artist alive, had a charming stranger such as myself not happened along and shown her otherwise."

 "And what does she think of this 'Killian Jones' now?" Liam asked.

 "I'm not sure," Killian shrugged, "clearly she thinks something of me, considering she decided it was worth it to come meet my family on our second date- but for now, things are, as it were 'open to interpretation.'"

 "I'm sure you'll win her heart eventually," Liam said, "since she's clearly already got yours."

 "Come again?"

 "You've been simping over her like a lost puppy dog," Liam laughed, "and I could tell that after only seeing you together for a few minutes."

 "Simping?" Killian asked.

 "It means you're obsessed with her," Liam explained.

 Killian blinked a couple times, trying to grasp this teen lingo, "Yeah. If that's what it means, then call me a 'simper.'"

 "Simp," Liam said.

 "Right," Killian nodded, "and what about you? Is there a lovely young lass that you're simping over?"

 At first, Liam's smile seemed to be mere laughter at his grown adult brother using his Gen Z lingo, but it changed ever so slightly into a delighted smile as he clearly thought of some girl he knew.

 "No one special," Liam said.

 "I know that smile," Killian wagged a finger at his stepbrother, "what's her name?"

 "Paige," Liam sighed, "she's in a lot of my classes- well, she was until we both graduated. But she's kind, smart, beautiful- she's so perfect."

 "Sounds like a real catch," Killian said.

 "If only I could catch her," Liam said.

 "What ever happened to being a 'ladies' man?'" Killian asked.

 "I don't know," Liam said, "anytime I'm around her, I don't know what to say. She's so cool, and pretty, and sweet, I just. I'm getting tongue tied just thinking of her."

 "Sounds like a classic case of 'simp' to me," Killian teased.

 "Shut up," Liam rolled his eyes, feigning being offended.

 "You brought that one upon yourself," Killian said, "but if you ask me, she sounds wonderful."

 "You'd really get along well with her too," Liam said, "she's a bit of an artist herself."

 "I look forward to meeting her sometime," Killian said.

 "I invited her to the party tomorrow," Liam said, "Hopefully she'll show up."

 "And hopefully you'll be able to form a coherent sentence around her," Killian said, then realized, as nice as this brotherly bonding was, he had a responsibility to make sure his kid brother got to bed by a reasonable hour. "But you probably won't be able to do that if you don't get a good night's sleep tonight."

 "Okay mom," Liam teased, turning off the lamp on his nightstand, "goodnight."

 "Goodnight, Liam," Killian said, "and hey, I'm proud of you."

 "Thanks," Liam said, "goodnight, bro."

 Killian then tried to fall asleep, but his mind drifted from thinking of the young love his brother was uncovering to the love he was discovering between himself and Emma. He couldn't wait to fall asleep, just so he could wake up and see her again- if he didn't meet her in his dreams first. He couldn't wait to give her a good morning kiss on the cheek as he grabbed a cup of coffee, or maybe to help his family together as they finalized party preparations, and then to show her off to his family and friends they'd meet with tomorrow- and, of course, for conversations and country music on the drive home, and a goodnight kiss afterward.

 And as his thought dwelt on Emma, he heard Liam's voice in the back of his mind, once again teasingly calling him a simp.

[snow-system-wol]

After returning from Matoya's Relic to rest at the Rising Stones for a short while, S'ria is intent on making sure G'raha understands his efforts have been appreciated. Perhaps G'raha's sleep-deprived filter is a bit lacking, though -- as he responds with approximately three words more than he meant to.

Ao3

S'ria was many things. He was, however, not an idiot. Even if there weren't some clear implications to Y'shtola's teasing, it was not subtle that G'raha's feelings for him went perhaps a bit beyond just admiration. (As if the Exarch had not all but admitted it himself, on multiple occasions.)

It had scared him at first. He'd maybe prefer that all feelings towards him be platonic at best, no matter who the person was. But G'raha was …kind. Kind and gentle and easy to trust (once they got through a few specific arguments back on the First.) That was almost worse. He felt like safe enough of a person that S'ria found himself…considering what it would be like. To be in a relationship like that of his own choosing.

That was most assuredly a terrible idea, though, wasn't it? Certainly not a way he'd like to mess up one of his closest friendships. It didn't seem like G'raha intended on acknowledging it himself anytime soon, so for now the matter could simply wait.

And wait it did, as they continued to make the best of their relative peace, as Alisaie and G'raha renewed their efforts to find a cure for tempering, as they actually made progress.

It was beautiful to behold, watching G'raha shift from awkwardly desperate to help Alisaie to becoming so invested in the research that he simply forgot to be anxious. For his own part, S'ria felt like he mostly succeeded in doing a bit of busy work and providing moral support, but that was alright. The important part was that Alisaie and G'raha made it work.

S'ria expected G'raha to be riding that high for days. After all, this was truly an accomplishment for the history books – an accomplishment he made happen, rather than just earnestly recording.

However, something about returning to Mor Dhona made him reset to his prior self-consciousness, blind to his own place among the Scions.

 

"Full glad am I to have helped at all, with something so important."

There was something bittersweet in his voice that S'ria had come to easily recognize by now. 'I could've done more.' It'd been there many times, when he listened to G'raha, and rarely was he sure how to convince him otherwise – but he wasn't going to just let that go, not this time. If nothing else, just this once, he wanted to say his piece.

S'ria stepped closer, placing a hand on G'raha's shoulder. G'raha, startled, met S'ria's eyes – even if that required him to look upwards a good bit.

"G'raha, with all the respect I can give – you're slightly an idiot in regards to yourself." He ignored the look of confused indignation on G'raha's face and continued on undeterred. "–for somehow not recognizing that you're actually brilliant. You're 'glad to have helped at all'? I, and everyone else, all know that this would've been truly impossible without you. And I don't just mean your Allagan blood, I mean the fact that you just continuously pulled lost knowledge out of your head like it was nothing. I mean, you memorized an entirely new type of magic after it was shown on a screen for literally seconds."

"I–I don't–"

S'ria, uncharacteristically, pulled him into a hug. "...I hope you weren't about to disagree with me – it's the truth. I want you to understand how much you continue to impress me at every turn."

G'raha stood there, forehead resting on S'ria's shoulder, caught between the competing urges to start furiously blushing or to start crying. He didn't know what to say to that. For a man being told how much intelligence his mind held, it was rather blank at the moment. The recent sleep deprivation was not helping at all. Twelve help him, that must've been why the only words that managed to tumble out of his mouth were an "oh", followed immediately by a dumbfounded, "I love you".

Oh no. There was a reason he'd never said such a thing. He prepared to be pushed away, for S'ria to berate him in some manner, to be rejected. Instead, S'ria remained as he was, arms still wrapped loosely around G'raha.

"I know."

And that was almost worse, having the lack of subtlety he'd shown confirmed for him. How long ago did S'ria figure this out? He didn't seem… upset, though. And he'd spent all this time with him lately, despite knowing about those feelings. Which meant… which meant what exactly? That wasn't clear. He could easily lose sleep if he didn't stop analyzing this.

G'raha had never really had his feelings not rebuked immediately, so he really wasn't sure where to go from there. Just pretending he never blurted that out was probably not the right path though. G'raha cautiously filed 'have a probably very embarrassing and/or terrifying conversation' onto his ever growing to-do list.

[jokeringcutio]

2, 3, 12, 12, 30 from the ask game? ^^ im a curious person asdkfljsdfk

[ Answering to this game ]

Thank you so much for asking :) ♡

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits? Top five are: Reader-Insert (9) Angst (8) Older Man/Younger Woman (8) Age Difference (7) Dubious Consent (6) And well, they do on this account :') . Not quite what I wrote in the past. I have gone from humor and romance to disturbing dark romance fics, I suppose? Though the older man/younger woman age thing has always been my kink, I mean, even in real life.

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

Polite/kind Reader. I know this isn't in any tags, but my standard/basic Reader is quite polite. Doesn't curse as much as I see readers do in other fics, doesn't fight as much as I read in most fics. Might react atypically to what you might expect in certain situations - which is excellent when writing villain/bad guy fics because they will expect the obvious and need to re-adjust their reaction when the reader surprises them. It could just be why the Reader is kept alive and survives. My basic go-to Reader is usually inspired by the thought "now what would I do when I was caught in this situation?" Though, when I am writing for a friend, I will make the character react more like they would. Which is even more fun than imagining myself in such a situation. "I am a worrier, not a warrior." (JokeringCutio ) - and yes, you can quote that with my name attached to it - I worry. A lot. And I try to solve things without fighting but by talking or finding solutions. Unless otherwise requested, I try to come up with reactions for the reader by placing myself in their situation. My basic Reader won't fight as much on instinct, I can't even slap someone if they ask me to (Yes, that has happened). But apart from the reader's depiction, you can find details in fics that derive from this as well. When I imagine myself in situations, important questions arise: where are the toilets? Is there anything I can use when I get my period? But who will feed the hamster? If there's a window, how can it be that no sound escapes the room? Expect things like bathing, using the toilet, menstruation, getting dirty, getting hurt and fearing infection. They are basic human things that I worry about and that I have noticed are quite often glossed over in movies and stories, but that make it all the more grizzly to read. Other details: Look for: A feasible ending. I like my stories to have a happy end, unless otherwise requested. But because I try and imagine how it would be if I were really caught in that situation, that ending might not be "they married and lived happily ever after". I mean, with a villain, murderer, slasher, or mentally ill person, happily ever after might just end a different way. Look for: Girls are better friends. Most of my recent fics have had a female reader involved with a male villain. But if you look closely you will see I often can't help a lesbian crush or relationship added to the mix, even if not open or explicit. 12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you? Reader-Insert. Used to hate them. Now I want nothing more but to write and read them. Hear me out, I like to perfect my reader-insert skills and try to avoid all that irritated me in the past. So I try to avoid mentioning specific things like the length of hair, body shape, skin tone, and background information that could trigger or put a reader off. And yes, in some cases you can get away with it, no problem. It's looking to find that balance. I failed with my multi-chapter Grabber fic. I wanted to avoid mentioning hair on the reader for a specific reader I have seen lurking around the fandom but it slipped in a few times anyway. If you are that reader and read this, please feel free to request a hairless reader fic/hair not mentioned fic. I would love to make it up to you ♡ 30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

Yes. The first smut I wrote was (as a virgin at the time and totally not into the kinks requested) very much out of my comfort zone. But I had to look up a lot and learned a lot new terms. Ahum... I like to challenge myself by stepping out of my comfort zone so, we'll see what the future brings :)

[a-whale-bone]

For the ao3 asks: all of them or as many as you can! Questions 4/5/6: There is no love manual for robots. For 18/19/20: Heart/Gear. For 21/22/24: Essential Maintenance. For 27/29/47: while(true).

Thank you for indulging me! I've answered p much everything except the questions about music because I don't really associate writing and music and can't answer them...

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

Either "Episodic Memory" which is kind of a distillation of All The Things I Like in droidshipping or my short series "Radio Heart" which feels like my quintessence Cassian/K2 stuff.

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

Robot/Human Relationships

Pining

Developing Relationship

Robot Sex

Food

The first four are… yep, that's it, that's me. I didn't realise I wrote about food enough to tag it that often, though!

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

Robots, hurt/comfort, hand stuff, people fixing one another, hair stroking, a whole lot of earnestness. I also love an AU.

4. What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

In "There is no love manual for robots" my favourite detail is probably when Cassian pushes Bodhi back against Kay to kiss him and Kay puts his arms round them both because he is SO BIG.

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic]? Answer it now!

Was there anything I wanted to include in "love manual" but didn't - and the answer there is yes! There was a scene between Bodhi and Chirrut, talking about Jedha and people they'd lost, and Chirrut tells him about how he and Baze have been together forever and Bodhi gets all wistful and how he'd like to have something like that. Chirrut, ofc, already knows something is up and gives him some cryptic, well-meaning and probably unhelpful advice.

6. What’s one fact about the universe of [insert fic] that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?

In "Love manual" Bodhi and Chirrut briefly talk about the Force and whether droids are alive enough for the Force to be a thing for them, and I am here to tell you that yes it is.

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

Worldbuilding is probably one of my weaker points, but I am proud of the worldbuilding in my robot orchestra origfic Electric Sonata, especially the stuff about music by and for androids being different from music by and for humans. I had a lot of fun working on that fic.

9. How do you find new fic to read?

With difficulty! I track pairing tags on AO3, and browse recent exchanges, but otherwise I only really find things if someone recs them to me.

10. How do you decide what to write?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ usually if something won't leave my brain I'll write it to get it out. Then it's a mixture of inspiration, deadlines, or guilt.

11. Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?

I wish I were more equal opportunity! But I latch onto particular pairings or characters like a little gremlin and that's pretty much that. My current favourite ships are Cassian/K2 and Bodhi/K2. The robot/human angle works for me, there's elements of loyalty kink and competence kink that work for both ships, and lots of opportunities for hurt/comfort and two people who are very different and messed up finding something together.

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

AUs! Years ago I used to only read canon-verse stuff, but I absolutely love AUs now.

13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore?

Soulmates. I would read it for my ships still, but I don't really like predestination for a romantic relationship much now.

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

Recovery from non-con / abuse. Amazing in the right hands, but very easy to do in a way that wouldn't work for me.

15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

I'm going to discount Everybody Lives AUs because they barely even feel like AUs in Rogue One fandom, lol. It's got to be "darkness, moonrise", my His Dark Materials AU. I love HDM, and figuring out how to blend that world (and not just daemons) with Rogue One was so much fun. And I got attached to everyone's daemons.

16. What’s an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?

I kind of want a mundane Rogue One AU that still keeps the plot? Like sure it's a coffee shop, but also they need to steal the blueprints for the Big Evil Not-Starbucks Coffeeshop that's going to put them out of business. K-2 is a belligerent sentient espresso machine.

For AUs I've loved: "1 Rogue Street" by @r0b0tb0y is an amazing haunted house AU (with bonus Midlands jokes), "Never So Human" is @bright-elen's fantastic Tam Lin AU, "Sparks" also by Bright Elen is a modern-ish AU where K2 is a dating app and he and Cassian fall in love, and "chaos, yet harmony" by @rain-sleet-snow is a canon divergence featuring one of my favourite f/f rarepairs Jyn/Ahsoka.

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

I accidentally talked myself into shipping Bodhi and Kay while writing my His Dark Materials AU, because I sent them off together so the other ships could spend time together. So I want to write an Everybody Lives AU of my AU where they hook up. Will anyone read it? No. And yet I have a half-written fic I occasionally go back to.

18. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

"Heart/Gear" is mostly angsty but the sequel would probably include Cassian and K figuring out a way to use Cassian's new spinal implants in a sexy way.

19. If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve?

A "Heart/Gear" spin-off would be some kind of caper with Jyn, Bodhi, Baze and Chirrut trying to find and restore a KX chassis so K2 could be reuploaded. There are probably explosions.

20. If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

"Heart/Gear" would have a super angsty prequel of Cassian trying and failing to get by without Kay, all while pretending he's coping and the rest of Rogue One trying to help him while he refuses to be helped.

21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be?

Well "Essential Maintenance" is a PWP and one scene so I don't know if it could have a missing scene, but perhaps another scene at the end where K2 and Bodhi go over all the exciting new data and that gets them going again because they are NERDS. (I deeply believe that K and Bodhi are nerds at heart.)

22. Who is your favorite character in [insert fic] and why?

Bodhi is my fave in "Essential Maintenance". I love top!Bodhi, and I like his pragmatic problem solving approach to sex with Kay. I like writing Bodhi as a techy guy.

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

Time travel! God I love time travel. I just need to have some kind of plot, because you cannot wing time travel the way I wing so many fics.

24. Are there any easter eggs in [insert fic], and if so, what are they?

Not much space for Easter eggs in PWPs like "Essential Maintenance", but this line, sort of:

"He did enjoy Kay making him wait, winding him tighter and tighter until he felt like he was going to shake into pieces."

Even when it's not angsty I always want to have some reference to Bodhi being in pieces, because I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about post-Bor Gullet Bodhi being a bit broken.

25. What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write?

Wookieepedia, ofc.

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

No dialogue. It probably wouldn't be readable, but at least I wouldn't have to worry about my dialogue being OOC.

27. How long did it take to write [insert fic]? Describe the process.

It took maybe two weeks or so to write "while(true)". It was an exchange fic so I was on a deadline. The first couple of days I was throwing ideas around but none of them were coalescing into a plot. I had the scene where Cassian has to fix an inert K2 and it was going to lead to Cassian doing something reckless and K later being mad at him, but I couldn't get it to hang together. Then I tried something more light-hearted. Eventually I realised that I had lots of moments, all with a different tone, and that a 5+1 type fic could be a good way to look at different points in the relationship. Throwing out the need for a full plot made it all flow.

28. Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who?

Not often, though I should get a beta reader really. Occasionally lovely Bright Elen will look over something when I'm flailing about it not working and be very kind about it!

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

I have, but I've not published it because I'm not happy with it. I'm not really a dark writer but I tried to write something a lot darker and more morally complex than I usually do and it's kind of a mess. But it was interesting, especially to realise how often I take some easy routes or make characters nicer than they maybe can or should be.

31. What’s your ideal fic length to write?

Depends on the fic! I love drabbles and also 100k epics.

32. What’s your ideal fic length to read?

Depends on what I'm in the mood for. Sometimes I don't have much brain space and want something short and sweet, other times I want to dig into a novel.

33. If you write chaptered fics, what’s your ideal chapter length to write? Is it different from your ideal chapter length to read?

About 3-5k words, both to read and write.

34. What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

Ahaha some stuff is not meant to be shared online. I did enjoy setting some scenes of "darkness, moonrise" in Oxford, as I used to live there and could use real places I knew well.

35. What aspects of your writing are completely unlike your real life?

I have never lived in space or fallen in love with a single robot :(

36. Do you visualize what you read/write?

Absolutely, to the point that I get stuck on descriptions because I can't explain what I've visualised.

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

"Clockwork" is a steampunk AU that I had a ball writing. I think steampunk lends itself really well to Rogue One!

38. Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?

I don't know about surprisingly, but "Brief Encounters of an Unusual Kind" is my most popular, as it caught the first wave of The Mandalorian's popularity. I was quite surprised at the reception to "Changing Protocols" with my clone trooper and B1 droid OCs! That got a lot more traction than I expected.

39. Is any aspect of your writing process inspired by other writers or people? If so, who?

I can single-handedly credit Bright Elen for getting me into droidshipping <3

40. Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

I reread my faves constantly.

42. Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

On "Episodic Memory" someone wrote 'But, here comes a story that defies all the typical aspects of love and you make me fall deeper in love with the idea of love' and honestly it made me a bit weepy because holy shit??? I love that commenter.

43. If you take/write prompts: what’s your favorite prompt fic that you’ve written?

One of the exchange prompts was for steampunk AU and I loved writing "Clockwork" so much.

44. If you take/write prompts: do you prefer dialogue or scenario/narrative prompts?

Definitely scenario/narrative.

45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic?

Writing generally, I think! But also having some kind of plan before I write something, instead of haring off on a half-baked idea and then getting discouraged when it doesn't work.

46 - answered!

47. If [insert fic] was a pair of shoes, what kind would it be? Describe the shoes.

Since "while(true)" is like five fics in one it would have to be a pair of those multipurpose running shoes that are good on trails and road and look nice enough that you could sort of get away with them as a casual normal shoe.

48. What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

"Desert Sunrise" in the SW Rarepairs exchange, a Beru Whitesun/Pelli Motto fic. Definitely recommend, I really enjoyed it!

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

The final chapter of Circuits and Glow, which I hope to compete by the end of the year. Here's a bit from that:

"K-2SO rebooted, and for eight-point-two seconds he did not know where he was or how much time had passed. His optics flickered in and out. The sound through his audio processors was distorted and his vocabulator was offline. His last memory was corrupted. Panic flooded his processors, and he desperately sought the last complete memory file."

And my Rogue One Hunger Games AU (hopefully ready for AO3 next year):

"A lot of people were surprised when Jyn Erso emerged as the victor of the Hunger Games. District Nine hadn’t had a winner since Steela Gerrera over two decades ago, and Jyn was no Steela: too small, too light, too unassuming.

More fool them."

[username-not-registered]

AO3 is indefinitely better than, quite literally, every other fanfiction-based website out there, and for a multitude of reasons. There are already some really good resources out there on how and why AO3 is not only functionally but ethically better, but here's just a few:

AO3 is the only site that cannot and will not sell your content without your permission to third-party services, of which as a result the majority do not even receive compensation. Wattpad is a good example of this. Their most recent deal with Paramount+ as an example. Third-party services can mine whole stories, characters, plots and concepts and as long as there are enough minute changes to maintain creative freedom, they don't have to pay you a cent.

AO3 is currently the only website which has never, and will never, mass-purge content based on self-chosen, biased criteria and censorship. While AO3 does still have rules regarding some content and will remove violations, it will not (such as LiveJournal, Wattpad and FF.net did) purge whole mass quantities of any content that depicts X. Queer media was actually the biggest victim of what is now known collectively as The Great Fanfic Purges.

Functionally, AO3 is unparalleled. Not only are there no adverts, content blocks or paywalls, but AO3 has the single biggest searchability amongst all of its competitors. It has the single largest navigation system including sub-tags, tag modifiers and HTML format content searches. So for example you can search for a particular tag while also filtering that specific tag for X, Y and Z.

AO3 by far has the largest legal protections in place for its users, and is actually the only site of its purpose that will actively provide you with legal assistance and representation in the unlikely event that a Content Owner pursues you legally. Think Anne Rice and that whole debacle. AO3 will also not charge you for this protection because it has a specific fund dedicated to legal aid.

On the subject of functionality and tag searches, AO3 has the best functions to avoid content as well as to find it. On Wattpad, for example, you can't actually filter out specific content, and there's no actual warning system. So you could be reading a nice little teen romance novel and suddenly come across graphic rape. With AO3 you can avoid this, and not only that, you can actually ask AO3 to step in in the instance someone hasn't properly warned for a certain type of content such as that.

Thank you for this wisdom, voice-in-my-head-until-proven-otherwise. This has convinced me to use AO3 for if I ever get to writing things.

[bittersweetarts]

Shades of Cool - Carmy Berzatto Fanfiction (The Bear)

Summary: Carmy Berzatto never considered himself to be lonely, just frequently alone. His neighbor however, makes him think otherwise.

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language

Chapter 1 - AO3 Page - Spotify Playlist

Chapter 2: French Toast

To say that Seline Hepburn was panicked when she woke up, would be an understatement.

Seline’s sleeping habits could be considered a little odd, or at least that’s what a fuck buddy from college described it as once, and this comment stuck with the brunette. No matter how late she sleeps, or how much she drinks the night before, Seline always woke up in the morning, and almost always before her alarm went off.

And that morning, as the sunlight filtered in through the windows, burning through her eye lids, Seline started waking.

This time however, when she woke, she found an arm draped over her, and the firm hold was comforting. At first, not entirely lucid, Seline found herself melting into the arms that held her. It helped ease the pain from the headache that she realized she had upon waking. But then, Seline opened her eyes and began comprehending her surroundings.

An unfamiliar room. The buff arm holding her littered with tattoos. A stench of cigarettes which worsened her headache. Warm breaths caressing her sensitive neck.

Seline’s eyes widened in shock and the thumping in her head intensified. Until she remembered the night before, and the events that led up to it. And that it was her neighbor’s arm draped around her.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The throbbing in her head intensified.

Fuck tequila. Genuinely. Fuck tequila. I am never drinking again.

Seline’s previous evening started with a Hinge date with some asswipe named Liam. He was tall, handsome, and horrible at texting. But that didn’t matter to Seline at all. All that did was that he was hot, and she needed some rebound sex – it was long overdue.

Unfortunately for Seline though, there was no rebound sex, only the L train back home, and disappointment. Liam turned out to have been such an ass that even downing tequila sours at the bar they met up, as though it were water, did not help.

His conversations were boring (all about the impending financial crisis and how great his NFT investments were) and his breath was god awful, as though he had shot-gunned countless cans of beer before meeting her. The final straw, however, was when he decided to casually drop the fact that he was essentially a fascist.

“It’s a major disservice to discredit what the Trump administration had done for the country. They literally created millions of jobs.”

That was the final straw for Seline, and she quickly feigned illness to get away.

What a great evening, my love life is really flourishing. Seline thought as she sat in the train, alone with her hazy thoughts.

Seline was heartbroken when she found her boyfriend (well, now her ex-boyfriend) in bed with her best friend (or rather, her ex-best friend) half a year ago. Her ex tried to justify it, by claiming she was always so busy working, by saying that their relationship was over the moment she got into DePaul for post-grad school, that Seline would dump him anyways. It was all complete and utter bullshit, but it still had taken a massive toll on her.

Seline had moved to Chicago almost half a year ago now, and during this time, she was slowly adjusted to her life here. She stuffed her apartment to the brim with books and things she loved, found an independent café in the area to frequent, and even volunteered at a women’s shelter.

Friends were a little more difficult to find since moving here, for Seline at least. She couldn’t trust easily anymore and shut herself off mostly. Upon moving to Chicago, she deleted most of her social media, and didn’t bother trying to make friends with course mates or anyone in the city. Instead, she got two turtles, naming them Homer and Sherlock, and kept herself busy. She was really good at this, and had most recently learned how to knit chunky scarves.

Was it healthy? Probably not. But it was better than trying to resolve whatever trust issues she clearly had.

But loneliness seeps in – it’s only natural. And one evening, Seline found herself downloading Hinge, for the first time in years. And then she found herself chatting to some people on the app. And then she found herself going on dates with some of these guys.

You could say that what Seline was doing was reckless. Meeting men from the Internet definitely was not on her bingo card for the year, but then again, so wasn’t finding the man she was ready to marry in bed with the girl she expected to be her maid-of-honor.

And to really make everything better, Seline now literally could not get into her home, because half of her house-key was jammed in the lock of her apartment’s door. Fucking fantastic.

Sighing, Seline began trying to untangle herself from her neighbor. Carmy.

Trying to be as gentle as possible, Seline attempted to lift the heavy arm draped over her, slowly and carefully. As she did, the hold on her loosened, and the man next to her began stirring. Taking another silent breath, Seline wiggled out of his hold, successfully so. However, she was not successful in not waking her neighbor.

“Mornin’.”

Carmy Berzatto mumbled, exhaustion seeping into his coarse voice.

As she stood in front of him, dressed in men’s clothing, his clothing, Seline felt a chill creep in. She now felt cold. And awkward, with him staring at her, disheveled, eyes still sleepy. Fidgeting with the sleeves of the shirt she was wearing, Seline responded quietly.

“Morning.”

Carmy still stared at her blankly, his face neutral, and Seline couldn’t figure out what he was thinking about. Probably wondering when you were leaving. Obviously. Seline thought to herself.

Exhaling, the brunette ran a hand through her tangled curls and turned to the nightstand, picking up her phone from the charger, unlocking it. Carmy, watching her, sat up straight and rubbed his eyes, before speaking up again.

“Locksmith?”

Seline nodded in response, still focused on her phone, Googling for one in the city.

“Who are you calling up?” Carmy asked, slowly getting up whilst rubbing his eyes again, and walking around the bed, approaching closer to Seline. As he did, the cigarette stench intensified, but Seline willed herself not to shudder.

“Not sure yet, trying to figure out who to call.” Seline responded distractedly, searching through the list of nearby companies on Google Maps.

“I know a guy. Let me call him in, he’ll charge you less than the corporate fucks would.”

As Carmy spoke, Seline turned to face him, and was taken aback for a moment by his sea-blue eyes, strong with conviction. That is probably why she agreed to his proposition with no hesitation.

“Alright.”

The throbbing in her head intensified again, causing Seline to slightly wince. Taking a breath, Seline looked at Carmy again, and was met with furrowed brows.

“Do you have any Tylenol?”

Slightly tilting his head up and straightening his back, making him just about Seline’s height, Carmy nodded.

“Yeah. In the kitchen.” 

Carmy insisted that Seline have breakfast as well. If this were any other day, Seline would have politely declined (pointing out that Tylenol could be taken on an empty stomach with no adverse effects), and the young brunette would have left, to some coffee shop, to wait until the locksmith would come.

But today, Seline was hungover, and in desperate need for food. She didn’t care what, but was starving for something. Anything.

And since it was a chef offering to cook, how could Seline decline?

And so, Seline was back in the kitchen, watching Carmy masterfully maneuver through the kitchen, pulling out various ingredients and mixing them as though he were performing on stage. The performance was mesmerizing, and Seline was entranced.

“I’m assuming you don’t have any allergies.” Carmy stated, as he pulled out bottles out of his cabinets; spices – Seline recognized cinnamon and nutmeg. Distracted, Seline hummed in acknowledgment as she stared at Carmy’s arms, which flexed as he mixed the ingredients in a bowl.

“Sense of urgency.”

Carmy spoke up again, still staring at what he was preparing. He had pulled out bread from the cabinet, a little stale, which makes it great for the meal he was preparing. French Toast. It felt odd, being so relaxed in a kitchen. It had been a long time since he had felt calm in a kitchen while preparing food for others.

“Huh?” Seline’s head tilted in confusion, and her brows furrowed.

Seline was focused on Carmy, and Carmy was focused on the food he was preparing.

“S-O-U stands for ‘sense of urgency’, not fucking soup or sous.” Carmy responded, in his characteristically nonchalance, which in his experience, pissed a lot of people off. Not Seline though, who instead laughed in response.

“I wasn’t wrong though, was I? You are a chef.” Seline said passively, her eyes now staring at the back of Carmy’s head, as he stood before his stove, the sound of oil sizzling serving as background music.

The room smelt divine, to Seline at least. She had always had a bit of a sweet tooth, and the warm vanilla scent that took hostage of the room made Seline’s mouth water.

Once done cooking, Carmy began plating his dish, adding berries and syrup onto the golden bread, and even though Seline had watched him the entire time, she still couldn’t understand how it was possible for someone to work so fast and effortlessly so. Carmy handed the plate to Seline, along with a fork, still avoiding her stare, which Seline noticed.

“Thank you.” Seline said, and Carmy still avoided her stare, simply nodding before grabbing his own plate.

Taking a deep breath, Seline pieced of some of the French toast, along with some berries, and took a bite. To say that it was heavenly, would be an understatement.

Carmy, still not looking at her, had taken his plate, and leaned against his cabinet, eating his portion in silence. Sunlight seeped through the kitchen window, and Carmy’s golden hair glowed against it.

“This is great. Fucking incredible, really.” Seline muttered out between bites. Carmy was well-acquainted with praises for his cooking, yet for some reason, felt bashful by her acknowledgement, and opted to remain silent, nodding in response.

“So, what time is your locksmith getting here?” Seline’s soft voice bounced off the walls as she spoke. Without intending to, Carmy looked up, meeting her stare.

“Depends on when he’s awake. Fak hasn’t responded to my text so he’s probably still asleep.” Carmy responded, yawning. Remembering that it is quite early in the morning, Seline felt guilt coarse through her; not only had she forced her neighbor to wake up early, but to cook for her as well. Her brows furrowed again, but Carmy had not noticed, as his mind was preoccupied with other matters, namely The Bear.

It was a Sunday, so the construction crew wouldn’t be working, and that irritated the fuck out of Carmy. This irritation was so visible on his face that Seline couldn’t have missed it if she tried. Seeing his expression cross, her own demeanor softened, and Seline hesitated before speaking.

“Everything alright, Carmy? I can leave, there are plenty of cafes I can sit at until your locksmith gets here.”

Seline’s voice was soft, like a little girl, and Carmy was not used to be around women who were not completely headstrong. For a moment, Carmy stared at her wide-eyed, as if snapped out of a trance, and Seline misinterpreted his silent response. Shuffling out of her stance, avoiding his eyes, Seline collected her plate and utensils, as well as Carmy’s, placing it all into the sink, while speaking quickly.

“Thank you so much for breakfast, it was great, l really great, like the best thing I’ve ever eaten – and thank you for letting me stay over, I really do appreciate it. I’ll get out of your hair now, and um, wait for the locksmith –”

As Seline tried to leave the kitchen, with her back turned, Carmy gently grasped her wrist, surprising her. As she turned to face him, she met his light eyes, lit with mild affection. What she didn’t realize was that Carmy oddly found her presence comforting. He had never entertained anyone since moving back, and ever really; he was never one to have friends, and though he was content with his solitude, the prospect of being alone now for some reasons felt somber.

“How about some coffee first?” Carmy asked, the side of his lip tilting upwards, and this relieved Seline, as she felt less of a burden. Smiling sheepishly, Seline responded.

“Can I have some tea instead?”

“Tea?” Carmy was unable to restrain himself from chuckling, not expecting the girl in front of him to refuse coffee. She was probably the only person in all of Chicago to not drink the dark tar. Rather than taking offense, Seline laughed back as she spoke.

“Don’t laugh. I'm pretty much an addict and can’t let myself have any, otherwise I become a menace to society.” Carmy still held her wrist, and when he sees Seline’s eyes drop down, he lets go of her. Forcing himself not to smile, Carmy turns to his pot, beginning to fill it with water.

“I doubt that.”

The rest of the morning went by quickly. Very quickly.

Still in the kitchen, over tea and coffee, Seline told Carmy about herself. Carmy didn’t ask, but Seline couldn’t help but overshare.

Without intending to, Seline told her neighbor about how much she loved to read, and the reasons why Greta Gerwig’s Little Women is the best comfort movie ever made.

Without intending to, Seline told Carmy about the night before, and that she really was drunk when they met, so he wasn’t allowed to judge her too harshly.

Without intending to, she had told him about how she had moved to Chicago this past August, to complete her final year of study before becoming an auditor. Carmy couldn’t help but feel for her, knowing about the challenges of moving to a new city completely alone.

At some point, Seline asked if she could have a shower, and Carmy offered her a clean change of clothes and a towel, which Seline gladly accepted. Seline felt like she reeked of alcohol and desperation, and wished for nothing more than to wash away the remnants of her depressing date the night before.

While in the shower, Carmy watched whatever re-runs he had on the TV set from the night before, which served as background noise for the thoughts running through his head. Seline came back into the living room as quickly as she left, with her long hair damp, and in an oversized jumper and flannel pants, his oversized jumper and flannel pants.

Snapping himself out of it, Carmy wordlessly went to the kitchen to make Seline another cup of tea. Seline stood in his living room, watching him as he walked away, wondering whether to follow him, but decided against it.

Instead, Seline Hepburn opted to look at the large books stacked by his windowsill, which she realized were cookbooks upon closer inspection. The books were limited, and the paper was aged. Seline picked up one which caught her eye, which was lemon colored. Momofuku. David Chang. As Seline skimmed through the pages, smiling, she imagined her neighbor in a Barnes & Noble, contemplating which cookbook to purchase. She found it endearing.

In the meantime, Carmy Berzatto shuffled through his kitchen pantry. Carmy only had Lipton black, and even he knew that it was shit. He wasn’t even sure why he had bought fucking Lipton, it’s not like he drinks tea anyways. As the water boiled, Carmy lit a cigarette, his first of the day, and made a mental note to pick up better tea next time he does his groceries. It’s not for her, Carmy subconsciously reasoned. He was a chef after all and he should have decent tea in his kitchen, even if he didn’t drink it.

Now on his second cigarette, Carmy grabbed the mug and walked back to his living room, where he found his neighbor perched on a windowsill, completely detached from reality, reading through one of his old cookbooks. He had not read those in years, not since before New York, but he still dragged his stack of cookbooks with him wherever he moved. There was something comforting, grounding, about having them in his possession.

As he walked up to her, she lifted her head, meeting his stare. As he handed her the mug he held, she thanked him, setting down the yellow cookbook she held.

“Your collection is sweet.” Seline spoke after taking a sip. The way she said ‘sweet’ was reminiscent of a mother talking to her child. Carmy shook his head in response.

“Sweet?”

Carmy asks, looking away as he puts out his cigarette stub on a nearby ashtray. After doing so, Carmy leaned in closer to Seline, and she felt her heart race at the proximity. Carmy, however, remained unphased, and proceeded to prop the window open, letting in the cold winter air into the apartment. Seline flushed after realizing that he only invaded her privacy to let in some fresh air. She responds only after her neighbor pulls away.

“It’s sweet.” Seline affirms, tearing away from Carmy’s gaze as she leans back onto the windowsill, looking down on her mug, which was so warm that trails of steam were still escaping. She could feel the winter gust against her neck and wet hair. “You clearly aren’t very sentimental, yet you still have these here.” The apartment was bare, the complete antithesis of Seline’s own.

Carmy hums in response, still watching Seline carefully. Turning back to face Carmy, Seline manages only to open her mouth, before she is interrupted. Right on que, the apartment’s doorbell rang.

Ding-dong.

Carmy noticed how Seline flinched out the sound, the tea in her mug threatening to spill over.

“It’s probably Fak. For your door.” Carmy mumbles out, walking away to unlock the door. This time, Seline apprehensively trails behind him, setting down her mug on the table. The sound of the door unlocking is loud and disjointed, echoing in the small entryway.

“Carmy, my brother!”

“Yo, Fak. Thanks for coming over so early.” Carmy stepped aside, letting to grab his keys. As he did, Seline was met with a man in a snapback and an enthusiastic grin. In a hand, he held a massive toolbox. Seline smiled back at him, feeling relieved that her troubles would soon be over.

“Fak, this is Seline. Seline, Fak. It’s her door that has the problem.”

Fak’s grin only widened more after he realized that the girl’s hair was wet and her clothing was distinctly manly and oversized.

Carmy was quick in his speech, different to how he had been throughout the morning, surprising Seline. Upon seeing Fak, Carmy subconsciously began acting as though he was in his kitchen, always in a rush. In the blink of an eye, Carmy held out Seline red leather jacket, and waited for her to follow him into the hallway.

“Dude, why have you not invited me over before. Are your other neighbors here hot?” Fak commented after Carmy pointed out the door to the right, explaining the problem with the jammed key. Seline’s arm were crossed and she felt herself flush as his comment.

“Shut the fuck up, Fak.” Carmy responded, briefly glancing back at Seline, whose eyes were glued on Fak and his opened toolbox, as he maneuvered between the tools and the door lock.

“Will you be able to fix it?” Carmy asked, crossing his arms, his the sleeves of his shirt tightening around his arms.

“For sure bro, I’m the best you know, the goat.” Fak answered as he fished out the block in the lock, tossing it into his tool books. Carmy only chuckled in response.

“Sure, dude.”

Realizing that she was behaving like a little mute mouse, Seline spoke up when it got silent, as Fak concentrated on the door lock.

“So how do you know each other?” Seline did not miss how the two spoke to each other as friends do, and she found their bickering funny.

“His brother was my best friend for years. We’re basically family.” Was. Seline’s brows furrowed at that, and she noticed how Carmy tensed up. Fak on the other hand didn’t, and as his inked fingers screwed back in the front attachment of the lock, Fak turned back to Seline, standing up, asking.

“Have a spare key on you?”

“Yeah, one minute.”

Seline passed Carmy, the sleeve of her jacket kissing his bare arm, and she knelt down, picking up the doormat and pulling out a silver key. This only resulted in Fak’s eyes to widen and Carmy swearing.

“Fuck, Seline. Are you kidding?” Surprised by the tone of his voice, Seline turned around to face Carmy, and was met with a look of horror on both faces. Her mouth opened to respond, but Carmy did not let her speak.

“Do you have a fucking death wish?”

The patronizing tone started to irritated the young brunette, and she replied with cross brows and a harsher tone than intended.

“No need to be so melodramatic.” This time not giving Carmy the opportunity to respond, Seline turned to Fak, taking a breath, and completely altering her tone, now sweet like honey. “Thank you so much, Fak. You are a completely lifesaver, genuinely.” Pulling out her phone from her pocket, Seline continued. “How much do I owe you?”

Sensing the tension between the two, Fak stepped back, picking up his toolbox.

“Nothing, friends and family discount.” Seline attempted to protest, but Fak didn’t let her speak. “Yo Carm, lunch for the week?” Fak turned to his friend.

“Sure, Fak.” Carmy’s voice was now devoid of emotion, but if the coldness bothered Fak, he didn’t let it show.

“It was really nice to meet you, Seline. See you tomorrow bro.” Carmy merely nodded as Fak walked away, his jaw clenched, which Seline didn’t see as her eyes followed after her new acquaintance, as she called out to him.

“Bye, Fak, it was nice to meet you.”

The only sound in the hallway were Fak’s heavy footsteps and Seline’s shallow breaths. Seline had to force herself to face her neighbor again, and as she was turned around, she was met with dead eyes. Taking another breath, Seline reminded herself of the kindness that her neighbor has showed throughout the past twelve hours, and forced a smile on, taming her temper.

“I keep saying it, but thank you, for everything, Carmy. I really appreciate it.” Pressing her lips together, Seline lifted the key to the lock and withdrew her stare. “If you want me to pay for anything, or if Fak changes his mind, let me know. I’ll be here.”

Carmy finally spoke again after Seline unlocked her door.

“You live in Chicago, you do know that, right?” Carmy’s tone was harsh, making Seline flinch again. “Dumb shit like this will get you fucking robbed or killed.”

Seline was now angry. She couldn’t understand why he was acting like this. Who does he think he is? What gives him the right to be mad?  Seline thought to herself.

“Dumb shit like staying the night in a stranger’s house?”

Similarly, though, Carmy was angry. He didn’t know why he was mad, and why he cared, but he did in that moment. In the brief time he has known her, Seline has acted carelessly, and it made he angry. Did she have a death wish?

Carmy remained silent until Seline opened the door and turned to look at him, waiting for his response, his tone venomous.

“Yeah. Like sleeping in a fucking stranger’s apartment.”

Carmy didn’t mean it, not entirely. He knew that his intentions were good, but now in hindsight, he is couldn't comprehend why on earth she was so reckless.

As reckless as Seline was though, she was also non-confrontational, and did not feel like having this conversation. Forcing a fake smile, Seline lowered her hands, clasping them at the front, and took another breath, regaining her composure.

“I’ll see you around, Carm.”

Not giving him an opportunity to respond, Seline entered her flat and locked the door, letting out a sigh of relief, finally being back in her home.

Author’s Note: This chapter is dedicated to the creative team behind the Vanity Fair Hollywood issue – Thank u, ur the goat <3 #livelaughjeremyallenwhite

[wackywheel]

c!connor fic rec masterpost!

[img id.] a row of melon blocks, filtered with a gradient of pale purple, blue, and green so that they look pastel. in the bottom left, text reads, “please read these fics they’re so good.” in the bottom right, a sign reads, “eat pant conar.” [end id.]

i talked about making one of these a while back and finally got around to combing thru the tags to compile fics for it so, yo! if you're a fan of c!connor, are looking to figure out how best to characterize him for your own works, just wanna read about him, or any combination of the former, you're in luck!

while the main criteria for stuff to make it on here is that it characterizes connor accurately, nearly all of these are also just fics that i personally like LOL so while i'll try to be as objective as i can for the sake of my fellow c!connor enjoyers, i must be entirely transparent w y'all that this is mostly just fics that i, personally, really like. ...which is technically the purpose of fic rec posts anyways, but i digress...

fics are below the readmore! ↴

ok the way ive ordered all of these is both in categories of.. sort of pseudo genres ? basically theyre just paired/grouped up according to their premise, as well as loosely chronological according to ao3's recently updated filter!

(also, fics with an *asterisk before them are ones that i personally am biased about bc of who wrote them LOL)

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"connor is a god" fics

basically, these fics primarily focus on the hc of connor being a god/immortal that was very popular back before we saw much of him, beyond his appearances in his two tales episodes! while i'm not a huuuge fan of this hc, nor do i really have much to say individually about each fic, i still wanna give these fics props for setting the bar very high when it comes to treating c!connor with respect, reverence, and most of all agency, especially so early on during the post-nov16th months!

There Are Answers Here by angeloncewas

the constant by diapason

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connor & some/all of benchtrio fics

exactly what it says on the tin, this group of fics focuses on connor's relationships with other characters, but primarily with one, more, or all of benchtrio!

Stray Italian Greyhound by akuli holy shit this fic is an absolute classic when it comes to early c!connor content... connor confronts glatt in a very unique way that, honestly? i've rarely seen depicted when it comes to the two interacting! following that, though, connor and tubbo sit down and talk about schlatt in a wholly honest and cathartic way.

*Here Comes the Sun by BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk here it is! the first of many, many, of beatrix's fics i'm gonna rec to y'all! okay to be honest, clingyduo's inclusion in this fic is very very minor if we're gonna dig into semantics, but i otherwise had no idea where else to put this because of how genuinely unique it was for its time! (its time being pre-s2 finale) an indepth study of connor's hypothetical interactions with ghostbur here, flashbacks explaining schlatt's ties to the revive book there, this oneshot absolutely killed it, especially so early on in the lifespan of connor-centric works!

Ask No Guarantees by angeloncewas another connor & tubbo fic! there's an alternate reality where i became a devout c!tubbling i'm absolutely sure of it. to summarize it shortly, the two bond over their dead best friends! wahoo grief! there's also some very interesting discussion of in-universe religion which is always very fun imo!

*advice you’ve given other people that was really about yourself by antfrost ok here we go, first fic from beloved mutual connor timedeo lets go lets go character study of connor using conversations with benchtrio as a vehicle fuck YES sir this fic is great. i am an absolute sucker for character analysis, even when it's just little exchanges and acts of kindness from one hurt person to another (also in all honesty this fic was the one that made me change the section title to benchtrio instead of just tubbo/clingyduo LMAO)

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"connor showed up too late" fics

angst time bitches! despite how much c!connor's backstory is built upon angst, and how much i love the little guy, i'm honestly not a huge fan? anyways i fucking love these fics regardless so i think that must say something either about me or them. you decide

Brutus Is An Honorable Man by 2point5 if stray italian greyhound was a classic, then this fic is literally a loadbearing pillar of the c!connor fanbase. holy SHIT is she one iconic collection of words. the premise is pretty simple, connor shows up too late after getting a letter from schlatt asking him to come. he and quackity talk about schlatt. it does not go well. i cannot stress enough though. read this fic. like this is required reading this is canon its 100% canon cc!connor called me and said it is (lying) (theres just a lot of headcanons i like in it im biased) (not joking about the required reading part though)

People Die Every Day, I Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way by orojiratsu ...and if brutus is an honorable man was required reading, then this fic is extra credit! ...literally! as in it was actually inspired by the last fic! very similar premise, but the author gets much more into detail about the aftermath of nov16th, including tubbo's reaction to connor's past with schlatt, as well as lending connor a bit more agency when it comes to going toe to toe with quackity's reaction to schlatt's death.

Lay here with me until the years go by. by zrkk a very short oneshot, but really impactful all the same! one thing i really commend this oneshot for is that despite its length, the author manages to get connor's verbal reactions to schlatt's death nearly spot on. go give it a read!

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"connor reviving / rescuing schlatt" fics

yessssss we're getting into the good stuff, the struggles that end either happily or bittersweetly all the same. these are fics that i constantly find myself rereading when i'm missing c!connor, and cannot reccomend literally all of them enough!

*The Friends We Refuse to Abandon by BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk ok this is what i meant before by many of beatrix's fics lol this fic is like. another one that's literally required reading if u like c!connor bc it has absolutely everything u could ask for. connor reviving and reuniting with his bestie? having agency in the narrative? helping people just for the sake of helping them? you name it, we got it here.

twenty thousand years of this by rosewitchx GOD this fic is so fucking iconic as well. i absolutely consider it required reading as well, bc both this one and the last one fill their niche incredibly well rosewitchx's writing and characterization of connor, as well as basically everyone else they write from what ive seen, is incredibly well researched and true to their characters, so this is definitely not the last fic of theirs im going to be reccing on this post lol similar premise to tfwrta, except connor wasn't the one to revive schlatt. regardless, he's still given the assertiveness and narrative agency when rescuing schlatt that makes this fic super cathartic to reread if you're craving that sort of thing! (also, this specific fic is from a series of the author's that explains certain headcanons much better than if you were to just read the fic in isolation. go give it a read over here!)

I'm Tired by Anonymous another short read, but still a very good one! props to anon! this fic emphasizes the 'bittersweet' point i made in this section's intro. schlatt has been revived, and he and connor have reunited, but at what cost of his own physical health?

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smplive-era connor fics

yessss fuck yes fuck YEESSS you people are NOT immune to me making you remember not only smplive, but that its CANON baybee its 100% CANON TO DSMP LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO

*Far In Time (we've got some catching up to do!) by connor6Silly wait hold on

*What Will Happen Will Happen by connor6Silly wait fuck these are literally all just my fics

bro did all of the good c!connor smplive fics all get purged or something ??? i literally cant find any that i like, let alone think characterized connor well bc they all do him so fucking dirtyyyy y'all its awful 😭 so uhh in lieu of that .. read my fics? pretty please? i have a whole promo post for the first one here if u wanna learn more :)

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syndicate/karl oriented connor fics

ok so if y'all know me, you know im a sucker for literally all of connor's relationships on the server that we never see actually explored canonically (s&c im talking about s&c) so to balance that out, here's his friendships that are like. actually fucking real! and tangible!

*THIS IS A PROTEST FOR YOUR HEART! by antfrost yessss another one of connor timedeo's fics this is sorrrt?? of?? an au? one where everything went a-okay on nov28th, and everyone in the syndicate is happy and alive and glad to be able to spend time together. connor especially! bc he has lots of people that are there to care for him now! very short, sweet, and fluffy!

*The Planet With a Thousand Sunsets by BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk another beatrix fic!!! and GOD this one is a lot of fun, as well as a companion fic to tfwrta! this fic goes all in on connor and karls friendship, framing it as if it were an actual tales episode with a cast list and everything! as of me making this post (5/22/22) the fic is not complete, so if y'all want to read more of it, i'd really suggest commenting and sharing what you liked about it! (but Do Not pester beatrix about if/when shes going to complete it bc if i hear that shits happening y'all will have hell to pay >:(((( )

*all the broken can find hope (in the most unexpected places) by BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk last fic of beatrix's, as well as another syndicate fic! yipee! now, technically this fic might be better suited to go into the final section of this post, but connor's inclusion is not only accurate enough, but also the setting is very much relevant enough for it to slide into here by means of relating to the syndicate. connor's role in this fic is mostly by means of an exploration of his friendship with schlatt, juxtaposing it with emeraldduo's own close bond. two bad bitches (close friendships that came long before the dsmp ever did) kicking ass together instead of fighting one another for relevancy you love to see it <3

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connor-centric au fics

so technically most of these fics could technically be classified as aus, but thats sort of just the state we're in when it comes to actual canonical content of c!connor. Anyways! here's some straight up 100% aus that very much are either in entire other settings, or diverge early on enough in the timeline that the result is completely unrecognizable from what actually happened in canon

god of arepo (series) by rosewitchx this next rosewitchx fic... isn't technically a fic, but a series! the god of arepo series is very much a product of its time (post-exile, pre-doomsday) but it's still 100% a classic in my eyes basically, this au shows the product of the world being entirely claimed by the egg, and how connor, with ghost sweaterduo in tow, deals with the aftermath. again, very much a product of its time, but i think that makes its state as a sort of fandom-time-capsule all the more appealing <3 break the cycle in half by rosewitchx holy shit this au is an absolute trip in the best way possible??? i've never consumed any of the madoka magica franchise, but you don't really even need to do that to understand the fic tbh after losing all of their loved ones to an unavoidable, inevitable disaster, connor and karl both become magical boys in order to go back in time and save those they lost or die trying

*and the universe said i love you by antfrost if i had a nickel for every c!connor centric meguca au there was on ao3, i would have exactly 2. which isn't a lot, but it's really funny that it's happened twice now! beloved mutual connor timedeo's take on the au is similar, yet still entirely unique on its own! after schlatt gets got during a mission, connor makes his wish to be a magical boy in order to save him. he does not know what he's getting into, to say the least </3

panacea by rosewitchx YESSSSSSS I GET TO TALK ABOUT THIS FIC again, technically it could be classified in the next section of this post, but i feel like the amount of canon divergence it features definitely earns it its place here! while the fic's actual author's notes give a better description of its context, i'll give y'all this quick synopsis- quackity figures out how to revive schlatt right after nov16th, but he comes back... a little different than he left the first time. thus, hijinks ensue.

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fics that aren't fully connor-centric, but still characterize him accurately enough that i'm reccing them

again, exactly what it says on the tin; these fics really don't focus too much on c!connor, so i won't go into much depth about them, but his cameos still pass with flying colors imo, so i'd absolutely reccomend em!

the definition of a dwarf planet by WreakingHavok a short and sweet pre-nov16th sweaterduo fic that recontextualizes a lot of their interactions with smplive as a focal point

when i’d make you oh-so afraid by rosewitchx charlie and connor, but the former especially, both grapple with schlatt’s death and how they feel about it.

I never, never want to go home by rosewitchx a look back at l’manberg, set a year since the 16th.

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aaaand there you have it, folks! a collection of the best of the best when it comes to c!connor! if y’all have other fics you really enjoy centering on mr eatspants, please feel free to send them to me in an ask! i’m sure there’s still just a little bit of gold hiding out in the swathes of badly mistagged fics that are flooding connor’s main tag atm -_-

but yes! i’ll probably update this within the next few months if any new, notable c!connor fics pop up, so keep an eye out!

[outercrasis]

Maybe It’s A Sign

Pairing: Modern!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 9.3k+

Warnings: alcohol, implied age difference, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

Summary:  You and Mando have been driving across America together for months. You're happy to be with him but part of you longs for something more.

A/N: I don’t really know the time period for this, probably like anything pre-2010s. There’s no use of y/n and let me know if I missed a warning :)

Read it on AO3

The breeze from the open truck window is cool against your heated skin. It's your only relief as the sun beats down on you through the windshield, the busted A/C offering no help. You're headed down some freeway in the middle of nowhere America, riding shotgun in an old beat-up truck that's seen better days.

You've been keeping your eyes on the flat landscape surrounding you, watching as field after field passes you by. They really weren't joking when they'd named them the Great Plains. Music filters through the air, some classic rock song you've heard a thousand times before. You still hum along mindlessly, enjoying the small amount of entertainment.

Bored of the vast sameness outside your window, your eyes drift over to your companion, driver, and owner of the truck. Mando. You study him, finding him far more interesting than the fields outside.

His worn baseball cap has been pushed up, presumably from scratching his scalp underneath and not bothering to fix it. Soft brown curls peek out around the edges of the hat. He has his sunglasses on and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead, as they should be. The patchy scruff along his jawline has grown out a bit from your recent days on the road and you can see a few gray hairs mixed in with his darker natural color.

He shrugged off his jacket earlier in the day, leaving him in a worn gray t-shirt that hugged his lean muscles all just right. His faded blue jeans are on and you wonder how he can stand to wear them in the oppressive summer heat. You gave into shorts days ago.

All in all, he was a far better sight than anything outside the truck. As you look him over, you muse how everything he owns seems to be worn in. His rusty truck, his old hat, his distressed clothes. They all carry a sense of being lived in, nothing new and shiny on him. Well, except for his jewelry. His silver necklace and rings always shine brightly, a dramatic contrast to the rest of him.

"Stop staring," Mando suddenly says, breaking you from your observation of him. You're a little embarrassed to have been caught, but you aren't going to let him know that.

"Why? Nothin' else to look at around here."

That rewards you with a chuckle. At least he isn't irritated by your staring then.

"Don't you have a book or something?" 

You look over at the book you had thrown on the dashboard. A used copy of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger that you picked up a couple states back. You aren't sure you like Holden, but it's a good read at least. "Yeah, but I can't read it for long before I start feeling sick. So I guess I'll just have to look at you instead."

"Sure that I won't make you sick?" Mando teases.

You smile. He's in a good mood today. There are days where conversation with him is like pulling teeth, but it makes days like today all the more worth it. 

"Nah, you aren't so hard on the eyes." You say it cool and casual, genuine but not needy. As though you don't often think of his looks when you have the time and privacy to satisfy your needs.

Mando shakes his head slightly but you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Sure, sweetheart."

He never seems to believe you when you compliment his appearance. It breaks your heart a little. Sure, he has some years on you, but you aren't blind. You know a good-looking man when you see one and Mando? He was it. If the man wasn't oblivious, he'd notice the looks plenty of women and some men throw him when he strolls into town.

Not sure of what to say next, but not wanting the conversation to end, you take to a habit that's been slowly forming over your months with him. It had begun out of boredom one day, but continued due to a desperate urge to learn anything and everything your mysterious companion will tell you about himself.

"When's your birthday?"

Mando isn't surprised anymore by your random questions. "May eighteenth."

Your eyes go wide at his answer. It was July now, meaning he'd let the day come and go without telling you. You had just assumed his birthday hadn't come around with you yet. "Mando! Why didn't you tell me? I would have at least said something if I had known."

He shrugs. "Birthdays aren't a big deal where I grew up."

"Were you raised Jehovah's Witness or something?" you ask.

"No, nothing like that." His fingers drum slightly on the steering wheel. You noticed a while ago that he did that when you got close to something he didn't want to talk about. His childhood always seems to be a touchy subject.

You want to know more, want to learn all of his secrets, but you don't want to jeopardize his good mood. Mando had shared bits and pieces of those more intimate details with you over your shared months with him, but always on his own time. His own terms. You won't push it now. Instead, you pivot to something more innocuous.

"If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?" 

You're surprised when he barely takes any time to consider the question before answering. "Tacos."

You raise an eyebrow. "Tacos? I took you for more of a burger and fries kind of guy."

"Nothing compares to a good authentic taco from down by the border." He says it with such confidence that you can do nothing other than believe him.

"I wouldn't know," you say.

Mando cocks an eyebrow at you now. "We'll have to fix that then."

A warm flush runs through your body at his words. You know he isn't looking to get rid of you, but hearing him make plans for the future with you, no matter how tentative, makes you happier than you care to admit. Small promises that you know he'll make good on eventually given the time and opportunity.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Easy. A full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast. Doesn't matter how they're cooked or the specific options, you can't go wrong."

You stretch yourself out in the cab as you answer, throwing your feet up on the dash. Your eyes close for a moment and you miss the way Mando's eyes rake over your extended frame.

"You're never awake for breakfast," Mando comments. He's right. You enjoy your sleep and when left to your own devices you easily dream through breakfast hours.

"That doesn't matter," you retort. "Breakfast food isn't only good in the morning."

You continue that way for a while, gathering small bits of information about him and sharing your own in return. You learn that he prefers hot weather over the cold, soft pillows over firm ones, showers over baths, and most surprisingly that he has a soft spot for musicals. That fact had made you giggle, imagining Mando singing along to The Music of the Night. With all of his mystery, he wouldn't make for a bad Phantom you think.

As the afternoon wears on, you can feel yourself growing tired. Between the warmth of the sun, the lulling rumble of the truck, and the comfortable environment of the cab, you're fighting to keep your eyes open. Mando notices your struggle and reaches a hand out towards you.

You aren't really sure when this began, but you aren't complaining about it. Mando would hold your hand whenever you fell asleep in the truck, thumb gently rubbing against your skin. His hands were rough, callused from years of work, but they felt nice. They felt strong, comforting. In those moments nothing else in the world mattered. And if you thought about his hands later, touching places other than your hands, then that was your business and no one else’s. 

You wake up a couple hours later, Mando calling your name to pull you from your sleep. The sun has moved down in the sky and you guess it’s somewhere close to five o’clock. You’d check the time on the radio, but Mando never seemed to bother keeping it right due to regularly changing time zones with all the cross country traveling. 

You’re sitting outside of some 24 hour diner on a random roadside. Mando seems to be fond of these little dives, preferring them to any of the big chain restaurants you always pass. Fast food is the only exception to that rule and even that’s rare, these food stops often being one of few chances to stretch your legs when you’re on the road.

“What do you think? Do they have the best pie in America?” you joke, pointing at the sun-worn sign hanging below the restaurant’s name. You can’t count how many ‘best blank in America’ signs you’ve seen at this point. While you can’t credit their authenticity, it usually did mean there was something good waiting for you on the menu.

“I suppose we’ll have to be the judges of that,” Mando replies.

You tug on your socks and shoes that you pulled off earlier in the day and hop out of the truck. The easy conversation and warm nap have you in a great mood, one that makes you a little bolder than you might otherwise be. Walking into the diner, you grab onto Mando’s arm, smiling at him when he looks down at you in surprise. He doesn’t pull away from you though and your heart beats a little bit faster.

The diner has plenty of open seats and you seat yourselves, grabbing one of the booths. The stiff vinyl isn’t the most comfortable, but you can’t say you’re surprised. The place looks like it hasn’t been renovated in a decade. If the smell from the kitchen is anything to go off of though, the food will be just fine.

A waitress comes over to take your orders. She’s exactly what you would imagine a waitress to look like in a diner like this one. Slightly heavyset, a kind face, and a big smile to offer you. “Hi there, what can I get the two of you?” she asks.

“I’ll take a coke, ma’am,” Mando says. He seems oblivious to the flush on the waitress’s cheeks at his baritone. 

“I’ll take a coke too.”

“I’ll be right back, folks.”

You reach over to grab a sticky menu from the end of the table. The stickiness grosses you out a little, but it really does add to the ambiance of the place. Your conversation from earlier drifting back into mind, you immediately look for the breakfast section. Perfect. Their ‘two eggs and more’ option is exactly what you were looking for.

The waitress returns with your drinks and takes your orders, Mando getting himself a burger and fries. You smirk at him, taking the wrapper off of your straw. “I thought you said you weren’t a burger and fries kind of guy?”

Mando watches as you carefully make a wrapper worm, dropping the smallest amount of soda on the paper to make it move. “I just said tacos were my favorite, never said I’m a guy who doesn’t enjoy a good burger and fries, sweetheart.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug.

You fall into a comfortable silence together at the table. Silence isn’t an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. When you first joined Mando you talked all the time. Trying to fill up the empty space, feeling like if someone wasn’t talking then the situation was awkward. Slowly you learned though. The silence was never awkward until you made it that way and unless Mando had something to say, he’d stay quiet. He’s not incapable of conversation, he just doesn’t like to force it.

You softly hum a tune that’s been stuck in your head, looking out the diner window and enjoying the sunset. It’s a gorgeous one today, the sky looking like an oil painting with its gradient of colors. The flat plains allow for a good view of it too, only a small building in the distance blocking any part of the horizon. You kick yourself for not picking up that disposable camera at the gas station this morning. The photo would never do it justice, but at least that way you could have a small piece of the gorgeous sky to hold onto.

Plates being set down on the table brings you back down to earth. You happily dig into your meal, pleased to have been right about the quality of food here. Nothing could beat a good meal at a greasy diner. Mando seems to enjoy his burger as well, scarfing it down well before you finish your plate.

He always ate like that and you aren’t sure why. It’s as though he thinks if he doesn’t eat it fast enough then someone is going to come and steal it from him. Early on you’d tried to speed up your eating, feeling awkward every time he finished and was forced to wait on you. Now though, you don’t care. Mando rarely ever stops moving and a meal with you is a time you can be certain that he isn’t doing anything for once. You hope that eventually it might encourage him to actually enjoy his food as well, but that still seems a long way off.

Mando picks at his fries and sips at his coke while you finish up. The waitress comes by to refill the drinks, another flush on her cheeks when Mando thanks her. There must not be many attractive men who roll through here if a simple thanks has her blushing, you think. Poor lady, she seems quite nice.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask Mando between bites of egg and toast.

“Plan?” 

“Yes, plan. We’ve been driving west for two days now and you seem to have some destination in mind. So, what’s the plan?” What plan, of course Mando has a plan. He always does. Was it always well thought out or complete? No, but there is never a time where he doesn’t have some sort of plan, some idea of where he’s off to next. You’re the one without plans, content with travelling alongside him.

Before Mando can reply, the waitress returns to the table and clears his now empty plate. “Can we get a slice of your pie?” Mando asks.

“Of course, what flavor would you like?” she replies.

“Whatever flavor you think is best, ma’am.” That garners yet another blush on the waitress’s cheeks. Wow. Things must be really bad around here then. One good-looking customer shouldn’t have that big of an impact on anyone, much less a woman who’s clearly made this job her life’s work.

She leaves and you prompt Mando again. “So? Plan?”

“I’m going to meet someone tonight, pick up a new job. Then we’ll go from there,” he finally tells you. 

You aren’t pleased by his half-cryptic half-telling answer. He’s always doing this to you, giving you answers but never quite the whole thing. You bet he already knows what the next job is, he’s just being coy about it for some ridiculous reason.

You decide not to push it and slide your plate over to Mando. There are some hash browns left and he won’t just ask for them despite the fact that you’re clearly done. He doesn’t say thanks, just picks up the fork and shovels them in. This by now is routine too so it doesn’t bother you, but it’s still odd. Mando is just weird about food.

He finishes the last of your meal and the waitress returns with the pie. “Blueberry, winner of the county festival five years running,” she tells you.

You grab a fork and dig in, suddenly finding the room in your stomach for dessert. Best pie in America might be a stretch, but you believe their claim to the best pie in the county. It’s delicious, eliciting a small but satisfied groan from you on the first bite. You go to take a second bite when you realize Mando hasn’t moved yet, he’s just watching you with an expression on his face that you can’t quite make out.

“Earth to Mando?” you say, waving your hand. “Try the pie, it’s delicious.”

He breaks from his stare and takes a piece of the pie. “‘S good,” he says around the mouthful.

You laugh at his terrible manners. “Gross, finish chewing before you talk.”

He doesn’t have a witty retort, but he gives you a grin that makes you feel like you’ve won a million dollars. It’s one of the ones that reaches his eyes, making them just shy of sparkling. Now you really wish you had bought that disposable camera.

Finishing the award-winning dessert, you and Mando go up to the counter to pay. He’s left a tip on the table, a sizable one in your opinion, but you aren’t going to say anything about it. Mando is always leaving big tips at places like these.

You take in the diner for one last moment, not paying attention to Mando’s conversation with the waitress until she says something that catches your ear.

“-shift ends in a half hour.” Did you hear that right? Was she really propositioning Mando right now? Christ, things must be downright desolate around here. 

Your heart stops as you wait to hear Mando’s reply. He could easily accept. She’s an attractive woman with that classic middle America charm about her. Any other man would probably take her up on the offer. Would it shatter your heart into a million pieces if Mando did? Most likely. But do you have any right to feel that way? Most likely not. 

Mando isn’t tied to you, at least not in that way, and he’s certainly still a man. You haven’t known him to chase after any women the whole time you’ve been with him, but surely he has needs and the waitress is beautiful and willing. You wouldn’t be able to fault him for it. 

“I’m flattered, but the lady here and I need to be getting back on the road,” Mando says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You do your best to keep your face neutral, not wanting to come off as rude while also trying not to make it obvious the way your heart swoops at Mando’s reply. You know he doesn’t mean anything serious by it, but the implication is still very much there.

Embarrassment washes over the poor woman’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just assumed…” she trails off, not finishing her thought. You want to feel bad for her, but you can’t help but feel sorry for yourself.

You have a good idea of what she assumed. You’ve heard a multitude of mistaken relationships by now between you and Mando. Everything from some kind of family relation, to something more perverted that’s assumed by greasy motel attendants who cast odd glances when you ask for a double instead of a single. It’s never any less uncomfortable.

 Mando brushes it off. “It’s fine ma’am, no harm, no foul.” The waitress doesn’t blush at his words anymore.

Bill paid, you and Mando leave the diner. His arm leaves you and you climb back into the truck. The radio flickers back to life and neither of you speak. You wish you could know what’s going on inside of his head. Probably just thinking about the next job. That seems like him, always focused on what’s coming next.

You can’t help but be consumed with thoughts of him. Situations like the one with the waitress always left you distracted. There’s no real way to describe your relationship with Mando. You had helped him with a deal and he had helped you with a way out of your one-horse town. Originally neither of you planned on staying together for this long, but at some point Mando stopped asking you where you wanted to go and you stopped asking if he was going to leave.

You’re comfortable around each other, content to drive across America while Mando picks up job after job. At some point your feelings deepened for him, you aren’t exactly sure when, but now you can’t imagine leaving Mando. It’s no longer just about the adventure of it for you. It’s something more, a deeper tie than you’ve ever had to anyone. However, you have no idea if he feels the same way and you don’t intend to find out. Better to love your mystery man from afar then reveal yourself and get left in the dust.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Mando reaches over and turns down the radio. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You’re a bit surprised to hear an apology. After all, he had nothing to really apologize for. The waitress had come onto him, not the other way around. You know Mando isn’t the type to flat out refuse and insult someone like that. What he had done was… fine. You had hardly even considered it.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Mando,” you tell him. “If anything she did, propositioning you like that.”

A small, relieved smile works its way across his face. “It was quite bold.” 

That makes you laugh. “I’m not surprised, she was sizing you up since we walked in.”

“She was not,” Mando argues.

You shift in your seat to face him. “Are you kidding? You really didn’t notice her blushing every time you spoke to her?” If Mando was this oblivious maybe you didn’t need to worry about him catching onto you.

“Now you’re just lying, sweetheart.”

“Am not. You just don’t pay attention.”

Mando rolls his eyes and turns the radio back up. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. You let it slide and allow yourself to relax. Your hand falls to the center of the bench seat as you look out the window. The stars are coming out now, another gorgeous sight in the vast expanse of the sky. So far away from the city, it feels like you can see every pinprick of light the universe has to offer. It’s a bit disorienting honestly. Nothing makes you feel smaller by comparison and yet, you don’t really mind.

You startle as something wraps around your hand. Looking down, you realize that it’s just Mando, holding your hand as he does when you’re close to falling asleep in the truck. You look up at him, confused. You aren’t anywhere close to nodding off. He should know that, so why…? 

Mando doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. His thumb softly rubs against the back of your hand. You relax into his touch, turning your eyes back to the stars. Confusion about Mando’s actions doesn’t compare to the way your stomach flips at his gentle touch. It feels nice, domestic almost, if one can consider a life lived out of the front seat of a rusted out pickup domestic. His hand doesn’t leave yours until he pulls into the pothole filled parking lot of some dive bar.

Mando parks and turns the truck off. You move to get out of the truck with him when he squeezes your hand to stop you.

“Stay in the truck,” Mando says. His hand leaves you and he opens his own door, jumping out onto the cracked asphalt. 

You look over at him, incredulous. “Excuse me? You know I am old enough to go in there, right?”

“I know. Stay in the truck.” Mando closes the truck door, giving you no more room to argue with him. It pisses you off. 

What is this? Soften you up by holding your hand only to leave you behind? You hate when he does this, treating you like a child that’s just tagging along with him. You suppose you are tagging along, which stings a bit more, but you could be helpful, useful even if he would just let you in. Instead he keeps you at arm’s length at times, treating you like you can’t take care of yourself. He has no right to boss you around like that, telling you where you can and can’t go.

You watch his figure enter the bar, temper rising. If this place was good enough for him, it was certainly good enough for you. A bar like this had been where you met Mando months ago, working as a bartender and server. It didn’t bring back the best of memories, but you can handle yourself. At worst a fight might break out or patrons might get a little handsy. You can avoid the first and as for the second, it’s not as though Mando would need to put someone in the hospital for getting a little too flirty with you.

After fuming in the truck for a couple minutes, you make up your mind. You look yourself over in the mirror, trying to fix your appearance to look like you hadn't just spent the last two days in a truck. Pleased with yourself, you pull your shirt down slightly to reveal a bit more cleavage. The discovery of the power a pair of tits held in dive bars was one you made a long time ago. You flip the mirror back up and get out of the truck.

You practice your walk as you approach the bar door, trying to keep it calm and confident. Mando is going to be pissed at you for this, you already know, but you refuse to be treated like a child. If coming in here without his permission is what it takes for him to view you differently, then so be it. Younger you might be, but incapable you are not.

The moment you walk in the door, you spot Mando. He’s in the corner, talking to someone with his back to the door. He doesn’t even notice as you walk in and stroll up to the bar.

The man behind the counter is old, his white shirt spotted with stains and a towel thrown over his shoulder. It’s almost too stereotypical a look and you want to laugh. The stiff look he gives you though stifles your amusement.

“What can I get you?” he asks gruffly as you take a seat at the bartop.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.” 

Whiskey is not your favorite drink. Not by a long shot. Really, you would have loved to order something fruity that you can’t taste the alcohol in, but whiskey is something you’ve learned to tolerate. You know that appearances matter in a place like this and a fruity drink would mark you as someone lost, not as someone who belongs here. You aren’t looking to get trashed anyway, just something to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t take long before someone is sidling up next to you at the bar. You don’t acknowledge him right away, instead staring up at the small CRT TV that’s playing the local news above the bar. Some murder case from a couple towns over is currently being highlighted. Lovely.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” he asks you.

You glance over at him, enough to get a look, but you don’t let your eyes linger. Lingering eyes would mean an invitation that you certainly don’t want to give. You have to admit, as far as seedy dive bar men went, he isn’t hard to look at. Not much older than you, clean shaven, bright blue eyes. Another time you might have gone for someone like him. Not now. These days your thoughts are only occupied by scruff, dark hair, and warm brown eyes.

“Came in for a drink,” you reply simply.

He leans in a bit closer. “Can I buy you another?”

You take a sip of your drink. “I think I’m alright, thanks.”

He pushes in even further, placing a hand on your thigh. This guy didn’t take no for an answer apparently. “Aw, come on now, don’t be that way sweetheart.”

Hearing him call you sweetheart makes you want to punch him more than him touching you does. It sounds wrong coming out of his mouth, harsh and manipulative, not the smooth and warm way Mando says it. For a moment, you do seriously consider punching this guy square in the jaw before deciding against it. You came in here to prove a point and not being able to handle a pushy guy would just prove the exact opposite of that.

You turn in your chair to move your thigh away from him. He has the decency to let his hand fall at least. “Don’t call me that,” you tell him.

“Alright then, what do I call you?”

You turn your attention back to the TV. Now they were highlighting a feel good story about an animal adoption from the nearby shelter. Odd shift in tone. You don’t reply to Blue-eyes and hope he gets the message. 

“Playing hard to get, that’s fine,” he says. You take another sip of your whiskey. The news shifts to the weather. There’s more warm weather on the way for the next week, no storms in sight. That’ll be nice to drive in you think.

Blue-eyes’ hand returns to your thigh, creeping up higher than it was before. “I don’t mind hard to get, sweetheart.”

That one garners a slap. You do it before you even give it a real thought. It’s a good one at least, making a very solid sound as his head spins. It’s a testament to the bar that no one even spares it a second glance. Blue-eyes turns back to you, furious.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” he hisses at you, roughly grabbing your arm.

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t take your hand off of her.” 

You’ve never been so happy to hear Mando’s voice in your life. Could you handle this guy? Probably. Do you want to? Absolutely not. You know on your own there's a near certain chance you'll end up with bruises before this guy gives up.

Somewhere in your mind you register the very real possibility that Mando is pissed at you right now. You shove it down, choosing to focus on the fact that he did just come to your defense. 

Blue-eyes is more stupid then he looks and doesn’t read the very obvious threat Mando poses. Instead he doubles down and tightens his grip on you. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”

You can't say you're surprised when Mando punches him in the face instead of answering the question. You also can’t say that you feel bad about it either. The surprise and hurt of the sudden punch makes Blue-eyes release his grip on you, giving you enough time to move out of the way as Mando moves in. Mando grabs a fistful of Blue-eyes' shirt and pulls the guy in towards his face. 

“Do you regret it?” Mando grits out. Blue-eyes sputters something that sounds like an apology and pushes himself away. 

Satisfied, Mando now turns on you. You were right, he's pissed. His typically soft, warm eyes are hard on you now as he pulls you away.

You flounder to tell him you haven't paid for your drink but he just ignores you, dragging you out of the bar. If you were smarter, you would think to be a little scared about making a man like Mando mad at you. Instead, your thoughts are occupied with how he's barely even trying to overpower you and yet you couldn't break free of his grip if you tried. You wonder if there's something wrong with you for how much it's turning you on.

Arriving back at the truck, Mando releases his grip. "Get in," he demands.

You do as you're told and climb into the passenger seat as Mando goes around. Nerves finally settle in. Mando would never hurt you, you know that, but he could decide to ditch you somewhere. Whatever this situation is with him, it's far from formal. He has no obligation to you and could easily choose to end it. With the trouble you’ve just caused, you wouldn’t be surprised if this all comes to a swift and sudden end.

As Mando climbs into the cab, you stare down at the floorboards, terrified that he's going to tell you he's dropping you off somewhere and leaving you behind for good. You can't imagine your life without him now. There's nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do without him. Right back to square one.

He doesn't speak right away, which only makes you more nervous. He peels the truck out of the parking lot, headed back in the direction you came from. You still don't look at him. It's obvious you fucked up and there's nothing you can really say to fix that. Your only hope is that he forgives you.

You're headed back through the small nearby town when he finally speaks. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

You don’t say anything in response. Anything you can come up with sounds childish in your head. The exact opposite of what you'd been trying to prove. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence as an answer.

“Why would you even do something like that? Do you know how stupid that was?” His hands are tight on the wheel, glancing between you and the road as he yells.

You mumble back to him. 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“He called me sweetheart,” you say a little louder.

“What?” He isn't going to let you off the hook with this and it gets under your skin. Some part of you thought he might be proud of you for smacking that creep and here he is berating you for it.

“He called me sweetheart, alright?” you half-shout.

Mando gives you a confused look, clearly not the answer he was expecting. “Do you- do you have a problem with that?” The heat is still present in his voice, but you can hear a little worry in it now. Shit. This is not what you wanted out of this whole ordeal.

You've never wanted the ground to come up and swallow you more. Why didn’t you just say that you smacked him for touching you? That would have been simple. How do you answer this without making everything weird? No, Mando, I don’t have a problem with that. I smacked him because I only like it when you call me that. Sure. That won’t be weird or awkward at all. 

After cursing yourself for a few seconds, you manage a response. “No, I- I just didn’t like it when he said it.”

"Oh." That's Mando's only reply.

You know he's still angry about you coming into the bar, but apparently your answer has sidelined him. If it wasn't so embarrassing, you might even be rejoicing at his reaction. Instead you just feel like a fool.

The silence remains as you pull into a little local motel with the vacancy sign lit up. Mando hands you forty dollars, way more than you need, and tells you to get a room.

Okay. So he isn't getting rid of you… yet.

You barely even listen to the attendant as they tell you they only have one single available for the night. Now is not the time to be arguing about sleeping arrangements. You take the key, room 104, and make your way back to the truck. 

You grab your bag from the flatbed and let Mando know the room number. He nods and goes to pull the truck around. You kick yourself as you walk over to the room. Why didn’t you just stay in the truck? Why didn’t you just lie to Mando about your reasons? He’s smart and it won’t take long now for him to put two and two together. Especially if he asks anymore questions.

You have no idea how Mando might react. If learning about your feelings towards him combined with what happened in the bar might be enough to leave you. He’s certainly not cold with you, but you’re not sure you’d call any of his actions romantic either. Holding your hand after the diner today is the closest he’s ever come. You wish you knew what that meant to him. You know what it meant to you.

Mando parks the truck outside of the room as you unlock the door. It’s not a fancy room, just one big square with a bathroom attached. There’s a full bed, a dresser with a TV on it, and a small table with a couple chairs. You toss your bag on the table and sit down on the edge of the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t upset, Mando can always see through your lies. Might as well just get this over with.

Nervous, you hide your face in your hands, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. You’re ready to deal with it, but not while actually looking at him. You can’t handle seeing his face as he figures things out; the way he might look at you while he rejects you. Suddenly you feel a wave of sympathy for the waitress earlier today. You hope Mando will let you down easy like he did for her.

You don’t look up when Mando comes into the room. His boots enter your line of vision and you close your eyes. You can’t look at any part of him right now. It’s too painful.

Mando says your name softly and you can sense as he kneels down in front of you. You don’t reply. Gently, he moves your hands away from your face. You still refuse to look at him and he cups your chin, lifting your head up to his.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You wish you could resist, but you can’t. Not when he speaks to you in that soft tone. Not when he calls you that.

You meet his eye and see all the concern and worry he holds there. “I’m sorry, Mando. I should have listened to you.”

His hand slides up to hold your cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I could have at least told you why I didn’t want you coming in with me.”

You’re surprised at his apology. Two apologies he didn’t need to make in one day. This isn’t something you ever expected. You assumed he would still be full of heat and anger, not this careful kindness.

“Why didn’t you want me to come in?” you ask. You need to know the reason, need to know why it is he told you to stay behind. No matter how much the reason might hurt.

Mando sighs. “I didn’t want you to come in because I didn’t want anyone else looking at you.”

You pull back out of shock. “What?” Did you hear that correctly? Could that mean what you thought it might?

He takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “What can I say, sweetheart? I’m a jealous man.”

A thousand thoughts run through your mind. There are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask, and yet none of them can find their way out. As a result, you do the only thing you can.

You lean in towards him, slowly, giving him enough time to stop you if he so chooses. He doesn’t though, instead following your lead and moving in closer. You carefully search his eyes for any answers they may hold. Your noses bump and you both pause. “Mando, I-”

He cuts you off. “Din. My name is Din.”

You close the gap and kiss him. The kiss is careful at first, as though you’re both still looking to confirm that yes, this is what you both want. Mand- Din’s lips are soft and sweet against yours and you melt as it’s everything you could have imagined and more. A small moan escapes you, one that you’re embarrassed about until it causes Din to deepen the kiss. Caution evaporates, quickly turning into passion as your tongues meet.

Din moves, getting up from the floor and pushing you back against the bed. His lips never leave yours, devouring you as though you might slip away at any moment. He gives your bottom lip a small nip, quickly soothing it with his tongue. You pull away, needing a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this okay?” Din asks, his voice low with desire. You respond by pulling him back down into another bruising kiss. Your positions shift as the kiss continues, Din’s knee finding its way between your legs as his arms wrap around you. Both of your hands have worked their way into his hair, something you’ve been fantasizing about for months now.

Din begins to kiss his way down your neck, leaving little love bites along the way. You gently tug on his hair, pulling a heavenly sound from him that only intensifies your pool of desire. Desperate for more, you move a hand down, seeking the hem of his shirt and slipping your hand underneath. His skin feels remarkable under your fingertips.

Din pulls away from your neck and quickly divests himself of his shirt. He allows you a moment to take him in, his lean physique flexing as he holds himself above you. Scars litter his body in various shapes and sizes, but you think they look beautiful against the glow of his honeyed skin. 

Taking the opportunity, you remove your top as well, leaving you in your basic everyday bra. You wish you had worn your other bra, the sexier one, but with the way Din is looking at you, you’re not sure it matters. His lips return to your body, working his way across any and all of your newly exposed skin. One hand splays on your waist, holding you, grounding Din against you.

“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” Din murmurs against you. His lips find their way up to your chest, placing careful kisses against the globes of your breasts. He pauses and looks up at you, seeking your permission. You arch your back, allowing Din access to slip a hand beneath you and undo the clasp.

He pulls the bra away from you and you flush under the intensity of his gaze. “Perfect, you’re perfect,” Din says before reoccupying his mouth with your breasts. It seems that he has a real oral fixation, not that you mind in the slightest. His warm mouth feels heavenly against you, licking and sucking wherever he can.

Din takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other. It’s the best thing you’ve felt in months, better than any of your late night fantasies when you would try to satisfy your growing want for the man currently giving you so much pleasure. As though your attempts could ever come close to the real thing.

Din releases your nipple with a pop and returns to your mouth, licking his way inside. His kiss alone is enough to make you see stars. It makes you forget any other kiss you’ve ever shared, enveloping you in him and him alone.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, unable to take more without further relief. “Din, please, I want you,” you pant into his mouth. Din growls, actually growls, at your words. It's a far hotter response than it should be.

“Yeah, sweetheart? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me.” His knee comes up and presses his thigh against you where you want him most, causing you to moan out his name. “Use your words, sweet girl.”

He’s trying to kill you, you think. Calling you a name like that. Sweet girl. It loops in your mind until Din’s fingers ghost over your nipples again. “I want you to touch me,” you tell him.

“I’m already touching you,” Din says. He’s a tease, you think, growing slightly frustrated with him. His thigh moves against you again though and he’s immediately forgiven.

“Please, Din,” you whine, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Thankfully he does, moving his leg away and quickly removing your pants. You already know you’re soaking, your panties feeling cold against you with the loss of the other cloth barrier.

Din pauses for another moment to take you in before moving. You’re nearly bare before him, almost entirely on display. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, his hands parting your thighs. “So perfect, so beautiful, and all mine.” You can feel yourself clench at his words. No one has ever made you feel this way before. His stare only relaxes you more, his words feeling like a warm blanket wrapping around your fears and quieting them.

Din’s fingers brush against you through the thin cotton. “Is this all for me, sweetheart? I can already feel how wet you are.”

He continues to tease you, only leaving you capable of nodding your head back at him. His eyes catch yours, watching your reaction as he pushes the near useless fabric off to the side and pushes one finger between your folds. Just the small touch sets you aflame, pushing yourself down onto his hand, wanting more. 

His finger leaves you and you frown until you watch as he brings it to his mouth and licks your slick off of it. Din moans at the taste. “You taste better than you do in my dreams.”

He leans down to kiss you, sharing the taste of yourself while he pulls your panties off completely. They’re thrown haphazardly into the room, lost to be found for later. 

Din then moves himself between your legs, slowly working kisses down your body as he slides back onto his knees on the floor. He grabs your waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed with ease and starts nipping and kissing your inner thighs. Your hands wind back into his hair, while you lie in disbelief that this is really happening right now.

Gentle kisses are placed along your folds, Din moving back as you try to grind your hips down onto him. His eyes catch yours again, mouth hovering over your clit as he speaks. “I’m going to taste you until you cum on my face and then I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

This time you manage a response, frantic to let him know that’s exactly what you want. “Yes, please, I want you so badly, Din.”

It’s all he needs to hear. His mouth comes down on your clit, carefully playing with the bundle of nerves, making you cry out and clench around nothing. He pulls away slightly and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top, pausing again at your clit to give it a teasing suck. Your hands pull at his hair from the attention.

He moves back down, teasing your entrance with his mouth. He moans, lapping up your pussy, acting every part a man dying of thirst who’s found oasis at your core. You buck into him and his hands quickly wrap around your legs, holding your hips in place. Din wants to pleasure you, but on his own terms, at his own speed.

You can’t make a coherent thought as he continues to eat you out. Small snippets of words make their way out of you, none of them making any real sense in conjunction with one another. It’s not until his thumb finds your clit as he continues to lick, suck, and nip at you that you find complete words to shout. “Din, oh god, yes, right there, I’m so close...”

Moments later you feel the tension within you snap, crying out as your body shakes from the overwhelming pleasure. Din continues to work you through your orgasm, only stopping when you physically push his head away from you. He trails hot kisses along your inner thighs again, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you taste, how perfect your pussy is.

As you come down from your high, Din removes the last of his clothes, finally freeing his stiff erection. Your breath catches as you take him in, your Adonis in the flesh. He’s gorgeous, you think, wondering what you did to get so lucky.

Then he’s back over top of you, kissing and sucking at your skin. Some of those are bound to leave marks for tomorrow but you don’t mind. You want everyone to see, for everyone to know that you’re his. No more mistaken assumptions about your relationship, you want it on display for the world.

You look down to catch a better glimpse of his cock, satiating the curiosity that’s plagued you for so long. He’s big. More than enough to fill you, possibly even more than you can handle. As wet as you are, you know you’ll need him to go slow, to slowly stretch you out before he can truly fuck you.

You tilt your hips, bumping against him, letting him know that you want him. “Do you want my fingers first?” Din asks. You know you should say yes, but you can’t imagine another moment without knowing what he feels like inside of you.

“No,” you tell him. “Just go slow.”

Din places a quick searing kiss against your lips and positions himself. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance and you feel like you’re already seeing stars. Din is muttering in your ear, holding you tightly against him as he pushes into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart. So tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to fill you up, to feel every inch of your sweet pussy.”

You nearly forget to breath as he slowly pushes in further. You can feel every inch of him and you only want more. Din’s stream of compliments are interrupted when he finally bottoms out in you, holding himself still as your walls clench and stretch around him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You turn your head and pull him into a blazing kiss, loving the way he feels filling you up. You wonder how you were ever satisfied with your fingers before when this had been next to you for so long. Din is apparently thinking along the same lines, whispering to you, “I’d have done this long ago if I knew you felt this good.”

You don’t even have time to consider the words as he slowly begins to move in you. The pleasure borders on agonizing as you begin to move your hips, encouraging him to move faster. Din responds quickly to your urging, setting a furious pace as he begins to lose all control. You know you’ll still be feeling him tomorrow and the thought makes you smile. You never want to go another day without a reminder of how he feels.

His thumb returns to your clit and you don’t have time to warn him before you’re thrown into another orgasm. Your walls clench around him and you lose yourself in the feeling of cumming on his cock. Din quickly follows, pulling out of you just in time to paint your stomach with ropes of his spend. You mourn the loss of him, but once Din finishes he buries himself back inside of you, causing another shock of pleasure to zing through your body.

Din rolls the both of you over, keeping himself sheathed in you, and allowing you to collapse on top of him. You’re both sweaty and panting, trying to come up with words. Din’s fingers lightly trace along your back, causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. You lift your head up from his chest in order to look at his face.

He’s completely debauched, sweat causing hair to cling to his forehead, the rest completely wild from your hands. His eyes are still blown wide, happily looking back at you. His lips are pink and swollen from all the kisses and licks he’s pressed into your skin. You know you can’t look much better than him.

You give a small clench around him and smile at the expression that runs across Din’s face. “I love the way you fill me,” you tell him. Din presses a loving kiss against your sweaty forehead.

“I never want to leave this perfect pussy of yours.” You can tell he means it too. If he could, he would stay buried in you forever. You love the way that sounds. His eyes flutter closed, reveling in the feeling of having you surround him.

“Din,” you say.

His eyes pop back open and refocus on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

A smile blooms across your face. “Nothing, I just wanted to say it. Din. It suits you.” 

His name suits him in a different way than Mando does. Mando is the rough exterior, the front he puts up to the world. The one who punches men in bars for touching you and calling you pet names. The one that strikes fear into others, knowing that if he’s hot on their trail that they’re screwed. Din is the soft inside, the place where all of his ‘sweethearts’ originate, the cause for the hand holding and sparkling smiles. The man behind the armor that he presents to the world, the one who kisses and fills you up just right.

Din’s arms wrap around you tightly, clearly intent on never letting you go. You’re fine with that, letting it sink in that you’re finally laying in bed with the man who’s consumed your thoughts for months. A small, joyous giggle escapes you.

“What’s so funny?” Din asks.

“I thought you were going to leave me earlier. Now here I am, laying on top of you with your cock still inside of me.”

Din chuckles and you can feel it rumble in his chest. “I’m never letting you go sweetheart, no matter how much you piss me off.”

You fold your arms across his chest, letting your chin rest on your hands. “I am sorry. I just wanted you to notice me. I felt like you were treating me like a child,” you confess.

Din’s eyes widen a bit at your admission. “I always notice you, mesh’la. I never meant to treat you that way. I only want to keep you safe.”

“I know that now. Honestly, I feel so silly about it all.” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair back from your face. 

“Next time, I’ll take you in with me. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine.” He grinds his hips up into you to prove his point. It makes you squeal, causing a smirk to settle on Din’s lips. You give his cheek a small flick in retaliation but make no attempt to move.

You lay there for a little while longer, laying your head back down against Din’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath you. His hands trace anywhere he can touch on you, intoxicated by having you so close against him. Eventually though, you feel the call to use the bathroom and can no longer ignore it.

Din is almost painful sliding out of you, but you’re more upset about the loss of having him buried in you. Your legs are shaky as you stand, managing to make it to the bathroom on wobbly knees. You take a moment to clean yourself up, running a damp cloth across your body. Exhaustion hits as you return to bed, crawling under the covers and into Din’s arms.

You begin to drift off when Din asks, “Why’d you get a single? Not that I’m complaining.”

“All they had left. Maybe it was a sign,” you mumble back.

Din chuckles and presses a kiss against your head. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

[jasontoddiefor]

Retranslation of the Sith Code from a Linguistic Perspective

Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Nwûl tash. Dzwol shâsotkun. Through passion, I gain strength. Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk. Through strength, I gain power. Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan. Through power, I gain victory. Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha. Through victory, my chains are broken. Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak. The Force shall free me. Wonoksh Qyâsik nun.

Star Wars has a couple conlangs – from Huttese to Ryl, many cultures in a galaxy far, far away have their own words. The, admittedly, most famous conlang is Mando’a, the language of the Mandalorians. It has recently gained even more popularity due to The Mandalorian and the many headcanons about the clones and their culture floating around in fandom. While Mando’a is undoubtedly the conlang with the most extensive vocabulary, it is not the soundest Star Wars conlang from a linguistic perspective. That honor belongs to the version of the Sith conlang that was later amended and developed by Ben Grossblatt.

The Sith Code, as we know it, was developed by David Gaider in 2003 for the game Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic. Grossblatt’s conlang was created seven years later in 2010.

When you consider this, Grossblatt had two options when creating his conlang and translation of the Code. He could translate the Code from English into Sith, or he could pretend the English (or “Basic”) version of the Code resulted from a translation from Sith.

Why does this matter?

[AO3]

This question is easily answered when you think about the various meanings of the words. As every bilingual person knows, translating a text from one language to another isn’t easy because there are no two languages whose vocabulary matches completely. Let’s take an example from the Code:

“asha” (noun) is translated as “victory”.

This translation, however, does not explain what kind of victory “asha” refers to. While English may have only one term for victory, a Sith could differentiate between “victory you achieved on your own” and “victory by decimating your enemies”. Or “victory” might only be one translation of the word and others could be “dominance, control, superiority”. All these words lean into the direction of “victory” through the worldview of the Sith.

Basically, Grossblatt had to decide whether the English version should be the end result or the starting point of his version of the Code in Sith.

In this essay, I intend to treat the English version of the Code as the translation of the original Sith language. This is important because it means that this deconstruction of the Sith Code will be influenced by my own interpretation of the various other meanings as possible Sith word could have, which are not necessarily Canon/Legends based. I will be translating this Code line by line and, in the end, create a new version of the Code which will deviate from the Canon one but hopefully picks up the grammatical cues from the Sith version that the current one is lacking.

TLDR: I don’t want to just explain the grammar, I want to analyze it.

Now, a brief look at the in-universe history of the Code of the Sith to shed some light on the perspective I’ll take into consideration while translating.

The Code itself was allegedly created by the Fallen Jedi Sorzus Syn. It was meant to be a pendant and an update of the Jedi Code simultaneously. While this is technically speaking fine, we do run into some troubles from a historical perspective.

The Code was first authored on the planet Korriban in 6900 BBY. The Jedi Exiles didn’t speak the language of the Sith species, which were enslaved by the Jedi Exiles. They used translation talismans, which granted them the ability to speak and read Sith as if it were their mother tongue.

…

Yeah, that’s stupid. I know. But it’s space fairy tale science fiction, so we’ll accept it and move on.

If you are bilingual, you might notice that you are more capable of speaking about a given topic in one language than in the other. Therefore, it would make sense if it were easier for the Jedi Exiles to talk about the Dark side in Sith, which was uniquely suited to speak about it. However, when the Code only exists as a differentiating point to the Jedi, they were bound to slip into a rhetoric that would be more along the lines of that they’d used as Jedi. That could explain why the Sith Code in Basic/English seems to parallel the Jedi Code so much. My working hypothesis is that the Sith Code – given that it is supposed to reflect Sith philosophy – can stand on its own with its own meaning. Otherwise, the Sith would only ever see themselves in contrast to the Jedi, which, given their superiority complex, is a rather strange view. Therefore, my translation will focus on staying as close to the original Sith language as possible.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Nwûl tash. Dzwol shâsotkun.

Now tackling that first line of the Code. The interesting part here is that Basic translates the two sentences as one. The first sentence – Nwûl tash – consists of two nouns: “peace” and “lie”. The present tense copula (the “to be”) is dropped, leaving the two nouns. When comparing this to the following sentence, we immediately see the first issue. The verb dzwol refers to “to be”. We also know it can be translated as “to exist”, “to abide”. The question that arises at this point is whether the first sentence drops dzwol or another verb referring to “to be” that we don’t know. What becomes clear, however, is that different emphasis is put on the two sentences. Many languages drop the tense copula. When the copula is dropped, the relation between the other constituents (components of the sentence) is understood. So reading the first sentence, you gain the impression that the statement “Peace is a lie” is a fact of life. “Peace = Lie” would be a mathematical way of writing it down.

Another critical thing to mention here is that Sith, as far as we know, doesn’t make use of determiners (a/the), and as such, the statement could possibly also be read as “The peace is the lie” or “A peace is the lie” and so on. But given that we do not have any information on the grammar in that aspect, I will not elaborate any further.

Now, let’s take a look at the second sentence by comparison. Here we have an explicit present tense dzwol. Unlike the rest of the Code, this sentence follows the VSO word order. Given that the rest of the Code uses topicalization, we can conclude that the verb dzwol is the focus of this sentence. Given that we are also given the translations “to exist, to abide”, perhaps it would be a more appropriate choice to use one of these words when translating to properly show the difference between the omitted present tense copula and the explicit one here.

Following this, we have to deal with shâsot and -kun. -kun refers to the adjective “only” and modifies the noun. shâsot is interesting because we are given the translation “passion” in the Code. The vocabulary list, however, translates it as “struggle”. While both have overlapping meanings, I would argue in favor of the “struggle” translation.

“Passion” stems from the Latin “passio” meaning “suffering, enduring”. Nowadays, it is used­ in Christianity to describe the suffering of Christ, but also, citing Merriam-Websters here, “the state or capacity of being acted on by external agents or forces”, as well as being motivated/moved by intense emotions. However, “struggle”, is defined as “to make strenuous or violent efforts in the face of difficulties or opposition” and “to proceed with difficulty or with great effort”. Given that the first sentence of the Code refers to the idea that peace doesn’t exist, I believe an emphasis on the aspect of fighting, which we find in “struggle”, would be appropriate.

Personally, I’d prefer “to exist” over “abide” for the verb as well. “abide” may imply that only the struggle has to be endured. I’d favor a reading that instead emphasizes the contrast that the absence of peace means the presence of nothing but struggle. My translation of the first line of the Sith Code would therefore be:

Peace is a lie. Only struggle exists. Nwûl tash. Dzwol shâsotkun.

Now we can consider the next line: Through passion, I gain strength. Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk.

Before we can tackle the translation, we have to consider three grammatical construction.

Sith is typically VSO (Verb Subject Object).

Sith has instrumental case, which is marked on the noun with -jontû. Generally, this is translated as “by” or “with” or “using”.

Sith has alethic verb mood, which is marked on the verb with -atul. Alethic mood refers to “the truth in the world” as opposed to epistemic mood, which is “the truth in an individual's mind” (epistemic). While this differentiation is not without criticism, given that all truths in the world are filtered through our perceptions of the world, it is interesting to note that Sith apparently does make this difference.

Now that we have considered these, I will break down the second sentence. The first thing I have to mention is that this sentence and the following ones are topicalized. Shâsotjontû is the word shâsot in instrumental case. As before, I prefer the “struggle” translation. The instrumental case itself is translated as “through” which is an interesting choice as that is not a standard translation. I’d instead go with the “using” translation as it further highlights that a Sith utilizes whatever tools they deem necessary and needed. Objects and people are measured against what value they have for a given person, how useful they are if you want to spell it out. Furthermore, it highlights that the Sith, at one point, actually discussed the Code and the “best” way to use the Dark side.

The verb châtsatul is in alethic mood and translates to “gain”. This, again, also fits well with the “using” translation of the instrumental case. The subject of this sentence is nu the first person pronoun “I”. tyûk translates to “strength”. Here we run into the previously elaborated victory problem as well. The Code gives us no explanation of what kind of strength is meant here. The idea that it’s only physical strength is, of course, ridiculous. It could also cover mental strength and strength in the Force, as well as the words “might”, “courage”, “durability” and so on. This issue concerning the lack of vocabulary will continue to follow us through the complete translation of this text. As I have now elaborated on it twice, I will only make references to it in the future, with perhaps here and there a suggestion for a more appropriate translation.

My translation of the second line, taking -atul into consideration, would therefore be as follows:

Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk. Using struggle, I necessarily gain strength.

Now we can turn to the third line: Through strength, I gain power. Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan.

The only new word here is midwan, which is translated as “power”. Again, the definition of power in this context isn’t clear. The translation of this line would be:

Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan. Using strength, I necessarily gain power.

We can now turn to the next line: Through power, I gain victory. Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha.

I already elaborated at length on the various possible definitions of “victory”. I, personally, prefer a reading that equals “victory” to “dominance”. What I also thought was interesting here is that the morpheme “asha” appears to be very common in Star Wars across cultures and languages. There are multiple people named with variations of that morpheme. And then, of course, there is also the planet Ashas Ree, which is deep in the territory of the former Sith Empire and had a Jedi Temple built on top of a Sith Temple. Ashas Ree could be the Basic version of a Sith term. While we do not have the word “Ree”, phonologically, it would be pronounced /riː/, and Sith has the consonant /r/ and the vowel /i:/.

A side note about Sith phonology: Sometime between the Jedi Exiles taking over and the Prequels era, the Sith lost the vowel /e/ or /ɛ/ as the Sith of that time still had words like “jen” meaning “shadow”, “dark”, and “hidden”. As this word, and others making use of it, are apparently still in use today, their vowel probably changed to /i/, /æ/, or /aɪ/. Or maybe the word “jen” is pronounced as it once was as English/Basic does have these vowels, and people can therefore say “jen”.

Returning to our translation, we can read:

Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha. Using power, I necessarily gain victory.

And now we’re going to look at a line that made me cry:

Through victory, my chains are broken. Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak.

Once more, before we can actually look at the translation, we have to look at the grammar. This is the breakdown Ben Grossblatt made of that sentence:

Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak. Victory+INSTR break+ERG+LG INAM OBJ chain my+PL. Through victory, my chains break.

INSTR refers to instrumental case I already elaborated on.

ERG refers to Ergative. The interfix -win- is added to a transitive verb to indicate ergativity, meaning that the grammatical subject of that verb is its semantic object, while the true semantic agent remains unexpressed.

LG INAM OBJ means “large inanimate object”. This refers to the fact that the verb kots is part of a group of verbs called “handling verbs”. These verbs mark what kind of object is affected by them. -ot is the marker for “large inanimate object”. When searching for languages that use these “handling verbs”, Navajo was one of the first results.

Sith plurals appear to be marked on the articles or, given the lack of such, on the possessive markers: nuyak is therefore “my” and “the object I possess is plural”.

Now that we have tackled the grammar, I will elaborate on how it applies to this sentence. The ashajontû construction should be well-understood by now, so I will not linger on it.

Interesting is here that the possessive marker nuyak also indicates the number of the possessed object. In a way, this enhances the claim on the object as it is more intrinsically connected to it. The possessed object here is itsu, the “chain”, which only gains its plural through the possessive. It would be interesting here to know what the other verb markers are as “chains”, in this context, are categorized as physical objects. At the same time, their meaning is obviously meant to be metaphorical. Knowing whether Sith can make the difference and might choose to do so here would be beneficial when analyzing this line. However, evoking the image of physical chains here, which are broken, makes the act seem more striking.

And now we’ll tackle the verb. The root kots gets inflicted twice by the ergative marker and the object marker. According to Grossblatt, it can be read as “completely shatter” or “completely break”. As the purpose of the object marker -ot has already been elaborated on, I will now focus on the ergative marker.

Ergativity is one possible way of hiding the concrete agent of action without passivizing the sentence. Consider “The window broke” vs. “The window was broken” vs. “I broke the window”.

This makes the overall translation of the sentence rather interesting. The original translation reads “Through victory, my chains are broken” which is passive and not ergative. Therefore, it would be more correct to follow Grossblatt’s reading of “my chains break completely”. Still, the fact that we do not have an overt agent here makes this sentence quite interesting. While the method – ashajontû – is known, the agent could be either the speaker themself, or another person doing it for them. Given that the adverb “completely” is added to the verb, perhaps this sentence suggests that on your own, you can come quite far breaking your chains but not reach that finalized step. For that, you need victory.

Furthermore, this offers an interesting perspective on the Sith and their teachings, especially on the Banite Sith, if you read “victory” as something closer to “dominance”. In this case, the sentence almost seems to imply that by becoming stronger and surpassing another person, perhaps your Master, you manage to break your chains completely. An even deeper reading might allude to how the Sith conceptualize the chains that keep them. They appear to put their own freedom and thirst for power above everything else. Perhaps that is already too much interpretation for one line, but it was worth noting. In any case, my translation of that sentence is:

Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak. Using victory, my chains break completely.

After this heavy sentence, we only have one left!

The Force shall free me. Wonoksh Qyâsik nun.

This sentence is relatively uncomplicated. nun is the accusative pronoun “me” and Qyâsik is the Sith word for Force. wonoksh is the word for “to free” in future tense. The future tense is marked by -oksh and this is the part where we get to the slightly complicated/annoying part of the sentence.

Again, we don’t know if this is the only future tense Sith has or what its exact purpose is. As opposed to English, which technically speaking only has the tenses “past” and “not-past”, Sith marks a definite future. However, this future could also have undertones such as an imperative mood. Sadly, we don’t know anything about it. Now for the future tense. As inquires across the globe have told me, “shall” is pretty outdated. In a modern translation of the Code, you’d probably say:

Wonoksh Qyâsik nun. The Force will free me.

But that detail is relatively minor. Now that I have broken down every line of the Code, let’s put it back together.

Peace is a lie. Only struggle exists. Using struggle, I necessarily gain strength. Using strength, I necessarily gain power. Using power, I necessarily gain victory. Using victory, my chains break completely. The Force will free me.

Does this Code sound better than the original work? Probably not. I have to say, I do prefer the “struggle” translation and I like the first line more in my version, but otherwise, this Code doesn’t sound particularly great. However, it was also not meant to sound good. The purpose was to create a translation closer to the Sith language version, to reverse-engineer it if you want. I do think that this endeavor was worthwhile as, for me, it has shed some more light on the thinking of the Sith.

And also this:

Sources

Star Wars: The Sith

Sith Language

Speak like a Sith article

Sith Code

Ben Grossblatt’s breakdown of his translation

Sorzus Syn, author of the Sith Code

History of the Sith Dynasties

Wookiepedia Search of asha

Translation talisman

Ashas Ree

Temple of Ashas Ree

Grammar

Zero copula

Merriam-Webster on passion

Merriam-Webster on struggle

Alethic modality

Navajo Handling Verbs

Navajo Classificatory Verbs

Ergativity

Instrumental case

Color Coded Version of this Essay

[thelucyverse]

How to Interact with Fanfic Authors - for Beta Readers

I wanted to make posts both for fic authors and beta readers, because I realized in several recent interactions that some helpful unwritten rules of fandom seem to have become lost to people who are new to it.

This isn't meant to be a call-out post against anyone to say 'you did it wrong!' (really, how could anyone be mad if you just didn't know any better), and there aren't even any definite rules for anything - but I just thought these things might be nice to know and helpful to share around. This part will be @ the betas, the post for authors can be found here :)

Selecting a story to beta read

If you already stumbled across someone asking for a beta reader, you can skip ahead to the next part.

What and why do you want to beta read?

Are you looking to improve your skills in finding grammar and spelling mistakes because you want to be a teacher or a parent? Are you just bored and looking for something to do? Do you want to help your friends, or anyone who happens to need help right now? Do you have time today, for an hour, or are you willing to edit 100k over the next weeks? What content are you comfortable reading and editing? Do you want to be able to show others that you beta read a story? All questions you should ask yourself and find an answer to before you go about contacting any fic authors.

If you want to practice grammar and spelling, you want to beta a story of an author who is only looking for that, and not a deeper check.

Depending on how much time you have, you should look at the wordcount of fics and only agree to beta those you have time to do in the time-frame given by the author.

To help people you know, you could ask writers you are friends with to let you know when they need a story to beta (don't ask too many at the same time, or you will get swamped in work), or make a tumblr post saying any writer mutuals of yours can ask you whether you currently have time to beta. Many fandom discords also have a @/helper role that will ping you when someone is looking for beta readers or other help. If you want to help anyone, go to the next step, otherwise skip that one.

Finding stories or authors

On tumblr and ao3, you can check out the 'beta reader wanted' tags and similar ones like 'to beta', 'fic beta wanted', 'looking for beta reader', etc. If you are looking for a specific fandom on tumblr, you probably have to be willing to scroll for a while, as most people don't tag things with '[fandom] beta reader wanted', and even if you would have to check many different tag variants to even find a single fic. On ao3, you can search for a fandom or pairing and then filter for the beta tags (one at a time).

On ao3, some authors also allow beta work of completed stories - but make sure to only do it on works of authors who are comfortable with this, do not give unsolicited advice or criticism! No matter how 'helpful' or 'constructive'! Comments with beta work without the author asking for it in notes or profile are anything but nice.

Most authors won't be mad at you if you point out a typo or two, but still check the notes of the fic and the author's profile for whether they actively state that they do not want this kind of beta work, and if you do end up leaving a comment, make sure to a) include something you liked about the story, so the author doesn't just check their inbox to get disappointed with a 'here's a typo' message, b) ask whether they want you to keep doing so in the future or rather not, and c) always stay polite.

For anything more than a single typo or grammar mistake, you should ask the author - best in a dm if you can find their tumblr - whether they are looking for a beta reader for this story of theirs that you enjoyed reading. Still leaving a nice comment on the fic first will help your beta/author relationship along, trust me :) Again, before you ask to beta, check the notes and profile or of they have an about section on their tumblr or other sites to find out whether your help might not be welcome, as perhaps for them a fic, once posted, is not going to be edited anymore.

You can also specifically look through the profiles of authors you like, to check not just for whether or not they are alright with corrections and/or constructive criticism, but also for whether they are actively looking for a beta reader!

Working with a fic author

Once you are in contact with an author, you need to find out whether you are really compatible, to then work together well.

Preparation: clarifying what you can, should and will do for the author

What does the author want you to look for? Examples can be found on the post for fic authors. Most authors will tell you without prompting, but some might not know that clarification is necessary/ are so used to their kind of betaing that they didn't think to/ plain forgot about it. In this case, you shouldn't just make assumptions - even if you worked with the author before, they might want different things for different fics, depending on length or how important a story is to them etc, so ask what exactly they want you to do.

Make sure the instructions cover the kind of beta work, the format (directly in the text, tracked editing functions, comment next to the text or direct messages), the content of the fic if there is anything you wouldn't want to read (rating, pairings, warnings), and the time frame in which they need the work to be ready to post.

Once you know what is wanted, really think about whether you are able to do as requested. If you can't - whether because you won't finish it in time or because you can't or don't want to do the kind of beta work they need (I for example hate to only beta spelling and grammar without also correcting wordflow, I would do it for a short fic but I won't agree to beta something longer if I can't bring in my own opinion at least a little), and honestly say what you won't do and why. If it doesn't work out, they will just have to look for a new beta, and there's no shame in that.

The actual beta work

Only do as much as the author asked you to, and do that well! You know what works best for you - reading the entire text first, then going through it again to beta, or starting with the corrections and suggestions immediately. Don't correct or suggest things they haven't asked for, it is not a curtsy but might even be hurtful unsolicited criticism.

If you aren't sure about something, for example a grammar rule, either look it up or honestly tell the author that there may or may not be a mistake there and they should check it out.

Be nice! Phrase your comments in a friendly way, and unless the author told you not to, you can even write additional notes pointing out things you especially liked.

Don't expect the author to accept all of your corrections and suggestions into the final text! You may think they would improve the work, but it is their decision, and maybe they have a specific writing style they want to stick to, or any other reason to ignore a suggestion. Don't argue about any of this.

Being credited as beta reader

Do you want to be credited for your beta work? If so, you should tell the author in advance so they can decide whether or not they agree to this, and to the way you will be credited, whether in name mention only, @ on tumblr or link on ao3.

Let me know if I missed anything, and I will add it to the post!

The post for fanfic authors about dealing with beta readers can be found here.